When the clouds below turn to into carpet
Up there in the cold morning light,
The VFR pilot jitters and frets:
Time to check fuel, to come up with a plan
To search for a hole in the billow below,
And bring the craft in to land.
So it was when a pilot coming back from a lark,
Flew in a circle somewhere over Williston,
Above clouds turning thicker and dark.
In his office sat Phil, across the state line,
When the radio crackled, pleading a break:
"VFR practice," he thought, "He's probably fine."
Phil headed to lunch, had an errand to do...
Drove downtown for a couple of hours,
Returning somewhere around 2:00.
The radio tone carried tired despair
When Phil walked back in from his break
And heard the pilot, still stuck in the air.
Phil knew that the fuel must be drained
In the old Piper Cub overhead,
So he logged a flight plan and ran for his plane.
He flew to the east and banked to the north,
Rising above the gray carpet below,
And spotted the wanderer holding its course.
Coming in fast, cutting his distance by half,
"Super Cub over Williston, this is Bonanza
On your left. How much fuel do you have?"
"About 30 minutes," came a despondent reply,
Standard answer, but gauging the hours,
Phil calculated the response was a lie.
"I am going to fly by your side.
Follow me and dive when I dive;
Keep contact and enjoy the ride."
The planes in tandem turned around;
Phil flew by IFR to find the runway end,
Backed off the throttle, and led them down.
The tail dragger followed, did not complain,
Dropped into the soup gliding blind
Except for the strobe on the faster plane.
The old Cub flared when Phil said, "Land!"
Settled onto the runway end as the propeller stalled,
And Phil had saved a desperate man.
On the hangar wall now hangs a plaque,
Though Phil himself is gone,
The Governor's gift for bringing a flyer back.
--------------
My brother once watched Phil Petrik of Sidney Aviation fly off the Sidney runway, disappearing into a pea soup fog, carrying our father and mother on an emergency flight to Billings, to save my father's life.
I lay this poetic rose upon Phil's grave as a slim tribute to a man who earned my admiration and life long gratitude. Rest In Peace, Phil Petrik.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
When the clouds below turn to into carpet
Up there in the cold morning light,
The VFR pilot jitters and frets:
Time to check fuel, to come up with a plan
To search for a hole in the billow below,
And bring the craft in to land.
So it was when a pilot coming back from a lark,
Flew in a circle somewhere over Williston,
Above clouds turning thicker and dark.
In his office sat Phil, across the state line,
When the radio crackled, pleading a break:
"VFR practice," he thought, "He's probably fine."
Phil headed to lunch, had an errand to do...
Drove downtown for a couple of hours,
Returning somewhere around 2:00.
The radio tone carried tired despair
When Phil walked back in from his break
And heard the pilot, still stuck in the air.
Phil knew that the fuel must be drained
In the old Piper Cub overhead,
So he logged a flight plan and ran for his plane.
He flew to the east and banked to the north,
Rising above the gray carpet below,
And spotted the wanderer holding its course.
Coming in fast, cutting his distance by half,
"Super Cub over Williston, this is Bonanza
On your left. How much fuel do you have?"
"About 30 minutes," came a despondent reply,
Standard answer, but gauging the hours,
Phil calculated the response was a lie.
"I am going to fly by your side.
Follow me and dive when I dive;
Keep contact and enjoy the ride."
The planes in tandem turned around;
Phil flew by IFR to find the runway end,
Backed off the throttle, and led them down.
The tail dragger followed, did not complain,
Dropped into the soup gliding blind
Except for the strobe on the faster plane.
The old Cub flared when Phil said, "Land!"
Settled onto the runway end as the propeller stalled,
And Phil had saved a desperate man.
On the hangar wall now hangs a plaque,
Though Phil himself is gone,
The Governor's gift for bringing a flyer back.
--------------
My brother once watched Phil Petrik of Sidney Aviation fly off the Sidney runway, disappearing into a pea soup fog, carrying our father and mother on an emergency flight to Billings, to save my father's life.
I lay this poetic rose upon Phil's grave as a slim tribute to a man who earned my admiration and life long gratitude. Rest In Peace, Phil Petrik.
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