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Military Veterans, Gone But Not Forgotten

Straight Arrow

Well-known member
Joined
Jun 10, 2009
Messages
6,110
Location
Gallatin Gateway, MT
Lloyd Darrah, Arlin Wass, and South Meadow Lake

Lloyd Darrah, close friend and fellow Vietnam helicopter pilot, was our unit commander when we enjoyed Montana National Guard aviation training excursions. One such training event took place high up in the Tobacco Root Mountains. We launched several UH-1 Huey helicopters from the grass airstrip at CW2 Jerry Ohs’ ranch outside of Harrison, MT. The Hueys landed up above the waterfall into South Meadow Lake in a cirque meadow at about 9500 ft elevation, where we conducted backcountry survival and first aid training. At the end of the training day, somehow a raft emerged from one of the aircraft, along with adult beverages. Some of the older pilots, whom we referred to as the FROG platoon (blank Really Old Guys, with F standing for you guess, or Fun-Loving, or Friendly) launched the raft to fish the cold deep lake. Arlin Wass was one such pilot and had brought his favorite brandy to share with the boys. You could hear them arguing about who should paddle, what lure to attract the fish, or hand-me the bottle! No one drowned, thank goodness.

Later, Lloyd passed away due to cancer at an age way too young and with a valiant battle to keep going. His wish was to have his ashes dropped at South Meadow Lake, the site of the training fun and also a backcountry place he had backpacked and really loved.

Arlin and I were assigned an OH-58 smaller reconnaissance helicopter for a training mission. We took Lloyd’s ashes with us and flew over South Meadow Lake. As the window was opened and Lloyd was dropped at his favorite spot, the turbulence caused a gust of wind to blow some of Lloyd back into the cockpit.

When Arlin called Lloyd’s family to report that his wishes were fulfilled and mission accomplished, he remarked, “When Lloyd was my commander … he was all over me! Well, that day he was all over me again!”
When I spoke with them, I explained that whenever that OH-58 helicopter launched, then Lloyd was flying again, as he so loved to do.

Feb 2023, Arlin passed away, after thirty-eight years military service to Montana and the Nation, retiring as Chief Warrant Officer Fourth Class (CW-4). Arlin owned Arlin’s Aircraft Service and other businesses at Gallatin Field, as the oldest fixed base operation and aircraft service business in Montana... His funeral service and reception at his hangar was jam-packed with family, friends, employees, clients, Guardsmen and others paying tribute and telling wonderful stories attesting to a life well lived.

Rest In Peace, Lloyd and Arlin.

Arlin, CW-2 Mike Phillips & daughter Kellie, and me back in the day.
Arlin Wass, Mike & Kelly Phillips, me.jpg
 
Thank you all for your service and RIP to your friends. South Meadow Lake is a fitting spot to have ashes spread.
 
Halfway down the trail to Hell,
In a shady meadow green
Are the Souls of all dead Troopers camped,
Near a good old-time canteen.
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddlers’ Green.

Marching past, straight through to Hell
The Infantry are seen.
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marines,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers’ Green.

Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene.
No Trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he’s emptied his canteen.
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers’ Green.

And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddlers’ Green.
 
Halfway down the trail to Hell,
In a shady meadow green
Are the Souls of all dead Troopers camped,
Near a good old-time canteen.
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddlers’ Green.

Marching past, straight through to Hell
The Infantry are seen.
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marines,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers’ Green.

Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene.
No Trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he’s emptied his canteen.
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers’ Green.

And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddlers’ Green.
Roger that
 
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