Above! He was too scared to drop. Gain height! Quick! Ballast! Willy reached forward and clawed at the ballast containers. He got one lid off, then another. Too slow! He jerked strings and four fell off like small bombs. No more within easy reach. He looked behind to see if he could reach those. No, he couldn’t get at them easily.
‘Pedal!’
Driven by desperation he pedalled frantically. The chains ground into a blur of noise.
No good! He was still heading for the wires.
But he had gained height. Not much, but perhaps enough. ‘No, must get rid of more ballast.’ He stopped pedalling and scrambled forward along the frame and released four more containers.
His movement upset the balance and the frame dipped down at the nose. And there were the wires, coming in on his left only metres away!
With speed born of desperation Willy scrambled back along the frame to his seat. The airship settled on an even keel.
“Yes! I am just above the wires,” he muttered -but only by a metre or so. Willy had an overpowering urge to draw up his feet even though his rational mind told him it was futile.
The mooring rope!
He looked down and reached for it.
Even as he did the first of the deadly wires slid by just underneath the frame. To his horror he saw the mooring rope touch the wire, then start to slide across it. Willy held his breath and waited for the searing flash he imagined would end his life.
It didn’t come. Another wire went past just under his feet. Of course! It was a plastic rope. It was insulated- or not a conductor- or whatever. Willy watched the rope slithering across the wires, his heart in his mouth and his fists clenched against his chest.
Thought of another peril came to him. If the rope snagged- say one of the knots- then the rope would pull the airship down across the wires. He tried not to visualize the massive surge of electricity passing through the frame- and through him. With pounding heart he watched each knot as it bumped its way across the power lines.
Then he realized the airship was still rising. The powerline was now well below and behind. Willy saw that he was higher than the steel pylons. With a gasp of relief he watched the end of the mooring rope flick free, to dangle below.
Shaking with shock he settled back onto the seat and gripped the handlebars. The wind seemed to have dropped and he was only drifting slowly. But it now looked an awful long way down. He floated across a dry, rocky creek bed full of black and brown boulders. Sun glinted on water for a second.
Willy looked around. “That must be Davies Creek,” he muttered. “Strewth! I’m close in to the mountains!”
In the hope that he might now be able to make some headway he resumed pedalling. For a minute he continued to drift backwards but as he got the machinery really whirring that motion stopped and he had a distinct sensation of sliding forward. Encouraged he pedalled harder and then turned the nose northwards. His spirits rose.
But he could not keep it up. Within minutes he was out of breath and sweating profusely. His heart hammered a warning to slow down. His throat went dry. He wiped sweat from his eyes. For a minute he sat panting, defeated but not really worried. The mountainside began to drift slowly closer.
‘Oh well! I will catch on a tree there and will be able to climb down,’ he told himself. ‘Pity about the airship though. It will be damaged, might even be wrecked, but we should be able to salvage most of it.’ He noted a gravel road winding its way up the hillside not far off. ‘I will be able to reach that and will walk down it.’
Willy also noted that the ridges were all in shadow on one side. He looked around and saw that the sun was very low in the west, almost touching the distant line of mountains. ‘Only about half an hour of daylight left,’ he decided. ‘I might make that road before it gets dark,’ he considered. He sat and tried to relax as the airship drifted closer and closer to the mountainside. Now he could see individual leaves, small twigs, stones on the ground, a rock wallaby.
“Any moment now,” he told himself, bracing himself for a crash.
Then he noted that the airship was still rising slowly. He was almost directly over a steep-sided ridgeline and could see out over a vast area of jungle-covered mountains. There was an irregular lake in the middle. ‘Lake Morris, behind the Copperlode Falls Dam,’ he noted with astonishment. That was the main water supply for Cairns. To his amazement Willy realized that he could see the edge of the coastal mountains clearly. ‘I am higher than them!’ he thought.
A curious flickering effect of the last of the sunlight on the western side of the ridge drew his attention. He puzzled over it for a moment then realized it was all the leaves fluttering in the wind. Branches began to thrash and toss. A really strong gust of wind was driving up the side of the mountain. It reached the airship which began to spin and pitch. The airship began to rise at a heart stopping speed. Willy cried out in fright and clung on for dear life.
CHAPTER 23
A WISH COME TRUE
At about the time Willy had lifted off on his unplanned flight three very sweaty army cadets completed their climb up the mountain. All three were dressed in their army camouflage uniforms and wore basic webbing. They had been unable to climb Kahlpahlim Rock, its sheer sides offering no safe hand-holds. Instead they had pushed on through a belt of stunted trees and moss forest to the base of the next huge outcrop of rock:- Lambs Head. Packs had been dropped and they had scrambled up onto the top of the massive granite dome.
For several minutes the three boys stood on the fringe of the wind-twisted trees which clung to the crown of the outcrop. In front of them was an expanse of smooth, sloping, bare rock. It was partly covered with moss and lichen but mostly was just smooth granite. Sheets of it were loose, the result of exfoliation weathering, and it all looked very dangerous. The sides curved down and away. On their right stood the massive bulk of Kahlpahlim Rock. Its sheer western side plummeted down for hundreds of metres out of sight, giving some indication of what lay a few paces in front of where they stood.
Peter sucked his teeth and shook his head. “This looks pretty dangerous,” he warned. “Keep well back from the sides. If you slip you will just go over.”
“Keep off those layers of loose rock too,” Graham added. “They are from ‘onion-skin’ weathering.”
“From what?” Roger asked.
“Weathering. The heat and cold cause the rock to break off in layers,” Graham explained. “We learnt about it in Geography.”
“You mean you actually pay attention in class!” cried Peter with mock horror.
“Yes I do. And it’s really interesting to see actual examples,” Graham replied. He walked cautiously out onto the highest point and stared westward. “What a fantastic view!” he cried. He flung his arms wide to indicate the vista that took in half the horizon.
“Worth the climb,” Peter agreed.
Roger gingerly followed them out and looked around keenly. Graham took out his maps.
“Always on the edge of two maps,” he grumbled as he spread them on the rock and placed stones on the corners to hold them down. He studied them for a minute and kept looking out. “I reckon we can see for a hundred kilometres. Look, that is the Little Mulgrave Valley on our left. And that is the main Mulgrave Valley to the south of it, with Mt Bartle Frere at the far end.”
“We should have climbed it this weekend. There is no cloud on it,” Peter said.
Below them to the west lay the valley of Davies Creek and beyond it was a massive jumble of jungle-covered ridges, as high as Lambs Head.
“What mountains are those?” Roger asked, pointing to the range that bulked as high as them a few kilometres to the south west. He wiped sweat from his brow and dropped his webbing, then pulled out a waterbottle.
“More of the Lamb Range,” Graham answered. “The closest one is Mt Tiptree and Mt Haig is the highest bit I think.” He studied the map and added, “This one here. It is one thousand, two hundred and sixty one metres.”
Peter stu
died the map and then looked out in that direction. “The Atherton Tablelands and Tinaroo Dam should be on the other side of it.”
“Yes,” Graham agreed. “And that is where Mareeba is, out that way.” He pointed into the haze of the setting sun.
“How high are we?” Roger asked. He took a big drink and wiped his mouth.
“Thirteen hundred and six metres according to this,” Graham replied.
“Is that the road we came up yesterday?” Roger asked, pointing down to where a ribbon of dirt showed briefly in a clearing far below them.
“Yes, that is the Davies Creek valley running off to the north.”
“Can we see Willy’s farm?” Roger asked as he returned his waterbottle to his webbing.
Graham studied the map, bit his lip and stared out. “It is out that way somewhere. I could work out an exact compass bearing.”
“Don’t bother,” Peter said. “I wonder if he got his airship airborne?”
“Hope so,” Roger said. He stood up and walked out further onto the bare rock. There he stood, shielding his eyes against the glare of the setting sun.
“Be careful Roger. Some of that rock looks pretty rotten. If you slip you will be history,” Graham called. He had to raise his voice to make himself heard against the wind which had suddenly got up. He knelt on one map and began folding the other.
“There is a real gust coming,” Peter warned, indicating the trees being buffeted down the slopes.
Graham hastily finished folding the map and pushed it into his map pocket. “We had better find a campsite too. It will be dark soon.”
“Don’t forget that it needs to be where Willy can see our fire,” Roger reminded. “We need proof that we climbed up here or those air cadets will rubbish us.”
“A photo will do,” Graham said. He put his other map away and extracted his camera. “Hold still Roger,” he called. The shutter clicked.
Roger suddenly pointed down the steep slope and shouted above the wind, which was now shaking the trees behind them and plucking at their clothes. “Hey! What is that?”
They all looked. Into their astonished gaze swept Willy’s airship. It came around the cliff face on the western side of Kahlpahlim Rock, swung round in a back-eddy which swirled it into the gap between the two peaks, then rose rapidly towards them. The balloon trembled and shook visibly in the strong wind.
“It’s Willy’s airship!” Peter cried in amazement.
“And he’s on it. Look!” Roger shouted, pointing to where a person could be seen pedalling frantically on the frame slung underneath.
The airship rose up to their height, pushed up by the wind curling fiercely up the ridge.
“Willy!” Graham shouted.
They saw his face turn. Astonishment and hope crossed a face governed by fear.
“Help!” came faintly to them against the wind.
An eddy or undertow swirled the airship in and down. For a moment the three cadets thought it would crash into them. Willy’s frightened face showed clearly. He pedalled in desperation.
That Willy was in terrible danger; and that the airship was out of control, was all too obvious. The frame skimmed low over their heads. Graham jumped up and tried to grab the frame. His fingers just tipped it. Then a counter-swirl of air from the other side of the mountain made the airship come to a shuddering, shivering halt. It began to slide backwards.
“Help!” Willy screamed. “Grab the rope!”
The mooring rope had dragged up onto the sloping rock. Roger reached down for it. The wind slewed the airship round and the rope slithered with it. Roger stepped forward and grabbed at it.
“Roger! Look out!” Peter yelled.
Roger suddenly fell on his side as the sheet of moss-covered rock he had placed his foot on slipped. He screamed and began to scrabble at the rock as he began to slide towards the edge of the abyss. The mooring rope slid across his front and he flung himself sideways to clutch at it, even as he began to plummet backwards over the edge. His scream of terror echoed against the wind.
Somehow his fingers closed on the rope, just above the knot forming the loop of the bowline. One moment he was slithering over the cliff, the next he was swinging wildly below the airship. Looking down he could see all of the sheer cliff face and tree tops far below. A spasm of sheer terror lanced through him and he screamed again.
Under Roger’s extra weight the airship dropped rapidly. One minute it was above the heads of Graham and Peter. The next it was sliding and scraping down the rock face below them. The two cadets stood stunned by the apparent tragedy unfolding before their eyes.
Roger shut his eyes and clung on. He screamed again as the rope gyrated wildly. Then he smashed into the rock face so hard he was winded and stunned. The force of it shook him so much he nearly let go but one terrified glance down tightened his grip. He swung out again over an appalling drop. The tree tops seemed to be rushing towards him.
Willy’s voice penetrated his fear-fuddled brain. Roger opened his eyes and looked up. Above him, swinging in dizzy circles, was the bulk of the airship. Willy was leaning over the side and shouting. Roger shook his head to clear it. Maybe he wasn’t going to die. The rope led up to the airship.
“Save me Willy! Save me!” he shrieked.
Willy pointed down. “Put your foot in the loop,” he yelled.
It took a moment for the meaning of the words and the furiously jabbing finger to penetrate. Then Roger looked down. The loop of the bowline was level with his chest. He wondered how to get into it. He did not dare let go, yet he could feel his fingers weakening. His arms felt as though they were being pulled from his sockets as he swung in wide circles. Hot pains shot up his forearms and wrists. He saw the cliff face rushing towards him again and braced himself for the blow, but the rope swung him away just before he struck.
Next he tried to curl up and get a foot into the loop but couldn’t. His arms and stomach muscles were not strong enough.
“Help me! I can’t do it!” he wailed in desperation.
“You must,” Willy cried. Willy looked around and noted they were still dropping fast. The wind seemed to have died away and they were in the lee of the rock. ‘I can’t let him die. I have to act fast,’ he told himself. He picked up the spare anchor rope, checked that it had a loop tied in the end of it; and that it was secured to the frame. In an instant he had unclipped the safety harness and passed the loop over his shoulders. The rope looked thin and he wasn’t sure if it was strong enough.
“Dad said five hundred kilograms breaking strain I think. I hope so,” he muttered. Without further thought he scrambled over the handlebars between the guy ropes. He ran along the frame like a monkey, pulling slip knots as he went. Water containers went plummeting down past Roger. One- two- three- four. No time to spare for more. Willy scrambled back and climbed over the side so that his feet gripped the mooring rope.
The movements had upset the balance of the airship. It tilted and wobbled. Roger went swinging in a crazy arc at the end of his rope, screaming in terror. Willy could see he had only moments to save him. He slid down the ten metre rope from knot to knot, burning his hands but not caring.
As he reached the knot above Roger’s hands Willy took his feet off the rope. He swung them out, bumped Roger hard on the shoulders, then closed his legs around Roger’s waist. For a moment he hung there, winded, his palms stinging.
What to do next?
“Help!” croaked Roger. “I can’t hold on much longer.”
The feel of Roger’s sweaty flesh added a new dimension of realism and horror. Willy hung on with one hand, trusting to the anchor rope if he slipped. He grabbed the collar of Roger’s shirt and heaved.
“Pull yourself up Roger! Pull! Move one hand up at a time! You must get your foot in that loop,” he shouted.
Roger tried. Desperation gave him strength. Somehow he moved one hand up ten centimetres, then the other. Willy hauled at him and urged him to move up again. By a desperate, shuddering effort Roger
curled himself up and got his right foot into the loop. He was able to straighten his leg and slide his hands up so that his weight was now on his foot.
Willy leaned down to shout in Roger’s ear. “Get your whole leg through. Sit in the loop and take the weight off your arms,” he instructed.
Roger did as he was told. Thankfully he slid down into the loop and was able to release his cramped fingers and clasp the rope to his chest. Willy sighed with relief, then wondered what he should do. Should he also just dangle in the loop at the end of the anchor rope? Or should he try to climb back up to the airship? His own hands were weakening and he still had not placed all his weight on the anchor rope. It looked very thin and he did not trust it.
Willy noted that they were still descending in a wide, slow spiral which made their position at the end of the rope quite sickening. ‘We are going to crash,’ he thought, seeing the tree tops below getting closer. ‘The airship needs a crew. I might be able to control our landing a bit.’
Using strength he did not know he possessed Willy climbed back up the ten metres of mooring rope. Straining hard he hauled himself from knot to knot. As he reached each one he blessed the fact they had tied them. It took him only a minute to reach the frame although it seemed much longer. He gripped the frame and hauled himself up onto it, feeling as relieved as though he was standing on solid earth.
For a moment Willy sat and recovered his strength but the urgency of the situation impelled him to action. He crawled back along the frame, releasing the last of the ballast water. As he did he noted they were still spiralling down but not at the same sickening speed as earlier. He began to hope they would make a relatively gentle landing. With hands that were shaking so much he could hardly use them he released two more containers and moved to get the last two, right at the stern.
A sharp tug at his waist made him pause and look. The anchor rope was wrapped around the handlebars and snagged somehow. He tried to pull it free but saw that it was hooked in a snap-catch. For a moment he considered leaving the last of the ballast but a glance showed the tree tops not far below. As well the airship was badly out of balance.
Airship Over Atherton Page 25
