His instructions were clear, "Touch nothing. NOTHING! Especially the two pedals on the floor in front of you." I got the message. I held my arms close to my side, moved my feet as far as possible from the pedals - and then we took off. It was a magnificent flight.
In our 3 weeks in Africa we took 16 flights - 7 to get over and back, the other 9 between the various safari camps. I think we were in the Victoria Falls airport in Zimbabwe 3 times - it was centrally located. The planes varied in size - huge planes to and from Johannesburg and Washington, D.C., 6-across planes on several flights from larger airports in Africa and then bush planes for flights in and out of isolated camps. It was the bush planes I found most interesting. One held 12 passengers, one 5, and one 3. Once we had to use all three (given other passengers who had to be transported) and once we took the 12-seater twice - it flew out with 12 of us, landed, flew back to pick up the remaining few and flew out again. I was "co-pilot" in one of the 5-seater fights.
How did it happen? All of us wanted to ride in the small planes (the 12-seater seemed huge when compared to the 5 and 3-seaters) so we took turns. When flying out of the Kafue camp (on the Lufupa River in Zambia) it was my turn. When no one else jumped to take the co-pilot seat I quickly volunteered. While the others climbed up the outside of the small plane (you stand on the wheel, then on a small step and then enter the plane behind the pilot's seat) I moved to the opposite side and climbed into the front, next to the pilot. He strapped me in (bush planes have both a shoulder and lap strap that are connected and are a little tricky when you first use them) and then gave me that warning, "Touch NOTHING." I grinned at him and said, "Aye, aye, sir!"
There is something about pilots. At home, in large airports, they walk firmly, eyes ahead, pulling their carry-ons smartly behind them. They have presence - you know they are in charge. Bush pilots are something else. They swagger. You can recognize them instantly by that walk. They KNOW they have the coolest job around. Their uniforms? Shorts, shirts, sneakers and smokin' sunglasses.
I was lucky in that my pilot was chatty; others on previous flights were not. He was clear, "Ask me anything, unless I am speaking on the radio." I was offered an opportunity and I took it. I asked him about the challenges of take-offs and landings at isolated landing strips, the purpose of all the knobs and dials and those pedals in front of me, then asked him which gauge he wanted me to be responsible for? He was amused - he said I could take care of the one that measures altitude. We flew at 10,000 feet (well, 9,900 to be exact - I know, I watched that dial) but the land below was at 3,500 feet so we were only about 6,500 feet above the ground.
I got great views from my front seat - well, with one noted exception. Who knew that much of the vision straight ahead would be blocked by the control panel? It is somewhat amazing that they are able to land with so much of their vision blocked. But the view to the side was spectacular. I loved teaching geography and got to see this geography up close. At the lower elevations I could spot elephants and giraffes on the ground. From higher up, I had sweeping views of the savanna. Also, for the first time, I saw African farmland. It wasn't green as it often is at home - this was winter, after all, the dry season in southern Africa - the fields were brown. The fields were also uneven - not perfect squares or rectangles - but still recognizable as farmland. We flew over small villages (we would later visit one in Zimbabwe) but no towns of any size. We were deep over rural Zambia.
I think the flight was an hour. About 40 minutes in I asked, "I know you have the coolest job in the world, but does it ever get boring?" He turned to me, paused, grinned and then said, "Yep, but that's not for publication - we have to keep up our image!" He said the geography is similar wherever he flies and it does get boring so he enjoys interacting with passengers when he is able. I promised to keep his secret - well, just broke that one but if it is for the purpose of educating readers, surely that makes it okay, yes? Oh the power of rationalization.
The landing strips themselves are another story. They are out in the middle of nowhere, just a long, narrow runway with identifying numbers formed in rocks, painted white, on one side of the strip. That was it - oh and a wind sock. No control tower, no terminal, no baggage carousel - nothing. Well, that's not true. At our last landing strip there was a little shack on the side and I was most surprised to discover that it was a bathroom. Sitting out there in the middle of the bush. And it flushed. What made it amusing was that it also had a wide open view when sitting on the toilet - the window was open air, at knee height, across most of the small structure. At least it faced away from the landing strip so you didn't get an interesting view when landing or taking off.
And, by the way, whenever we left a camp, we had to get to the landing strip 30 minutes before the planes were expected. Why, you ask? Well duh, the guides had to be ready to drive animals off the strip when they heard the planes descending. Who knew?
And that brings me to the last interesting bit about my turn as co-pilot. My bright yellow jacket. This trip was expensive, the most expensive trip I have ever taken. It wasn't just the trip itself, it was sending my passport back to get additional pages for the African visas (I had run out of pages), the yellow fever shots, the malaria pills, the safari-colored clothes (beige and brown and then more beige and brown), etc so, a few days before I left, when I realized I still needed to get a light jacket, I balked and headed for the Columbia outlet - half price. There was a problem however - I found the right jacket but it only came in 4 color combinations - black/gray, blue /gray, red/gray, and neon yellow/gray. I don't like yellow, doesn't look good on me, but the others were unacceptable. Why? Black and blue attract tsetse flies - there went the first two; the ones I preferred. Red is not a safari color, there went the third. Left looking back at me from the racks was the ugly neon yellow thing. But it was half price, it fit, it had a hoodie - I could wear it in Portland afterwards - but oh that color.
Look at this photo - what stands out?
Okay, the life jackets stand out - but that's because there are so many. What other color is even brighter? Yep, there it is, my jacket. We were supposed to blend into the environment and my jacket did not.
.jpg)
I tried to convince the others on the mokoro trip that my jacket matched the reeds in the Delta. Well, in a certain light, I said. I tried to be convincing. The others nodded politely; my cousin rolled her eyes.
But when I was co-pilot, I found my other possible career field - look, I matched him!
I could be a pilot. Or airport security - I matched everybody who was anybody in security at the airports we visited. I even matched the police at Cape Town. Ah, the job possibilities. And here I thought the color might be a liability.
All in all, it was a thoroughly amazing experience wrapped in bright neon yellow.
In our 3 weeks in Africa we took 16 flights - 7 to get over and back, the other 9 between the various safari camps. I think we were in the Victoria Falls airport in Zimbabwe 3 times - it was centrally located. The planes varied in size - huge planes to and from Johannesburg and Washington, D.C., 6-across planes on several flights from larger airports in Africa and then bush planes for flights in and out of isolated camps. It was the bush planes I found most interesting. One held 12 passengers, one 5, and one 3. Once we had to use all three (given other passengers who had to be transported) and once we took the 12-seater twice - it flew out with 12 of us, landed, flew back to pick up the remaining few and flew out again. I was "co-pilot" in one of the 5-seater fights.
How did it happen? All of us wanted to ride in the small planes (the 12-seater seemed huge when compared to the 5 and 3-seaters) so we took turns. When flying out of the Kafue camp (on the Lufupa River in Zambia) it was my turn. When no one else jumped to take the co-pilot seat I quickly volunteered. While the others climbed up the outside of the small plane (you stand on the wheel, then on a small step and then enter the plane behind the pilot's seat) I moved to the opposite side and climbed into the front, next to the pilot. He strapped me in (bush planes have both a shoulder and lap strap that are connected and are a little tricky when you first use them) and then gave me that warning, "Touch NOTHING." I grinned at him and said, "Aye, aye, sir!"
There is something about pilots. At home, in large airports, they walk firmly, eyes ahead, pulling their carry-ons smartly behind them. They have presence - you know they are in charge. Bush pilots are something else. They swagger. You can recognize them instantly by that walk. They KNOW they have the coolest job around. Their uniforms? Shorts, shirts, sneakers and smokin' sunglasses.
I was lucky in that my pilot was chatty; others on previous flights were not. He was clear, "Ask me anything, unless I am speaking on the radio." I was offered an opportunity and I took it. I asked him about the challenges of take-offs and landings at isolated landing strips, the purpose of all the knobs and dials and those pedals in front of me, then asked him which gauge he wanted me to be responsible for? He was amused - he said I could take care of the one that measures altitude. We flew at 10,000 feet (well, 9,900 to be exact - I know, I watched that dial) but the land below was at 3,500 feet so we were only about 6,500 feet above the ground.
I got great views from my front seat - well, with one noted exception. Who knew that much of the vision straight ahead would be blocked by the control panel? It is somewhat amazing that they are able to land with so much of their vision blocked. But the view to the side was spectacular. I loved teaching geography and got to see this geography up close. At the lower elevations I could spot elephants and giraffes on the ground. From higher up, I had sweeping views of the savanna. Also, for the first time, I saw African farmland. It wasn't green as it often is at home - this was winter, after all, the dry season in southern Africa - the fields were brown. The fields were also uneven - not perfect squares or rectangles - but still recognizable as farmland. We flew over small villages (we would later visit one in Zimbabwe) but no towns of any size. We were deep over rural Zambia.
I think the flight was an hour. About 40 minutes in I asked, "I know you have the coolest job in the world, but does it ever get boring?" He turned to me, paused, grinned and then said, "Yep, but that's not for publication - we have to keep up our image!" He said the geography is similar wherever he flies and it does get boring so he enjoys interacting with passengers when he is able. I promised to keep his secret - well, just broke that one but if it is for the purpose of educating readers, surely that makes it okay, yes? Oh the power of rationalization.
The landing strips themselves are another story. They are out in the middle of nowhere, just a long, narrow runway with identifying numbers formed in rocks, painted white, on one side of the strip. That was it - oh and a wind sock. No control tower, no terminal, no baggage carousel - nothing. Well, that's not true. At our last landing strip there was a little shack on the side and I was most surprised to discover that it was a bathroom. Sitting out there in the middle of the bush. And it flushed. What made it amusing was that it also had a wide open view when sitting on the toilet - the window was open air, at knee height, across most of the small structure. At least it faced away from the landing strip so you didn't get an interesting view when landing or taking off.
And, by the way, whenever we left a camp, we had to get to the landing strip 30 minutes before the planes were expected. Why, you ask? Well duh, the guides had to be ready to drive animals off the strip when they heard the planes descending. Who knew?
And that brings me to the last interesting bit about my turn as co-pilot. My bright yellow jacket. This trip was expensive, the most expensive trip I have ever taken. It wasn't just the trip itself, it was sending my passport back to get additional pages for the African visas (I had run out of pages), the yellow fever shots, the malaria pills, the safari-colored clothes (beige and brown and then more beige and brown), etc so, a few days before I left, when I realized I still needed to get a light jacket, I balked and headed for the Columbia outlet - half price. There was a problem however - I found the right jacket but it only came in 4 color combinations - black/gray, blue /gray, red/gray, and neon yellow/gray. I don't like yellow, doesn't look good on me, but the others were unacceptable. Why? Black and blue attract tsetse flies - there went the first two; the ones I preferred. Red is not a safari color, there went the third. Left looking back at me from the racks was the ugly neon yellow thing. But it was half price, it fit, it had a hoodie - I could wear it in Portland afterwards - but oh that color.
Look at this photo - what stands out?
Okay, the life jackets stand out - but that's because there are so many. What other color is even brighter? Yep, there it is, my jacket. We were supposed to blend into the environment and my jacket did not.
.jpg)
I tried to convince the others on the mokoro trip that my jacket matched the reeds in the Delta. Well, in a certain light, I said. I tried to be convincing. The others nodded politely; my cousin rolled her eyes.
But when I was co-pilot, I found my other possible career field - look, I matched him!
I could be a pilot. Or airport security - I matched everybody who was anybody in security at the airports we visited. I even matched the police at Cape Town. Ah, the job possibilities. And here I thought the color might be a liability.
All in all, it was a thoroughly amazing experience wrapped in bright neon yellow.
Donna, you amaze me. No only are you a true, brave adventurer, but you have the perfect level of humor and drama to write about your travels that keeps us coming back for more. I love you!
ReplyDeleteHey, it worked that time! What the hell did I do right?
ReplyDelete