Sometimes people you hardly know can have a profound effect on your life. It is a mistake to dismiss anybody and an even bigger mistake to hold people in contempt or judge them, no matter what their actions may be or have been, but the degree of human folly and the exasperations of everyday life often make us forget this rule. The Taoists say everything is connected, no events are random and everything we do and all that happens to us is by our own choice. Personally I think they are right.

K.P. is a man who has had a profound effect on my life although I hardly know him. Over 20 odd years you could count our meetings on a single hand. K.P. is a man with a huge reputation and sadly most of what I know about him comes not from knowing him but from hearsay. I am not prepared to repeat any of this hearsay but I can tell you of my meetings with K.P.

The first time I met K.P. was in 1983. I had just ridden half way around Tasmania on a motorbike just for the hell of it, rides just for the hell of it are something motorcyclists are apt to do. I had pulled up in the quaint little fishing village of Strahan on the West Coast of Tasmania and was standing on the wharf. Attached to the wharf and bobbing around like a cork was a tiny aeroplane called a Lakes Buccaneer. Nearby was a slapped up, hand written chalkboard offering scenic flights over Tasmania’s Southwest Wilderness. Amidst the fishing and tourist boats, trucks, workers and general wharf activity the aeroplane looked almost out of place and too frail and small to be taken seriously but I couldn’t resist the temptation to take a flight.

All my life I have had a fascination with aeroplanes but apart from the odd interstate jet trip, at this point in time I had never really been flying. K.P was the pilot and owner of this tiny aeroplane. Seemingly larger than life, K.P. listened to my fascination with flight in a sort of uninterested way but once we were airborne K.P. offered me a go on the controls. We were supposed to be looking at Frenchman’s Cap, a monolithic rock mountain seldom seen up close except by pilots or bushwalkers. I was in awe, not of the mountain but of the machine I was “piloting”. On our return to Strahan K.P. suggested flying lessons, apparently I could do them at any major airport if I sought out the right people.

My first lesson was only a week later but it took another 3 years before I had a Commercial Pilots License. In the interim K.P had built up his seaplane business from its humble beginnings. Seaplanes, although never far from my mind remained an unknown. I made myself busy as a new commercial pilot operating an aviation venture from Cradle Mountain National Park and as the radio frequency was shared by the Strahan region I would often hear K.P. on the radio whenever I was airborne. I was flying “Sierra Hotel Charlie” K.P. was flying “Sierra Charlie Hotel”. Occasionally we would get our calls mixed up. I often used to think of K.P. and aquatic aviation. At one stage I tried to expand my business to the Strahan region but K.P. turned out to be a formidable, but unseen opponent and the politics of aviation in Tasmania plus K.P.’s opposition made me give up on this prospect.

It was probably a decade later, after my business had been sold that I met K.P. again. I was working in Strahan flying a land plane for a different operator and day had finished. I was in the pub talking to a fellow pilot who knew K.P. fairly well. I asked him if K.P. ever came into the pub for a drink and clear as yesterday I remember his response; “K.P. won’t ever come in here, he is too scared of getting his head punched in”. As I raised a questioning eyebrow K.P. joined us, beer in hand looking for a chat. As my acquaintances face was slowly going beetroot in colour, I offered my hand and met K.P. for the second time in my life. Of course K.P couldn’t remember me but we had a brief chat, then he wandered on. Although the pub was crowded nobody seemed too fussed with K.P. and he never did get assaulted that night.

Another five odd years passed and my penchant for the Tasmanian Wilderness saw myself and two good friends go white water rafting down the Denison River, part of Tasmania’s Wild Rivers National Park. A trip down the  Denison, Franklin or Lower Gordon  rivers will eventually dump a rafter at Sir John Falls which is the first possible get out point and also the landing area for the Strahan seaplane operation. The Denison River proved to be a monumental epic of endurance to us three rafters and what we had planned as a 7 day trip turned out to be a grueling 14 day slug through some of the most dense wilderness in Australia. Late on the afternoon of the 14^th solid day of rafting and scrub bashing we arrived at Sir John Falls, hungry, weary and a bit bedraggled. K.P. turned up in his seaplane shortly afterwards, managed to squeeze me in with his passengers and took me out to Strahan where I could cancel the about to start search and rescue mission and organise salvation for my companions.

Another couple of years passed and again I was back in Strahan and again flying seaplanes for a business in opposition to the seaplane business founded by K.P. The owner of the business I was working for and K.P. were at loggerheads, the mutual animosity was apparent to anybody who cared and quite a few who didn’t. Although my boss and K.P. were not on good terms occasionally K.P. would speak to us pilots. He always seemed friendly to me although somewhat distant. Even though K.P still didn’t remember me he offered a bit of advice occasionally and to a “new to seaplanes pilot”, I always appreciated it. By this time K.P. was one of the most experienced seaplane pilots in Australia and despite what must be several log books full of water flying, K.P. still flew every day, often very much to the chagrin of his “keen for hours” employees. It also seemed a lot of people in Strahan didn’t like K.P. but I held him in very high regard.

It was at this time that I had a major accident in a seaplane (see “Face-plant” in my blog) and once I returned to duties I was unable to fly to Sir John Falls again due to there being no pilot in the company with the authority to check me in there (a check flight was a company operations requirement). I was chatting to K.P. about the accident, how it happened and about my trepidation of returning to the crash site and the difficulty of getting a check flight, and K.P. in a moment of softness offered to personally take me back there to “kill the demons”. No one could quite believe this would happen, but happen it did and K.P. the undoubted and indisputable master of Tasmanian seaplane flying gave me a brief but totally informative reintroduction to The Sir John Falls landing area, thus enabling me to work once again in opposition to his seaplane company.

K.P. has left Strahan, probably for good and the company I work for has the seaplane operation to themselves. I have no idea where K.P. is and for some reason I don’t think K.P. would even recall who I was if we met again, K.P. was like that.

Wherever you are Kevin please accept my humble gratitude.