Conversations not often heard in the cockpit...

Just after touchdown a small animal with a striped tail raced out of the brush on the left side of the runway and headed across. "Oh crap!" I grunted and pushed the brakes as hard as I dared. The critter and I reached the same conclusion at the same time... he wasn't going to make it. His tail stood up straight as he frantically braked and I swerved as far right on the narrow runway as I dared. I watched the striped tail disappear under the leading edge of the wing just about where the main wheel tires are. Me: "Crap. I think I just killed a meerkat." First Officer: That wasn't a meerkat, it was a civet." Me: Really? Are you sure? That looked a lot like a meerkat." First Officer: Civet. Me: Huh. I think I just killed a civet. First Officer: Yes. I think you did. Note: As it turns out, no animals were killed. There were no civet remains on the runway when we taxied back and no striped tails in the landing gear.

Like the desert needs the rain...

If you are a pilot in the United States, your license authorizes you to fly entire catagories of aircraft as long as it is listed on your license with no special training beyond the training required to acquire and maintain your license. It is only when you start getting to aircraft that are in excess of 12,500lb gross weight or powered by turbojet engines that you need to get a "type rating" which consists of training and a checkride for the specific aircraft type. This is not the way it works in Botswana. As a holder of a Botswana Airline Transport Pilot license, I need a type rating for every aircraft I want to fly from the lowly Cessna 150 to a Boeing 747. When I first arrived in Botswana I listed for the CAA every aircraft in which I had more than 5 hours of flight time while in the United States. I was granted type ratings in all of these aircraft without having to take a checkride. Unfortunately, I had no time in a Cessna 210 or a Cessna 207 which are the aircraft that we operate out of the Maun base. So, for that past two years when they have needed a backup pilot for these aircraft, I have always been out of the running since I didn't have those aircraft on my license. So, when I heard that my boss was planning to ferry our C210 to Maun and return the C207 to Gaborone for maintenance I was quick to point out that this would be a great opportunity to give me a checkride in both of these aircraft while also allowing me to get some experience. It was a terribly busy week for me but I couldn't resist the opportunity. While I have never flown a C210 before I have plenty of time in RG (retractable gear) Cessnas. However, having flown almost exclusively King Airs or King Air derivitives the last 5 years I have to admit there was a learning curve. The rudder pedals were so close together! I could not keep the stupid ball on the inclinometer in between the lines to save my soul! Only climbing at 800fpm? Is there something wrong with this thing? As we climbed out over the Kalahari the last vestiges of habitation faded slowly behind us. A mere 60 or 70 miles from Gaborone, the only visual signs of human activity were the occasional arrow straight lines of the game fences stretching to the horizon. Having previously only seen this place as an earth tone carpet from 25,000ft, down at 3000ft I realized that I hadn't missed much. Mile after mile of endless acaica scrub brush slid by beneath the belly interupted only by small salt pans as we edged further north. Mark kept the most recent(a mere 20 years old) Botswana VFR chart on his lap but aside from crossing intersecting game fences at one point and one or two uniquely shaped pans there were virtually no landmarks for the entirety of the 300nm trip. Visual navigation became further complicated as heavy dark shafts of rain began to appear on the horizon and we were forced to deviate sometimes miles off our charted course to stay in the clear. Thankfully, the aging Trimble GPS in the panel unerringly pointed the way to Maun as we picked our way through the rain. I still haven't done the paperwork to get the C210 in my license but the hard part is over and I had a great opportunity to add to my list of experiences here in Botswana. I had forgotten how much fun it can be to fly singles!

Ye Olde E6B...

My dad gave me my E6B on my 16th birthday. I had recently started flying lessons and he knew that I was going to need it soon. For those of you not familiar with the E6B, it is probably one of the most common models of what they call a flight computer. Calling it a "Flight Computer" makes it sound fancier than it actually is. Mine is aluminum (but they are also very commonly made of plastic) and it is essentially a glorified slide rule. The number of tasks that one can accomplish using the E6B is really quite amazing I suppose. Time-distance-speed calculations, density altitude, true airspeed, Fahrenheit to Centigrade, Liters to Gallons, wind triangle problems, and a few more that I can't think of at the moment. It is an incredible tool and one that a pilot uses extensively in pilot training both as a student and an instructor. However, the effective and practical use of the E6B is probably a dying art given the advances in aircraft navigation systems. A modern GPS (Global Positioning System) or FMS (Flight Management System) can tell you everything an E6B can at the push of a button with unerring accuracy and speed. Given that, I figured that I had probably seen the last regular use of my E6B when I was hired as a pilot at Skyway back in '05. I brought it with to Africa because it seemed like something that I might need ocassionally but I never guessed that I would use it on every leg of every flight here. The DCA (Department of Civil Aviation) here requires that we keep and use a navigation log for every flight, not unlike the ones that I used as a private pilot. In addition, even if one has a GPS on board they require that there be an alternate manual means of making navigation calculations. It makes a great deal of sense really. As a flight instructor, I always made my students use their flight computers during cross country training even if the aircraft had a GPS, logically reasoning that you don't want to depend too heavily on one piece of technology to tell you where you are. If the GPS breaks you always need to a) know where you are and b) have an alternate means of calculating your navigation from that point. Enter the E6B. Every pilot here carries a flight computer with on every flight, whether it is an E6B or CR-5 or another version. I feel a little sheepish that as a professional pilot I had let my skills with the flight computer slide but it feels good to break the E6B out again and make use of it. Thanks Dad!

Another early morning....

I wake up to my phone buzzing on the bedside stand. "1 New Message" flashes across the screen. Pushing the button to view my message, I begin to read through my sleep-squinted eyes: "Sorry about the early call guys. We have a Kasane - Francistown. The patient has lost a lot of blood." Uggh, what time is it? I glance at the clock on my phone and read 3:27 AM. The airport doesn't open till 6 AM so I groggily text back: "Ok. We'll plan on being in the air between 0600 and 0630." I reset my alarm for 4:30 and try to fall back to sleep. Finally, after 45 minutes of tossing and turning, I finally succeed in dozing off only to dream that I sleep through the alarm and arrive at the airport an hour late. I jerk awake feeling mildly panicked and give up trying to fall back asleep. After a cup of strong coffee and some peanut butter and jelly toast I start to feel a little more awake. On the short drive to the airport I down another cup of coffee and start to feel even more human. The hangar is dark and empty when I arrive. I sit down to fill out the necessary preflight paperwork; the briefer at Flight Services sounds just as bleary eyed as I feel but he dutifully logs the flight plans that I read to him. Brian, my co-pilot, walks through the door a few minutes later and asks what still needs to be done yet. He leaves to do the only thing I hadn't yet completed: the preflight inspection on our airplane, MJM. Around 6:10 or so one of our two medics arrives and we load up. After waiting another 20 minutes the other medic finally speeds up to the hangar and jogs to the airplane. We all make the necessary snide remarks about his ability to tell time and then are on our way.

Two hours and 20 minutes later, after bucking moderate headwinds the whole way, the main wheel tires kiss the pavement in Kasane. As expected, the ambulance is waiting and they unload the patient. He is a large man in his 40s who has a bandage under his nose and blood on his face but otherwise appears uninjured. The medics quickly load and secure him and within 10 minutes we are taxiing back out. Now heading SE to Francistown, our headwinds from the way up become crosswinds so we don't make up any time - but at least we aren't losing more either. As we taxi to the loading area in Francistown the ambulance is waiting for us; within a few minutes of shutting the airplane down the patient and medics are on their way to the hospital. While waiting for our medics to return, Brian and I decide take some fuel. Just as we are fastening our fuel caps back into place the ambulance reappears with our medics. Perfect timing. As we are strapping in I turn and ask Shane, one of the medics, what was wrong with our patient. "He had a nosebleed". I snort and reply, "I could see that, but what else was wrong with him?" "Nothing" is Shane's reply. "They simply couldn't get it to stop bleeding and they were down to their last pint of blood at Kasane." I gape at Shane. He grins ruefully and says, "40% of the population has AIDS. Clean blood is hard to come by." I laugh at the craziness of it; we flew all the way across the country for a nosebleed. As we taxi out I reflect that it doesn't really matter what was wrong with the patient, without the job that FMS does people here could die from something as trivial as a nosebleed. I am glad to be a part of this.

Say again....?

"What did he say?" I asked. Ryan shook his head and said, "I don't know...all I got was that there is something crossing the runway." We were about 10 miles out of Kasane on a right base for runway 08. There are many things that are different about flying in Botswana and understanding ATC is one of the many challenges that we face. English is the official language of aviation and all of the controllers speak it but with varying degrees of accent. Some speak very clearly and others speak with a very heavy accent and far too quickly. This guy was one of the latter. "Ask him again", I requested. The controller's response to Ryan's inquiry was again fast and heavily accented but this time we were able to discern that there was a large group of some sort of animal moving across the runway from south to north and that we should keep a look out for them. As we rolled out on a four mile final I looked intently at the runway but couldn't see anything. "Do you see what he is talking about?" I asked Ryan. Again, a head shake and a "Nope". A moment later the controller solved the mystery with a surprisingly well enunciated transmission. "Mercy One, reccommend that you go around. There are still many baboons on and around the runway." Aha, baboons. As we got a little closer the the large troop of 30-40 baboons became visible as they loped across the runway. "Let him know that we are going to do a low pass to scare them off and then we'll go around and come back" I instructed. As Ryan did that I sucked up the gear and flaps and applied a little power while still maintaining a descent. I leveled at about 100 ft and pushed the engines up to full power as we approached the trespassing primates. However, the roar of the approaching airplane sent them scattering in all directions instead of clearing them off the runway as hoped. As we climbed out ATC advised that they were going to send out a truck to herd them off the runway and by the time we lined up for our second try we could see the entire troop disappearing into the woods on the north side of the airport in front of the airport's fire truck. Last week, it had been warthogs. Well, this sure isn't Wisconsin!

Just one of those mornings....

I had no idea what time it was as I stumbled through the dark to my phone only that it wasn't yet light outside. I looked at the caller ID...Bob P....the Managing Director. "Morning Bob", I managed to mumble into the phone. He chuckled at my grogginess and said, "We have a flight to Maun. They called at midnight but I figured I would let you sleep as long as possible." "That was nice of you...by the way what time is it anyway?" "5:20", came the reply. I have been very happy with the motorbike that I have been using to commute to work here but as I opened the door and stepped into an incredibly clear and cold predawn darkness, a vehicle with a heater sounded like a really great idea. And then, about half way through a very long, cold, and dark ride to the airport it occurred to me that the airplane needed gas. We had gotten back from South Africa the night before after dark, and Air BP has been refusing to fuel us after dark due to poor lighting conditions on our end of the ramp. By the time I arrived at the hangar the sky was lightening in the east so I thought I would give Air BP a call and see if they would come fuel us or if it was still too dark. I was pleased when they agreed to fuel us and said they would "be right there". However, apparently what they meant when they said they would "be right there"was that they would "be right there" after they fueled two or three of Air Botswana's airplanes. So, it was over an hour later before we were finally able to spin our engines and taxi out and I felt a real sense of relief at finally being on our way as the landing gear retracted into their wells. That relief lasted until, about 30 seconds later when Brian said "Whoa, look at that!" while indicating the right wing. Fuel was spewing out around the right main tank filler cap. The cap was on and appeared secure but apparently wasn't seated right since we were losing large quantities of fuel around the edges. "Oh crap" I sighed. "Tell the tower we need to return." 45 minutes later, with our lost fuel replaced and our caps all secure we finally lifted off to Maun. As we reached our cruising altitude of 20,000 ft I switched on the autopilot and grabbed the thermos. I was halfway through a cup of coffee and a breakfast bar and finally starting to relax when Brian said "Uh oh.", while staring out the right window. "Uh oh??" I inquired while trying to see around Brian's head to what had captured his attention. He leaned back and pointed to the nacelle tank cap which now had fuel streaming back from it. The quantity of fuel being lost was nothing compared to the first leak and being that we were half way between Gabs and Maun with no viable alternates available we reached the inevitable decision to continue to Maun. There is no way to tell how much fuel we lost on the way but upon arrival in Maun an inspection of the cap revealed that the sealing surface inside the filler neck was slightly bent. The mechanic was doubtful that that could have caused the leak but could find no other explanation. He replaced the cap and reccommended that we replace our fuel cap o-rings as soon as we got back to Gabs. From that point forward the day was thankfully uneventful but it'd been a heck of a morning.

Pictures...

Well, for those of you who are on Facebook these pictures aren't anything new but to everyone else you might not have seen these yet. http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=26224&l=8ff06&id=658493576 Enjoy!