20 October 2007
Here’s a fun story about the random Friday evening adventure in Namibia.
I was just sitting on the couch reading a book because my two roommates are out of town for a MYO field trip to Etosha National Park. Having the house to myself doesn’t happen very often so I planned on having a quiet night in to unwind from my hectic week. Then I got this text message: “Can you get to the airport in 30 min?”
One of my friends here is a pilot. He told me a while back that I could hitch a ride to Arandis with him sometime. Apparently they occasionally have to drop passengers here in Swakopmund and then park the planes at that airport (about 60km away). Usually the pilots fly over there alone, which means there are empty seats for a guy like me. I hear talk about flying a lot so I told him to let me know whenever he could fit me in. But even having known I would fly with him sometime, the SMS caught me by surprise.
Needless to say, I put down my book immediately and replied that I’d try to get out there. Since I don’t have a car the process was complicated slightly. Not like that was going to stop me, though. I grabbed my sweatshirt and bombed out the door.
Once I was on the street I started looking for a taxi. At 5:30pm on a Friday night, finding an empty one is more difficult than it might sound. (Remember, the taxis here pick up as many individual passengers as will fit inside and charge each N$5.50 [US$0.79] for the ride.) Once I stood on the corner for a while, my taxi came into view. I flagged him down and asked him if he’d take me to the airport. Now the airport here isn’t a normal destination for a taxi since white people don’t usually set foot, cheek or whatever inside them, and tourist pleasure flights don’t figure into the budget of your average black or coloured person. So I knew immediately he’d assume I was a tourist and get ideas of fattening his wallet off the 7 minute drive. My instincts were right. He tried to hustle N$50 out of me. I gave him the ‘get serious’ look—which drove the price immediately down to $40—but I wasn’t satisfied with that. We finally settled on $10 after I pretended to shut the door and look for a more fiscally reasonable driver. I was on my way.
I arrived at the modest airfield and watched the planes from the various flight companies touch down and queue up for fuel. Our plane was first in line, so the wait wasn’t very long. It did give me enough time to watch something I’ve never seen: planes being pushed and pulled around by a single person. I’ve flown quite a bit in my life, but never in a machine that weighs less than my dad’s Dodge truck. I suppose this is where some people might have had some reservations about the plan… but hey, I survived jumping off a bridge with a glorified rubber band attached to my ankles six months ago, didn’t I? This didn’t seem out of the question.
Once I finally climbed into the co-pilots seat of the Cessna something-or-other (210?) my focus immediately shifted to the –ometers, gauges, knobs, dials and switches on the instrument panel in front of me. There are the dozens of them. The setup is quite impressive. All of a sudden, learning to drive a car seemed like child’s play—a couple of pedals, speedometer, fuel gauge and maybe a tachometer—who can’t do that? I think I saw my first window into why most pilots are extremely confident, if not cocky, individuals. Being able to understand and navigate all of those fun little toys would give me a big head, too.
Once the Pilot jumped in we were ready to roll. Taking off almost immediately, I didn’t get much of a chance to think about the unpaved runway, which was probably better. Like a lot of the side roads in Swakop, it is a compacted mixture of semi-salt water and the gypsum soil found here. Apparently it’s far cheaper than paving, and to be honest the surface is nice, but it still makes you pause when you’re in a plane hurdling along it.
The flight itself was, of course, the best part. I know from hanging out with the local pilots that this guy flies very well so I was looking forward to it. We stayed low after takeoff and after a few deft maneuvers the railroad appeared directly underneath the plane. A train came and passed quickly below us. We followed the windy rails at the speed of a bullet train. While making one of the sharp corners, I looked out my right window directly at the track (yes, the plane at a right angle) and thought, “Man, this job kicks the shit out of mine.” The pilot must have read my mind, because he immediately said something like, “Not a bad day at the office, hey?” Definitely not.
Soon enough we were cruising over the ephemeral Swakop River, easily distinguishable from the surrounding desert by the plant life growing in the riverbed. The stark contrast between yellow-brown of the gravel flats and the dull green vegetation doesn’t often come into view like this from the ground. A few acrobatic turns later the Rossmund Gold Course came into view. Like the river, this place also sticks out from the surrounding terrain. The fairways didn’t look too friendly—not that I spend much time on those anyway—but the carefully manicured greens looked lush and inviting. But I had much more important things on my mind. Watching the familiar sights one sees from the surface transform into smaller versions of themselves, as anything does from the air, occupied my thoughts. I love the view from a low-flying plane. Usually it’s only available for a short time after takeoff and before landing, but these small planes are the ticket. The ability to stay so near to earth is priceless. I wonder if the Wright brothers knew exactly how lucky they were to see this for the first time. The temptation to keep the secret to myself, this unique view of the world below, would have crossed my mind. Thankfully for the rest of us, though, the boys from Carolina weren’t that selfish.
Rössing Mountain began to loom in the distance. The words ‘mountain’ and ‘loom’ are perhaps overstated here, since ‘hill’ and ‘appear’ would probable be closer to the truth. As an Idaho boy, I can’t with good conscience lead you to believe we were about to traverse over a great peak, but since the plane was relatively small I’m allowed to embellish a bit, aren’t I? My friend had obviously flown this path more than a few times, judging by our trajectory. We flew right at the mountain, skimmed between two peaks that couldn’t have been placed better to accommodate the wingspan of our aircraft. Then we pulled up over the last ridge and did a turning dive maneuver (with a name I’ve already forgotten) down the other side. The negative G’s we achieved made my insides feel like they were suspended in mid-air. It was like the drop on a big roller coaster—only considerably better. I call this dude ‘Maverick’ after Tom Cruise’s character in Top Gun, and I could have sworn the intro to “Highway to the Danger Zone” started playing in my head while we were partially inverted in that dive. Great stuff.
At last the runway (paved this time) in Arandis became visible through the windshield. As we approached, it seemed to me that we were still flying pretty fast but I’m no pilot so I kept my mouth shut. Turns out Maverick was planning a low fly-by over the airstrip. (Too bad there wasn’t a tower with a man drinking a fresh cup of coffee nearby.) Glancing out the side window, the ground was as close as it would have been from the upper level of a red bus in London… only blurring by slightly faster. At the end we pulled up in another acrobatic move to prepare for the real landing approach. This time, we did come in at a pace that seemed suitable for touching down on terra firma. It was the softest landing I’ve ever experienced—advantage of flying a light plane I guess.
Once we climbed out of the plane, a man with a clipboard approached. “I don’t know this guy, I hope he doesn’t tune me kak for buzzing the runway like that.” That comment definitely sums up how the pilots feel about us land-based organisms trying to regulate their fun. And they enjoy their fun. The final part of this escapade highlights this point. While the paperwork was being filled in, I was on plane-spotting duty. At the first sight of one, we booked it out to the runway. “This is called a runway inspection if anyone asks. We’re looking for potholes, debris or anything else dangerous… although we’re technically supposed to do them from 300 ft away.” Wink, wink. “Gotcha.”
The point of this exercise is to sit down in the middle of the tarmac and wait for the next pilot to buzz over your head as close as possible. I’m pretty sure I saw something like this in a movie one time. Only in that case, the person was caught by the wind drag and thrown for a loop by a Boeing. I figured a Cessna wouldn’t upend me so I was keen. The first guy saw us late and circled around after flying a little high on the initial pass to give us an encore. I swear these pilots have too much fun. The remaining fly-bys didn’t match up since it was getting a little dark and, although adventuresome, these men are still professionals who aren’t looking to create unnecessary danger. I was looking to really get my hair blown back (figuratively speaking), but I guess it’s better to have less of an adrenaline rush and live to tell about it.
We ended it all off by cracking a few Tafel Lagers in the van on the way back to Swakopmund. In that sense it is just like any other day at the office I guess: a few friends kicking back over a brew and swapping stories about the day. The only difference is their normal routine amounts to a miniature adventure for me, the odd man out. The man without wings.
