Very early one lousy, cloudy morning, in a Baron laden to the hilt with freshly killed beef, I was in a circling climb on the Ramu side of the Bena Gap looking for a hole in the cloud, big enough to dart through into the Goroka valley. There was a lot of cloud about on the mountains, though the Ramu valley was completely clear. One morning every week we’d fly into Dumpu cattle station, owned and pioneered by Bruce and Barbara Jephcott, for a load of beef, slaughtered the night before. In the cool of the morning, with the climb to 10,000 feet, refrigeration was taken care of.
There were few aircraft about at that time. All was quiet on the air waves till Madang called to advise me that a Cessna 206 was unreported on arrival at Kegl Sugl, a Catholic mission station at 8000 feet on the eastern slopes of Mount Wilhelm (14,783 ft). That mountain, the tallest in the Territory of New Guinea, was about 50 kilometres from where I was making my circling climb. Madang requested that I overfly the mission station at Kegl Sugl and advise whether or not the Cessna was on the airstrip. Early morning radio blackouts were common. ‘Safe landing’ reports from pilots were sometimes lost in the ether.
There was nothing unusual about the request, so I leveled the wings and scudded off up the Ramu Valley towards Mt Wilhelm and the Bundi Gap. Heavily laden as the Baron was, coupled with the rising storm clouds, it took some time to climb to over 15,000 feet and fly across the Bismarck range, to where for only a few seconds, it was possible to sight the mission station through the clouds and report that there was no sign of the Cessna on the strip.
The pilot, Father Joe Walachy, an American priest of Divine Word Mission, had been flying from Madang since the end of the Second World War. He was well known to me. Father Joe had probably made more trips into that area from Madang, than any man living. Had he not been able to get through the weather, which was quite bad, he would have returned to Madang or diverted to another landing place, there to await a clearing of the weather before attempting another try for Kegl Sugl. By the state of the weather on the mountains, I could see that he would have returned to Madang if that had been the case.
Through an exchange of radio calls it was learned that the last progress report received from him stated that he was climbing above 10,000 feet outside the Bundi Gap and expected to arrive at Kegl Sugl ten minutes later. More than thirty minutes had elapsed since that report. A full-scale search was called up for Father Joe and his brand new Cessna 206, for it was then obvious that he was in serious trouble.
The weather on the Wahgi Valley side of the Bismarcks was clear. The task allotted me by the searchmaster, that I knew would be a sheer waste of time, was to comb the heights of the rugged shoulders of Mount Wilhelm above 12,000 feet. In clear weather I droned up and down the granite walls of the mountain for as long as my fuel reserves allowed, before returning to Goroka to unload the meat and refuel to maximum capacity.
Returning to the area, after unloading and taking on three observers, we found that a number of other aircraft had been recruited for the search, including airline DC-3s. It seemed to me that the DC-3 was not the best choice of equipment to be darting and diving through breaks in the clouds over high mountains, some covered in tropical rainforest, with the accent on rain that particular day and with other aircraft doing likewise. There were moments when I feared that the searchers might very well end up being the searched for.
The high country from Mt Wilhelm south to Mt Otto above 9000 feet, was allotted to me. Grey and black, rain-sodden clouds rose to 25,000 feet right along the range. Again my time was being wasted. The aircraft allotted the lower altitudes weren’t making any progress either. These circled mainly in the Ramu valley, miles away from the ranges where the 206 was thought to be. Occasionally I'd attempt to probe in closer, only to be turned back by a wall of ‘stuffed’ cloud. The radio was continually clogged by a cacophony of useless pilot cackle about the location of one search aircraft or another. No efficient searching was done. Most of that day was a waste of time for all aircraft concerned. Daylight drew to a close with little or no improvement in the weather.
The next day started out to same as we in the Baron were first on the scene, having left Goroka at daybreak'. At dawn the north side of the Bismarcks were seen to be pushing up huge rain clouds. That lasted for a good part of the morning, obscuring the most likely target areas. Afternoon saw the clouds lifting, but not enough to allow a good view of the wooded ridges in the Bundi Gap area close to Kegl Sugl, where by then it was suspected, the aircraft might be found.
The Baron was now beginning to show it’s true worth as a search plane. She was fast, light and easy to handle, the ample power developed by the engines allowing for tight turns and quick climbs. The low wing presented no problem with visibility. With a trickle of flap she handled nicely at slower speeds too.
The short tropical twilight was creeping across the hills as I left the search area that evening, diving smartly through gaps in the cloud cover from the north of Goroka valley. Indications were the following morning would see a marked improvement in the weather. All other aircraft involved returned to Madang on the coast. With the onset of darkness, as if by magic, the mountains began throwing off the blankets of soggy cloud that had shrouded them for days.
That night I was briefed by phone by the searchmaster at his headquarters in Port Moresby. My request for a lower search pattern was granted. There were to be some fifteen aircraft taking part in the search next day, should the weather be good. The search area would be then even more crowded.
First light saw us scudding once more across the Bundi Gap, partly under early morning mountain range shadow. Ahead the sky and the ranges were cloudless. Over the Bundi Gap we manoeuvred into a gradual descent from 9000 feet, down and along the range towards Mount Otto, with the forested ridges of the range just off the right wingtip. The observers were glued to our right side windows. My guess was that the Cessna would likely be on the northern side of the range, as the southern side in that area was populated and only wooded in patches. Had he come to grief on that side he would already have been found.
Closing rapidly on the shoulders of Otto at the finish of the run, I swung to the left away from the ranges in a turn that would retrace our flight path up towards Mt.Wilhelm. That put the ranges on my side, allowing me to tuck in even closer to the face of the many sheer cliffs and the full torrent waterfalls from the previous day's heavy rains. A spectacular sight.
On the third run down the range, just skimming over the trees, from the rain soaked forest came a sharp glint of reflected light that could have only come from something metallic . It came from a cliff face close to the Asaloka Gap, twenty kilometres or so from Kegl Sugl. I felt the adrenalin rush as I laid her over into a tight left turn, holding her there until we had gone round 270 degrees so as to roll out pointing directly at the narrow defile between the mountains that formed Asaloka Gap. The sunflash first seen would be just to the right and slightly below.
With the cliffs coming in rapidly I had the throttles fully forward. A light back pressure on the wheel was enough to aim our nose at the gap. Committed now, there was no room on either side to turn away while seeking for the spot .
For a split second a fragment of shiny metal could be seen against the reddish colour of an almost vertical landslip, which by the look of it was freshly made. Then it was gone as the ridges on each side closed in forcing us to fly straight through. Seconds later we burst through, into and over the northern reaches of the Goroka valley and our comfort zone.
To allow the observers to confirm the find we came back through the gap again, low but not too fast, while they craned their necks at the spot . Though certain that what I'd seen was a part of Father Joe’s Cessna, confirmation was needed from at least one of the observers.
Now the sun’s rays were blocked by Mt. Otto, so no more was there the glint of metal to home in on. Making several more passes from each side of the gap increased my familiarity with the terrain while bringing us closer and closer to the near vertical face every time. So as to get a closer look down the face our successive passes necessitated these low runs through the gap, wingtips almost brushing the forest. By now one of the crew was looking decidedly seedy from the sharp turns, descents and climbs. In spite of his condition he managed to indicate to me that he’d spotted the wreckage. I estimated it's elevation to be about 7,000 feet.
As we continued pass after pass we saw parts of the wreck embedded in the cliff-face. The sight was sickening. There could be no doubt that Father Joe and his offsider's lives on earth ended about the time I'd left Dumpu in the Ramu Valley with the load of beef two days before. A shudder ran through me digesting that grim fact. Certain now of no mistake I reported our find to the searchmaster at Madang. He asked that we fly there to give him the precise details of wreckage location. All three observers looked relieved to be flying at last steadily straight and level.
Those who later viewed the crash site from the air were surprised how difficult it was to positively identify the wreckage. Without the sun glinting on that part first seen from the Baron, the search may have never been successfully concluded.
Days passed before a ground party led by Patrol Officer Richard Giddings struggled up and through the Asaloka Gap. The climb down to the wreckage was perilous . From the air, the almost vertical route to the wreckage looked to be inaccessible except perhaps for a trained mountaineer. Richard and his party of New Guinea highlanders made it there in three days . Because of the almost sheer face, there was little hope of the investigators gathering sufficient evidence for a conclusive technical report. Many pieces had tumbled further down the landslide created and were irretrievable.
Viewing the ground party at the site from the air, after their dangerous climb and descent, turned my thoughts back again to my Drover in Fiji and the ‘technical expert’ who failed to make the distance to the crash site through fatigue, but who nevertheless filed a conclusive report on that machine’s pre-crash alleged serviceability.
The search party recovered only a few remains of the two priests. Father Joe was well known, much loved and respected for his work as priest, mission pilot and mechanic. For years he had lived a Spartan life in an open-air hangar beside the runway at Madang, supplying the many Catholic mission stations in the interior. Over many years, almost all his flights entailed crossing the mighty Bismarcks in his well-known, well-maintained Cessna 180. A hush seemed to fall over the harbourside township as the news spread of his passing.
Despite some 'experts' opinion, weather was not the primary cause of this accident. Though it was time and again the major factor with accidents of which I had first hand knowledge, in this instance, though doubtless a contributory factor, there was, I thought, a more plausible explanation.
Joe had amassed hundreds of hours between Madang and the highlands in the mission’s Cessna, , a smaller, tail-wheel model than the one in which he was killed. The 206 was relatively new to him, larger, heavier and fitted with a tricycle undercarriage. Of the differences between the two types, a significant one in my opinion is the arrangement of the fuel selector lever on the floor between the front seats.
With the Cessna 180’s tank selector centred forward, both tanks were ON. In the 206 the fuel was OFF when the selector was centred forward. Changing from one tank to the other on the 206 meant that the selector must go through OFF. It could well be that Father Joe had always flown his 180 with both tanks selected, for that was common practice with pilots flying the type.. During the climb near the Bundi gap, with his mind fully occupied searching for a way through the cloud and rain, had he a need to change tanks, the fuel might have been inadvertently shut off during that selection. Such is often the nature of entrenched habit.
Given that scenario, Father Joe would have been taken by surprise with a dead cut of the engine, while fully engaged positioning to avoid the many clouds that covered the high terrain that day, possibly resulting in a loss of control.
Conjecture of course, for the parts that may have supported this theory were, as we know, never found .
With the search over, for me it was a return to the daily grind of flying through the mountains with a lot of catch up charters to do.
Father Joe and other mission pilots who lost their lives in New Guinea up to that time, have been remembered with a memorial stone on the airport at Madang. On the peak is a bronze replica of Father Joe’s much cared-for Cessna 180 in a banked attitude.
Every time I see that memorial I am reminded too of Ray Jaensch, chief pilot of Lutheran Air Services, who like Father Joe, had been flying from Madang for years. Both men were near neighbours and friends in friendly competition on mission supply routes. Ray’s life was lost I believe, because of an amateurish, bureaucratic bungle. This is the subject of the next chapter.
Last edited by Fantome; 10th Jun 2011 at 01:37.