scott@opus.UUCP (Scott Wiesner) (08/17/84)
I was actually quite impressed at the consistancy of the answers.
Most people were saying west coast, with many indicating california.
I suspect part of the confusion is people reading wire service stories
in their local papers and assuming it happened locally.
--
Scott Wiesner
{allegra, ucbvax, cornell}!nbires!scottnormb@tekred.UUCP (Norm Babcock ) (08/22/84)
Seems there was a bright young lad running intercepts off the California coast in his high-performance (and expensive) military jet, when he lost every navcom and gyro system he had, just before sundown. He flew west until his fuel ran out, and ditched alongside a fishing boat. After his return to base, he told his story at least twenty times, including the latest version to the board of inquiry. The board members were somewhat confused, and asked why he didn't turn towards the coast, turn left or right, find a suitable airfield, and set it down. The young pilot reminded the board that the DG and everything else was broke. The board then asked why he hadn't used the magnetic compass. "Couldn't see it", sez he, "the sun was in my eyes".
normb@tekred.UUCP (Norm Babcock ) (12/01/84)
There I was, at 10,000 feet over the steaming jungles of Burma, flying inverted with one wing folded for identification purposes, when suddenly the engine caught fire. I rejected the canopy, and reached for the ripcord. No ripcord. I remembered then that I had traded my parachute the night before for bottle of scotch, a silkworm, and a sewing machine. I gave the silkworm a drink, explained the facts of life to it, and bailed out. As fast as the silkworm could make silk, I sewed like crazy. Talk about busy. Just before I hit, I had enough of a new chute done to break my fall, and landed without injury. The silkworm, unfortunatally, was under the sewing machine when it hit, and was clobbered. I was immediately surrounded by fierce-looking cannibals, who took me to their leader, who with gestures and pantomime, made it clear that I was destined for the pot. Thinking quickly, (as us pilots are wont to do in times of stress), I also used gestures and pantomime to convey the fact that I was old and too tough to eat. To illustrate my point, I took out my knife, and cut a six inch strip out of my lower leg. I took a bite of the chunk, and made a face as I spit it out. I offered it to the chief, who also took a bite. After chewing for several seconds, he also made a face, and spit it out, saying "Too tough, too tough". He let me go, and after several days of beating my way through the steaming jungle, I was rescued. Thats why, to this day, I always fly with a silkworm and sewing machine, and my trusty wooden leg. True Saga by Norm tektronix!tekred!normb