Twotter76
Masterless Samurai
- Joined
- Nov 26, 2001
- Posts
- 697
Found this on another forum - this really ought to be required reading for everyone. We never did get the watermelon story - perhaps he could post it here....
Chickens CAN Fly!
While this story will undoubtedly irk the local members of PETA, I'll tell it anyway for the aeronautical moral involved. And please--no FAR quotes on how dropping objects that could endanger someone on the ground. It wasn't me, our intrepid aviators launched the victims over a large grass runway, and besides, this episode was safer than the "skydiving watermelon" story, which I'll tell later.
There I was, in Gastonia NC (20 west of Charlotte) on a calm summer day 21 years ago. That is to say...we were bored to death. Like all bad ideas, this one started harmlessly enough.
"Hey, chickens can too fly" said Howard, part owner of the Stanley Steamer, a hideously yellow and green painted 150 standing rather sulkingly on its haunches on the ramp.
"No way!" was the retort from the rest of the crew, including CJ, our local expert on these matters. "Bull&$#&!)", he added with flair. They were buddies, which explained their disdain for each other's opinion. Both middle aged, one would think they would not worry about these things.
But worry they did, and the conversation degenerated to the inevitable "triple dog dare" phase, after which CJ disappeared for an hour only to return with a portable coop with, you guessed it, three white, mature, and unafraid chickens inside.
While Howard and CJ attempted to wrestle said coop into the back of the 150 (that in itself was entertaining), the rest of us placed small wagers on the outcome of these hapless birds. None of us were too worried about hurting them. I for one figured they would survive this, the first true "Survivor" episode, albeit without camera, producer or tribal vote.
Soon the birdmen, cum scientists, took off, carefully gonkulating the winds aloft, corriolis force and chicken visual descent point, climbing a bit above pattern altitude to begin their experiment. After the fact reporting indicated that Chicken #1, contrary to common belief, did not truly want out of that coop. Pecking a bit on the way out the barely-held-open door of a Cessna one knot above stall a thousand feet aloft, he finally exited the trusty craft aided by CJ's well developed right arm.
Now, I have heard numerous times that chickens are nearsighted. Don't know how any scientist has actually figured this out, but I trust their judgement. After all, are they the ones who have brought us the dinosaurs in Jurrassic Park? Didn't they invent those nifty Kevlar doors for JetBlue? In any case, I think the "chicken vision" issue came into play during this test.
Chicken #1, newly freed from the confines of Witchita's finest and falling rapidly toward mamma earth, suddenly figured that she was in freefall and had best start flapping. Unfortunatley, her crosscheck failed to note that she had already exceed Vne/Mmo. Chicken #1 suffered immediate, severe structural failure of the right wing. Entering a unrecoverable spin, she impacted the ground at warp six. No smell of fuel was found at the crash site.
After confering with our airborne scientists, nay, executioners via unicom, we concluded that a single experiment was not sufficient to verify our hypothesis (or validate our bets). Chicken #2 was prepared for takeoff.
Upon exit, Chicken #2 fell like a proverbial stone. As it neared the gound, however, it became apparent that Chicken #2 was literate. Simply put, she had obviously read Jonathan Livingston Seagull (vintage Richard Bach, pre-mushy phase). She saw the ground rising to meet her and began a gentle wing extension. Ahh--the sensation of flight... All of us "chickens can too fly" folk were cheering her on--everyone was yelling "pull, pull!" Ever closer to high speed dirt, Chicken #2 actually recovered out of it's dive, and, like an asymptotic curve in math, actually skimmed in ground effect for about 200 feet before entering a stand of trees at about 40 to 50 knots. After that the woods grew very quiet. We stood in reverence.
Nobody had the heart to throw #3 out, since our experiment was becoming too costly for our bird friends. We figured that we could chop off their heads and eat them, but throwing chickens out of a 150 at a grand was just too much.
Howard and CJ landed with ungenerous tales of feathers, chicken pecks and loud protestations from the about-to-be launched. We stood around in the afternoon dusk, still arguing the answer to our original question, which was evidently not proven either way to anyone's satisfaction.
And then, in the quiet peace of a southern airport at sunset, a small miracle ocurred. Chicken #2 emerged from the darkness and walked, somewhat unsteadily, out of the woods and onto the grass. She had soloed! Whaa-Hooo!
The celebration was huge, and #2 was allowed to return to her friends that evening. I'm betting that none of her coop-mates believed her story, though.
This story is absolutely true, though I cannot vouch for what ultimately happened to #2.
Chickens CAN Fly!
While this story will undoubtedly irk the local members of PETA, I'll tell it anyway for the aeronautical moral involved. And please--no FAR quotes on how dropping objects that could endanger someone on the ground. It wasn't me, our intrepid aviators launched the victims over a large grass runway, and besides, this episode was safer than the "skydiving watermelon" story, which I'll tell later.
There I was, in Gastonia NC (20 west of Charlotte) on a calm summer day 21 years ago. That is to say...we were bored to death. Like all bad ideas, this one started harmlessly enough.
"Hey, chickens can too fly" said Howard, part owner of the Stanley Steamer, a hideously yellow and green painted 150 standing rather sulkingly on its haunches on the ramp.
"No way!" was the retort from the rest of the crew, including CJ, our local expert on these matters. "Bull&$#&!)", he added with flair. They were buddies, which explained their disdain for each other's opinion. Both middle aged, one would think they would not worry about these things.
But worry they did, and the conversation degenerated to the inevitable "triple dog dare" phase, after which CJ disappeared for an hour only to return with a portable coop with, you guessed it, three white, mature, and unafraid chickens inside.
While Howard and CJ attempted to wrestle said coop into the back of the 150 (that in itself was entertaining), the rest of us placed small wagers on the outcome of these hapless birds. None of us were too worried about hurting them. I for one figured they would survive this, the first true "Survivor" episode, albeit without camera, producer or tribal vote.
Soon the birdmen, cum scientists, took off, carefully gonkulating the winds aloft, corriolis force and chicken visual descent point, climbing a bit above pattern altitude to begin their experiment. After the fact reporting indicated that Chicken #1, contrary to common belief, did not truly want out of that coop. Pecking a bit on the way out the barely-held-open door of a Cessna one knot above stall a thousand feet aloft, he finally exited the trusty craft aided by CJ's well developed right arm.
Now, I have heard numerous times that chickens are nearsighted. Don't know how any scientist has actually figured this out, but I trust their judgement. After all, are they the ones who have brought us the dinosaurs in Jurrassic Park? Didn't they invent those nifty Kevlar doors for JetBlue? In any case, I think the "chicken vision" issue came into play during this test.
Chicken #1, newly freed from the confines of Witchita's finest and falling rapidly toward mamma earth, suddenly figured that she was in freefall and had best start flapping. Unfortunatley, her crosscheck failed to note that she had already exceed Vne/Mmo. Chicken #1 suffered immediate, severe structural failure of the right wing. Entering a unrecoverable spin, she impacted the ground at warp six. No smell of fuel was found at the crash site.
After confering with our airborne scientists, nay, executioners via unicom, we concluded that a single experiment was not sufficient to verify our hypothesis (or validate our bets). Chicken #2 was prepared for takeoff.
Upon exit, Chicken #2 fell like a proverbial stone. As it neared the gound, however, it became apparent that Chicken #2 was literate. Simply put, she had obviously read Jonathan Livingston Seagull (vintage Richard Bach, pre-mushy phase). She saw the ground rising to meet her and began a gentle wing extension. Ahh--the sensation of flight... All of us "chickens can too fly" folk were cheering her on--everyone was yelling "pull, pull!" Ever closer to high speed dirt, Chicken #2 actually recovered out of it's dive, and, like an asymptotic curve in math, actually skimmed in ground effect for about 200 feet before entering a stand of trees at about 40 to 50 knots. After that the woods grew very quiet. We stood in reverence.
Nobody had the heart to throw #3 out, since our experiment was becoming too costly for our bird friends. We figured that we could chop off their heads and eat them, but throwing chickens out of a 150 at a grand was just too much.
Howard and CJ landed with ungenerous tales of feathers, chicken pecks and loud protestations from the about-to-be launched. We stood around in the afternoon dusk, still arguing the answer to our original question, which was evidently not proven either way to anyone's satisfaction.
And then, in the quiet peace of a southern airport at sunset, a small miracle ocurred. Chicken #2 emerged from the darkness and walked, somewhat unsteadily, out of the woods and onto the grass. She had soloed! Whaa-Hooo!
The celebration was huge, and #2 was allowed to return to her friends that evening. I'm betting that none of her coop-mates believed her story, though.
This story is absolutely true, though I cannot vouch for what ultimately happened to #2.
TC
