Comedian Chameleon - What Were We Thinking??? Part II
By A. Pilot
21.09.2025
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The brief was to fetch a passenger from OR Tambo International Airport in Johannesburg the next day, and immediately take him to Hluhluwe. FAHL is situated in Kwazulu-Natal Province in South Africa, roughly 250nm South East of Jo'burg. With my trusted Piper Seneca, it would be a comfortable 1.5 hours there and 1.7 hours back. I was excited about going to a new destination, and the grass strip was way longer than I needed. Easy Peasy…
I positioned on the Golf Apron at Tambo, anticipating an easy day. Armed with more information about the passenger, I now knew that he was flying in from Namibia, was a hunter and from North America, and that he would have a massive gun on his person.
Having heard Air Namibia on frequency, I knew that they must have landed about 10 minutes after me. A thunderstorm came and went for an hour and still there was no sign of my pax. Another hour later, a more violent storm was brewing. We needed to get out of here pronto. I phoned the handling agent and found out that the guy was stuck in customs. I knew we had pre-autho'd everything, so I was wondering what the problem was. We had already lost our slot, so I had to get a new one and delay the flight plan. Not easy at Tambo this time of day.
I got the handling agent to fetch me and drop me at customs. There I found a few irate customs officials in uniform, standing instead of sitting. Never a good sign! They were glaring at a tiny white old man. He was extremely thin, had Albert Einstein hair, and due to his shrunken age, his skin was hanging everywhere and he was a bit bent over on a permanent basis. I asked the custom's lady: “Howzit. I am looking for a passenger of mine, his name is Mr Y, I have been told he is stuck in customs.”
“Kunjani wena, turn around. It's him.” The biggest of the three ladies behind the counter pointed with her chin, folding her arms defensively over her ample chest. I could tell she was annoyed from her body language. Oh dear. I looked around. The only other person in the room was the little wizard.
Instead of greeting his pilot: “I demand to get my bullets now!” He roared at me in a thick Yankee accent. Thank goodness he was so small that he was shouting at my crotch area, otherwise I would have been quite deaf for a bit.
I turned back to the angry ladies. “What seems to be the problem?”
“He says he is a hunter. He wants to bring in 220 rounds.” She pointed at a huge heap of loose and boxed cartridges. Enough to start a war. Or cull a herd of elephant. I rolled my eyes.
“Okay, but he is allowed 200 rounds per calibre rifle, ja? So just confiscate 20 and we can go. I have already lost two slots now.”
“He is a liar. He only has a permit for one buffalo. So what is he doing with all these bullets? Sell them? Kill more animals without paying for permit? Kill some people? What???” She had a very valid point. “But look at him. Maybe he is so madala, he needs so many rounds to shoot one buffalo.”
The three looked past me at the foaming gnome.
Our famous South African hospitality and willingness to help each other, cultural respect for elders and the law, were all fighting hard for dominance within the boss lady's conscience.
“Usekhulile kancane.” One of the ladies sat down. “Madala, eish!” The second lady sat down. The third one just clicked her tongue…
Sensing my chances improving, I opted for a compromise, cracking my best smile: “Ok, just give us five boxes of ammo, keep the rest and then we can go…”
Boss lady agreed and handed over the rifle. It was going to be too big to fit in the nose of the aircraft. We would have to make sure it is unloaded, safety on and then it would have to lie between the seats. The handling agent breathed a huge sigh of relief and dropped us off at the plane. Ammo in the nose, druid in the back with seatbelt on, I phoned CAMU (Central Airspace Management Unit) and asked for the next available slot. It would be 45 minutes later. Too late! I called up Clearance Delivery on 121.7 requesting a visual departure, as it started raining hard and the thunder was echoing on both sides of the radio.
Temperature and QNH had dropped significantly. The incredulous controller asked: “Confirm requesting visual departure?”
“Yes, sir. I need to get airborne in the next 30 minutes or I have to cancel the flight.”
I got taxi instructions etc and lifted off skirting the worst of the weather with my trusted weather radar. The entire route, I had to dance around thunderstorms, making the route longer, burning way more fuel than planned. We were so delayed, that we soon started fighting the sunset. Too task-orientated, I redid my calculations every 20 minutes or so. I decided, I could always try and organise some AVGAS on the ground upon arrival. We just needed to get to the unlit grass strip before sundown.
Arriving overhead in the dusk, I asked Kulula to relay my Search and Rescue cancellation to Joburg, anticipating bad cell phone signal on the ground. Circling for an approach on 03. I misaligned the aerie to the left due to the row of street lights paralleling the strip and ended up being a bit too high.
I had to fly around for another attempt. Lining up once again for RWY 03, I realised that in those 3 minutes it had gone quite dark. Sherbet!!!!
Well, I knew elevation and exactly where the strip was compared to the street lights, and put the landing lights on out of habit. I didn't like what I saw, so I switched them off again. Due to the full moon and the street lights, I could easily make out the different colours of the grass strip compared to high grass and bush. A minute later the trusted Seneca kissed the earth and hit a bird with a bang.
Taxiing to the vehicle waiting next to the strip, I shut down the engines with trembling hands and opened the door for the old man. “I got very cold!” He complained loudly.
“Ja. And I could have just killed us. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid.” I thought. In the spotlight of the bakkie I could see the remains of the Plover stuck to the plane.
“I'll need a place to stay tonight and some AVGAS for tomorrow morning, please.” Lying in bed that night, the landing rerunning in my head on an endless loop: “What was I thinking???” I should have flown to my alternate: Richard's Bay. A few miles South and kitted out with lights and approaches, or turned around, or not taken off…
Tedderfield Airpark Summer Time Fly In 23 Nov 2024 639
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