be getting a
Photo by Scott
Hey, no peeking at
holiday gifts that have
been hidden under
’Twas the Night
Before an RC Pilot’s
It’s that time of year when scented candles, family gatherings, and piles of cookies—did someone say chocolate and peanut butter cookies?—abound. Excitement is in full swing and
the promise of a wonderful new year is ahead of us.
It’s a time where we often find ourselves filled with
reflection and hope. Hope for good health and happiness, hope
that we will land a new job or retire without a hitch in 2016,
hope that … oh, who are we kidding?
That’s all fine and dandy, but many RC pilots are also
hoping for a great flying year ahead. Of course, this means that
we’re hoping for some amazing RC gifts during the holiday
season, be it the aircraft of our dreams or simply some fuel
tubing that’s newer than the 10-year-old faded yellow ones
we’ve been using.
In following that line of thought and embracing the
eagerness we all share during this time of year, the poem,
“’Twas the Night Before Christmas” entered my mind. I hope
you’ll enjoy the following poem with a twist that RC pilots
might appreciate. Although not everyone celebrates this
particular holiday, the revised poem is meant to evoke fun and
capture the thoughts that often exist in the heads of RC pilots
as the year comes to a close.
Enjoy your holidays and the new year. Be safe and have fun!
’Twas the night before an RC pilot’s wish list, when all
through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, except a model flier trying to
guess the gifts from their spouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that
a hobby store
might be in
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of test-flight runs danced in the pilot’s head.
And no deadstick drama, and I dreaming of a 40-size Yak,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s recap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the online RC forum thread to see what was
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore past my newly fixed rudders and that plane I almost
put in the trash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of midday to objects using nitro.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature quadcopter, propelled by little tiny
With a little bit of hovering, so lively and quick,
I knew something magical was controlling the sticks.
More rapid than eagles, a new fleet they came,
And I whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
Now, Raptor! Now Moon Dancer!
Now Pacer! Now Sea Vixen!
On Comet! On Cupid!
On B- 52 Bomber! On Texan!
To the end of the runway! Keep that elevator up,
Your engines mounted to the firewall!
Now lift up and away, lift up and away, lift away all!”
As the craft that before the wild windsock flies,
It banks with an obstacle and mounts to the sky,
Up to the workshop top the planes they flew,
Where I saw a bag full of gimbals and new retracts, too.
And then in a twinkling, I saw even more planes, all ready-to-fly,
With some props and servo arms to help give it a try.
I drew in my breath, and as I turned around,
What I’d been
hoping for was
resting on the
105 Model Aviation DECEMBER 2015
SKY’S THE LIMIT