48
GA
/ Vol. 5 / No. 3 / MARCH 2013
FLYING TRAINING SCHOOLS - Southern Africa
Vanessa Grieve
Registrar
info@flightacademy.co.za
PROGRESS AERODROME - PORT ELIZABETH
Progress Flight Academy
Tel: +27 41 394 1000
Fax: +27 41 394 1001
www.flightacademy.co.za
Specialising in full time
residential Integrated
Professional Pilot
Courses for CPL/
IR (ME)
to international
standards
MIDRAND - JOHANNESBURG
by Richard Browne
Flying in Africa
Snake on
a Plane!
One of the finest jobs I ever had
was with a corporate outfit based
out of Lanseria Airport north of
Johannesburg. As is typical with
corporate flying, there wasn't much
of it throughout the year, but when
there was, the destinations were
pleasant with not many night-stops.
In fact the first thing to be packed
onboard were normally our golf
clubs. Little wonder it only lasted
a year for me, but I digress.
The background to this job
was my family's moving to a farm
in the Eastern Transvaal as it was
then, where there was a guest house
setup with great trout fishing. On the
farm was a runway for the company
Kingairs and Citation, all a fairly
opulent playground for the top brass.
I spent most my informative
years on this farm, it was where
my love for flight cemented itself.
I already knew I was going to be
a pilot. I had come from Rhodesia
and could already draw a mean
Allouette III or a Cessna 337 by
the age of five, rockets and guns to
scale. Daks were a little harder, my
tail-wheels were always too large.
Once a Kingair or jet had
landed. I was told to stand in the
background when the passengers
would disembark and once they
had been whisked away, l'd shuffle
forward to say hi to these men-of-
the-air. They in turn would take me
inside the machine, switch on the
lights, let me sit in their seats. I recall
the smell of the leather upholstery,
the sounds of the gyros winding
down, for me, this was as natural
a high as one could get. I used to
write down the registrations of all
the aircraft, I knew them intimately.
Once they were ready for
departure, l'd watch them start those
massive engines, l'd try to follow the
blades around until they became a
blur and then race down to the end of
the runway and feel the air rush past
as they climbed away. I was only ten
years old but life was indeed good.
As it turned out, I ended up
flying for the same company, on the
same aircraft, to the same airfield
that had held me in such awe those
many years prior. It seemed a decent
ending to a kid's dream, alas it
just didn't work out long-term.
My nephew Ross had been born
somewhere in all the interim years
and he was just like me. If he wasn't
avidly watching the same aircraft
on the same runway, exploring their
interiors with me as his guide, then
he was knee-deep in mud, rivers,
cattle dung or mealies! He just
couldn't get enough of any of these
things. Oh yes, he adored cricket.
One fine winters day, I was
tasked with a double farm trip
from Lanseria, apparently a
conference was on the go for the
weekend. It would be a drop-off
on the Friday and then the pick-up
on the Sunday. Easy flights of 45
minutes each way in the Citation.
Upon landing at the farm, I saw
Ross hovering behind a vehicle
wearing my Mom's jacket, which
had been rolled up several times
to free his hands, his little knees
were shaking from the cold and
his hair had some maize chaff in
it. He'd come right from the silo
to meet us. His white face mask
was still on the top of his head. I
was chuffed to see him as he lived
in a different part of the country.
I had been paired up with the
Chief Pilot for this leg, a delightful
gentleman who was always ready
to help or mentor. I asked him if
it would be ok to take Ross with
us back to Lanseria for our next
pick-up then return him to the farm
later. He mentioned no reason not
too as the aircraft wasn't full, and
so we loaded up the youngster and
took off. This time though we held
it low over the farm offices just so
that Ross could whoop it up with
Grandpa later that evening.
Back at home base, we
disembarked and waited for the next
round of pax. The fuel bowser was
on standby and the catering was
ready to be loaded. We all retreated
to the office for a cup of tea and to
gather the next flights paperwork.
There was a light knock at the
door which revealed one of the
refuellers in his overalls. He was in
some sort of panic, clearly upset and
not too coherent. He was on about a
snake on the first passenger seat in
the aircraft, not a big one but holding
it's ground. This was a problem for
him because he couldn't reach the
carnet card in the cockpit, not too
mention, the guy clearly was uneasy
around serpents, as he called it.
We left Ross with his lemon
cream biscuit and headed down to
the aircraft where, by now, a small
crowd had gathered, cleaners and
other staff, all looking with long
craned necks around the entrance
door. We were confused as to
how a snake could have entered
the machine and where we had
picked it up, perhaps at the farm.
If we couldn't get rid of it,
we'd have to cancel the return trip
and then who would go in there to
look for it? Engineers are normally
strong types, but this wasn't a tight
bolt! So we approached carefully
to see what we were up against.
Putting my head around the sill
of the door, I noticed this snake
was sleeping, if they ever do, but it
was napping with it's mouth open,
fangs armed and tongue way out.
The same way a tired Jack-Russel
does. So I reached in and grabbed
Ross' rubber toy and walked back
to the office. Gee we had a good
laugh, the whole apron had come to
a standstill. I reckon the jet would
have been left open and never
parked if no-one had removed
the snake. A superb deterrent.
The flight back to the farm
was mostly operations normal
and Ross was deposited back for
his evening bath and supper.
He was so happy with his day
and it was great to see a child in such
euphoric spirits. The same ones I
had experienced all those years ago.
In closing, my nephew is now
a Captain with a commuter airline
in Australia and doing very well. I
hope that something we did back
then has helped him fulfill his dream
of flying aircraft, just as it did mine.
None of us is bigger than this game,
we must always remember to give
back to it what we have removed
and most importantly, never ever
forget where you started and
who helped you along the way.
Happy trails!
A younger me, Ross and a Kingair 300 at the farm in the Blyde Valley.