John King's memories of the Auster
I started learning to fly with the NAC Flying Club at Harewood in 1966. The club’s sole aeroplane at the time was Auster J/1B ZK–AXF which exhibited all the character traits mentioned opposite — including the kangaroo imitation if the pilot didn’t hold the stick hard back on touchdown.
All pilots remember their first solo. As Gerry Brown climbed out and fastened the straps at the edge of Christchurch’s western grass, his parting words were: “Remember, if it starts to bounce, don’t try to catch it but go around again.”
And it did, so I did. Nothing like two circuits to make your first solo stick in your mind. Gerry seemed happy with my decision and my training went on from there. Taxying out to the western grass across Christchurch’s near–permanent northeasterly always brought an excellent demonstration of brake fade and the need to position controls correctly.
I moved to Wellington a couple of years later and so didn’t fly AXF much in its new and refurbished guise with Lycoming up front, but the wider engine didn’t do a thing for forward visibility. Somebody thought the extra 20hp made a dorsal fin extension necessary, but all it really seemed to do was make crosswind taxying even worse.
The years in Wellington were almost Austerless but offered Super Cub glider towing at Paraparaumu. Another move northwards, this time with growing family in tow, was followed by a share in J/5 Adventurer ZK–AXJ, several steps upwards in both model number and registration.
In the 17 or so years I flew AXJ I was able to consider its characteristics in the light of rather more flying experience and maturity.
With its longer undercarriage legs the J/5 wasn’t quite as kangaroo prone as the J/1B, but it still demanded full aft stick at the moment of touchdown. The ailerons were heavy and ineffective, needing a decent amount of rudder whenever the stick was away from central, making me over–rudder everything since.
The worst manoeuvre was a crosswind takeoff, with the aeroplane starting to skip sideways before the ailerons had enough effect to start putting a wing down. Crosswind landings by comparison were a doddle, but I never could wheel it on with any dignity. Three–pointers are so much more satisfying — when you get them right!
Only the front tank had a contents gauge, a direct reading device of commendable accuracy but confusing to the uninitiated who might wonder why all flights headed nearly eastwards near the destination — but even that died on me one evening in the worst possible conditions, on the outside of Otago Peninsula in an active front.
The so-called long–range tank underneath (the J/5’s shorter nose allowed only a 10¾gal main tank and not much by way of cross–countries) was never used for takeoff and landing. Its lack of gauge was never a problem as the Gipsy Major would pick up immediately on tank change, and the timing and ear born of experience caught the first hint of power loss — although pottering about at low power and level could bring a sudden interest in paddocks, and Cook Strait was always crossed on the front tank.
I flew the yellow Auster Nordo over most of New Zealand, from North Cape to Bluff and landing on Stewart Island and also Dog Island in Foveaux Strait. A few days after that Otago Peninsula flight, by far the worst I ever got myself into, I had the most pleasant possible.
Departing Martin’s Bay one afternoon, AXJ and I flew at low level in perfect conditions through the mountains, pausing at Makarora for a spot of mogas and Dingleburn for a cup of coffee and wait until the airshow tower at Wanaka went off watch. The highest I had to fly that whole day, through the Haast Pass and all, was for a 1500ft standard rejoin at Wanaka, just as a diamond nine formation of Tiger Moths went by underneath in the evening sun. Magic!
My everlasting memory of the Auster is of a friendly old aeroplane with plenty of character — although it could bite if one took undue liberties. It was the sort of aeroplane that gave the impression of being more than a mere mechanical device, where you hope nobody notices as you give it a little pat on the nose after wiping off the oil underneath and putting it away at the end of a long cross–country.
- Report by John King