Amazing Aviation Stories, Volume 1 E-Book

Gerhard Gruber

• Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 306

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

In a series of entertaining stories, Gerhard Gruber shares insights from his 55 years in aviation. Not only are they filled with humor, but they're also informative and written in a way that's easy to understand, even for readers with no background in aviation. Some stories are almost too unbelievable, if it weren't for the photos to prove them true. Whether it's the odd tale of a lost control tower cabin on a country road or behind-the-scenes moments at the airport, each account offers captivating insights into aviation and the glamorous world of the jet set, where luxury, fame, and global adventure are part of daily life.

Leseprobe

Contents

Foreword

Chapter 1 - The Early Days

1. Doubts About my Fitness to Fly

2. The Pot of Luck and the Pot of Experience

3. Financing the Glider License

4. A Face-To-Face with Death

5. Chased by the Police Helicopter

6. The Iron Curtain in the 1960s

7. Rescue from the Tree Tops

8. A Honeymoon in a Motor Glider

9. The Legend Harry Reyer

10. Why won't the Damn Thing Fly?

11. The Beginnings of Simulators - The Link Trainer

12. Scare During the First Parachute Drop Flight

13. The Blocked Propeller

14. The Tower Disaster

15. The Belly Landing

16. The Angry Aircraft Urinator

17. Once Through the Gravel Pit

18. Dog Attack on the Airplane

19. Skyliner, Austria’s Shortest-Lived Airline

20. Seconds from Disaster

21. Collision with a Deer

22. Without an Airspeed Indicator through the Icing

23. The Shellfish Poisoning in Venice

24. No Long-Distance Flight without a Mustard Jar

25. Powerless Through the Night

26. Out of Fuel in Mykonos

27. The Australia Project

28. Low Pass over Vienna

29. The Nightly Parcel Service Flights

30. The Scenic Flight Prank with Elke

31. Tipsy to Austria’s Youngest Flight Instructor

32. Touching - The End of an Aviation Career

Chapter 2 - Vienna Airport

33. The Winter Weather Misforecast

34. The Brilliant Con-Man

35. The Airship Projects

36. Without a Suitcase to The State Reception

37. The Secret Command Room

38. The Airport-Wide PC Ban

39. Legal Oddities

40. The Taxiway Signs

41. The Fight Against the Wind Turbine

42. The Friendly Dating Prank

43. The Cargo Package in the Field

44. The Curious Weather Checks

45. Wreck Search during Fog

46. Small Trees, Big Impact

47. The Wintry Boeing Ride Across the Grass

48. The Speeding Crew Bus Driver

49. Linz Director Hosts Stranded Vienna Airport CEOs

50. The Hapag Lloyd Crash

51. The Apparent Criminal Case

52. Encounter in the Everglades

53. Alois and his Unnoticed Emergency Landing in Vienna

54. As ORF Commentator for the A380’s Maiden Flight

55. Airshow Fischamend - A Centennial Project

56. The End of the "Gloriette"

57. My Worldwide Surface Markings

58. No Further Options Remain - The Airport Closures

Chapter 3 -The Jet Age

59. Fending Off the Unfair Competition

60. With the Air Ambulance back Home

61. Christa Fluck, World’s Youngest Female Jet Pilot

62. The Limits of Human Performance

63. The Sandstorm and the Airplane Stairs

64. The Reluctant Takeoff of the Citation

65. When Times were Different

66. The Maldives Operation

67. The First Jet Landing in Wiener Neustadt East

68. Pranks on ihe New Crew Members

69. The Race against Niki Lauda

70. The Bizarre Search for Land in Alaska

71. The Opening of the East

72. The Powerful Challenger

73. Icing is Nothing to Trifle With

74. The Forgotten Passports in Moscow

75. Viennair’s Legendary Blowout

76. Ghana’s President

77. Engine Failure with the Federal Chancellor

78. Deportation Flights

79. The Faked Noise Violation

80. Emma’s Naked Bottom

81. Loss of Navigation over the Atlantic

82. The Skid with Niki Lauda

83. The Rocket Launch in Baikonur

84. In Underwear into the Luxury Hotel

85. The Flight to the Solar Eclipse

86. The Tough Show Business of Andy Lee Lang

87. The Cultural Faux Pas in Dallas

88. With the Foreign Minister at the Wrong Airport

89. The Funeral in Uzbekistan

90. The Shocked Federal President

91. Despite 9/11 to America

92. Eventful Government Flight to Gabon

93. James Bond on Board

94. The Nasty Prank on Bettina

95. Flight with Princess Caroline and Prince August

96. A Passenger takes Control

97. Around the World with Two Legends

98. The Faulty Backup for the Queen

99. Aircraft Repair with Chewing Gum

100. In The Bedroom of an Arabian Princess

101. The Landing at the Wrong Airport

102. Preparation for a Crash Landing

103. The Oil Minister’s Camel Milk

Foreword / Author’s Note

Many years ago, I began jotting down key points about all my experiences. The motivation to turn it all into a book finally came during the Covid pandemic, inspired by my dear wife Sabine and a few close friends. The idea proved to be the right one. This was confirmed by the enthusiastic response I received on Facebook when I published a few stories in advance.

Writing this book became a very special kind of reminiscence. One story led to another, and long-forgotten memories resurfaced. Before long, I had so many stories that they would have exceeded the scope of a single volume. So yes, there will be a second book, filled with stories just as fascinating as those in this one.

To document everything accurately, I carried out extensive research. The photographs I had taken from the beginning turned out to be extremely helpful. Time and again, sometimes by roundabout ways, I managed to reconnect with friends I hadn’t seen in up to 50 years. It took three busy years to write this book. But it also felt like a journey through time, and it was an immense joy to relive all my aviation experiences once more.

Even if some stories sound unbelievable, they are almost all things I personally experienced. Only in very few cases was I not directly present. I included those stories either because they tied into my own experiences or helped paint a fuller picture of a particular era.

This book was written with the intention of being easily understood, even by readers without a background in aviation. For this audience in particular, it offers an exclusive behind-the-scenes look into the world of flying. Many stories recount events from the glamorous jet set world, moments that usually never make it into the public eye.

Still, I am convinced that aviation professionals will also find much of interest here. After all, not many can claim to have lost an air traffic control tower on a country road, or to have nearly been crushed by a crashing Airbus. These are just small glimpses into my extraordinary journey.

To young aviators, this book aims to show what aviation was really like back then. When I began flying in 1970, the law regulating pilot licenses had only been in place for 11 years. Many flights felt like deadly dares, and accidents were almost considered normal. The standards in training, operations, and technology were light years away from today’s regulations. And that applied not only to those in the cockpit, but to those on the ground as well. I am truly grateful I survived that era. I doubt anyone today could even imagine doing what we did back then.

Finally, this book is also meant to inform my relatives and close circle. In conversations, I kept hearing: “We haven’t seen each other in years. I had no idea what you’ve been through.” It is true. I spent most of my time abroad, so this group really didn’t see or hear much of me. I want to make up for that now with these stories, especially for my dear mother, who became my biggest fan while reading the early drafts.

Acknowledgments:

Among the many people and organizations who supported me in writing this book, I would first and foremost like to thank my wonderful wife Sabine. She was the one who suffered most, seeing me for long stretches of time only as a silhouette behind the office door, typing away at the keyboard. To make it a little easier on her, I often waited until she had fallen asleep before sneaking back into the office.

Additional support came from the Kronen Zeitung, Kurier, and ORF. They provided reports from their archives and kindly granted me permission to publish them.

In my circle of friends, there are also a few published authors. Their advice helped me a great deal, and I’m sure it allowed me to avoid quite a few missteps along the way.

The largest group of contributors were the roughly 100 protagonists and informants. With their help, I was able to reconstruct long-forgotten details. Many of them also gave me permission to use their photos and mention them by name.

I would also like to thank Vienna Airport. Not only was it my main employer for 45 years, but it also supported me throughout all those years in my aviation activities. In particular, I would like to mention my assignments as an airline pilot, the airshow in Fischamend, and the presentation of this book.

Gerhard Gruber

PS #1: Some of the stories are also available as videos. You can find them on my YouTube channel sunflyer54.

PS#2: While working on this book, it quickly became clear that not all stories would fit into a single volume. So yes, there will be a second book coming soon.

Chapter 1 - The Early Days

1. Doubts About my Fitness to Fly

Even as a child, aviation was the only thing that mattered to me. The typical childhood career dreams like becoming a firefighter or police officer were never of interest to me. I was fascinated by flying birds and would run after my model airplanes with great enthusiasm. Even on car trips through Austria, my parents had to stop at every airfield so I could take in a few impressions.

The dream of becoming a pilot felt like a utopia at the time. It was in June 1964, on the last day of fourth grade, when our teacher asked what we wanted to be when we grew up. When I said “pilot”, the entire class burst into loud laughter at such an unrealistic goal.

My father was also aware of my ambitions, and during a visit to the Prater, he came up with the bizarre idea of testing my flight suitability with the Sturmboot (storm boat). It was a giant swing for around 30 people, located at the eastern end of the Prater. You can still see the ride today, although it is clearly no longer in operation.

My father said: “If you want to become a pilot, you’ll have to be able to handle this.”

Although I was a fearful teenager, I knew that if I didn’t pass this “pilot test”, I’d have no chance in aviation. So I thought: get in the Sturmboot, grit your teeth, and push through.

At first, it was a gentle rocking motion, but soon the swings became violent and intense. It tilted 90° in one direction and then 90° in the other. At the highest point, you would slightly lift off the seat before plummeting down in free fall and being pressed back into the seat.

It didn’t take long before I started feeling nauseous. But failure in this “pilot test” was out of the question. So I closed my eyes, sank into the seat, and waited for the ordeal to be over.

I sat pale and lethargic in the seat, and I didn’t even react to my father’s attempts to shake me awake. The other passengers noticed this, shouted down, and demanded an emergency stop. Embarrassed, we left the Sturmboot, which restarted with the remaining passengers. What followed was a scolding of my father that lasted several minutes, ending with the remark: “You’ll never become a pilot.”

Undeterred, I began my training as a glider pilot on September 19, 1970.

In the first few weeks, I briefly had doubts about my fitness to fly. It was a day with good thermals, and my flight instructor Josef Fischer showed me how to gain altitude by circling. He normally only flew with students in the traffic pattern and was thrilled to do something different for a change. We circled to the left, then to the right, flew straight for a bit, and continued like that for about an hour.

Had I been flying myself, it probably wouldn’t have been a problem, but as a passive observer it didn’t take long before a queasy feeling came over me. Regretfully, I asked for an early landing.

It soon became clear that these two experiences were not representative of my flying career.

In 1976, I earned the aerobatics rating for both gliders and powered aircraft, and starting in 1978 I was even a flight instructor for powered aerobatics.

I have never felt sick again to this day.

Story #3: Vöslau Airfield in 1970, the beginning of my Glider Training (far left). On the far right is Ewald Kreuzinger, who also made it to an Airlinepilot

Story #3: Restringing a Grunau Baby with Josef Klingelmayer

2. The Pot of Luck and the Pot of Experience

It is said that at the beginning of a pilot’s career, one receives a full pot of luck and an empty pot of experience. The goal is to fill the experience pot before the luck pot runs empty.

So far I can say — I managed. Sometimes only just barely, but I did. Many of my flying comrades weren’t so lucky.

My first terrible experience happened already on October 11, 1970, just a few weeks after the start of my glider training at Vöslau airfield.

My comrade Kurt Gebauer wanted to do five short traffic pattern flights with his SF-26 to extend his glider license. I was his launch assistant and helped him get in and hook up the tow cable.

The first three flights, each about 4 minutes long, went smoothly. On the fourth approach, he made an awkward maneuver, lost airspeed, and crashed right before my eyes. He was dead instantly.

Especially in the early days of my flying, the quality of training and the official oversight were far below today’s standards.

Since 1970, 41 of my friends or close acquaintances have died. The majority of them because of disregarding regulations or carelessness. Only one of those 41 deaths was due to a technical failure.

It was always shocking, of course, but in a way also almost “normal” to walk behind a coffin several times a year.

One would console oneself with the words: “He died a pilot’s death.”

In my 54 years as a pilot, I have sometimes been very lucky. The most striking experiences I have recorded in this book.

Story #2: The Crash of Kurt Gebauer on October 11, 1970 at Vöslau Airfield

Story #2: The saddest Photo in my Collection. All of them were close Friends, and each one died in a separate Crash. From left to right: Hans Osel (October 25, 1981 in Trausdorf), Karl Scherz (August 19, 1984 near Dornbirn), and Gernot Sommeregger (October 23, 1976 near Mürzzuschlag).

3. Financing the Glider License

After a few years of flying model planes, I had a clear goal: I wanted my glider license. One big hurdle on the way to becoming a glider pilot was getting my parents’ approval. Since I was underage, I needed their signature — and they made it conditional on good school grades. Mine were never particularly great, but in the summer of 1970 they were just good enough to get the signature I had dreamed of for so long.

Luckily, I only lived twenty minutes from the Vöslau Kottingbrunn airfield by bike. When I turned sixteen, I got an old one seat moped, a Puch MS VS 50 D— known as the postman’s moped. That made the trip even quicker.

A much bigger problem was money.

My mother was a housewife, and my father was the sole earner, working for the Vienna Local Railway. I didn’t get any allowance and, as a student, had no income. What I did have, though, was a big extended family full of uncles, aunts, grandmas and grandpas — and they had plenty of birthdays and name days to celebrate. On average, I’d get 10 Schillings for congratulating someone — about 71 cents. That was exactly the price of a winch launch.

Like most teenagers back then, I tried smoking. A pack of cigarettes cost the same as a winch launch. That made the decision easy — after the first pack, I was done. I’ve never smoked again.

A surprisingly steady source of money was selling my school sandwiches at technical school. Depending on the filling, each one earned me 5 to 8 Schillings. My mother was incredibly proud that I always ate everything and still came home hungry. I can still hear her voice: “You’re such a good eater — you’ll be someone one day.”

The real jackpot came from playing the accordion at local events and wine taverns. I started learning at twelve, and four years later it was enough to earn a little cash. My hit “Stellts meine Ross in Stall” always brought the most coins into the tip bowl.

There was another way to support my flying lessons: helping out at the gliding club. Work meant discounts on flight fees. And there was always something to do, especially in winter, when the gliders were overhauled in the workshop. There was always something to paint, cover, sand or fix.

There was also work at the airfield itself. In 1973, for example, we built a new front section on the old bunker to make more room for aircraft. That building is still there today — it’s now home to the Austrian Aviation Museum.

Story #3: Playing the Accordion was one of the Financial Foundations for my Glider Training

4. A Face-To-Face with Death

It was spring 1973, one of the first fog-free days of the year when flying was finally possible again. My friend Willi and I met at the Vöslau airfield for a flight together. Willi already had his private pilot license and was just as eager for sunshine as I was. The sky was about 75 percent covered with clouds, but through the holes we could see the blue sky above. We decided to climb through one of those openings to finally soak up some sun.

Willi had booked the Cessna C150, registration OE AVS. Since I only had a license for motor gliders, I was allowed to fly along in the right seat as a passenger. After takeoff we headed toward Berndorf, found a gap in the clouds and began climbing with full power. Unfortunately, we had completely overestimated the climbing performance of the C150. Within seconds we were inside the clouds.

And that brought several serious problems. The aircraft was not equipped for instrument flight, and neither of us had experience flying in clouds. Without instruments like an artificial horizon, you quickly lose your sense of orientation, fall for illusions, lose control — and according to long-term statistics, it takes 178 seconds before you’re dead. That’s how long it takes either to crash into the ground or for the aircraft to break apart under extreme stress.

We were well on our way to becoming part of the statistic. Willi struggled with the controls, and we went through everything from stall warnings to overspeed alarms and high g-forces. I sat beside him, eyes wide with fear, just waiting to see what would happen. In the middle of the chaos, Willi suddenly shouted, “You take the controls!” Caught off guard by this unexpected handover, I quickly ran through my options.

My only hope was a pneumatically driven turn coordinator. Luckily, I had just recently received some flight training material from the US about instrument flying. One section explained how the turn coordinator shows the aircraft’s rotation around its vertical axis. Using that knowledge, I was able to stop the spiral dive and fly more or less straight. I carefully corrected our steep climbs and descents by watching the altimeter. That gradually calmed down the wild flight movements — and the spinning compass too.

But then came the next shock. According to the compass, we were flying west — straight toward the high mountains. We were still inside the clouds, and I had no idea how much altitude we had lost while trying to get the plane under control.

From those US training materials, I knew that flying a standard rate turn for sixty seconds would bring us exactly in the opposite direction. I asked Willi to time me, and using the turn coordinator, I slowly turned the Cessna around. After about ten minutes I figured the mountains were behind us, and I carefully started to descend. My calculation worked, and after a short time we broke out of the clouds near the airfield.

The idea of continuing the flight was out of the question. We were more than done for the day and landed back at Vöslau.

That experience was the most critical moment of my flying career. It still lingers in my bones. It shaped me deeply and made it clear how quickly things can go wrong — sometimes all it takes is a few wrong decisions.

Many of the choices I made later as flight operations manager, fleet chief and chief pilot were conservative for that reason. But I can proudly say that in none of the ten or so aviation companies where I held a leadership role did we ever have a single flight accident.

Story #4: The Display of a Turn and Bank Indicator - it saved my Life in 1973

5. Chased by the Police Helicopter

The 1970s were nothing like today. A few of my teachers and flying buddies had even flown in World War II. They no longer had fighter planes, but their flying style hardly changed. When I started in 1970, they were our heroes, eager to show the next generation “what you can get away with.”

Showing courage was everything. Sticking to aviation rules came a distant second, if you even knew them. Not everyone survived that attitude, and thankfully the era has passed.

My home field back then was Bad Vöslau, where people really did say, “Let’s fly to Trausdorf for a coffee, whoever climbs higher than ten metres loses.”

As a glider pilot, wild activities had limits: you could only climb when the air rose faster than the plane sank. If you got too low, you had to land. The invention of the motor glider changed all that. With one small extra test, a glider pilot could fly a powered aircraft and climb out from any altitude. Suddenly the door opened to tempting low level flights, and mishaps were inevitable. One pilot even came back with a shattered plexiglass canopy after an angry hiker on Schneeberg smashed it with a snowball.

On Saturday, 28 April 1973, I had my own low flight planned with my friend Norbert Kreuzinger. My fiancée Herta lived beside the south motorway in the outskirts of Traiskirchen-Möllersdorf. The distance and fuel cost just fit my thin student budget. Herta, her parents and the neighbours waited in the garden for my fly-past.

I first crossed the house at about 150 metres, heading north, checking for other traffic. The sky was clear - so throttle back, pull left and down, a dive on the house, a pass at chimney height, throttle up, pull away and… I saw a police helicopter right in front of me.

With my modest 68 horsepower I tried to climb to the legal minimum of 150 metres as fast as possible. The police helicopter sank to my level; we met at 127 metres and from that moment he would not leave my side. He hovered about thirty metres off my right wing, clearly planning to escort me to land at Vöslau. I was determined to avoid that.

I kept my eyes forward while Norbert and I whispered options. Formation pilots sometimes grin at each other, but Norbert, sitting on the right, reported, “He looks really angry.” That settled it: I would not land with a police escort.

We were already close to home base and the helicopter still glued itself to my wingtip. Then an idea: pretend to head for Spitzerberg airfield. For a motorway patrol helicopter that was too far from its track. I turned left toward Spitzerberg airfield, sneaked a glance - he was still there. Now the helicopter and the growing bill both had me sweating.

After a few endless minutes Norbert suddenly said, “He’s gone.” To be safe we stayed on course for Spitzerberg a bit longer, then turned back, landed at Bad Vöslau and left the airfield in a hurry.

Next day everyone already knew. The helicopter unit in Meidling had phoned the airfield right after we landed.

The authorities and the chairmen of the flying club went easy on me: a four-week flying ban, but I had to show up and work on the field every day.

Story #5: This Type of Helicopter was escorting us

6. The Iron Curtain in the 1960s

After the Second World War a heavily guarded border was set up between the democratic nations in the West and the dictatorships in the East. Because it was considered impassable, lined with watch-towers and mines, people called it the Iron Curtain. In Austria this affected the frontiers with what was then Czechoslovakia and with Hungary. One section of the Iron Curtain was the Berlin Wall, which split the city into West and East Berlin.

Only a handful of people managed to escape to the West; most attempts ended in death. The Berlin Wall Museum gives an impressive look at that era, including home-built aircraft used in escapes. One such craft, a powered hang glider, even landed at Vienna Airport on 4 August 1984.

There were escape attempts with military aircraft too, some successful, others fatal.

I began flying professionally to Eastern Europe in 1985. The Iron Curtain remained until 1989, so I witnessed both the situation before the borders opened and the changes that followed.

The curtain’s impact on aviation was huge. Berlin faced drastic flight restrictions: only the four Allied powers - USA, Britain, France and the Soviet Union - were allowed to land at Tegel and Tempelhof in West Berlin. Anyone else had to land in the German Democratic Republic at Berlin-Schönefeld and ride a corridor bus through East German territory to the border crossing at the Iron Curtain. The crossing was restricted with massive concrete barriers that forced the bus to drive serpentine lines.

The whole scene felt scary; there was hardly a spot without heavily armed soldiers. No one even thought of taking photos, trying would almost certainly have meant an extended stay.

Any aircraft from the West approaching the border was seen as a potential attack, escape aid or at least espionage. The response on the far side of the Austrian border was correspondingly harsh.

Depending on the situation, border violations brought one of three outcomes:

a) A military aircraft guided you back to Austria—the friendliest option, and it happened only during the Prague Spring in 1968.

b) The foreign jet intercepted you and forced you to land.

c) The fighter passed so close that the turbulence destroyed your plane, which then crashed. That happened on 26 July 1973 to a Job-15 registered OE-CAP after take-off from Spitzerberg, to a Cessna 150 near Frauenkirchen struck by a MiG-21, and to a motor glider SF-25 near Dobersberg.

Pilots sometimes simply got lost and strayed across the line. Fighter jets patrolled just beyond the border nonstop.

To prevent accidental crossings, Austria established a flight restriction area called Grenzzone LOR-14 on 15 November 1974. It was a corridor about eight kilometres wide and could be entered only under certain conditions - for example, if an airfield lay inside it.

Story #6: The powered Hang Glider at Vienna Airport in 1984

While researching border violations I came across many different cases. My stories normally cover only events that I witnessed myself or that happened within my circle, but to show how tense those times really were I feel the next two incidents have to be told.

The fleeing MiGs in 1956

I was only two years old then, so I remember nothing of it, but later I met Martin Steiner, the owner of the inn in Pamhagen. He told me the story and kindly opened his large archive for me.

The date was 21 January 1956, just a few months after Austria had regained full sovereignty. Two MiG-15 fighters carrying Hungarian markings and flown by Hungarian pilots tried to escape across the border into Austria.

Their flight was discovered. Two MiG-17s with Soviet markings took off from the air base at Győr to intercept them. The MiG-17s were faster, yet they failed to catch the fugitives before the state border. They crossed into Austrian airspace and tried to force the two MiG-15s to turn back over the Seewinkel region.

Eyewitnesses from Pamhagen said the pursuers opened fire over Lake Neusiedl. They also reported that Soviet Captain Nikolai Konoklov rammed one of the MiG-15s. The collision happened near Pamhagen at about five thousand metres altitude.

Konoklov managed to eject and came down safely by parachute. The Hungarian pilot was killed in the crash. One of the other MiGs returned to Hungary; the fate of the fourth aircraft was never clarified.

During questioning by Austrian authorities Konoklov stated that he and a comrade had taken off from Győr to follow two aircraft of “unknown nationality” and make them turn back. He denied firing on the fugitive aircraft or ramming it on purpose.

The Austrian cabinet immediately asked the Foreign Ministry to lodge a strong protest in Budapest over the violation of Austrian airspace.

Story #6: The crashed MIG-15 near Pamhagen in 1956; Photo: Martin Steiner

The exploded MIG-21 near Andau

On July 7, 1981, two Hungarian MIG-21s flew into Austrian airspace near Andau without permission. Eyewitnesses reported that they were chasing a small sports plane from Hungary. The MIG pilot, Lieutenant Istvan Meszaros, apparently lost control of his plane, which crashed and exploded violently on impact due to the loaded ammunition. Istvan Meszaros saved himself with the ejection seat.

My flying buddy Michael Puxkandl was a military pilot in Graz-Thalerhof at the time. He was ordered to take off with a Saab 105Ö fighter-bomber and secure the airspace. He was able to prevent a Hungarian helicopter from also entering Austrian airspace without permission and flying out the pilot of the MIG-21 who had bailed out.

Even National Champions crossed the Border

Wolfgang Oppelmayer is a passionate pilot with an impressive record. His most extraordinary achievement came in 1979, when he accomplished something that has never been matched: he won every motor flying competition in Austria that year, earning him the national championship title. At the same time, he also became the Austrian champion in glider flying.

He went on to win the Lower Austria motor flying championship more than twenty times, and at world championships he took home two silver and three bronze medals.

I got to know Wolfgang during our airline pilot training course at Austrian Airlines in 1986. Since he had been the airfield manager at Spitzerberg for many years, I gave him a call to ask if he knew of any border incidents from that time.

To my surprise, he said, “I was actually over there myself,” and told me the following story:

It happened on 18 April 1968. Wolfgang was flying his first cross-country glider flight to earn his Silver C badge (which requires, among other things, a distance of at least 50 kilometers). He was flying a Ka-8, registration OE 0655.

Pleased with his progress, he accidentally crossed into Czechoslovakia near Znaim. He only realized this when he suddenly saw a single engine propeller aircraft - a Meta Sokol - flying beside him. Inside were three men wearing large flat caps who gave him hand signals, indicating the direction back to Austria.

He changed course as instructed, and all three men gave him a thumbs-up to show that everything was fine and no further trouble would follow.

Wolfgang’s big stroke of luck was that this happened during the Prague Spring. Before or after that short political thaw, things probably would not have gone so smoothly.

When Wolfgang spotted a black roof with the word “Ziegelwerk” painted in white, he knew he was back in Austria and landed.

As it happened, he was seen by a man who had worked as a mechanic for the Me-109 fighter during the war. The man helped him dismantle the Ka-8. But as Wolfgang told me, in hindsight he should have waited with that. It was very cold, and the retrieve crew with the trailer didn’t arrive until 11 p.m. With the disassembled fuselage lying on its side, he couldn’t use it as shelter anymore.

The Ka-8 still exists. Wolfgang has flown and cared for it all these years. When we spoke in May 2022, he was in the middle of giving it a full overhaul.

Story #6: Wolfgang Oppelmayer during the major overhaul of his Ka-8 in 2022

7. Rescue from the Tree Tops

In aviation, you sometimes end up helping recover an aircraft after a mishap. If you’re lucky, it’s resting in an open field, easy to reach, in good weather. But not every landing is ordinary - as my flying friend Edmund Fitz proved in the summer of 1973.

Back then, we had a motor glider at Bad Vöslau, an SF 25C with the registration OE 9050. It had side by side seating, which made cockpit communication easier but meant the fuselage couldn’t be built narrow and streamlined. That gave the aircraft not just a rather clumsy appearance, but also a lot of drag.

With the engine turned off, the SF 25C had a dreadful glide ratio. It could only stay airborne if there was very strong upwind. The term “motor glider” didn’t quite suit it.

Flying time was billed based on engine runtime, so many pilots tried to stretch their flights by keeping the engine off as long as possible. Edmund did just that, hoping to ride the ridge lift at Harzberg. As long as the wind held, all was well. But when it weakened, the aircraft began to lose altitude and slowly sank toward the trees.

Unfortunately, the cooled-off engine wouldn’t restart in time. In the few seconds left, the only remaining option was to land in the treetops.

Edmund wasn’t hurt, but found himself stuck ten metres above the ground, trapped in the swaying aircraft, afraid it might crash to the forest floor with him still inside.

Thankfully, the radio was still working, so he could report his awkward situation to the airfield. The first response?

“Come on, stop messing around — that’s not funny.”

Story #7+#8: The Motor Glider SF 25C, also used for the Honeymoon Trip

Story #7: The Transport of the disassembled Motor Glider after it was lowered from the Treetops to the Forest Floor using a Pulley

After a search aircraft had located Edmund, a rescue team set out to reach him. They threw him a rope, which he used to climb down - nervous, but relieved.

With a lot of effort, the aircraft was eventually lowered from the treetops to the forest floor. There, it was dismantled, carried in parts to a trailer, and later repaired.

My thanks go to Edmund, now 85 years old, whom I was able to track down fifty years later after some research. Together, we recalled the events of that unusual day.

8. A Honeymoon in a Motor Glider

What could be more fitting for an aviation-obsessed couple than to take their honeymoon by plane? Normally, that means flying off on a jet to a well-known holiday destination. But with our financial situation, we had to make do with a two seat motor glider with 68 horsepower. We weren’t even close to jet speed, cruising at just 130 kilometers per hour, but we could land on any grass airfield.

The wedding with my then-wife Herta took place on 17 August 1974, and just three days later we took off from Vöslau with a map and compass on the first leg of our journey. The goal: St. Georgen am Ybbsfelde, where we met up with friends I had just finished my compulsory military service with.

After a relaxed celebration and an overnight stay, we headed on toward St. Johann in Tirol. Bad weather was approaching fast, so we secured the motor glider to the ground with ropes and just barely made it to the hotel before the storm hit. It was the first time we experienced a severe thunderstorm in the mountains. The flashes of lightning and the echoing thunder rolling in the valley were downright spooky. The wind gusts were so strong that I could only hope the tie downs would hold.

The next morning, to our great relief, the glider was still right where we had left it. The rain had taken quite a toll, and we even spotted water inside the radio display. But luckily everything still worked. Once the last remnants of bad weather cleared, we took off toward our next stop - the airfield in Kapfenberg.

In perfect weather we flew along the Alps and enjoyed a breathtaking view. After a break and some food at the airfield, we refueled and flew the final leg back to our home base in Vöslau that same day.

For us, that was a fantastic journey. We were young and didn’t expect much - and our packing was just as modest. The motor glider had barely any space for luggage, and weight was limited too. All we could bring were our toothbrushes, one pair of underwear and one shirt. But back then, that was all we needed.

9. The Legend Harry Reyer