Pips! In Cairo you need pips. The airport guards stand tall for authority. You are sized up within the first seconds and impressioned into their pecking order. You need them looking up at you. If they don't you will join their ranks as pipless rooster and fall victim to their airport guard mentality. My football shirt and Levi cutoffs impressed them little. A white shirt and sholderboards with some stripes would have saved a world of aggro. Pips.
From Cairo to Khartom, the Sudanese city at the confluence of the Blue and White Nile is approximately 1000 miles. If you undertake such a journey preparation is the key to survival. With luck you may make it without the necessary knowledge and preparation like I did. I made it with practically no knowledge of what I was getting into. Knowing now what I didn’t know then would have kept me seeking work elsewhere. My sole armamanet was a life raft, a gallon jug of water, two playboy mags and optomism. I lifted out of Cairo an August day in 1981 and banked toward the river. I knew not the texture of the surface of the desert. My weather report consisted of “Its ok Man” from an aviation weatherman in Cairo whose office was in the bathroom.
“Well, what are the winds like at 2000’”, I inquired.
“They’re ok Man”.
“OK. How about current weather patterns, fronts maybe?”
“Ok Man”.
“Forecast? Yeah, I know.”
No pips.
I had no knowledge of the infamous dust storms that could blow up within a few minutes and render visibility zero or the horrendous winds, which could lengthen flying time beyond fuel capacity. In the air the pilot would be flying blind. On the ground the plane stands a good chance of being blown end over end across the desert floor, leaving him with his gallon of water, which would last two hours while he waits out the week or two before someone begins wondering where he is, and no shelter.
Keeping the Nile in sight seems like a good idea. It snakes around a bit. I took some shortcuts but in retrospect, don't do that. Shortcut across the desert between river bends? Hmm. 20 minutes enroute at 100 mph more or less ground speed. That’s 30 miles. If the engine quits while the Nile is out of site..lessee 20 miles to walk to the river carrying my gallon of water in 130 degree heat. I probably wouldn’t make it in one day so would walking at night in my cutoffs and tee shirt be more comfortable when the temp drops to.. ohh 40 degrees ? Follow the river, fresh water and there would be the chance of flagging down the odd river boat. Yes. Good idea that!
Clothing. A jacket would be a good idea for the chilly nights either hiking on the desert floor after engine failure or waiting on the river bank for your boatload of lemonaide sipping tourists floating toward their 5 star hotel in Luxor. And boots for the snakes and sand. Some of them exactly match the color of the desert. I had no hat. You need a hat. I had no knife. A survival knife would come in handy. The more I think about that trip the more it occurs to me that it was only by the breath of God that I made it. .
Water. One gallon of water? There was lots of room on the aircraft for more water. On my next flight, which I’m sure will be never, every spare inch of that aircrafts space will be stuffed with gallon jugs of water. If someone asked you to head out across the Saharah Desert in shorts and a tee shirt and
“Oh, by the way here’s your water.” What would you tell him? Exactly! What was I thinking?
With a full bag of fuel and an extra 100 gallons in the hopper the airborne time is around 12 hours. Where’s the bathroom? Instead of trying to lean up to the little cockpit storm window like I did and pee all over yourself why not pour your water out and pee in the gallon jug?..JUST KIDDING! On my second trip, “WHICHWILLNEVERBE!” I will simply pee on the floor and let it dribble out of the spaces in the fuseladge and wash the aircraft out at the next pit stop, or better idea: carry an empty jug and after its full pour it out the storm window. Apologies ladies.
Speaking of engine failure. Ordinarily it’s a seldom occurance but in such a forbidding place the stakes are high enough to give it serious consideration. My near engine failure almost arrived from fuel starvation. The cropduster aircraft I was flying carried 100 gallons of fuel in the hopper with a fuel pump switched from the cockpit feeding the main fuel tank. Fortunately I didn’t get the brilliant idea that almost killed me until close to the end of the journey. The engine fuel path was still from the main tank. The hopper was merely feeding fuel into the tank via a pump lashup as it was burned by the engine. Keeping an eye on the fuel gauge and switching the aux fuel pump on as needed to keep it above ¾ full unill the hopper was close to empty then it was about two hours before I had to start looking for a gas station. So toward the end of the trip.. .
“Hey! I’ll just let the pump run dry.”
Bad Idea.
(I could see the fuel level through the fiberglass tank between my legs in front of me under the instrument pane.) . The lack of load caused it to thrash itself to death. As the pump ran dry I could hear its inner destruction over the engine noise. Before I could finger the switch it went silent. I made it to Khartoum and from there it was only an hour jaunt to the final destination, Wad Medani, a small village on the West side of the Blue Nile. Sanctuary.
Sand storms. Next time I will learn what time of the year they blow up. I never saw one while I was there but its big trouble if one blows whilst in transit. Next time which will never be, I will learn all about sand storms before starting that journey. I saw “The Mummy”.
OK. You are stuck in the middle of the desert with your plane un-flyable for whatever reason. Besides water which is already half gone, what else has suddenly dawned that you wish you had? Whilst you wait for rescue which may never come. You have gas for cooking or possibly to start a debris fire for warmth and signaling. Or do you? Matches? In desert terrain your radio is almost useless, even with airliners flying overhead they may or may not be monitoring 121.5 and who knows which freq they are listening on. Khartoum approach? More useful than a radio would be a signaling mirror, one with the hole in the middle so you can aim it. A couple of smoke flares?
Food. I didn’t bring any but if I got stranded I bet I would have wanted a bamboo stick or metal pole. Snake on a stick. Probably pretty tasty after a few days going hungry.
A tin cup. For pouring gasoline in the sand to ignite a nightly SOS. Maybe an overhead jet would have spotted it. Do not leave the plane. What’s the difference between dying at the landing site later or wandering off into the desert to die sooner, possibly with your rescue party at your aircraft wondering where you are looking for windswept foot prints? Prepare to remain alive any which way for the two weeks it will take for someone to come looking for you.
Chapstick?
A parachute or something for shelter. Maybe a folding umbrella? Oh! And if you do run into perchance the odd camel driver who is unfortunately headed west instead of east, an Arabic-English dictionary may come in handy. Probably a flashlight too.
Sunscreen?
Well, so much for being stranded. In flight a Walkman and some earplugs would not have been without some use. Sunglasses of course. Raybans preferably.
I overnighted in Luxor, which was 300 miles from Cairo. Overnighting gave me a taste of the local village flavor, and visit the Temple of Karnak, a must see for everyone. I stayed in one of the 5 star hotels on the bank of the river; a deserved respite from the horrors of the Cairo Airport Hotel with no pips the night before. The next day I showed up at the strip. The lineboy announced there was no gasoline. A short talk with the airport manager and a playboy later I was winging my way across the river for a quick looksee at the Valley of Kings before pointing south.
Take some time to learn about the desert terrain. It is literally impossible to tell if its landable from the air. I got lost 7 hours out of Luxor. Really! How do you fly south following the Nile and get lost? Dunno, but I did. Dark was fastly approaching too. I had to get it on the ground. There ain’t no light out there and with no artificial horizon one would be up the you know what without a you know what if one were caught out at you know when. Mom didn’t raise no dummy. Ok, but not totally stupid. I had Playboy power in a country where few men have ever seen a woman outside of her bag. A growing desperation crept over me as dusk arrived. More luck. I almost missed it but out in the middle of that godforsaken wasteland a little dot on the horizon grew into an army post. None too soon. I landed with about 5 minutes of daylight left on what I perceived as a smooth spot on the desert floor, which it turned out it was, taxied up to their main gate and after the gate opened 10,000 kids ran out and swarmed the aircraft. Scared the bejesus out of me. I shut off the engine as quickly as I could fearing that one of them would get chopped up. That for sure wouldn’t sit well with my hosts for the night. And hosts they were. The soldiers there gave me 5 gallons of gas, tied the aircraft down, chased the kids away, pointed in the direction of the Nile, fed me and gave me a cot and blankets to bed down with. They were typically security conscious because my cot was positioned right smack in the middle of an open field in the center of the compound. The next morning they bid me good journey, I said my thankyou’s and lifted off toward Khartoum minus the other copy of Playboy.
I don't know how I ever came to be sitting here reliving that trip. This adventure and that log chasing me down the mountain in Oregon a few years earlier has got to be the Lord's way of telling me there's more work ahead.
Chances are none of you will ever have to fly out of Cairo to Khartoum in a light aircraft but ferry pilots fly light aircraft on deliveries all over the world under the most hazardous circumstances. Most of them already know all of this. Now you know better than to leave home without them. It was a C model Pawnee, April and June issues 1981.
From Cairo to Khartom, the Sudanese city at the confluence of the Blue and White Nile is approximately 1000 miles. If you undertake such a journey preparation is the key to survival. With luck you may make it without the necessary knowledge and preparation like I did. I made it with practically no knowledge of what I was getting into. Knowing now what I didn’t know then would have kept me seeking work elsewhere. My sole armamanet was a life raft, a gallon jug of water, two playboy mags and optomism. I lifted out of Cairo an August day in 1981 and banked toward the river. I knew not the texture of the surface of the desert. My weather report consisted of “Its ok Man” from an aviation weatherman in Cairo whose office was in the bathroom.
“Well, what are the winds like at 2000’”, I inquired.
“They’re ok Man”.
“OK. How about current weather patterns, fronts maybe?”
“Ok Man”.
“Forecast? Yeah, I know.”
No pips.
I had no knowledge of the infamous dust storms that could blow up within a few minutes and render visibility zero or the horrendous winds, which could lengthen flying time beyond fuel capacity. In the air the pilot would be flying blind. On the ground the plane stands a good chance of being blown end over end across the desert floor, leaving him with his gallon of water, which would last two hours while he waits out the week or two before someone begins wondering where he is, and no shelter.
Keeping the Nile in sight seems like a good idea. It snakes around a bit. I took some shortcuts but in retrospect, don't do that. Shortcut across the desert between river bends? Hmm. 20 minutes enroute at 100 mph more or less ground speed. That’s 30 miles. If the engine quits while the Nile is out of site..lessee 20 miles to walk to the river carrying my gallon of water in 130 degree heat. I probably wouldn’t make it in one day so would walking at night in my cutoffs and tee shirt be more comfortable when the temp drops to.. ohh 40 degrees ? Follow the river, fresh water and there would be the chance of flagging down the odd river boat. Yes. Good idea that!
Clothing. A jacket would be a good idea for the chilly nights either hiking on the desert floor after engine failure or waiting on the river bank for your boatload of lemonaide sipping tourists floating toward their 5 star hotel in Luxor. And boots for the snakes and sand. Some of them exactly match the color of the desert. I had no hat. You need a hat. I had no knife. A survival knife would come in handy. The more I think about that trip the more it occurs to me that it was only by the breath of God that I made it. .
Water. One gallon of water? There was lots of room on the aircraft for more water. On my next flight, which I’m sure will be never, every spare inch of that aircrafts space will be stuffed with gallon jugs of water. If someone asked you to head out across the Saharah Desert in shorts and a tee shirt and
“Oh, by the way here’s your water.” What would you tell him? Exactly! What was I thinking?
With a full bag of fuel and an extra 100 gallons in the hopper the airborne time is around 12 hours. Where’s the bathroom? Instead of trying to lean up to the little cockpit storm window like I did and pee all over yourself why not pour your water out and pee in the gallon jug?..JUST KIDDING! On my second trip, “WHICHWILLNEVERBE!” I will simply pee on the floor and let it dribble out of the spaces in the fuseladge and wash the aircraft out at the next pit stop, or better idea: carry an empty jug and after its full pour it out the storm window. Apologies ladies.
Speaking of engine failure. Ordinarily it’s a seldom occurance but in such a forbidding place the stakes are high enough to give it serious consideration. My near engine failure almost arrived from fuel starvation. The cropduster aircraft I was flying carried 100 gallons of fuel in the hopper with a fuel pump switched from the cockpit feeding the main fuel tank. Fortunately I didn’t get the brilliant idea that almost killed me until close to the end of the journey. The engine fuel path was still from the main tank. The hopper was merely feeding fuel into the tank via a pump lashup as it was burned by the engine. Keeping an eye on the fuel gauge and switching the aux fuel pump on as needed to keep it above ¾ full unill the hopper was close to empty then it was about two hours before I had to start looking for a gas station. So toward the end of the trip.. .
“Hey! I’ll just let the pump run dry.”
Bad Idea.
(I could see the fuel level through the fiberglass tank between my legs in front of me under the instrument pane.) . The lack of load caused it to thrash itself to death. As the pump ran dry I could hear its inner destruction over the engine noise. Before I could finger the switch it went silent. I made it to Khartoum and from there it was only an hour jaunt to the final destination, Wad Medani, a small village on the West side of the Blue Nile. Sanctuary.
Sand storms. Next time I will learn what time of the year they blow up. I never saw one while I was there but its big trouble if one blows whilst in transit. Next time which will never be, I will learn all about sand storms before starting that journey. I saw “The Mummy”.
OK. You are stuck in the middle of the desert with your plane un-flyable for whatever reason. Besides water which is already half gone, what else has suddenly dawned that you wish you had? Whilst you wait for rescue which may never come. You have gas for cooking or possibly to start a debris fire for warmth and signaling. Or do you? Matches? In desert terrain your radio is almost useless, even with airliners flying overhead they may or may not be monitoring 121.5 and who knows which freq they are listening on. Khartoum approach? More useful than a radio would be a signaling mirror, one with the hole in the middle so you can aim it. A couple of smoke flares?
Food. I didn’t bring any but if I got stranded I bet I would have wanted a bamboo stick or metal pole. Snake on a stick. Probably pretty tasty after a few days going hungry.
A tin cup. For pouring gasoline in the sand to ignite a nightly SOS. Maybe an overhead jet would have spotted it. Do not leave the plane. What’s the difference between dying at the landing site later or wandering off into the desert to die sooner, possibly with your rescue party at your aircraft wondering where you are looking for windswept foot prints? Prepare to remain alive any which way for the two weeks it will take for someone to come looking for you.
Chapstick?
A parachute or something for shelter. Maybe a folding umbrella? Oh! And if you do run into perchance the odd camel driver who is unfortunately headed west instead of east, an Arabic-English dictionary may come in handy. Probably a flashlight too.
Sunscreen?
Well, so much for being stranded. In flight a Walkman and some earplugs would not have been without some use. Sunglasses of course. Raybans preferably.
I overnighted in Luxor, which was 300 miles from Cairo. Overnighting gave me a taste of the local village flavor, and visit the Temple of Karnak, a must see for everyone. I stayed in one of the 5 star hotels on the bank of the river; a deserved respite from the horrors of the Cairo Airport Hotel with no pips the night before. The next day I showed up at the strip. The lineboy announced there was no gasoline. A short talk with the airport manager and a playboy later I was winging my way across the river for a quick looksee at the Valley of Kings before pointing south.
Take some time to learn about the desert terrain. It is literally impossible to tell if its landable from the air. I got lost 7 hours out of Luxor. Really! How do you fly south following the Nile and get lost? Dunno, but I did. Dark was fastly approaching too. I had to get it on the ground. There ain’t no light out there and with no artificial horizon one would be up the you know what without a you know what if one were caught out at you know when. Mom didn’t raise no dummy. Ok, but not totally stupid. I had Playboy power in a country where few men have ever seen a woman outside of her bag. A growing desperation crept over me as dusk arrived. More luck. I almost missed it but out in the middle of that godforsaken wasteland a little dot on the horizon grew into an army post. None too soon. I landed with about 5 minutes of daylight left on what I perceived as a smooth spot on the desert floor, which it turned out it was, taxied up to their main gate and after the gate opened 10,000 kids ran out and swarmed the aircraft. Scared the bejesus out of me. I shut off the engine as quickly as I could fearing that one of them would get chopped up. That for sure wouldn’t sit well with my hosts for the night. And hosts they were. The soldiers there gave me 5 gallons of gas, tied the aircraft down, chased the kids away, pointed in the direction of the Nile, fed me and gave me a cot and blankets to bed down with. They were typically security conscious because my cot was positioned right smack in the middle of an open field in the center of the compound. The next morning they bid me good journey, I said my thankyou’s and lifted off toward Khartoum minus the other copy of Playboy.
I don't know how I ever came to be sitting here reliving that trip. This adventure and that log chasing me down the mountain in Oregon a few years earlier has got to be the Lord's way of telling me there's more work ahead.
Chances are none of you will ever have to fly out of Cairo to Khartoum in a light aircraft but ferry pilots fly light aircraft on deliveries all over the world under the most hazardous circumstances. Most of them already know all of this. Now you know better than to leave home without them. It was a C model Pawnee, April and June issues 1981.
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