Gambian Buchaneer By Andy Buchan - British Microlight Aircraft ...

April 2007 Flightline Online Page 5
barrack blocks, workshops, a hospital, houses for senior men, even tennis
courts. Finding the landing strip was none too difficult either; the landing T
was clearly to be seen at the end of number 3 fairway on the golf course.
We landed and stopped by an amazed officer’s wife, Mrs Say, and a totally
shocked and stunned Nepalese caddy. The hospitality of Lt Col Mike Kefford
was exceptional. An experienced mountaineer, he was more than sympathetic
to our plight and in no time the exhaust repair and the manufacture of a replacement
engine-mounting plate, in steel this time, was under way.
Stuck here for two days, we made the most of this little haven of Western
convenience in the Third World. We showered, had our hair cut, saw a film,
gave a little talk to the British school children about our expedition, organised
a supply of fuel and oil and took a couple of people for flights.
On Friday 19 September at 7 am we took off again, hoping to climb back
to the mountains while the air was still cool. A great long line of Nepalese
children gathered along the perimeter fence to watch us as we accelerated
down the smooth-cut grass and climbed over the tall slender trees of the surrounding
forest into a perfectly calm morning sky.
The journey back to Lamidanda was a piece of cake. First, we climbed
to 2000ft over the Sun Kosi valley. It was magnificent to look up and down
the river course filled with cloud, bright and crisp and pink to our right into
sun, a little duller to the left where it merged with distant mists and shapes of
hills. Then past 4000ft. and it’s a little frightening looking down at the chasms
carved by smaller streams in sharply descending rock. At the halfway point
cumulus cloud is building all around the hills ahead, while above us the strato
cumulus is getting thicker. Could we end up in a cloud sandwich? We push
on, each immersed in our own thoughts.
And then at Paharpani, at 7000ft, something magical happened. A horizontal
cleft of blue sky to the north sneaked into our perception. A dreamed-of
panorama lay across the sky — the magnificent Himalayas. Simon whooped,
his eyes sparkled in the light, and a big smile spread across his face. In our
first view of the highest mountains in the world, all fears were swept aside
— there was no room in our thoughts for anything other than joy at such a
magnificent spectacle. A little while later, looking down through holes in the
cloud, we found Lamidanda and lazily descended through the gap.
After the completion of repairs we departed for Lulda airstrip, 9000 ft up.
I had to tuck a bicycle pump down the leg of my flying suit as it had been left
out of my main pack and I’m still amused by the sight of Simon’s umbrella,
tied underneath the trike base-tube.
We worked our way up the Dudh Kosi valley with 20,000ft peaks towering
around us — this time the journey was really taking us into the mountains.
The 440 Robin buzzed away merrily — on full power all the time. Little did
I know how thankful I was going to be next time I saw this airfield following
an engine seizure at 13,000ft nine miles away! Simon and I both had
standard microlight altimeters which only read up to 8000 ft — slight lack
of technical planning there! I guessed my height from the map, assessing
my position relative to various peaks. Simon had a reserve altimeter which
went to 18,000 ft.
From now on the special wing developed by Roy Venton-Walters of
Southdown International would be put to the test, as would the suspension
fitted to both trike units. The Series II Raven was specifically developed for
Nepal with the idea that it might also make a good training wing. With a fatter
aerofoil section than the standard Raven, it had a lower stall speed, and
thus a better short take-off and landing performance. Area and camber had
also been increased. Southdown had produced these two special wings in just
seven months, once again in red and gold, the colours that Gerry Breen chose
for the Iceland expedition.
Lulda airstrip is 700 yards long with a height difference of 60m between
one end of the runway and the other. You approach over a 1500ft ravine and
land uphill (and downwind) towards a mountain. I ignored my instruments
and flew by feel, approaching with excess speed to ensure plenty of energy
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for the uphill roundout.
We compared notes about this 1hr flight, our first above 14,000ft. Already
we had flown among the most magnificent mountains, seen Everest, and
landed at 9000 ft — we were elated. The villagers flocked to see us and our
machines.
Now it was time to meet the canoeing team, who had endured a 24 h
bus ride and an eight-day walk to get to this same place. The team had been
cheered at seeing the microlights fly over them the previous day as there had
been no communication for over a week. They had all been bitten by leeches
and film camerman Nick Downie said that the walking was beginning to
‘get a bit boring!’ Simon and I had some fun exaggerating tales of life at the
Dharan Bazar Camp and asked for next Friday off so that we could go to the
nurses’ ball. It was all taken in good spirit.
With all the team together, work really started. Canoeists went off to examine
stretches of the river in the ravine. Simon had to go back to Dharan on
my machine for a more substantial exhaust repair. Then the big three-cylinder
trike was used to transport a team member to Syangboche. Micky Gordon had
a broken leg and flying him to Syangboche saved him an agonising two-day
walk — the flight took just 20 min!
There were minor repairs necessary and preparations to make, like fitting
camera mounts on the aircraft. We undertook parachute training and then
decided to do without them, to avoid the extra weight.
When you turn out from the holding point at Lukla and face down the
runway, for a microlight without brakes there’s no going back. You roll down
the hill, quickly gathering speed and start agonising about whether you did
all your checks properly. I was away, but with only 200fpm on the VSI.
With the wing-mounted camera and counterbalance, the aircraft seemed to
be tip- stalling only a nudge forward of trim. I still wasn’t happy with the
ASI, so I ignored it.
Below the Dudh Kosi swept quickly out of the mountains. I thought of
the canoeists: rather them than me. A little cloud floated alongside me on
the west side of the valley. Ahead Namche was caught in a pool of sunlight.
Again the time passed slowly.
By the time Simon was circling the airstrip at Syangboche, I was level
with the airfield but still three miles south. I kept a constant watch on the CHT
— it showed 290° F, good. Frantically I took some photos of the views, but
the overriding concern was flight. Level with the airfield just wasn’t good
enough to make a landing. I cut left across Namche itself, where there is a
bowl above the town, and I joined the crows, soaring.
As I worked my way higher I realised the valley wind was probably increasing,
so I lined up and sped in. A downwind landing, at 12,000 ft. on a 400 yard
airstrip ending in a hill — and no brakes! What more could you ask for?
The mountains were bathed in sunshine, but below cloud was billowing
up towards us. It was 8.25 am. Ten minutes after I landed the mountains
had disappeared, we were completely enveloped in cloud and the wind had
picked up.
On a better day there was some excitement when Simon made a two-up
take-off from here with Mary Ganczakowski, the expedition doctor, and in
the process set a new record. Meantime an advance party of canoeists had
gone ahead to clear a runway at Pheriche. This was literally to be a landing
on a mountainside, at 14,600 ft.
It was Monday 29 September, 9 am. Simon took off from Syangboche,
dropped a wing, expertly recovered and was away. We couldn’t win here,
for this time it was a downwind take-off. As I started down the slope two
yaks appeared trotting towards the runway. Our porters shouted at them and
I reckoned on getting through. With 30 yards to go before the yaks my visor
misted up. Pushing the bar right forward, the aircraft leapt into the air and
promptly stalled, almost recovered but bounced before getting away; I managed
to catch a dropping wing and headed out over the valley.
Now it was time to fly over the famous Thyangboche monastery where on
the recce Simon and expedition organiser Mick Coyne had obtained permission
from the Lama to land. It was a struggle to get to 14,000ft and I had to
scratch around the hills to get another 1000ft for the landing on the mountain.
Simon was down first, inaugurating a strip where canoeists and porters had
been working for three days clearing rocks. We made it!
This spot was the stuff of dreams. We called it Camp Raven. The classic
spectacular mountain Ama Dablam towered above us, its peak at over
22,000ft, and the view back down the valley was such that we really felt on
top of the world.
Mick Coyne was there to meet us, face like a lobster from too much sun
above the snowline, where he had been already to organise the high- altitude
strip at 17,000ft at Gorak Shep, just a mile from Everest base camp.
I was feeling a little peculiar and needed a day and some pills from the
doctor to acclimatise. That night we had a celebration dinner. It was top paddler
Mike Hewlett’s birthday and the microlights had been making history every
step of the way. As Simon said: ‘It was magic — and we thought we might not
get any higher.’ A porter was despatched to find a lamb for slaughter. This was
duly walked into town and brought on a lead right up to the cooking pot.