I promised to tell the story of the gustfront when I rejoined. Also, the experience that you are about to read led to serious introspection by me about flying with a pax - and recent events just served to reinforce my new convictions about taking on a passenger.
My Dad always says: "It is good to learn from your mistakes, but better to learn from others mistakes." So - please learn from this if you can - I will write in honesty without trying to save face - in return - please respect my honesty and don't shit on me too heavily. Here goes:
So, we are into the first week of January 2012. Geel Kerneels and me has been on Beginsel since arriving there from Lekoa Lodge on 17 December 2011. We have BIG plans to fly down to Volksrust and then up the escarpment to Piet Retief, up to Amsterdam, and just enjoy flying in Southern Mpumalanga, camping on airfields.
However, most mornings are fogged in, and by 11h00, if you look towards Piet Retief you can see the CB's already starting to build as the moist coastal air from Northern Natal slams into the rising ground between Piet Retief and Pongola. By 14h00 they develop into MONSTERS, and all plans of doing a fly-away in that direction is indefinitely put on ice.
I feel a bit frustrated because I can't really fly - I just bugger around the farm some afternoons, practising engine-outs and spot landings, never venturing too far from the runway. Every evening around 18h00 a gustfront from the south-east hits Beginsel as tonnes of water slams to the ground over Northern Natal.
I make peace with the fact that no fly-aways will be happening.
But a wild-card then shows: " We have a Whiner!"
For days now, my brother in laws' brother's wife, lets call her Anny, have been whining for a flip. I tell them constantly to arrive early (take-off 05h30 to 06h00) one morning when it is not fogged in, but there is always a long story about this and that, so they cannot come so early. Non- MPL's do not understand how the weather affects us.
Then one afternoon in in the first week of January, they arrive at Beginsel for different reasons altogether.
Not long - and the whining starts: "Wanneer gaan ons nou vlieg - jy belowe al weke lank."
In a moment of madness I start to contemplate a flip, and walk around the "opstal." It is about 17h00. Towards Piet Retief, surprisingly, the skies look relatively harmless for a change. North is open. West is open. Towards the North East, on the other side of Bethal there seems to be some development, but not nearly the monsters I have been looking at in the South East for days now.
So the (near) fatal chain of events start.
I go and take Geel Kerneels out of the mieliestoor, pre-flight, slap on my helmet and go for a circuit. Smooth. Hands of Smooth. From 1000ft agl I check towards Bethal, and those Cumulonimbus looks far away and not growing anymore.
So I land, I strap Anny in and of we go.
We have a lovely flight - the light quality is brilliant, all is smooth, and the earth looks lovely from up here on this summer-afternoon. We never venture more than about three miles from the field.
20 minutes later, and I establish a long finals for Beginsel. "Gaan ons nou al land?" comes the question. I can sense the disappointment in the question, and as a matter of fact, it is so smooth and beautiful that I don't actually feel like landing. So why not?
"Oukei, kom ons vlieg maar gou Heymans Kole toe vir 'n touch and go en dan kom land ons" So I point the trike south for the 5 mile flip to StaVlak (on your maps) and back.
I don't bother to glance towards the North - East....
A couple of minutes later we are two miles out to the North of StaVlak, 1000 ft agl. As I start contemplating my long finals for a touch and go, wrists resting on the bar in this smooth weather, I catch a movement towards my 11 o clock high.
What the hell? - I think to myself as I spot a pigeon, MOVING!! , 30 ft up from left to right over my nose.
I start telling Anny to check out the crazy pigeon - and I get interrupted mid-sentence by the most violent bar-movement I have ever experienced. A switch has been flipped, in a matter of one second.
Having flown hands resting - the bar is flung from me - and in a daze I try to grab it and get it back to neutral. I recover from a steep descending turn, but something does not feel right. I can feel teeth grinding kicks through the bar - it feels as if the wing has become a wild stallion, and I can actually feel it shifting between positive and negative g's!
As I get us back into straight and level I glance over my left shoulder and I go numb - the feeling you must get when staring at the barrel of your worst enemies' revolver. My bladder actually starts to relax as I contemplate the black sky over Bethal. The realization hits me like a hammer - GUSTFRONT!
I have read about it. I have been warned about it. I was told that it will hit you in a matter of ONE second. I believed - but I did not understand. NOW I understand, as I go into survival mode.
As cool as I can sound under the circumstances I tell Anny that we have encountered some turbulence and that we are going to land, and that I need to concentrate, and that she must not talk to me. I praise the Lord that I have StaVlak on my nose, a mile out, and I start flying my long approach.
Reducing power with bar a little in I try and settle on an approach at about 55 mph IAS. Suddenly, the wing starts to make that familiar whistling sound as she picks up speed, and my approach is thrown upwards. I glance down at my instruments - and again - my bladder start to relax. My IAS is climbing like hell through 60, 65, 70 , 75, approaching 80. My VSI is going + 800 f/pm. I release all power and push on the bar. NOTHING. The wing is SCREAMING!
Then suddenly, the bar goes slack. I am stalled. I KNOW it. But how can this be? I was pushing towards VNE a second ago?? I stare in amazement as my IAS drops like a rocket to 55, 45, 35. I look ahead - staring right down at the ground from about 600ft. Over my right boot - mielieblare, grass, checkers-sakke and dirt is blowing up at me from the ground and actually pelting me on the visor.
Then the wing pitches up again. And starts to whistle again. But thank God I recovered from the stall - I don't know how - but I did.
Up front I can see StaVlak and I GO for it from a 45 degree angle to the RWY. Over bloekombome and a cellphone tower at eye level, 50 ft to my right. Bugger the runway - just get on the ground. The turbulence subsides a bit and I manage to fly her onto the deck, battling to maintain glide path and direction.
As I touchdown across the runway through the freshly cut Rooigras, I turn the nose into the wind, kill the mags and pull the bar into my chest. I inform Anny that we cannot get out right away, because I can feel how Geel Kerneels is struggling not to be blown over.
On the deck. In one piece. I'll spare you the rest as we eventually get Geel Kerneels into a hangar, and I phone a very worried brother in law to tell him that we are alive, as the sun sets.
Later, he makes the 5 mile drive to collect us. Anny is chirping about how wonderful the flip was - I'm just thinking - "ignorance is bliss." Also, I can't talk as I am still trying to swallow down on the vomit that keeps on rising up.
I don't sleep that night.
Next morning, Brother in law drives me to StaVlak to collect Geel Kerneels. I go through pains in the pre-flight - expecting bent tubes and sprung wires - but nothing - he's still solid.
I fly back the 5 miles to Beginsel - not enjoying a moment - although conditions are perfect. I execute one of the best landings I have ever made, stop on the runway and get out. I go and lie down in the shade of my wing, which is moving lazily in the breeze as if saying: " come - lets fly!"
I close my eyes and thank the Lord for his deliverance. I thank Him that I may fly. And I promise Him that I will never again put the life of an innocent person in jeopardy - regardless of the amount of whining I have to listen to.
I hope that writing the above, I may save a life. Dear fellow MPL - don't go and learn for yourself - the outcome may be different.
Regards,
Your friend James.
