Working for a week in PNG.
Time: 1500 Local Time
Position: P2- ISL, circuit area Kamina.
Me: Was that the airstrip? (Looks again….thinks)
Or a sweet potato patch.
At 350m that airstrip was short, damn short. The 10kt tailwind wasn’t going to help either. Hmmm….
Why the hell did I come to PNG in the first place?
The coin is flipped. Heads, I win. Paul is volunteered to drive the 40km from Lae to the airport at Nadzab. First stop the briefing office. Second stop the Coke machine. It is 0700 Monday morning. Let the games begin.
The plane is loaded and the passengers are walking out to the aircraft as I check the oil and kick the tyres. The traffic officer sheepishly points to a somewhat lifeless figure being supported by two men and suggests the passenger is drunk. Fine, I say. He looks harmless in that state. Doors closed, I fire up the engines of my BN-2 Islander and I’m ready to go.
I don’t need a taxi clearance this morning. The senior controller forgot the door key to the control tower and is currently on the PMV (local bus) heading home to retrieve it. For me it’s off to the Kabwum Valley with its six associated airstrips. I try to land at the highest ones first and work my way down. An orange cross next to the windsock indicates there are passengers to pick up. On the ground at Indagen I can see my next stop only one mile away on the other side of the valley. As both airstrips are at 5500 feet and at right angles to each other, take-off immediately positions me on a left base for Konge. Wheels off at Indagen to wheels on at Konge takes 65 seconds.
Next stop Satwag. Level, with steep drop offs at either end, it’s a real aircraft carrier type airstrip. Up at 4000 feet it’s one of the few two-way mountain airstrips. As I taxi into the parking area it appears the whole village is out to greet my arrival. That’s very nice of them, but I wonder why they are all carrying flowers and looking solemn. I’m still scratching my head until a stretcher is carried to the plane and the “drunk” placed upon it…. Well I’ll be damned. The “drunk” is long since dead. I’ll bet the traffic officer, who is from this area, knew all along.
Nobody got much sleep last night. The thunderstorms rolling in from the Huon Gulf put on a spectacular light and noise display. On a brighter note, today is my lucky day, or so says the operations manager. He seems to think I like going to Isan. Sitting on a 6600 foot high ridgeline, it’s 410m long with an 8 % slope. The 4000 foot drop off from all sides makes for a difficult circuit. Turning onto final I think I look a little low but the altimeter suggests a little high. ******, caught in the conundrum of an optical illusion or an incorrect QNH. It all gets too much for my brain so I take a bet each way and don’t adjust anything. It doesn’t seem fair that the only cloud in the valley is passing across the threshold. This airstrip really gives me the creeps. Hurry up cloud, I’m getting close. Passing through the trailing wisps I’m on the ground at last.
Take-off is another matter. It’s just my luck nine passengers with all their baggage, sweet potato chickens etc, want to go to Lae. Maximum take-off weight on today’s soggy airstrip will call for the PNG “B” take-off technique. Full throttle, release the brakes, raise the nose wheel at 35 knots and allow the Islander to roll off the end. The airspeed will build up while dropping down into the valley.
Back in Nadzab 30 minutes later I am greeted by the operation manager’s favourite words, “just a quick Kabwum, Shaggs”. There is nothing quick about a trip to the Kabwum Valley and four hours later I am totally knackered. It’s definitely beer o’clock so all the lads head off to the Lae Yacht Club. Over a cleansing ale or three we observe the wildlife and laugh over the biggest scares of the day. You can be sure there will be more tomorrow.
I wake to the sounds of geckos chirping. The sun is rising and with it a change of plan. Today I’m going to our Wau base to help out for a few days.
After landing the Islander at Wau all the passenger seats are removed, four diesel drums loaded and it’s off to Sim. Up at 5020 feet and 425m long I usually classify Sim as medium scary. The approach is over a deep valley and strong winds around Christmas time make it unusable for up to six weeks. The myth is that in years gone by the village agent would fill the windsock with rocks during the windy season to give the appearance of no wind. No such deception is possible today, as the windsock has blown away. Talk about rough. The airspeed indicator fluctuates wildly, as does my heart rate, until finally I am unceremoniously dumped on the airstrip. Be damned if I’m coming back here today. Replace the diesel drums with 800kg of coffee bags and it’s back to Wau.
C’mon lads, shake a leg. Lets get this plane loaded. My next stop is Kamulai. At 5500 feet AMSL and 481m, it’s spook factor increases from medium to extra scary after 1100 due to strong winds in the valley. The village Mission is run by Father Able, a French Catholic Priest. This trip is his monthly supply run. He was on the radio this morning making sure we did not forget the bare necessities: two flagons of port, four rolls of toilet paper and six pouches of tobacco.
Over dinner in the Wau pilot’s house I hear of today’s lucky escape by a C-206 pilot. On take-off at Nadzab his aeroplane lost all power, despite the engine screaming and the tacho well over the red line. He landed on the remaining 2000m of runway. When he couldn’t taxi off the runway he shut down the engine to inspect the problem. It wasn’t until he had walked around the C-206 twice that he noticed the propeller was missing.
The alarm sounds at 0630 and yet another day begins. It’s only a 100m walk to the Wau airstrip and the crisp air at 3500 feet is a welcome relief to the mugginess of Lae.
Today’s instructions are simple. There are 50 tons of coffee at Hewini and Tawa to take to Aseki. With a flight time of 4-5 minutes between the airstrips it’s possible to do about 25 sectors today. Although the cloud will start building up from 1000, it won’t cause any major problems since the airstrips are all connected by a network of valleys. Getting back to Wau could be different story.
Given the sheer amount of work we do, aeroplanes invariably break down. For a problem such as an inoperative starter motor the “bush” DDG ( Dispatch Deviation Guide ) would read:
2 installed, 2 required (M) or (O). [ maintenance or operations ]
(M) Call company on HF radio and ask for the engineer to fly
out and replace. (This was likely to take all day/night)
(O) 1. Wind a rope around the spinner.
2. Get four locals to hold the rope.
3. Take the strain.
4. Run like the clappers.
It works every time.
Eight hours after leaving Wau and I have had enough. The cloud base is getting lower and the rain showers are getting heavier. At the back of Hewini is the Sunshine Gap, a 6000 foot low point between two mountains. It’s the quickest way back to Wau by far, but at the moment it’s not looking too promising. In case of down draughts you should always have either excess speed or height when crossing a ridgeline or gap, preferably both. At the moment I have neither, as the cloud is sitting on the trees and I have slowed down because of the rain. I approach at a 45 degree angle so I can turn away quickly if there is no way through or the weather is unfriendly on the other side. As I get closer it’s looking more and more ominous. Decision time. But just before I turn away I see a small hole in the cloud and a wide-open valley behind. Skimming the trees in a quick right turn, success, I’m through. This has got to be worth more than the $36 a day I get paid.
Another day, another dollar, which is exactly what the local Wau bank does not have. It was robbed during the night. I thought I heard a few gunshots early this morning. Nonetheless it’s a marvellous day with nary a cloud in sight.
I depart Wau heading south via my old nemesis the Sunshine Gap to one of my favourite airstrips, Kaintiba. Tucked up the end of a valley it resembles a ski jump since the bottom 100m is relatively flat and the top 100m slopes down at about 20%. Unlike a ski jump, however, the surface is rough enough to shake the fillings out of your teeth.
Most mountain strips are between 400-550m long. Next stop Kamina, at 350m short, looks positively tiny. According to specially tailored performance charts (up to 10% slope) the MLW at Kamina is the basic weight of the Islander. The MTOW allows carriage of the pilot. These figures are proven wrong daily.
At Kamina I am told of a sick person waiting at Komarko for a lift to the main district hospital. It seems the local Mission C-206 pilot refused to take him. Could I help? Sure I say, but secretly wonder if the patient has leprosy. Arriving at Komarko the whole story unravels. Apparently a recent tribal fight resulted in a man having a spear impaled in his head. Unable to physically accommodate the man and spear combination in the C-206, it was suggested an Islander could possibly fit him in. As it turns out the wounded warrior gave up waiting for me and set off on the six hour walk to the closest Mission hospital. Boy, these mountain people sure are tough.
The passengers I have accumulated so far are left at Aseki while I move some more coffee. They watch me come and go for three hours until we all depart for Wau. Unlike seasoned Frequent Flyer airline passengers, who demand on time departure and arrivals, these people are just thankful not to be left behind.
My Islander is not feeling well this morning. Every now and again the left engine starts running roughly and the cylinder head temperature gauge rises into the red arc. Management recalls us to Lae for engine investigation.
At Nadzab the Chief Pilot, just starting to taxi, is pleased to see me. He grins at me, stops taxiing, shuts down the engines and scuttles back to his office leaving yours truly staring at his plane full of confused passengers. I can take a hint, so muttering uncomplimentary remarks about our fearless leader I check the fuel, jump into the Islander, restart it and request a taxi clearance for...? I ask the passenger behind me where he lives. That will do for starters. As I fight my way towards the Kabwum Valley, it is obvious why the Chief Pilot bolted for his office. The weather is basically lousy.
There is no mucking around today. Get in and get out ASAP is today’s motto. The higher airstrips are proving particularly tricky. Konge has its cloud base just above the threshold so a circuit is flown in the valley just below airstrip height. Due to the slope of the airstrip it is possible to inspect from below. A gentle climb on short final and I pop up over the cone markers.
The weather is now beyond foul. So, following the old adage of “He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day”, I fly down the valley to the coastline, turn right and follow it around the Huon Peninsula to Lae, then up the Markham River to Nadzab. It takes three times longer than normal to get back. One of our less fortunate pilots gets clouded in at Indegen. He spends the night freezing in a flea ridden grass hut, scowling into his dinner of tinned fish and rice. Not happy, Jan.
Midway through a thousand beers at the Lae Yacht Club I learn my morning’s engine trouble was due to a faulty magneto causing mistiming. With five hundred beers to go, I highly suspect it will be me not feeling well tomorrow morning.
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I must confess to a small amount of poetic licence in this little yarn. However, the stories are all based on true events.