With a cold front forecast to hit Cape Town on Monday, we decided to try and beat the weather by leaving on the Sunday. With an early Uber to Stellenbosch, we took to the skies with The Subercub, Bushbaby and Tiger Moth, leaving Cape Town behind. We routed via Worcester to refuel, the imposing mountains blocking our path. Towers of rock extended more than 4000 feet into the sky, and I had to circle to gain height before routing over a pass to the other side. At Worcester, we landed on the gravel runway and already felt the heat despite the still early morning. The mountains formed a beautiful backdrop and we were sorry to leave, departing for Beauford West. The landscape became more and more arid until the vast relatively featureless karoo stretched beneath us. With the desolation came heat and with the heat came turbulence, so we had to fight the controls to keep the aircraft level. After a few hours we landed at Beauford West, a beautiful little airfield with a historic red roofed terminal building and most importantly, a swimming pool. We cooled off in the water, and I had a snooze under one of the trees bordering the green-grassed garden outside the airport's restaurant. We were waiting for the calmness of late afternoon, but instead, the wind started to pick up, and we had to push the aircraft into a vacant hangar. Our departure would have to wait until morning. Unfortunately with all of the holiday traffic heading down to the Cape, everywhere was fully booked, including the airport managed to find one room in town for Val and Ron, and the rest of us decided to sleep on the carpeted floor of the control tower. I took the seats from the Tiger to make myself a bed, and slept under my flying jacket: real barnstroming stuff! I went to sleep after a spectacular karoo sunset, not convinced that I would feel rested the next morning. And I was right. With a disrupted sleep, and a creaking back, I got into the Tiger just after sunrise, and we made our way north-eastwards towards Johannesburg. The flat and barren landscape was not very captivating, although there is a beauty to the starkness of the desert. We made Gariep Dam, and the temperature was already in the mid thirties despite it being only 8:30 in the morning. We prepared for another bumpy ride to New Tempe where we were able to have out first meal of the day, nothing being available at the previous airports. It was not yet lunchtime and yet we had flown four-and-a-half hours already. With time to spare, we decided to try for Krugersdorp direct, some 3 hours away. Turbulence kept us awake once again, and I could feel the ache in my shoulders and legs from the constant adjustments that I was having to make to keep the wings level. The brown parched landscape became greener as we got closer to the Vaal River and the Vredefort Dome. With afternoon thunderstorms building, we managed to avoid a storm cell close to Krugersdorp and we soon on the ground...home. What an adventure it has been, and I felt a sense of awe once the engine had been shut down. I was in awe of the distance we had travelled, of the fortitude of our almost 80 year old biplane and of the opportunity that I had been given to do this. Locked away in photographs, words and memories, I had been a part of something great.
The next day was spent doing flips and wining and dining. The Crete to Cape aircraft each flew to Morning Star close by to be disassembled and on the Saturday night we had a gala dinner at the Castle of Good Hope. The setting was idyllic with the sun reaching the horizon and splashing reads and oranges into the sky, Table Mountain as a backdrop and a long red carpet lined with neatly attired guards that ushered us in. The pre-drinks took place in the courtyard and then we moved up to one of their function rooms. We sat at a long table that seated about 200 people. Everyone was dressed in black tie or whatever they could wear that was close enough. My tiger moth oil-splattered dress shirt, aeroplane bow tie and black flying jacket made me look the part of a scruffy, intrepid aviator! Awards were handed out, and Pedro won the 'race' and touted a shining silver floating plate, Nick and Lita being voted as the Spiriot of the Event winners. Other than the very slow food service, it was a wonderful event and I enjoyed listening to the stories being swapped about this epic voyage.
The next flight would be a relatively short hop from Plett to Stellenbosch. We decided to depart early with a refuel at Swellendam in the winelands, our route taking us along the coast as far as possible. The excitement on the ground was tangible ad each pilot untied their aircraft and began their preflight checks.
I could not believe how much of a usable aircraft the Tiger is at sea level. The controls are tight and the performance is admirable, with the tail coming up quickly and height gained after take off with ease. The rolling waves crested off my left wingtip and I gently banked over sea a d headed up the coast, easing the Tiger over the undulating cliffs and beaches. There were smiles all around, pats on backs and enthusiasm in the air. We found out that we had been cleared to do a flypast at the George Airport tower, and I made my way alongside Alan in the Supercub, the other SA tiger t flown by Tsierry and David and Val in the Bushbaby. On the way I spotted a pod of dolphins surfing the waves some way out to sea. Thee were ships moored in some of the bays and the smell of surf and salt filled the air. At George, we were cleared in on a flypast over the taxiway right next to the control tower, and when it was my turn, I watched the procession of biplanes ahead of me, each one rocking their wings in turn and offering their thanks on the radio. It is not often that one is provided the privilege of doing a low level flypast at an international airport! From their we made a lazy journey along the coastline at low level, our eyes quenched by the beautiful landscape beneath us. Eventually we had to move inland to avoid Overberg Airspace, so we headed towards the Cape interiour. The mountains in this area are a menace and rise more than three and a half thousand feet above the ground, in some places much higher. To complicate things, Cape Town airspace does not leave much room to climb for height. Underwing, the ground was transformed once again by patches of farms in various shades of green, many of them vineyards. As a midway point, we stopped with Alexandra and Cedrick in the Stampe, Nick and Estelle in the Travelair and our usual company of Tiger and Bushbaby, at Swellendam Airport. I am so glad that we decided to land at this little gem. Wi the backdrop of high mountains and the fresh coastal air, we hiddled around our aircraft and took photographs...the last stop before the end of the Crete to Cape! Soon we were refuelled and back in the air again. We climbed up towards a route through the mountains, making use of Baines Pass for our passage. Sommerset West was ahead of us, and ahead of that was the sea. With an easy turn to the right and a rapid descent, we saw more vineyards on the ground with beautiful white Cape Dutch buildings dotted between them. And then we are at Stellenbosch! Throngs of people had arrived to see the spectacle of these magnificent men in their flying machines. News and media were there, helicopters hovered mid-circuit to take images and it was chaotic to say the least. I did a flypast formating on Cedrick's wing and then a break onto downwind. The atmosphere was electric. On short finals for 19, I saw that another Tiger Moth had used the wrong runway direction for landing and was right on my nose! I took evasive action, climbing and turning away from him as he passed beneath me... heartstopping moment before finally landing. On the ground, we were ushered into a vip area where interviews took place, pilots on the rally had emotional moments of triumph and everyone was buoyed by the achievements of these intrepid aviators. It was a privilege to part if it all and I was grinning for the rest of the afternoon. This whole event really meant a lot for vintage aircraft in displaying their resilience and fortifying their place in the skies. I met up in the pub wi a variety if friends who had come along to see the landing, unaware that they were even in the Cape, and swapping stories with an ice cold beer was a fitting end to the day. I could not have been happier. We needed to catch up, and so decided on a very early flight to depart Bloemfontein for Gariep Dam, which meant departing before we could get any breakfast. The air was still and calm with the clarity that is brought on by a passing storm. Two Tigers and the Bushcat took off over the flat interiour and began the slow journey that would creep us closer and closer towards the coast.
The landscape undulated beneath our yellow wings and after some good following winds, we saw the uneven shoreline of the dam appear on the horizon. At the same time, some small hills and mountains began to transform the plains, and there was a dusty dryness to everything, a backlash from the drought. The Gariep Flying Club gave us a warm welcome, and I was pleased to see that the rows of biplanes had not yet left. We had made up some time. After a brief cup of coffee and some refuelling, we took to the skies once again, our next stop being Graaf Rienet. The rest of the rally would bypass this little town, but we decided to play it safe, stretch our legs and refuel. In between Gariep and Graaf Rienet, there was not much other than thirsty vegetation and lots of turbulence. As the heat of the day built up, there were thermals everywhere and I was fighting the controls, trying to keep the wings level. It was hard work, and after just a few moments, I could feel the force in my shoulders and legs from the constant adjustments that I was having to do. At Graaf Rienet, we were greeted by a lonely building and an airport manager with his jack russell in tow. Heat was quivering off the tarmac and the winds was gusting straight across the runway. Being hot, high and heavy was not a good combination, so I was concerned about the take off. The Tiger did herself proud, though, climbing in altitude from take off and over the local dam where a flock of flamingoes took flight as they saw us coming. The next leg took us upwards over some mountains that seemed to have been created by a giant child mashing their fist into the landscape. Long and high ridges furrowed as far as the eye could see, bringing more turbulent air. I began to work again, but the effort seemed distracted by the beautiful scenery. We picked our way between different passes made necessary by a few arrogant roads and eventually we came to a series of veld fires. The smoke drifted between the valleys and billowed upwards, obscuring he high peaks. We routed west away from the smoke, and climbed further over the top of some scattered clouds. I have never flown he Tiger above cloud before and I caught myself with my heart creeping into my throat and a huge grin across my cheeks. Looking out over the wing, whisps of white curled beneath me like a warm breath on a cold morning. The mountains abruptly descended towards the coast, and I could see ruffled waves in the distance. My elation was buoyed even further as we reached the sea. I followed the coastline, craning my head out of the open cockpit to get a glimpse of the beach below. I followed the edge of the continent all the way to Plettenberg Bay, a flight that seemed all too short. It felt like flying the Tiger through milk, and the controls were tight and responsive. I could smell the salty air and my eyes feasted on a flying odyssey that was another on my bucket list. Once we landed, I felt like I was in some sort of a dreamscape, and kept on replaying the last hours of the flight over and over in my head. It was one of the most memorable few hours behind e controls of our Tiger Moth Next stop...Gariep Dam...or so we thought.
We were hoping to be back on target, but being worried about the notorious highveld and Freestate thunderstorms, we wanted to get off early. The rest of the group were having a breakfast at Parys, so we made our way to Krugesdorp, managed to replace the seals in the sight glass, and after checking that it was not leaking, we set off. The flight to Parys was one that I have done many times, but every trip in an old aeroplane is special, and I enjoyed watching the greener grasses migrate towards the Vaal River, but unseasonal early morning thunderstorms had developed and there were a few cells of dark streaking rain in our path. We managed to sneak away to the west of the bad weather and with a low level wave to the rally aircraft on the ground, we hastened to land. The wind had begun to pick up, so our fuel stop would have made a formula 1 pit crew proud, and after fifteen minutes we were airborne again. The wind was across the runway, and we were heavy with fuel and luggage. Tiggy laboured into the sky and I had to do a number of turns to get some height a we avoided the spotlights over the township near the south of the field. Hairy stuff. The clouds had gathered behind us, and I think that is we were a few moments later we would not have made it in. Rain started pelting the windscreen and I watched it angle towards in long streaks, dribbling along the wings. After a few minutes we were out of it, but the overcast skies seemed to follow us en-route to Bloemfontein. On the ground, we watched tractors ploughing fields, the long lines of churned earth stretching out over their farmland in the hope of some rain. A patchwork of agriculture in different shades of browns stretched to the horizon. We arrived at New Tempe in Bloemfontein after a flight that took just over two and a half hours. The flying club was very hospitable and we managed to rustle up some food and coffee. Calling ahead to Gariep Dam, though, the weather was not looking good. A huge storm cell had blown through and basically closed the airfield. We decided to wait. While we milled around the airfield, the wind began to pick up and soon the storms that we had left behind in Jo'burg had caught up with us. We decided to find some hangrage and call it a day. This turned out to be a good decision because soon Bloem was enveloped in dark foreboding clouds and torrential rain was blown horizontal by strong winds. We found a place to stay which had a very traditional feel, including concrete floors and cowhide rugs, which was a really nice taste of Africa for Val and Ron. The pub was also in the form of a shebeen, so we did our flight planning for the next day on a table made of packing crated, amidst kwaito music and tall quarts of beer. Today was time to say goodbye to Botswana and to head home. We decided to route back via Pilanesberg, and considering our minor engine rebuild, my mind was more on the instruments and sounds of the Tiger than the scenery. Every gurgle and burp drew my attention, but the oil pressure stayed in limits, the tachometer didn't fluctuate and she was flying well.
At Pilanesberg we filled in paperwork which seemed to come in triplicate, and made our way back to Krugersdorp. I must admit that I was looking forward to the feel of a home tarmac beneath the wheels. We dodged more thunder storms through home territory, streaks of grey rain profiling the horizon. En-route we passed the Blue Mountain Airstip where the rest of the participants were taking the day off and enjoying an airshow courtesy of Scully and the Flying Lions. Abeam the field we watched the curls of smoke as the three-ship Harvard formation painted the sky. James Pitman of Sling fame was also there, waiting to join the circuit, so we joined up and took some photographs a few moments before reaching home. At Krugersdorp the touch down was suspended in relief, and after shutting down the engine I did a thorough inspection beneath the cowlings. We had done a good job. A cold beer celebrated the end of the day, and sitting beneath the clubhouse awning, I saw the Harvards making their way back to Rand along the Magaliesberg Valley. Dale de Klerk called them up on the radio saying "Hi guys, a flypast would be nice, but no pressure," to which Scully replied "Standby...same display?". We stood together on the taxiway and the formation wheeled and spun around us, the drone of their Pratt and Whitneys creating gooseflesh. The aircraft were a marvel to watch against the backdrop of the setting sun and cauliflower clouds. With one final pass a few feet off the ground, they waggled their wings in goodbye and we returned to the hangar. The fuel sight glass had developed a persistent leak which we endeavoured to fix late into the afternoon. It was some time before I saw Bella and Feebee at home, and among hugs and kisses, I felt the stress of the day evaporate off my shoulders. With much debate and discussion, we decided that the Tiger was unflyable with a stuck valve and the head needed to be replaced. Luckily, Brett volunteered to lend us one of his heads, so Ron and I set to taking off the one from no 3 cylinder. This was no mean feat, and with only basic tools and a case of coldrink to keep us going, we worked non-stop from 9:00 that morning until 18:00 that evening. After shedding lots of perspiration and profanity we did a runup and the problem was solved. The fest of the group had already departed for Johannesburg and I had missed my wedding anniversary, but at least we had a whole aeroplane once again.
Relief. Another long day. The previous stormy night's skies were transformed into clear blue ones in the morning as we set off to the airfield for our flight to Gaborone, Botswana's capital. Brett had orchestrated a mid-way stop at a friend's bush lodge which would suit me perfectly as I needed to refuel if I was going to make it along the 3 1/2 hour flight with sufficient reserve. Luckily, I was able to borrow a fuel bladder fromJohn and I scrounged 4 5 litre water containers from the lodge which would also be filled.
At Limpopo, I found the extra fuel in the bottom of an Avgas drum that had been set to one side presumed empty. Unfortunately, my fire extinguisher had gone missing somehow, possibly being taken during my inspection at Polokwane...an irritation. Nonetheless, Ron pulled through the blades of the prop, making sure that no oil was left in the cylinders, while I did the preflight. We strapped in, ready to go, and upon swinging to start, we found one cylinder without compression at all. This was a bit of a problem. The Tiger started, but amidst much coughing and spluttering, the sticking valve released and the engine resumed its usual rhythm. We took off amidst the other vintage biplanes, making our way along the winding Limpopo River bordering SA and Botswana. In patches the water was flowing in deep pools whereas in other stages all that remained was beige sand. The different countries were also stark contrasts with patchwork farms and agriculture on the South African side and untamed bushveld on the neighboring border. We also saw herds of elephants that stared upwards as we made our way westwards. Flying low level over the parched landscape where greenery was trying to force its colour into the bare sand. We banked the Yellow tiger in gentle turns that swung with the bends of the river until we reached a bush strip midway between Limpopo Valley and Gaborone. One of Brett's contacts had offered to put together a tea stop, and so we made our way onto the dusty red runway, and parked the aircraft amongst the acacia and mopane trees. Tucked away in the bush as a table with freshly baked scones and assorted drinks. We sat in the shade and felt very civilized in our distraction from flying, the sounds of birds busy above us and the sapping heat burning off the dirt strip. Off once again, we headed more inland over the flat Botswana interiour towards Gaborone. Slowly the wilderness began to be broken up by dottings of civilization and I rotated the frequency dial on our radio onto the approach frequency. 126, 127, 116...I tried again, hoping to have missed something but realising that our radio, being extremely effective in transmissions, was old, and didn't have the required 128 channel I needed for Gabs. I couldn't raise David in the 172 either to ask him to call for me, so I decided to try the tower frequency. Being a Sunday, it was not being used, but eventually I managed to raise someone. Without much clarity (and much gesticulating on the controller's behalf, I imagine), I was able to get onto finals, some sort of a twin screeching in front of me and an Ethiopian Airline flight waiting patiently at the threshold behind me. Apparently I had confused him no end, forcing him to use two frequencies, but I was on the ground and ready for an ice cold coke. After I had shut down, however, I was told to start up again and head towards a VIP tent where a cocktail evening was to be held later. Hot and put out, the Tiger decided to voice her disgust by sticking a valve, again. This time, however, it refused to get unstuck. What followed was an afternoon deliberating in the shade of the Cessna Caravan's wing, until we decided to overnight e aerie in Brett's hangar for repairs the next morning. Luckily he had a spare engine from which he most generously offered us the use of a new cylinder head. With Tiggy tucked away, we headed to the hotel, checked in and were soon told by reception to vacate our room as we had arrived at the wrong hotel, the Town Lodge rather than the Travel Lodge. Why they had some names that we could book under was beyond me, but needless to say our shower had to wait a further delay until we were taken to the correct overnight spot where we could finally relax. A long day... I was up at various stanges during the night checking on the Tiger. We had tied her down well, but there were some big winds blowing through Polokwane and in the early hours of the morning some driving rain. When the sun came up, though, everything had dried out and we began our departure to Polokwane International Airport to clear customs before crossing the border into Botswana.
As is the wont of old aircraft, I found that our radio did not have sufficient channels to contact the Tower Frequency, but luckily David was able to call on my behalf and there were no issies. On the ground, we cleared customs and the ground staff did their inspections of both aircraft, so soon we were airborne again, following the scrubby flat plains towards the Northern South African border. Farmland became a more infrequent feature and soon Mopane trees began to dot the red earth. Soon we were overhead the great grey-green greasy Limpopo River, lined with Fever Trees and into Botswana. Beneath our biplane were the odd herd of elephants and before we knew it, we were over Limpopo Valley. The Crete to Cape participants were already on the ground and I felt my heart jump in my throat upon seeing the Travelairs, Stearman, Tiger Moths, Stampe and Bucker on the ground. We were in it now! I pulled off a gentle wheeler landing and as the rubber met tar, I could feel a rush of earm air that was coming off the runway such was the forty degree heat. Once I had shut down next to John's British Tiher, I saw patches of tar that had melted with the intensity of the summer temperatures. We received a very warm welcome, and after wrapping up the aircraft for the night, clearing customs, and quaffing a beer, we loaded up into the open game vehicles for the transfer to Tuli Safari Lodge. What a spot! I know that Feebs would be intensily jealous, our tented camp embodying every romantic adventure that we hope to have together with wooden furnishing, crisp white linen and small colonial touches of luxury. We had lunch under a huge Mashatu tree, watching warthogs and Woodland Kingfishers playing in the spray of water that fed the manicured lawns. It was great to catch up with Brett and some of the other pilots and hearing if their stories of flying through Africa. The photographs that they shared were incredible and it did look like a once-in-a-lifetime trip. In the evening we headed off for a game drive as the clouds billowed up with huge purple clouds. The bush was vibrant with life, green vegetation taking advantage kf the brief summer rains. The animals living off this new sustenance were numerous and we saw more giraffe that I have ever seen in one place at the same time. Two males were even fightingeach ither, their long nexcks swining with momentum to knock into each other inclouds of dusts and awkward long legs. The igratory birds had returned and we saw umerous lanner falcons, tawny eagles and kingfishers. The plains game were also abundant, and to a backdrop of what had developed into thunder clouds, the landscape was breathtakingly beautiful. The highlight for the drive, though, was a leopard that we saw climbing a rock face not too far from the camp. By this time the clouds had developed into rain and the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon. Amidst streaks of rain and flashed of lightning we highlighted the male leopardwith the spotlight as he clambeed from rock to rock and eventually disappeared into the night. |
ContentSome thoughts about things, sometimes philosophical, sometimes just musings. The world through my eyes... Archives
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