Well our decision is final, the 403, (screaming banshee) sang it's last dirge.
We finally snapped. Like a bar room brawl. "TAKE IT DOWN!", shouted Bill, as a bottle whistled past his ear. And Scott yelled, "No more noise"
I walk away from that well worn kill switch, feeling powerless.
52 feet up there, the air is pretty thin. Scott watches as Bill winches it down, slow, steady.
A silhouette, the end of an era.
Almost a year in service and the wear on the unit is apparent. Lots of bearing and blade wear.
We learned a lot. The flex of the blades can be seen in this last rite.
Quiet now, well on with it, building a windmill a new fashion way. Joe.