Last Post Out of Africa

This last Post is a final, personal reflection on the voyage. The toughest decision we all face once we've got our PPL is: What next? 

Effortless flight. It inspired the ancients and it inspires us

Flying. Free. Off Mozambique

BIRDS 
When you learn to fly you see things  differently. A bird is no longer a feathered creature. It is a miraculous flying machine. It possesses pitch-perfect flying skills honed by evolution and guided by insinct. When it it flies it is "in the zone", like a world-class tennis player whose racket becomes an extension of his hand and his subconcious mind. Watch a Red Kite wheeling at 3000 feet over a field in the Chilterns looking for carrion then swooping to the ground at dizzying speed. He's not thinking " I must watch my speed or my angle of attack or I'll fall out of the sky". Or a gannet dive-bombing for fish. Or an Ibis coming in to land, pull up in the flare vertically, and plop effortlessly onto the ground. They just do it, guided by millennia of evolution.

Darius who taught me what free flying is about

In Mozambique I watched in open-mouthed admiration as Darius Briers swooped down to 50 feet and played with his Cessna 210 over picture-perfect beaches. Setting aside my low-hours caution I followed. A sense of release, of freedom washed over me.

Trust your aircraft and learn to fly by feel. Listen to the pitch of the engine. Trim, fly straight and level, bank, turn, climb. Forget the little dials, just for a while. Have fun in uncluttered skies. Away from the UK and Europe with their tight corset of restricted airspace, endless ATCs and a web of suffocating regulation. That was my most valuable lesson, the one they don't teach you at flying school. A precious gift from Africa.

COLLECTIVE NOUNS: AN EGO OF PILOTS
Flying with other pilots can be rewarding but is not always easy. This is true of co-pilots and, as in the case of the Foxes, of aircraft flying in loose formation. It requires clarity, absolute honesty, tolerance and empathy. No.pilots - well General Aviation pilots- perform the same task in the same way. Especially if one is more experienced than the other. Pilots can be terrible know-alls. I suppose it's a way of boosting your confidence in difficult situations. The trick is to distinguish between small errors and life-threatening mistakes. And calibrate your response to your partner accordingly. Be firm but calm. Stress, exhaustion, fear (often bottled up) and the need to keep going, day in day out for weeks at a time under difficult circumstances take their toll on the very best. Africa is a liberating place to fly. But it can be dangerously unpreditable. Equally, saying nothing is not helpful, whether you're sitting in the left or the right hand seat. Some fascinating studies have been done of how co-pilots in big jets, overawed by their skippers, have said nothing and small errors have led to catastrophic failures. So it's not easy. It is binary teamwork at its most complex. It requires maturity. And there is no room for pride. If you make a mistake admit it. Or you won't learn and will repeat the same mistake with possible fatal consequences. Things left unsaid are like icebergs, a hidden menace waiting to rip your heart out. There are no stupid questions. If you don't understand something: ask. If you're unsure of your position: ask. If you can't see the runway (even if it's staring you in the face) because you're looking in the wrong place: ask. If you've forgotten: ask. And don't stop asking until you're sure you've understood.

Bernard Maeterlinck: prowess and humility

Unsurprisingly the very best and most experienced pilots in Fox Formation were also endowed with a genuine humility. Bernard Maeterlinck who flew the Turbo Mooney stood out for me. If you're thinking of going on a 2-day fly-out with a co-pilot and with others - let alone a trip as long and challenging as the TransAfria- talk things through, try it out and if you're not connecting and you're not comfortable, don't do it. Plan, prepare, plan. Your life depends on it. It's been a privilege to fly with the Foxes, sharing a beer at the end of long, exhausting days, shooting the breeze, telling tall tales. Exceptional people: fun, sometimes brittle, opinionated, courageous. An experience I shall never forget.



LOOK AFTER YOUR AIRCRAFT AND SHE WILL LOOK AFTER YOU
Make sure your aircraft or the one you share or hire is the best it can be. It's not about money. It's about diligence. Look after your aircraft and it will look after you. I was faced with the choice of putting Mogas (ordinary unleaded fuel) on a couple of occasions to get me out of a fix when the organiser failed to deliver Avgas in Mozambique. I refused. For two reasons: first because I had no idea what the quality of the Mogas fuel would be. As it turned out FP-SCB " aka the Bumblebee", which has a Rotax engine and will run on vin de table if need be, discovered at one point that the Mogas it got somewhere in darkest Africa was rubbish. It was so contaminated Charly and Alistair had to drain the valve nearly 50 times to clear it. Second, I had no idea what effect the Mogas would have on my engine. And my engine was my life. People do it. (In fact the future of General Aviation depends on finding a cheaper and more available alternative to Avgas). But, for now, we're stuck with Avgas. Had my life depended on it I would have done. But it didn't. So I waited it out till I was rescued.

Fuel flow: 4 hours 47 mins left in the tanks
Burn rate: 7.7 US galls an hour
Indispensable informtion

Kit your aircraft out with what's necessary. Of all the bits I fitted easily the most useful was my JPI FS-450 Fuel Scan Fuel Instrument. On legs of up 5 hours over desert, mountains and jungle I knew exactly what I had left until I would be flying on fumes so decisions to turn back or divert or turn back were simplified. Steve, my co-pilot south, used it skillfully to manage our fuel consumption. In the InterTropical Convergence Zone where storms and towering aircraft-devouring CBs are a fact of life, my little StrikeFinder weather alert system was a life saver. If there's something wrong with Alpha Charlie I'll fix it. If  can't or if I can't afford to right away I won't fly - unless it's a scuff on the carpet. Piper Archers are terrific little planes. Reliable, forgiving, fun to fly. She carried Steve and Jo and I 18,000 nautical miles. The distance around the earth at the Equator is 21,000 nautical miles. And she did not miss a beat.

MAKE FIRM DECISIONS BUT DON'T RUSH THEM
As a low hours pilot my mantra is " If there's any doubt, there's no doubt". That's a sound basis for making decisions. But it can lead you into the trap of making decisions too early, by the book, which become costly. They prolong your flight unnecessarily or lead you to,say, divert too early. You can plan till the cows come home. But you'll inevitably face the unforeseen and the unforeseeable. A simple example is: you're flying at FL80 (8000ft). You see big clouds ahead. You decide to alter course or divert. But by the time you get to where they were when you first spotted them, the wind has moved them on. Know your winds. Stay the course until you have to make the decision - unless it's staringly obvious and you have the information to hand. Another example is the one John and I faced when we flew from Perpignan, in southern France, to Tours on the last but one leg to Alpha Charlie's home airfield, Cranfield. When we got to Tours the tower said they were closed the following morning because of military games. It was Sunday. I wanted to land and wait it out. John firmly said we should wait till found what our alternates were. It turned out that Le Mans was open, 48 nautical miles ahead and closer to home. He was right.  So flying is a bit like driving. You only really start learning AFTER you've got your license and take to the skies.

THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS, THE FLYING COMMUNITY WORLDWIDE AND THE EYE WATERING AIRCRAFT YOU RUB SHOULDERS WITH

A South African Airways weaponised DC3 Dakota fittd with Turbine engines at Quelimane in Mozambique, dwarfing Alpha Charlie. The Dakota has a special place in my heart. It was the first scheduled plane I flew from Alexandria to Cairo over the western desert when I was a kid. We'd get to the airfield two hours early so we would not miss its lone growl as it approached through the withering Hamsin sandstorms. The first to spot it got a mango ice cream

Fernandez in Angola who guided us through weather and mountainous terrain unbidden. The guys at Pointe Noire Aero Club in Congo Brazzaville. The Air Traffic Controller at Bejaie south of Algiers and Mustapha Merabet President of the Algerian Light Aircraft Association.

Laurie Kay, who died tragically in April 2013. See my account of his memorial
on www.avcom.co.za under RedKite.  Laurie is the
South African Airways Chief Pilot  who flew a Boeing 747 low and slow over Ellis
Park stadium before the Springboks beat the All Blacks with a drop-kick
in extra time. 

And of course Laurie Kay, my pal in Johannesburg, a man who embodied all the qualities of a great pilot and mentor. He and Chris Briers and his family got me out of Mozambique. Laurie was on my shoulder all the way north. Thank you to all of them and all the others who helped along the way.


IS THIS TRIP FOR YOU?
I did this trip because I wanted to become a better and more experienced pilot. I didn't do it for the "adventure" or to see the countries we flew to. I'm fortunate. I spent much of my life as a Foreign Correspondent so negotiating my way through difficult and dangerous territory is what I used to do. And I've seen the world. Every pilot has to make their own decision about whether a trip of this magnitude is for them. If you're a hardcore, highly experienced pilot who's been around the block a few times then all you need to decide is: do I have the time, the money and is this where I want to go?

If, on the other hand, you're fairly inexperienced you need to ask yourself some hard questions. The most obvious is " What do I want to get out of it? Only you can decide. Other key questions are:

1) Do I understand the conditions I'm likely to face: hot and high airfields, thunderstorms, sandstorms, long legs, unreliability of fuel supplies, countries with scant air traffic control facilities, dodgy runways, very few if any engineering facilities, complex and shifting political conditions, unfamiliar cultures, intense heat, flying with pilots you've never met before. To name but a few. The trip is advertised as VFR. Mostly it is. But it is, literally, impossible to guarantee VFR conditions over 18000 nautical miles through Africa. And certainly not on a tight schedule which does not allow you to wait it out. If you don't tick all these boxes make sure you do before you go.

 If you are considering doing it and you are a relatively low-hours pilot ( and every pilot needs to decide for themselves what that means) my strong recommendation is take an experienced co-pilot both ways. Richard Clarke, in the Grumman Traveller, was on his own with his remarkably doughty wife Wendy who does not fly. He had, I think, around 500 hours. But he is exceptionally tough and he has an IMC qualification.

2) Is the time allowed for this particular trip enough? Again that depends. If you're just interested in flying from point A to B then I suppose it is. But if you're hoping for a flying holiday where challenging flying is interspersed with some relaxed sightseeing and downtime then the schedule, in my view, is nuts.

3) Do I think Prepare2Go are up to the job of organising such a trip? In a word ( and I speak only for myself ): not yet. Full of enthusiasm, energy and vision. Yes. But their experience so far lies in organising logistics for film and TV companies, single country trips and positioning fuel and getting clearances for record-breaking attempts. Drive and optimism are important. But you also need hard-headed realism, a high degree of careful planning for the imponderables and seemless communication - absolute transparency- between the team and the leader.

Organising a trip of this magnitude (and we were the first, the guinea-pigs) through so many countries, in such a volatile part of the world with so many aircraft of such differing endurance and performance limitations and with pilots who have never met, let alone flown together, is a task of enormous complexity. It is a great responsibility.

It requires enough resources to cope with the unpredictable, proper back-up in case things go wrong, maturity and exceptional leadership qualities to guide the group and hold it together, when the going gets tough. Ensuring the group keeps to a schedule is not enough.You need to build a consensus without losing control. The group did come together at crucial times to do the job: when Bernard's Mooney broke its undercarriage in the Congo. When 3 foxes diverted to Bejaie and needed fuel.

I wish Sam Rutherford and his wife Bea and their team well in the future. The vision is a courageous one. But its objectives need to be clearer if they're going to attempt another trip like this. Is it an endurance test or is it an ambitious fly-out? Pilots, especially less experienced ones, need a clear sense of what they're getting into if they're invited to join in. We were fortunate. We lost one aircraft, thankfully with no injuries. And a couple of aircraft had close calls. They were saved only by the skill and staying power of their pilots. And luck. As a group, our individual and collective determination saw us through. But the future success of exciting projects like this depend very much on learning the right lessons from past experience.

Alpha Charlie signing off. I shall miss the blog. It's been a lifeline, on dark days, a golden thread out of the Minotaur's cave to my friends and family back home. It will be back. So will Alpha Charlie. A la prochaine. 

















.

Post 40: Home !




Have we really been all that way?

  April 4, 2011
"Cranfield Tower
G-VAAC
Inbound with Information Juliet"
"Cranfield G-VAAC Pass your message"
"G-VAAC, PA28
Cranfield to Cranfield via Johannesburg and Le Mans, Abeam Wescott NDB
At 2000ft on 1020
Estimate the field at 46'
2 POB
Request landing"

Alpha Charlie taxis to her usual spot outside Bonus Aviation
at Cranfield where it all started two months ago. A special thanks to the
team there, especially Jo Bampton, Chief Executive, my long-suffering
Instructors and the guys at Bonus Engineering led by Mark Barnard.

Home. Runway 21. Familiar field. Papis show two whites and two reds as we position for finals at 76 knots. 2 stages of flaps. A blustery April day. 18000 nautical miles plus. Over 140 hours. I'll get back to you with the exact numbers when I wake up. No mishaps, no mechanical or electrical failures. The only aircraft in the Fox formation to have got away without any problems. Just a small chip off the prop. Fixeable. Alpha Charlie has been a star. Randy Groom, Vice-President of the Piper Corporation now based in Vero Beach, Florida, sends a message saying "Well done - and yes we do still make them like that." 






Where am I?

 Small reception committee of friends and loved ones. It feels unreal, other-wordly. Alpha Charlie and I left just over 2 months ago. I get a mild ticking off from the tower for not having put in a Gen Dec when I left. That was the day when John McGwyyne met me for the first flight to southern France through poor weather en route to Africa. We had two battery failures. That was along time ago. Kind messages come in from concerned friends across the world.

Reunited with Steve, southbound buddy. 

I shall take a few days to get my bearings and stare at our daffodils. I shall then come back with some considered thoughts about the trip, its organisation and what you need to know if you are thinking of doing it. And in due course I hope to be writing a piece for Flyer, my publication of choice. There are things that need to be said. After a sense of perspective has returned.

(Right to left) Steve, John McGwyne and me. Teamwork. Not easy in a
small cockpit. But deeply satisfying ( most of the time) when it works

I want to say a heartfelt thanks to a few special people:

• John McGwyne, my safety pilot to and from France.
• Steve Moore my rock solid co-pilot on the southbound leg.
• Jo Gemin, French co-pilot for part of the northbound leg.
• Laurie Kay, Chris Briers, his son Darius and wife Diola and Heino Von de Marwe, all of whom worked like Trojans to rescue me out of Mozambique.
• Gilly Butler, Johannesburg Control
• Steve Martin, borderline genius supergeek whose technical help made this blog possible
• Friends and family who stayed in touch
• My fellow TransAfricans. 
• The team at Bonus Engineering, Cranfield led by Mark Barnard who have looked after Archie Charlie over the years. Their care and diligence made sure she got through this trip without (any) malfunction and Mark's advice before we set off proved invaluable.
•  And most of all my wife Victoria without whose long-distance and loving support I would not have been able to get through the trip.

• 

  Alpha Charlie, cosily wrapped up in the British April after
  her African Odyssey. Rest well. You've done more than
  could reasonably be asked of a little 'un

  

Post 39: Almost home

April 3
Ibiza- Perpgignan (Tech stop)- Le Mans ( Divert)



Coming in to land on runway 20 at Le Mans, the legendary racetrack, site of some of
the greatest triumphs (and tragedies) in motor racing history

A long day. John McGwyyne has flown out to Ibiza to accompany me home. For those who've been with Alpha Charlie from the start, you'll remember that John assisted in getting me out of Cranfield through distinctly dodgy conditions - heavy cloud formations, rain and strong gusts- to Gaillac in southern of France at the start of the journey to Africa in the first week of February. John is rock-steady. He helped at 8 hours notice arriving at Cranfield after the school run on the basis of a hurried 10-minute conversation that morning. I was very grateful then and I'm grateful now.

 We take off from Ibiza in hazy sunshine, refuel at Perpignan two and a bit hours later and head for Tours in middle France. When we get to Tours (essentially a military airfield- featured at the start of the journey) the tower tells us they are closed till 11: 00 local tomorrow. The French can be unyielding. Quick consultation and we decide to divert to Le Mans, 50-off nautical miles further north- and nearer the channel.

It's Sunday and the tower at le Mans is closed. We are told by Seine radar to expect runway 02. A lone Jodl on a training flight tells us they using the reciprocal runway 20 when we make a blind call to alert traffic.

We join the circuit over the legendary racing track, site of the 24-hour Le Mans race, the oldest motor racing endurance race in the world, held annually since 1923. In 1955 one of the French competitors went off the track and ploughed into the crowd killing 81 people.

It was also where The Maestro, Argentinian racing driver Juan Manuel Fangio raced his Maserati 250F, the most beautiful racing car ever built, a hand-built replica of which sits on my mantlepiece at home where I shall be tomorrow.

John McGwynne, a truly safe pair of hands

Post 38: Algiers to Ibiza, the last flight of Los Zorros (The Foxes) before we each head home at the end of the Transafrica

April 1, 2011
Algiers (DAAG) to Ibiza (LEIB)
169nm seas-crossing
Flying time : 1 hour and 39 minutes




Africa passes underneath Alpha Charlie's left wing for the last time
as we head into the Mediterranean and Ibiza


 Alpha Charlie has missed her take-off slot at Algiers. Alpha Charlie doesn't do slots. She wouldn't know one if it rose up and tweaked her prop nose. This is the trouble with grown up airports. They're stuffed full, not to put too fine a point on it, of planes. These in turn are crammed with pilots with big watches waiting to push the autopilot at 300ft. Plus a hierarchy of Air Traffic Controllers trying to stop the organsied chaos in the air, on the runways, the taxiways and the apron from turning into a pile-up. Actually, they do a competent job with good humour.

The Foxes lift for Ibiza- the last flight as a loose formation at 5 minute intervals. We are ahead of a what looks like a maroon Very Light Jet. We take off into a sparkling blue sky on Runway 27 and head out over the Mediterranean and the Balearic Islands. The last time my wife, Victoria, and I were there we stayed in Deia, Majorca at the Virgin-owned hotel. Bob Geldof and Paula Yates, his then wife now deceased, and their children( Fifi Trixablle, Peaches, Pixi and Tigerlilly by Paula's second marriage)  were mooching by the pool.

Alpha Charlie has a slightly low reading on her fuel pressure gauge. Low blood pressure as we approach the end of a long trek. A quick boost of the pump and she's fine. Once level in the cruise at FL080 ( 8000ft) she is humming along in her usual contented way.

The landscape contrast over two days is memorable: swirling desert sand, high mountains edged in winter snow and swathed in dark thunderous cloud, lush, green valleys with pink roofs by the Mediteranean, the sprawling elegance of Algiers, site of one of the bloodiest revolutions in hisory.

ALGIERS: Algeria was liberated from the French in 1961. It was fiercely fought. No quarter asked for. No quarter given, The French, fresh from their humiliating rout by the Vietnamese at Dien Bien Phu in 1954, felt they had something to prove. Torture was widely used by both sides. Perhaps one million Algerians died. In his memorable film, the Battle of Algiers, director Gillo Pontecorvo concentrates on the years 1954 and 1957 when the freedom fighters regrouped and expanded into the casbah, only to face a systematic attempt by French paratroopers to wipe them out. We forget, but the loss of Algeria as a colony had a profound impact on France. It brought down six Prime Ministers and nearly plunged France into civil conflict. The French Algerian settlers fought bitterly against independence, tried several times to assassinate General De Gaule, France's President  and very nearly engineered a military coup in France to topple De Gaulle and seize power.

Alpha Charlie starts a slow descent into Ibiza which we see from 72nm out. As we approach we are eneveloped in sparkling Balearic sunshine and an impossibly blue sea. We have cancelled our IFR flight plan and are landing VFR.We are asked to report at Sierra point not above 1000ft on the QNH to avoid the endless stream of Ryanair jets coming and going. This is flying at its most pleasurable. The swirling sands of the desert seem a world away. Just ahead: a San Miguel beer and grilled fish.



Downwind for Runway 24 Ibiza







Ole! Viva Espana!! Y viva Los Zorros ( that's Foxes in Spanish)

 Fancy a beer mate? TIC - Tigger in Command G-VAAC and his buddy
BIC - Bear in Command G-GOSL

Alistair"Chopper" Moon ( FP-SCB) says it all

 TONIGHT a dinner party to celebrate and thank and remember the achievement and the team work. And perhaps reflect quietly on what could have been done better, what we've learnt about flying, about each other and about ourselves. Back soon.

 



Post 37: Out of Africa. Ibiza. But hold that thought while I wind back two legs to southern Algeria

April 1
Ibiza
4531nm from Johannesburg ( give or take)
  800nm to go to Cranfield, EGTC, UK

Ibiza is drenched in a crystalline, turquoise blue sky with a sea to match. Yachts. Tapas. Castillian Spanish drifts over a gentle April sea-breaze.  
But, just for a few moments, I must forget it's there, just beyond my balcony on the Marina. In my mind's eye I have to go back to Tamanrasset in the scorching desert of southern Algeria. That's where the last blog ended. The blog has been a sort of lifeline, a parellel journey. We move so often, it reminds me where I am, it anchors me. If I leave it behind, I stay behind.


March 29
Tamanrasset (DAAT)- In Salah (DAUE) - Al Golea (DAUI)
2 legs
310nm and 199nm
Total flying time: 5 hours and 10 minutes




An old Antonov 12 at Tamanrasset being slowly
devoured by the howling wind and sand

 Tamanrasset and In Salah, our refuelling point en route to Al Golea, are enveloped in high winds and swirling sand. This is above my pay grade. Jo flies Alpha Charlie. He does an impressive job coaxing her through virtually nil visibility and devouring up and down drafts to FL85 ( 8500ft) on both ocasions. Out of In Salah we crawl to FL90 (9000ft). The lady at Algiers radar tells us this is an "incorrect" flight level. We need to be at either FL95 or FL85. She is, of course, right. But she's not sitting where we're sitting being flung around by the wind coming off the brooding Hoggar massif. FL95 does not look good, even possible. We're not "squawking" on the transponder (not sending out a signal) so we're not on actually on her radar. We tell a porky and settle for somewhere in between. Exhausted Jo hands Alpha Charlie to me and I hand her on to the blessed autopilot.

Here the desert rules. A creeping sand dune is advancing on In Salah and, literally, cuts the town in half. It moves at one metre every five years. As the leading edge of the dune moves on, buildings on its trailing edge are uncovered. These are then reclaimed by their owners. If you get it right you'd make a fortune buying buried buildings forward and waiting till they appear again.

March 30
Al Golea (DAUI)- Bejaia (DAAE)- Algiers (DAAG)
2 legs ( one divert)
Flying time: 4hours 10 minutes

MEN OF THE MATCH: Richard and Zinadene Zidane: If you had to divert because the weather closes in and there's a line of 7500ft rocks in the way I recommend Bejaia ( DAAE) just south of Algiers on the lush Mediterranean coast. " Vaut le Detour" as the Michelin guide would say.


Zinadin Zidane local hero
to friendly pilots
at Bejaia

 It has three things going for it. The Tower is friendly- provided you don't go in there throwing your weight around. No names no pack drill. It is surrounded by beautiful green hills with pink-tiled roofs not unlike the Cote d'Azur. And, just above the airport perched high on the mountain is Augemone, the home village of footballing deity, Zinadene Zidane: ex-French soccer captain; 1998 World Cup winner; 2000 European Championships; 3-times FIFA Player of the Year; in short, footballing genius and ace head-butter.

We take off from Al Golea. The early weather report for Algiers says CAVOK. By the time we'd get to the mountains which form part of the great Atlas range and block the way to the coast the weather is looking decidedly dodgy. The highest ground - lit up firetruck red on my Garmin 695 GPS- is 7500ft and shrouded in brooding, dark freezing cloud with rain, sleet and snow. Sam is flying with me today and is at the controls. He is in beagle mode, keen to find a way through the valleys. Alpha Charlie, though small, is fun to fly, steady and responsive. I let him weave around for a while trying to find a hole. Behind us Charly and Alistair in FP-SCB ( the Bumblebee or as some unkindly call it the Lawnmower) are doing the same. But fuel is running low. After a mildly robust exchange Sam and I decide to divert to Bejaia, 80nm south of Algiers. Mercifully there is a break in the weather and the Tower is manned.



Home of the God:Alpha Charlie at Boujaiea. Up there on the ridge
is Zinadene Zidane's home village.

 We land and I go up to the tower. A helpful but worried controller is concerned a) because we had not filed Bejaia as alternate airfield and b) because the other aircraft have left Al Golea but have not been heard of. After about 15 minutes Richard's voice (Golf Mike Whisky) crackles over the radio saying he's at 9500 feet which puts him slap in the middle of the weather. He is less than 13nm from the coast. But he is struggling in the little Grumman Traveller and his plucky wife Wendy is having a tough time. Richard gets my vote for Man of the Match and Man of the Series. Not for his shy, retiring manner mind you. But for his grit. And Wendy who is a rock, quietly supportive. In due course he brings Mike Whisky down on a long final over the sea.



Richard and Wendy. Man and Woman of the series with
G-DIMW. True Yorkshire grit. And Richard wasn't bad either.


We are now short of fuel. There is plenty of goodwill at Bejaia but no Avgas. Sam rushes off to find Mogas for The Bumblebee, which would then drain off an equivelant amount of Avgas from its elegant little tanks, for us. I suspect the Bumblebee would run vin rouge and, most probably, fequently does. Then we hear an aircraft overhead. It's a light aeroplane. Alistair quickly gets out his handheld radio, and establishes contact on the Fox chat frequency. It's Helmut in the big Cessna. He has Avgas in the back. Plus a decidely shaken Jo and Adam. Helmut, who will fly through a brick wall, has cheerfully flown through a CB with " only" 5mm of ice on his wings accompanied by the odd salvo of lightning. Ten minutes later he lands. (Given half a chance he will tell you how lands in a foot of water on an Icelandic river bed). We have Avgas. I'm not making this up. I swear. Bernard and Derek in the Mooney follow. Rejoicing. Fox teamwork at its foxy best.

Boujaia's finest. Firm but friendly by Helmut's
Fly Through a Brick Wall Cessna

Word gets round. Local pilots Yassin and Said come and talk to us. The dapper Mustapha Merabet, who turns out to be the President of the Algerian Ultra Light Aicraft Association, is drafted in by the overwhelmed airport authority to take down our aicraft document details. The spirit of Zinadene Zidane looks down on us from his village.

Eventually we take off for Algiers, showered with good wishes. Algiers is a big, grown up airport. 2.5 million passengers a year. As we land on Runway 27 (just ahead of and at right angles to Runway 23 which takes big jets at the same time) we spot a forlorn Flying farmer Martin and his wife Annette. F-GOSL , the Robin, has had a puncture. On the main taxiway.



Punctured but not flat: Annette and Martin in the peace of the
St. George Hotel garden, Algiers

 But the St George Hotel downtown is lovely. The walls leading to its flowering terrace are plastered with black and white photographs of the rich and famous who've stayed here.

Post 36: Alpha Charlie's traffic alert system proves it worth. Another desert oasis. Fertile ground for figs, citrus fruits and Al Qaeda

March 28

Agadez, Niger to Tamanrasset, southern Algeria

381 nautical miles

Flying time 3 hours 29 minutes

Alpha Charlie and one of the other Foxes 1800ft above en route
to Tamanrasset in the soup

Alpha Charlie crosses into Algeria, our last country in Africa, at precisely 09:45 UTC. There is high ground ahead. We’re in the soup again. No visibility forward at FL85 (8500 feet) and virtually none below. Ahead the ground rises eventually to over 4500 feet at Tamanrasset airport.

Maintaining separation between aircraft flying around the same level from the same place to the same destination is (literally) vital. My mate Laurie Kay has been passing anxious messages via Johannesburg control (Gilly) to keep a good lookout in this neck of the woods.

My “entry-level” Avidyne TAS600 TCAS traffic alert system really earns its keep today. Keeping a good lookout is fine when you can see outside. But in an IFR situation it’s a lifesaver. The way it works (pilots fast forward here) is by “ interrogating” other aircraft fitted with transponders within a 7nm range and which are 3500ft above or below you. These then show up as little white or black diamond on your GPS. Or a yellow dot if it’s going to bump into you within 30 seconds - assuming both aircraft maintain the same heading and level.  A female voice then says “ Traffic. Traffic. 2 o’ clock high/or low/or same altitude”. Bit shrill. I’m thinking of customising the voice to Joanna Lumley’s. No it won’t tell you if there’s a glider without a transponder or a flock of geese in your way. And yes I understand it’s no substitute for looking out of the window. But, today, it allowed Alpha Charlie to stay clear of the other Foxes until we started our slow descent into Tamanrasset and onto a downwind join for runway 20 left. I think was of some use to the formation.

Where Europe's nuclear industry has been getting most of it's
uranium from for 40 years

On the way to Tamanrasset, just before we cross the border with Niger, is a vast uranium mine at a desolate spot in the desert called Arlit. Niger produces around 8% of the world’s uranium output. Production, controlled by the French. It has fed Europe’s nuclear power needs for 40 years. Tuareg tribesmen have launched repeated attacks in the area. They want their share. The government responds with force, probably using the revenues from the mine to buy weapons. The big Cessna goes down to take a look. Adam, riding with Helmut, says the mainly open-cast mine is “ vast”.

Tamanrasset is another desert oasis. It is in the spectacular Ahaggar mountains. In some places they resemble Monument Valley in Arizona, rising majestically out of the desert. It is on the trans-Saharan trade route. Despite the fierce temperatures (in August these can reach 48 degrees celcius) citrus fruits, almonds, dates and figs grow here.

The town is also now the headquarters for the Joint Military Staff Committee co-ordinating the fight against Al Qaeda and powerful cocaine cartels in the area. It’s nice to know the cartels have a sense of history and are keeping the old trade routes alive.

 Just north of here, deep in the Sahara desert, is a US military base. Just after we land, a Hercules aircraft touches down on runway 20. It taxis just past the formation and disgorges a small flood what are probably Americans who exit quickly and discreetly in single file and disappear into the other end of the terminal building.

One other thing. Michael Palin was here on a recent trip. So we follow in the footsteps of great explorers yet again.

Two days to go to Ibiza. And then home

Post 35: Agadez, Niger.

Kano, Nigeria to Agadez, Niger

303 nautical miles

Flying time 3 hours 15 minutes

Runway 06 Agadez.

First a correction and an apology. Flying farmer wife is Annette. Not Antoinete. Unforgiveable.



Soup. Virtally nil visibility forward. Straight down from FL085 (8500 feet) we can make out the desert (most of the time) which, each year, creeps steadily south. This is not a VFR (visual) flight. But it turns out to be less bumpy than the one from Port Harcourt to Kano yesterday. That was character-forming but not much fun.

Big Helmut in the uber-Cessna goes ahead from Kano, Nigeria to Agadez, to relay back the weather. The rest of us wait in the First Class lounge at Kano airport. The field is wrapped in a fine mist of sand and haze. On the tarmac a number of big jets wait to take Muslims pilgrims on the Haj to Mecca in Saudi Arabia. It is a trip every Muslim hopes to complete at least once in a lifetime. How did they manage before the age of air travel?

We take off around midday, Universal or Zulu time in pilotspeak. The visibility at Agadez is 2000 metres. Not ideal. Actually rubbish for a VFR pilot whose minimum is 3-5 kms. But Alpha Charlie has a couple of GPS systems. Plus an HSI - a Really Useful Gizmo (RUG). It’s basically a fancy Direction Indicator with a needle on a round, 360 degree instrument. It can also “capture” beacons on the ground which emit signals to tell you where they are and, therefore, where you are.

It allows you (pilots fast forward here) to bring up your destination runway on your GPS screen. What you see is the runway centreline at least 20nm out from the field, at both ends. Fly towards the line. When you’re nearly there, turn towards the runway gently, choose a steady rate of descent on the autopilot - which, in Alpha Charlie’s case, is brilliantly reliable. Land. If you have an instrument rating you can do an ILS approach and capture the glideslope. I don’t. But I do have some good kit. And I do have my co-pilot Jo, M. Passepartout. So its cool.



Tuaregs. Masters of the desert.

Niger is a vast arid landlocked country on the edge of the Sahara desert. It is bordered by Chad, Libya, Algeria and Nigeria. It is a country of deserts and mountains, a proud and gentle nomadic people with an ingrained sense of courtesy and Muslim hospitality. But it struggles to feed its people. It is prone to severe drought. The Tuareg tribes of northern Niger who roam freely across borders – Masters of the desert- have been in open revolt against the government for years. But since uranium was discovered in the north they are being pressed by a government desperate for hard cash.

Niger is also a budding Al Qaeda playground. Last year, much to the distress of many locals, a number of westerners were kidnapped. Some were shot. Tourists have gone. The few NGOs who still operate here, such the Red Cross, live under guard and never travel out of the city without an armed escort. It’s going to get worse. The Red Cross expects at least 200,000 refugees fleeing the civil war in neighbouring Libya to cross the border into Niger, many of them with guns provided by colonel Gaddafi.

Agadez is a true desert town. The town is as wide as the runway. Dusty streets. Most buildings are made from red mud and brick. There is a lovely old mosque. Stray dogs bark. I write this in the shady courtyard of the Auberge d'Azel., its pink mud walls draped with pink bougainvillea. It is 35 degrees in the shade. Mercifully it’s a dry heat.



Street life in Agadez

The muezzin calls the faithful to prayer. He has a fine voice which drifts over the town. It is a haunting and beautiful sound. The sound of my childhood in Egypt.  A nostalgia marred by the extremists who so skilfully turn the disenchanted to violence.

But dinner in the soft, pink,sandy courtyard of the hotel makes you forget all that. The town has gone quiet, the silence carried and amplified by the dry, desert air. Just the dogs barking and howling.

Post 34: Port Harcourt, Bandit Country

Principe, Sao Tome to Port Harcourt, Nigeria

204 nautical miles

1 hour 37 minutes flying time



Niger Delta rebels. Courtesy of Der Spiegel magazine. Many
press photographers have died bringing us images like these.
I have worked with some. And I salute their courage.

David Cairns, a very close friend and one of the great British press photographers of the 60s and 70s sent me this email yesterday  He was covering the vicious Biafran civil war in Nigeria.in the mid-1960s

" There was a Saturday in 1967 when Terry Fincher ( one of the greats with whom Slowflyer covered part of the 1973 Arab-Israeli war) was at one side of Port Harcourt Airport with the Nigeria Forces and I was with the Biafran Army, on the far side of the runway. The Biafrans had recently lost the airfield which was the only lifeline into the newly declared State and they were fighting hard to retake it. We did not find out about the fall of Port Harcourt Airport until we were well down the Coast of West Africa in an ancient Elizabethan aircraft ( Triple tailed?) which was packed with 105mm mortar shells and the rest. This flew from Lisbon to Sao Tome by a mercenary crew, four of us packed in the back. We flew very low over a moonlit Delta and into the new Biafra.

The ingenious Biafrans had found a longish straight bit of road in the middle of the jungle way north of Port Harcourt and had cut the jungle either side, both  widening and strengthening the road. As we descended into what seemed like impenetrable moonlit  jungle, a series of oil drums were suddenly lit all at once and very smoky runway lights appeared below at the very last minute!

We landed safely.  And walked into the war. It's still about oil.!"

Port Harcourt is bandit country. It lies in the Niger River delta, at the heart of Nigeria’s vast oil reserves. Enormous wealth; great poverty; corruption; a booming kidnapping industry; political unrest; ethnic rivalry; frequent attacks on western oil companies; ordinary people, good people who can't understand why one of the biggest oil producers in the world can't provide for their basic needs (Answer: corruption)  struggle to survive. This is a fertile breeding ground for extremism. And more corruption. Virtually every western government strongly advises against travel to the delta. The Foreign Office says  “ If you’re there. Get out” I’m not sure what we’re doing here.

We leave the beautiful island of Principe for the 200 nautical sea crossing between a morning thunderstorm and a cyclone moving in tomorrow. Alpha Charlie flies low, 1300 feet on the QNH. We pick up a good tailwind and for much of the flight we clip along at over 130kts. On a short stretch we touch 139kts. That’s nearly 260 kilometres an hour which is not bad for an Archer. Higher up at 4,500 and 6,500 feet some of the others have a strong headwind. Alpha Charlie eats up the miles. Which is comforting because we’re over the sea virtually all the way in the stormy Inter-Tropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ). As we approach the Niger delta we see oil tankers, rigs and gas flares.

We get to Port Harcourt airspace with a good hour to spare before sunset. It turns out to be a much busier than I’d imagined. Port Harcourt Approach (a little fazed by all these small aircraft arriving at once) helpfully vectors us to the field on an IFR approach, holding off impatient commercial traffic.



M. Passepartout and Alpha Charlie at busy, busy
Port Harcourt airport. 

It takes longer to clear immigration than it takes us to fly here. But the Nigerians are friendly. By the time we leave airside it’s dark. We pass through the airport gates, in single file, and get into a minibus with a smart, armed guard from the Nigerian Police Force, toting an AK47 short-stock automatic or something that looks it. His name is Nichodemus Ibrahim.



Annette with Sgt AK47 of Nigeria's finest

 Port Harcourt is surreal. Mad Max meets the Keystone Cops. In Africa. Religion is big here. There are churches to suit every taste. On the way we pass, in turn, the Laborarory Church of The Lord, the Reign Supreme Church min-van and The Supernatural Congregation of God. Slogan: “ Experience the Supernatural”

A bit further on a huge billboard says: Infections, 100% cure guaranteed. Call Daddy Bliss. Nigeria has the third largest HIV population on the planet. The outskirts are one big, building site. Arklights illuminate huge diggers. "VIPs" preceded by cars with flashing lights head for the airport. Armed checkpoints. Roundabouts and intersections are bull rings. Kidnapping is the least of  our worries. 

Our driver, who initially drives at a suicidal speed, but is skillfully encouraged to slow down by Flying Farmer's wife, Annette, weaves through bustling back lanes as we enter the city. They are alive with the street life of Africa. He eventually swings into the aptly named Psychiatric Road before depositing us at the “Marriot Bay” hotel, a counterfeit version and certainly not the real thing.

Tomorrow we head further north to the predominantly Muslim city of Kano, northern Nigeria. The country, a former British colony, is basically divided between the Muslim north and the Christian south. It is the invention of men in suits who, in the 19th and and 20th century created this giant by drawing random lines on a map. It's a potentially powerful country whose DNA is perhaps seriously flawed by a toxic mix of ethnic and religious rivalry.

Post 33: Alpha Charlie crosses the Equator Northbound





Coming in to land at Principe, just north of the equator

March 24

Port Gentil, Gabon, to Principe, Republic of Sao Tome and Principe

165 nautical miles

Flying time: 1hr 36 minutes

The Equator..well..just

Crossing the line: Alpha Charlie crosses the Equator, heading north, at precisely 15hrs 27mins 26 secs UTC. No weird or humiliating ceremonies for the crew in accordance with ancient naval tradition . I try and take a picture of the GPS at 00 degrees 00 minutes 00 seconds. The aircraf is faster than the camera. ( Left) I give Alpha Charlie a pat. We have come a long way together.  

Fuel finally arrived at Port Gentil at lunchtime. Not a good time to fly in the tropics but the forecast was OK.  We pay our bills at Le Meridien hotel,  rush off to the airport, fill up with the precious liquid, don our life jackets, agree quickly who would do what if we ditch in the Gulf of Guinea  and take off on the 160 nautical mile sea-crossing to Principe. Fortunately the former Portuguese colony of is an hour behind Gabon. We gain an hour's flying time before sunset.

This is the scary Intertropical Convergence Zone, or ITCZ. My mate Laurie Kay ( ex chief flying instructor on 747s for South African Airways ) had given Jo and I a masterclass on the ITCZ before we left Johannesburg. “ Just stay clear of CBs, the big scary cloud which rise tens of  thousands of feet, boiling and churning, at their heart killer downdrafts which can fling you to earth in a moment. If the forecast (assuming you can get one) says there’s a line of them don’t take off. If your path is blocked ahead turn back or divert. “

The ITCZ is the region that circles the Earth, near the equator, where the trade winds of the Northern and Southern Hemispheres come together. On a satellite image the ITCZ   shows up as a deceptively benign thin belt of cloud encircling  middle earth. It works like any thunderstorm. But big time. The intense sun and warm water of the equator heats the air. As the air rises it boils and churns and expands and then cools, releasing moisture in an almost perpetual series of thunderstorms. Some grow into hurricanes. The location of the ITCZ varies over the year. Over land, it moves back and forth across the equator following the sun's zenith.. Over the oceans the seasonal cycle is more subtle.

Runway 18, Principe

Our little Strikefinder weather radar lights up like a Christmas tree when we take off from Port Gentil. But it’s all to the west and some to the east. We cleave a path through it at FL65 or 6,500ft.

We are cleared to land at Principe by Sao Tome approach. The ATC asks every passing aircraft for a phone number. It's a search and rescue thing apparently If you don't arrive according to your flight plan, they ring your mobile.

The controller asks an American pilot in a passing Pilatus PC12 " Do you have a  contact number? " No Sir". Pregnant pause. Click, whirr. " OK.Do you have a PO Box, a Post Box?" The American replies, somewhat humourlessly I thought, " We don't have PO boxes in the States" 



Daybreak at the Bom Bom hotel Principe

Principe's haunting peaks are starkly contrasted against a darkening sky, backlit by the setting sun. We land on runway 18 which rises and dips to be welcomed by schoolchildren at the end of their day. It’s a lovely, unspoilt tropical island.

Kids at Principe

 March 25: Our next stop is Nigeria. We’re hoping to go to Port  Harcourt, refuel and head north Kano to spend the night. The weather looks dodgy. The ITCZ has come to life. Conditions are IFR in Port Harcourt. And it's pouring in Principe. We might be stuck in Paradise for a day or two.