Mountaineering in the Antelope Valley
A recurring subject in my column here are my stories of Lancaster’s War Eagle Field, which was the training field for the English and American pilots in World War II, located at the corner of 60th Street West and Avenue I.
In the process of putting together my book on the field and its history, this short story stood out as an interesting look at how mountaineering the green rolling hills of England was no warm-up for two Royal Air Force cadets. These chaps decided a hike to the local hills here in the Antelope Valley before dinner time would be a lark — and would fill the void of not having any girlfriends with whom to pass their spare time!
Here, in the words of RAF Cadet F.R. Courtney, is the tale he shared with the folks back home; who, I’m sure, were worried about the rigors and dangerous conditions of learning to fly combat! Of course, after reading this they may have had different opinions as to who and what the real danger really was!
To Mum and Pops,
Something which is beautiful can be very dangerous; an ambiguous adage perhaps, but one which has proven very true one weekend.
Without resorting to the flamboyant verbosity of the usual professional mountain climber, I would like to recount a somewhat hair-raising episode which may serve as a warning to other adventurous airmen who cannot find a girlfriend.
One of my fellow cadets and I started out Sunday for a short before-dinner hike to the local mountains, accompanied by a young college girl with whose parents we were lodging with. Naturally on reaching them and after “shooting a line” about our past mountaineering experience, we had no way out but to demonstrate our prowess by scaling one.
Choosing a peak which we thought would provide the least difficulty, and a good show, we accomplished the peak in nearly an hour. Well having the stuff of which English airmen are made of, we commenced to descend to receive the plaudits of the on-lookers.
Woe to our childish dreams!
By some means as yet undiscovered, we managed to work ourselves onto the side of a 70-foot precipice. The only problem now was to get down, a practically sheer drop into the valley below. Our only hope seemed to be a small tree growing halfway down. My pal Jimmy Blake decided for it and in the words of many famous aviators, uttered the words “Geronimo!” as he bailed off the cliff! Unfortunately for him, he missed, overshot and sailed on right down into the valley below!
As I was twisting around to watch this display of aerobatics I slipped of my ledge and tried my best to catch up with him! Presumably the gods had another destiny worked out for me, as I fell right into the tree and managed to cling on!
After about two hours, during which time they removed Jimmy to the local hospital in Lancaster, I accomplished the rest of my descent by jumping from the tree and dropping into the arms of a tough local Irish farmer who had rallied to the cause and who I gave a hardy ‘thanks pal’ for not dropping me!
Well there you go Mum and Dad, and to all the blokes that may hear this tale, the result for Jimmy was a fractured arm, bad cuts and bruises and some lost flying time; for me, a respect for mountains in the desert and an appreciation for aeroplanes from which to safely view them from!
F.R. Courtney and Jimmy Blake both graduated from our War Eagle Field/Polaris Flight Academy here in Lancaster and went on to combat in Europe as pilot officers.
Courtney survived the war, but sadly Blake, flying nighttime bombing missions over Germany, failed to return from a mission in his Lancaster bomber.
Once again, words from the past make us pause and look around our valley and think about the hundreds of stories and adventures that took place in our little corner of the world. For these two RAF pilots, I’m sure their thoughts of the desert and “mountaineering” had them thinking that finding a girlfriend here in the States would have had a much better outcome!
Until next time, “cheerio chaps” and carry on! Bob out …