Sat for long moments with eyes shut, breathing regularly. Then opened, looked around.
And fought off momentary resurgence of hysteria. Time-Life photos failed to communicate how big sequoias are. Scale of surroundings distorted reality: They looked normal; I felt small. No one could stand in clearing without reevaluating own importance in Scheme of Things. Example: Can walk better than ten feet laterally from centerline on top of log before encountering important grade — log, for Heaven’s sake…!
And looking up… Opening through foliage almost vanishes in distance, against background. Nobody, viewing this scene, would believe airplane gotten in here via own wings! Even miniature airplane. (Almost don’t believe it myself — combat computer one hot pilot…!)
Okay, enough awe, philosophy; places to go, things to do, people to meet. Stranded by sick engine nearly 100 miles from anywhere, with lightweight minimum of supplies, tools — and no mechanical background. (How’s that for promising scenario…?)
Looked around, evaluating surroundings with eye toward eventual departure. Quickly apparent that, while probably no more fun than arrival, flying out possible, assuming can get engine running: Ultralight designed for passenger weighing 250 pounds maximum; own weight a third that. Resultant angle-, rate-of-climb far better than manufacturer’s specifications. No problem anticipated climbing back to, through opening in greenery overhead, ascending chimney beyond to open sky.
Takeoff, however, potentially every bit as hairy as landing; reasons identicaclass="underline" Have to launch into forest, return; then circle wide end of glade, spiral up to, through opening.
Only “into forest” part gives pause. Done that already, thank you.
Return trip bound to be less thrilling, though. Ample time to scout route first; won’t be improvising second by second.
But no point worrying now. Becomes consideration only after manage to fix engine…
And background or no background, logic (and time spent looking over Adam’s shoulder [lectures almost as compulsively as Daddy]) dictates infernal combustion engine operation dependent on three primary requirements: gasoline, oxygen, spark. As side issue, need correct gas-air mixture. Spark timing critical also.
No, too basic; engine runs fine — but loses oomph after few seconds’ brisk operation. Now what easy-to-find, easy-to-repair-without-tools-or-specialized-knowledge failure could cause that?
(Sure better be something like that; only class of problem falling within expertise. Otherwise might as well be total.)
Pushed plane along trunk with some difficulty due to rough bark. Arrived at first tier of branches; turned ship about, nose toward roots. Employed light nylon line included in emergency kit to effect tiedown, using branches as anchor.
Yanked pull-cord. Came out by roots. Said bad word. Then prop-started engine gingerly — first time ever handled propeller with ignition on. Uncomfortable sensation: like violating parents’ warning about sticking fingers in electric fan.
Ran up, timed failure. First try produced full-throttle run of almost 20 seconds; then held consistently at five through five more tests.
Good; at least failure mode consistent. Nothing worse than trying to diagnose intermittent problem.
Now all had to do was figure out why…
Shut down engine again. Then realized had forgotten acoustical earplugs; Adam not kidding when remarked unprotected flight left him half-deaf. Exhaust note even louder, standing next to craft, than when flying; helmet offers degree of protection, plus some noise carried away by slipstream. Curious sensation: Yelled experimentally; felt voice in throat, but almost inaudible via ears.
Not particularly worried. Deafness following loud noises usually temporary; results when ears’ defenses cut in: Short-term paralysis of ossicles insulates inner ear from overload. Hearing probably return to normal soon if not further abused. (Of course, repeated exposure results in permanent loss, as rock concert aficionados often learned in past. Resolved to use earplugs faithfully hence.) Besides, even if permanent, deafness not treatable here, now. So ignored it; had other problems. Stared at engine, thought.
Problem with troubleshooting two-strokes is are so simple. Too simple: two pistons, two connecting rods, one crankshaft. Five moving parts. What can go wrong…? (Also had solid-state ignition, but if problem lay there — never mind…)
Ran through obvious rituals first: Replaced spark plugs (new this morning; unlikely to blame); checked for loose spark lead, condenser wire; clogged fuel pump, carburetor screens, etc.
Inserted earplugs, restarted engine, ran up, confirmed problem still present. Shut down, glared impotently.
Think: What demand increases with power setting? Gasoline, of course. Well, how about partially blocked fuel line? Perhaps allowing sufficient flow for lower output but starving engine above certain point? Sounded promising; theoretical failure matched real-life symptoms.
But how to test without wasting fuel? Certainly shouldn’t dribble on log. Nearly half gone when problem arose; none to spare.
Thought for moment; weighed priorities. Surroundings’ appearance suggested no dearth of water in area. Okay. Uncapped canteen, inverted, propped up; turned attention to fuel line.
Required strong fingers: Secured by stiff spring clips. Once clips removed, engine end came off without too much difficulty. Canteen empty by then so held line over opening, let flow.
Almost abandoned investigation before fairly begun; flow strong, steady, clearly adequate. But already invested water in experiment; might as well follow through. Continued, watching closely.
Bingo…! At ten-second mark flow suddenly dropped to trickle.
Smug thrill of triumph, self-satisfaction coursed through souclass="underline" So there, Adam — experience not everything; logic works, too…!
Okay, now problem isolating cause of blockage. Probably something floating around inside tank. Anything big enough to block outlet surely visible to naked eye.
Momentarily plugged line with fingertip. Unscrewed fuel cap with other hand…
Tank hissed as cap loosened, like vacuum-packed jar. Detected immediate fuel-pressure increase against fingertip.
No — couldn’t be that simple! Or could it…?
Reinstalled fuel line on carburetor inlet. Poured fuel trapped in canteen back into tank (all but last drop, lest any water remain).
Removed cap all the way, peered down inside tank. Inlet four inches across; tank nicely crafted, bright light-alloy cylinder: Entire bottom visible if moved head around. And, as suspected, absolutely clean; nothing but gas/oil two-stroke mixture.
Then turned attention to cap. Was indeed vented, but cleverly so: intricate compound-leverage float-and-counterweight valve designed to plug breather during brief negative gees. Observed valve closely as inverted cap, then turned upright.
And there it was, big as life! Valve remained in closed position, sealing vent tightly. Textbook physics demonstration: Fuel not replaced by air as used; resultant vacuum resists further delivery, engine loses power.
Noted, without surprise, country of manufacture: German designers notorious for overengineering, obsession with excess gimmickry. Dieter Heinz, resident madcap mechanic/social critic at small VW dealership back home, possessed in ample measure practical field-worker’s contempt for Ivory-Tower theoreticians; opined most warranty recalls result of factory engineers’ insistence on devising ingenious solutions to nonexistent problems. Referred to resultant debacles as “chooting zemzelves een ze voot.”