Frysk
In libben fol aventoer, trochsettingsfermogen en passie foar it fleanen.
Mets groeide op op in pleats oan de Ivige Leane. De pleats wie it begjin fan in hearlike, aktyve jeugd fol Fryske tradysjes. Fan polsstokspringen yn de maitiid, simmers blikspuit boartsje om de pleats, flotten bouwe fan silo-skudden. Winters skommels meitsje oan de groubynten fan de pleats en hutten bouwe yn it strie op souder. Ek wie Metske winters net fan it iis te slaan. Heit pebeare at it iis sterk genoch wie en bûn ús de redens ûnder yn it bûthús. Sa'n dei waard altyd ôfsletten mei waarme sûkelademolke fan mem. Al betiid krige hy Fryske noaren en bliek in goeie rider, hy wûn al in reedriders wedstrijd op de legere skoalle. Hy ried as ien fan de earsten oer de Frjentsjerter Feart en De Swette. Letter at it taaiwaar wurde gong er skoske sette mei syn grutte broers.
Metske groeide op as in oanpakker, al moast it wurk wol op syn manier barre. Hânwurk lei him wat minder, mar op de trekker wie hy op syn best; as lyts jonkje bestjoerde hy al grutsk de trekker mei de pickup.
Mets socht graach de dynamyk op. Hy spile trompet yn it muzykkorps fan Skearnegoutum. It oefenjen die hy op syn sliepkeamer ta it rût út — ek siet er op fuotbal yn Skearnegoutum. Syn nocht nei frijheid en faasje fertaalde zich letter yn in Puch (brommer) mei in heech stjoer en doe at er âld genoch wie in motor, wat mem doetiids mar tige gefaarlik fûn. Dy selde motor brocht him midden yn de winter, yn syn tsjinsttiid, mear as ien kear nei Bergen-Hohne yn Dútslân.
Hoewol't it VWO yn Snits en de HTS yn Ljouwert him prima ôfgiene, wie it theoretyske diel fan de HTS net syn grutte hobby. Doe't syn einskripsje lizze bliuwde en mem him nei 2 jier nei de caravan ferbande, waard it tiid foar in oare koers. Mets wist wol wat hy woe: de loft yn. Hy woe piloot wurde.
Syn dream krige troch besunigings by de KLM in ûnferwachte wending, hy wie yn principe oannommen, mar troch besunigingen op piloten wie hy net nedich. Mar Mets liet zich net út it fjild slaan. Mei in liening fan mem ferhúze hy nei Amerika om yn Virginia syn piloten opleiding te folgjen. It wie it begjin fan in perioade fan bikkeljen en oerlibjen. Nei syn earste spannende solo-ynstrumintflecht fan Newport nei Elizabeth City, folge in tiid fan flean oeren meitsjen. Mets reizige de eastlike steaten fan Amearika lâns en frege by elk fleanfjild ôf se wurk foar him hiene, hy út fan húze by medestudenten. It wie der wis net fetpot, mar syn discipline wie izersterk. Hy libbe ekstreem súnig mei mar ien helder doel foar eagen: syn mem sa gau mooglik werom betelje.
Syn hurde wurk waard beleanne mei de sprong nei de Learjet yn Marianna, Florida. It wie in tropenbaan: Mets fleach mei organen, sike minsken, popgroepen en ek as doelwyt fan it Amerikaanske leger boppe de Golf. Hy stie 24 oere per dei, 7 dagen yn 'e wike paraat. Noait frij! It levere him djip respekt op fan my. Sels bin ik ien kear mei him mei flein nei Key West yn de Learjet, in ûnderfining om noait wer te ferjitten. Yn Amearika boude hy ek weardefolle en libbenslange freonskippen op mei minsken lykas Jose Cortez en Jim. Mei José fleach hy de Cessna, sa fertelde hy dat hy bûten it fleantug hongen hie om it lâningsgestel, dat net nei ûnderen woe, wer yn beweging te krijen.
Yn 1994 gong Mets werom nei Nederlân om syn type-rating foar de grutte loftfeart te beheljen. De ultieme kroan folge al gau: hy waard oannommen by de KLM. Mem hat dit gelokkich noch krekt meimakke foar har ferstjerren yn 1995. Wat wie se bliid en grutsk en wat stie Mets dêr, fol grutskens, syn nije uniform te showen yn de keamer.
Mets bleau in man fan útersten en in trochsetter. Dat bliek wol doe at de Alvestêdetocht fan 1997 troch gong. Ynpland as 'co-co' op in KLM-flucht nei Los Angeles, is hy nei oankomst der, dalik werom flein nei Nederlân. Hat in pear oerkes sliept en gie dernei de Alvestedentocht fan 230 kilometer riden. Hy is fuort dernei wer yn it fleantúch stapt werom nei LA om op tiid te wêzen foar syn weromflucht nei Nederlân as co-co. Unfoarstelber en typysk Mets.
Syn jeugd hold net op by tweintig. Hy bleau ek letter ûndogens en boartlik. Bygelyks: wetterskiee efter de trekker op de opfeart.
Mets liet sjen dat je mei trochsettingsfermogen, in nuchtere blik en passie jo dromen wier meitsje kinne. Wy ûnthâlde him as in famyljeman, in piloat yn hert en nieren en in man dy't altyd de hoarizon op sykjen bliuwde.
Rêst sêft, Mets.
English
A life full of adventure, perseverance, and a passion for flying.
Mets grew up on a farm on the Ivige Leane. The farm was the start of a wonderful, active youth filled with Frisian traditions. From pole-vaulting over ditches in spring, playing kick-the-can around the farm in summer, to building rafts out of silo boards. In winter, making swings attached to the thick wooden beams of the barn and building forts in the attic straw. Metske couldn't be kept off the ice in winter, either. Dad checked if the ice was strong enough and strapped on our skates in the barn. A day like that was always wrapped up with warm hot chocolate made by Mom. Early on, he got Frisian speed skates and proved to be a good skater; he even won an ice-skating race in primary school. He was one of the first to skate across the Frjentsjerter Feart and De Swette. Later, when thaw set in, he went ice-block jumping with his older brothers.
Metske grew up as a go-getter, though work always had to be done his way. Manual labor wasn't really his thing, but on the tractor he was in his element; even as a little boy, he proudly drove the tractor with the pickup attached.
Mets loved action. He played trumpet in the brass band of Scharnegoutum. He practiced in his bedroom until the windows rattled — and he also played football in Scharnegoutum. His hunger for freedom and speed later translated into a Puch moped with high handlebars, and when he was old enough, a motorcycle, which Mom thought was extremely dangerous back then. That same motorcycle took him to Bergen-Hohne in Germany more than once in the middle of winter during his military service.
Although VWO in Sneek and HTS in Leeuwarden went smoothly enough for him, the theoretical side of HTS wasn't really his passion. When his final thesis sat untouched and Mom banished him to the caravan after two years, it was time to change course. Mets knew what he wanted: to take to the skies. He wanted to become a pilot.
His dream took an unexpected turn due to cutbacks at KLM; he had essentially been accepted, but pilot cutbacks meant he wasn't needed. But Mets didn't let that knock him down. With a loan from Mom, he moved to America to complete his pilot training in Virginia. It was the start of a tough period of grinding and survival. After his first nerve-wracking solo instrument flight from Newport to Elizabeth City, there followed a period of building up flight hours. Mets traveled across the eastern US states, asking every airport if they had work for him, staying with fellow students. Money was definitely tight, but his discipline was ironclad. He lived extremely frugally with just one clear goal in mind: to pay his mother back as quickly as possible.
His hard work paid off with a leap to the Learjet in Marianna, Florida. It was a high-pressure job: Mets flew donor organs, sick patients, pop bands, and even served as a target for the US military over the Gulf. He was on call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Never a day off! It earned him my deep respect. I flew with him once to Key West in the Learjet myself — an experience I will never forget. In America, he also built valuable, lifelong friendships with people like José Cortez and Jim. He flew a Cessna with José, and he once told how he had hung out of the plane to get the landing gear unstuck when it refused to come down.
In 1994, Mets returned to the Netherlands to earn his type rating for commercial aviation. The ultimate crown soon followed: he was hired by KLM. Luckily, Mom was able to witness this just before her passing in 1995. How happy and proud she was, and there stood Mets, beaming with pride, showing off his new uniform in the living room.
Mets remained a man of extremes and a persistent fighter. That was proven when the 1997 Eleven Cities Tour took place. Scheduled as a relief co-pilot on a KLM flight to Los Angeles, he landed there and immediately flew right back to the Netherlands. He slept for a couple of hours and then skated the 230-kilometer Eleven Cities Tour. Immediately afterward, he boarded a plane back to LA to be on time for his return flight to the Netherlands as co-pilot. Unbelievable, and typical Mets.
His youth didn't stop at twenty. He remained mischievous and playful later in life too. For example: waterskiing behind a tractor on the canal.
Mets showed that with perseverance, a down-to-earth mindset, and passion, you can make your dreams come true. We remember him as a family man, a pilot through and through, and a man who was always searching the horizon.
Rest softly, Mets.
