Airship Over Atherton

by Christopher Cummings

  Willy looked for the safety harness but it was dangling below the seat. He would have to back up to get it.

  “I’ll risk it. I won’t fall,” he told himself. He quickly eased the loop from around his waist. It was then the work of a moment to scramble back along the frame to release the last two containers. That done he turned and walked back to the seat, thankful yet again for the practice flights.

  As he settled his feet onto the pedals he looked around, half-tensed for the crash. They were now in deep shadow and Roger was dangling just above the topmost branches of the trees.

  To his surprise Willy saw that the airship was again rising. Too much ballast released? No. Another air current was funnelling up the valley and was pushing them up the mountainside.

  “You OK Roger?” he called down.

  “Yes,” came a wail. “Can you land this thing?”

  “Sorry. The wind has got us. When it drops we should catch in a tree top. Be ready for it,” Willy yelled back. He felt distinctly happier. They weren’t about to plummet to their deaths. At worst it should only be broken bones. He ran his eyes over the airship checking for damage, then looked around. What he saw made him goggle in disbelief.

  Kahlpahlim Rock was now several kilometres away, lit up by the last rays of the sun. It seemed to be almost at the same level. The valley into which they had descended was now hundreds of metres below and far behind. Willy realized that the sharp pains in his head were from unequal air pressure in his ear drums and sinuses. He was amazed at the rate of climb. They seemed to be skimming up in a silent and effortless zoom, just above the canopy of the jungle.

  Willy cleared his ears and tried to take stock. A dirt road slipped by underneath. A flock of white cockatoos rose shrieking in alarm from a large tree they slid close beside. The airship seemed to be moving up a shallow valley. The silhouette of the crestline of the Lamb Range showed clear against a pinkish sunset.

  “The crest will bring problems,” Willy surmised. “We will probably lose the breeze then. I’d better get ready. I wonder if the propeller will help?”

  He twisted in his seat to check that the propeller was clear. That decided him to reel in and roll up the anchor rope. As he did they skimmed close past a massive white-trunked tree which stuck up out of the jungle canopy. “An emergent,” he muttered, remembering a Geography lesson from school. “Cripes, there’s another one dead ahead!”

  Willy glimpsed the dirt road beneath him again in the gloom but his attention was taken up by the branches of the massive tree which blocked their path. It was right on the crest of the range.

  “Hang on Roger. I think we are going to hit,” he shouted. He gave an experimental pedal but knew it was hopeless. The wind was too strong.

  As they swept up to the tree Willy gripped the frame with his legs and covered his face with his arms. The airship was blowing broadside up the slope. At the last moment it appeared to lift. A thick, white branch swept by just below Willy’s feet. There was a crackling noise and a cry of fear but he wasn’t sure if it was his or Roger’s.

  Suddenly the airship slewed and seemed to topple on its side. Willy clutched at the bike and prayed. There were splintering and crackling noises and the airship spun round so rapidly that Willy felt nauseous and disoriented. He felt a bruising whack on his left thigh and found it jammed against a thick branch. He grabbed at it.

  The frame wedged against the branch and the spinning stopped. Willy found his leg pinned so strongly he feared it might be broken. He levered the bike clear with an effort and was able to extricate his leg. The balloon began to flap and vibrate overhead, guy ropes alternately slacking and slatting. Willy looked around and saw that the frame seemed to be firmly wedged in an outer branch of the huge tree, the balloon tugging clear above it.

  Roger’s voice attracted Willy’s attention. He looked down and saw Roger dangling amongst the leaves below him. Then he sucked in his breath. The ground looked an awful long way below Roger. Willy gripped the frame in fright as the airship shuddered and trembled in a fresh gust of wind.

  “Help me!” Roger cried. “This hurts.”

  “Hang on. I’ll see if can get you up,” Willy replied. He sat and puzzled over how to go about this, knowing he could not possibly haul Roger up using his arms.

  *****

  Six kilometres to the North East the other two army cadets stood on top of Lambs Head and stared at the tiny black dot on the distant skyline.

  Graham shielded his eyes and squinted. “I think it is caught on a tree,” he said.

  “Yes. Looks like it. Strewth! What a drama!” Peter said, taking off his hat and wiping his face.

  Graham made a face. “Well, Roger got his wish. He said he wanted a ride in an airship.”

  Peter gave a weak laugh, then sighed with relief. “I reckoned he was dead when he slipped on that rock.”

  Graham nodded agreement. “I thought they both were, the speed that the airship went down when he grabbed that rope.”

  “Poor old Roger. I’ll bet he crapped himself when he was swinging on that rope!” Peter averred. “I’ve never heard a scream like that one in all my life.”

  “Wish I’d thought to take a photo,” Graham said. “I had my camera in my hands too.”

  “Don’t be heartless,” Peter chided. “Poor old Willy! I guess this means that his airship isn’t a success.”

  “Why? It got up here OK.”

  “I don’t think he meant it to. I think the wind just took over. It didn’t exactly look like a controlled flight,” Peter replied.

  “Suppose so. Well, we’d better not just stand here. We must get help,” Graham said.

  Peter nodded. “Yes. We’d better move. It will be dark soon.”

  “Fifteen minutes,” agreed Graham. “There goes the last of the sun. Just a minute. I will take a compass bearing.” He pulled the prismatic compass out of his shirt pocket and squinted into it. “One nine two degrees magnetic,” he called. He quickly fished out a notebook and pencil. “Now, do I add or subtract the magnetic variation?”

  “Add for Magnetic to Grid in North Queensland,” Peter said.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Hmm. Two hundred degrees Grid. I’ll just draw that on the map while it is still light,” Graham said. He knelt, opened the maps and spread them flat, then pulled out his protractor and drew a pencil line on the map. “Between Mt Edith and Mt Haig, near where that forestry road goes over the crest.”

  “Good. We’d better move. It is getting dark,” Peter said.

  They scooped up Roger’s webbing, swung on their own and then pushed their way down through the belt of moss forest. With care they made their way down several large exposed sheets of rock then followed a line of gnarled trees clinging to a fissure, using the exposed roots as handholds in the twilight. It was quite gloomy by the time they reached the ridgetop at the base of Kahlpahlim Rock.

  Graham paused at their packs to dump Roger’s webbing. “Grab your torch, we will need them,” he said.

  “And our jackets, and some grub,” Peter added. “It is going to be cold.”

  The boys hastily grabbed torches, jackets and food and had a big drink. Then they set off at a loping trot down an overgrown track along the ridge top. Both were sick at heart and filled with the desperate urgency of the situation.

  CHAPTER 24

  UP THE TREE

  Willy clung to the branch and looked down. “You’ll have to climb up Roger,” he called.

  “I can’t. My hands are too sore,” Roger called back.

  Willy pondered this for a few minutes. He considered several options before deciding. “Right Roger, I am making a bowline in this other rope. I will lower it down to you. Slip your arms through the loop. I will then pull while you climb up the other rope.”

  “I’m scared,” Roger replied.

  “Think of a better plan then. You can’t stay there forever.”

  Roger bit his lip and nodded. He couldn’t. “OK, I’ll try it. But as you pull it up ma
ke sure you tie it tight to take up the slack in case I slip.”

  Willy agreed. He checked the bowline in the anchor rope then considered best how to take up the slack as Roger climbed. Finally he decided that a simple clove hitch might be best. He climbed gingerly across onto the branch then tested the airship frame. It seemed to be firmly wedged. Bracing himself against it he untied the anchor rope from the frame, then reached up and tied the end of the anchor rope around a thinner branch just above him.

  Next he lowered the loop down to Roger who slipped his arms through it. Then, after some hesitation, Roger began climbing. As he moved up Willy hauled in the slack.

  “Hang on Roger. Grip one of those knots while I take up this slack and tie it tight,” Willy instructed. Roger did so. Willy could see he was trembling, but whether from the effort or from fright, or both, he wasn’t sure. He felt scared himself. It was an appallingly long drop to the ground. He quickly eased the clove hitch and moved the rope through it till the slack was all taken up. Then he gripped the knot again.

  “OK Roger, keep climbing.”

  “I can’t. My hands are too sore,” Roger wailed.

  “Use your feet, not your hands. Grip the rope under one foot and lock it onto the instep with the other foot. Come on. You must keep moving. You will run out of strength otherwise.”

  Roger did as he was told and resumed climbing, sliding his hands up by straightening his legs, then gripping the rope with his hands while he moved his feet up. It was slow and painful but he made definite progress.

  Willy watched and then called, “Keep going, you are more than half way.” He eased the clove hitch as Roger climbed and kept feeding the slack through it. Roger was shaking visibly by this and there were tears running down his cheeks. He hauled himself painfully up another couple of metres then stopped. Trembling and sobbing he looked up and clung on while Willy again took up the slack.

  “Come on Roger, only a few more metres,” Willy said. Roger nodded and bit his lip. With an effort he resumed climbing. Willy did all he could to pull to assist him. Closer and closer to the frame Roger inched. Willy took up more slack and hauled. Roger looked up and set his teeth grimly, then made a valiant effort which carried him up to the frame. He grabbed at it and Willy helped by hauling as hard as he could, at some risk of slipping off the branch he was straddling.

  Roger hauled himself up onto the frame and slumped onto the bike seat. He was trembling all over and sweating profusely. “Oh thank God!” he cried. He sat there with his hands shaking and chest heaving.

  “Well done Roger!” Willy cried. He sighed with relief and grinned across at him.

  Roger calmed down after a minute and looked around. “Heavens! Aren’t we high! Where are we?”

  Willy looked around. To the south he could just glimpse the last of the sun glinting on Lake Tinaroo. “We are on top of the Lamb Range. That is the Atherton Tablelands over there.”

  “What do we do now?” Roger asked.

  “Climb down from this tree somehow. There is a road not far over that way,” Willy replied.

  “How will we get down?”

  “Ropes. We’ve got plenty. We can dismantle the airship if we have to. Here, pass me that rope you’ve got on and I will tie it to the mooring rope. The two together should nearly reach the ground,” Willy said. Roger peeled the anchor rope from around his shoulders and passed it over. Willy began rolling it up neatly to stop it getting tangled.

  As he did there was a flutter of leaves and a groaning noise. The branch began to sway and shiver.

  “What’s happening?” Roger cried in fright, clutching at the bike frame.

  “Another gust of wind, that’s all. Hang on,” Willy replied. He then gripped the branch as tightly as he could, frightened by its sudden lively motions.

  There was a loud snapping noise, followed by a rending crack of splintering timber. Roger let out a yell and seemed to fall backwards. He clung to the bike frame in fear. Willy realized too late what was happening. He reached out but received such a blow to his right shoulder that he was almost knocked from the tree. The airship seemed to spring upwards. In an instant it was gone. The trailing mooring rope slid over the branch so fast it scorched off the bark.

  Willy clung on for dear life as the branch tossed and shook as though determined to shake him off. He had a glimpse of his airship swooping off over the tree tops with Roger clinging to it. Then it was gone out of sight behind him and he was too absorbed with trying to hang on to see where it went. Far below he could just make out the ground in the twilight and he knew with sickening certainty that if he fell it would be fatal.

  The branch he was clinging to was just too thick and the bark too smooth to grip properly. Only the anchor rope, still tied around it, saved him. He clung on grimly as his feet slipped and scrabbled for a grip.

  After a minute the gust of wind passed. Willy clung on like a Koala, his heart hammering so fast he might have run a kilometre. Trembling with shock he edged up and wedged himself into a fork and moved the rope up to be ready in case of another gust. A searching look revealed no trace of the airship.

  Dusk was fast setting in by then. Willy sat and considered the situation. The rope he was left with was obviously not long enough to reach the ground and the trunk of the tree was massive. It stood up for about thirty or forty metres without a single branch. The trunk was so thick he knew he would not even be able to get his arms a quarter of the way around it; and it was so smooth it offered no handholds.

  Willy next contemplated trying to pass his rope around the tree in the manner of lumberjacks but was terrified his feet would slip and send him plummeting to his death. “I need spikes on my boots to try that sort of a trick,” he muttered gloomily. He considered his situation and decided that he had no option but to spend the night up the tree.

  “It will be dangerous. I could go to sleep and fall. No. I will tie myself on,” he decided. So he pulled the anchor rope to him and proceeded to do this. As he did another dismaying thought came to him. “I may not be able to get down from the tree! No-one will know I am here and they will never find me. (He was quite sure that Roger would be killed.) I will just sit up here till I die of hunger and thirst.”

  His rational mind told him that it would be thirst, not hunger, that he would die of; while his emotions began to plummet into despair and panic.

  At that moment he heard voices and looked down. It couldn’t be true! There were two men at the base of the tree. Willy could just see them in the gloom. Both wore yellow safety helmets and were carrying ropes and gear.

  Willy’s spirits leapt. Rescued! ‘They must be forest rangers or something who have seen the airship,’ he thought. He drew his breath in to yell in case the men looked like going away, as they had not yet seen him. There were metallic noises and Willy saw one of the men pass a strap around the tree and commence climbing, walking up with spiked boots.

  The man was all festooned with ropes, chains and satchels of gear. Willy watched him climb and felt happier every moment. As the man reached the end of his branch Willy called out: “Hello! Here I am!”

  The man jerked around in such alarm he almost slipped and fell. He swore obscenely and peered out along the branch.

  “What the blazes! Who the damned hell are you?” he cried in a voice with a strong North American accent.

  “Willy Williams,” Willy replied, feeling both foolish and uneasy. The man had been so startled he obviously had no idea of Willy’s presence in the tree.

  The man on the ground called up: “What’s up? Who the hell are ya talking to Hank?”

  “Some damned kid up here; out in that branch,” Hank replied, his accent even more noticeable.

  “A kid! Up there! How the hell did he get up there?” the man on the ground shouted in an astonished voice.

  “That’s what I aim to find out,” Hank growled. He turned to face Willy. “OK kid, what’s the story? How did you get up here?”

  Willy eyed Hank nervously. He had a
n uneasy feeling that he was in trouble. The man looked and sounded anything but friendly. Hank was a big man, broad shouldered and obviously very strong. He had a square jaw, unshaven, and was handsome in a rugged sort of way. Hard blue eyes glinted at Willy from under the safety helmet.

  “I got here on an airship,” Willy replied, feeling slightly foolish.

  Hank’s reaction was even more unexpected. “On an airship!” he shouted, staring at Willy with his mouth open.

  “What did he say?” the man on the ground called up.

  “Damned kid says he got here on an airship,” Hank yelled.

  “On the airship! But how? The bloody thing isn’t due for an hour,” the man on the ground answered.

  Willy listened in mystification. Suddenly he felt glad he was ten metres out along the branch. The men were definitely hostile.

  Hank turned to him again. “OK Kid, tell me your story, and it better be good.”

  Willy gulped as the implied threat sank in. “Please. I just want to get down from here.”

  “Not till you tell me about the damned airship,” Hank snarled back. His anger and tone of voice made Willy go cold with worry.

  From below came the query, “What does he know about the airship?”

  “I dunno yet. He hasn’t said. Now shut up Bill. OK kid, what’s the story?” Hank snapped.

  Willy told him. It was nearly dark by then and he was cold and cramped. He could not understand what was going on.

  Hank shook his head. “You expect me to believe a damn story like that?”

  “It’s the truth,” Willy replied. He felt near to tears. “Please help me to get down.”

  Once again the man on the ground called up: “What did he say happened to our airship?”

  “Not our airship; his airship,” Hank replied. He gave the outline of Willy’s story.

  “What we gunna do with him Hank?” the man asked.

  “Dunno. I gotta think. He knows somethin’. Now he knows too much, thanks to your big mouth,” Hank replied. He uncoiled a rope from around his waist and dropped the end. “Tie on my chain saw.”