Yellow Beard, the cross-dressing pirate

It sounded simple. Lisa loves her new Ercoupe “Warbler,” but there are a few things about his look she’s decided to change. First off, he wears Royal Air Force colors, and despite what Lisa’s Ancestry DNA report revealed about some unexpected British heritage, she’s an American Girl. So Warbler is resigning his RAF commission later this summer, and joining the U.S. Army Air Corps.

His Brit wing rondels will be replaced with Air Corp stars, then, to girl-up the little warbird a bit, his large fuselage rondels will be covered up with the Women Airforce Service Pilot (WASP) mascot, the girl-geminin “Fifinella.”

Fifinella

I think it’s going to be an awesome look for both Lisa and Warbler.

Those plans in the works, the only remaining problem was Warbler’s tail. There was a rectangular RAF logo on the outside of both of his oval vertical stabilizers. The shape was all wrong, but they couldn’t be removed as they were painted on.

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What to do?

After several sessions of sitting in her hangar with an adult beverage studying Warbler’s tail, Lisa decided the solution was to paint the stabilizers to match his wings. We all agreed that was the solution, but it didn’t go any farther than that until the intercom broke down.

Lisa, Rio, and I had gotten up at 4 a.m. to beat the heat and fly Warbler—Tess still being out of action, now at a different maintenance shop, a tale for another day. Anyway, back to the story. With the intercom crapped out, we could hardly do any flight instruction, as neither student would hear a word I was saying! Sitting in Warbler’s cockpit in front of Lisa’s hangar, I was able to order a replacement from Amazon, of all places, but it would take two days for it to arrive. We are not yet to the age of near instantaneous delivery of Amazon goodies by drone.

So there we were. All dressed up and nowhere to go. Now what? Well, why not paint the vertical stabilizers? They really aren’t that big. How hard could it be?

I hear many of you laughing in the background.

As with many (most?) of our misadventures, things didn’t go as planned. First, Rio and Lisa went out to the local hardware store for yellow paint while I worked to install new yoke grips in Warbler’s cockpit. Apparently, the store didn’t have much to choose from when it came to yellow paint, and the sample they brought back, when sprayed on a removed inspection plate, was lemon drop yellow. Now, before all of this, I didn’t give yellow much thought, but as it turns out there are 1.6 million different shades of yellow, and whatever shade of yellow Warbler’s wings are, they ain’t lemon drop yellow. Thus began the Yellow Quest. I’ll spare you the painful details, but it involved 247 miles of driving, a hardware store, and auto parts store, and a farm and ranch supply house. The good news is that after several false starts, we found a color of spray paint that was an exact match to Warbler’s wings.

It ended up being the next day before we took on the actual painting, Rio bowing out as he couldn’t make sense of getting up at 4 a.m. to paint; whereas Lisa and I, knowing that we’ve been running triple-digit temps the last few days, knew it was the only sensible time for the project.

We arrived at Lisa’s hangar before sunrise with bundles of old newspapers, plastic sheeting, and blue painter’s tape. The last few days had been calm, but as we had chosen to paint, gale was blowing. The winds, 26 miles per hour and gusting to some crazy-high number, tugged at the wind sock and rattled the hangar doors like giant gongs.

Spray painting outside was out of the question. But we didn’t think it would be a big deal to do it in the hangar. It was such a small area to paint. We taped off Warbler’s tail, and (luckily) draped the rest of the plane under plastic sheeting, then got to work.

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Lisa did the paint shaking Macarena then handed me one of the two cans. She went first, but her spray nozzle failed. Nothing came out, and when she took her finger off the top, the nozzle popped out and sailed across the hangar like a champagne cork on New Year’s Eve.

My turn. I carefully held the can upright, aligned my distance, and deftly applied one sweeping stroke of yellow to the brown-green tail.

Nothing changed.

Another burst. There was still no visible yellow.

A third burst. Then fourth. Then a fifth. Finally, a pale sheen of yellow, barely detectable against the army brown-green, revealed itself. I looked up and the lights of the hangar were faint and distant. A dense yellow fog drifted above me.

Oh dear.

Well, forge on. In about 15 minutes, I finally had a good first coat on Warbler’s vertical stabilizer and a really good final coat on me. As I cracked the hangar doors to let the yellow cloud out, Lisa took one look at me and starting laughing. Every grey hair on my head, beard, and arms was now straw yellow.

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She dug out a dust mask. “Here, Yellow Beard,” she insisted, “wear this.” (Who travels with dust masks?) But it was a good thing; otherwise the cilia in my lungs would no doubt be Club Cadet Yellow like a large portion of my body and my old painting clothes, which being old and threadbare, suffered a structural failure on the second coat when I bent down to reach the portion of the stabilizer below the tail. I heard the unmistakable sound of denim tearing, but after quickly checking my six, and finding nothing, I ignored it and kept working.

After the second coat of paint, Lisa—a mischievous twinkle worthy of Fifinella in her eyes—asked me, “So how do you like wearing that ballroom gown?”

Huh?

The left seam of my shorts had given way, from the waist to the hem. Naturally, being Lisa, she alternately teased me about the torn shorts and the yellow beard the rest of the day.

But at least Warbler’s new tail came out looking swell.

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And now you know the tale of Warbler’s tail, and that of Yellow Beard, the cross-dressing pirate in his ballroom gown.

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