Sunday, 8 July 2018

Sahara Sweatin'

The harsh sound of idle and cold rubber forced to immediately spin up to over 200km/ph and absorb  hundreds of tons impacting smoothest, sweet tarmac announced my arrival into the military state of Algeria. Endless views of blue Mediterranean bliss mixed with the invasive Pacific ocean, kept me glued to my window seat out of the B777-300. As always , this LET pilot was too excited for words and incredibly grateful to experience another new theatre of operation. A country troubled by a colonial past and exploited for seemingly endless riches awaited me on the other side of Immigration and a short hop in a local B737-8 to my destination.



The town of Hassi is truly in the middle of nowhere and exist's almost entirely due to the rich Oil and Gas fields that surround it. Flying in you are greeted by an almost surreal experience. The Desert is a beautiful mix of contrasting colors of sand and snaking shadows of the mighty Sahara. Flare towers burning off excess gas during 24hr drilling operations, project flames in excess of 10 meters up into the sky giving the effect of candles dotted periodically, over an endless Arabian carpet. I felt like an adventurer of old as the floppy winged sev-3 positioned itself for landing into so remote a town. It is no secret among my close family that this fly-boy, has always loved the desert. My Dad gifted my brothers and I the unforgettable privilege of 2 trips to the Namib in our youth and from those days of gazing out on a border-less ocean of unforgiving dunescape(I don't care if that is not a word, it is now! ) I quickly realized the attraction of the desert.



These wild place's where very few of our kind can survive or at-least thrive, are truly special because they cut us right back down to size. It is an immediate dose of humility when you find yourself in the center of a vast featureless desert or on a near vertical and jagged mountain pass. You gaze around wide eyed, realizing how futile and pathetic your day to day concerns are when right here in this moment, mother nature could conjure up a heat wave or mountain storm and whip you off this mortal roller coaster in one flick of her fingers. This brings an immediate sense of calm and clarity to your moment, helping you to realize who you really are. That remind's me, I need to get back into my hiking boots and get climbing up some beautiful mountains.



During my time here I have been fortunate enough to fly across majority of the country or at least most of the Western side. I have seen every hue of sand one could hope to see,beautiful desert escarpments with rock riverbeds scything through the sand land's. I also had the notable privilege of a beautiful visual approach through the lower end of the climate altering Atlas mountains into the fiercely military, airport of Bechar. Beware in Bechar ,my crew mates warned me. Don't even lift your cellphone in the direction of those MIG24'S on the ramp or the Suhkoi SU30MKA hiding in the desert bunker across the runway. Military prison awaits those who dare a photo of military hardware in this country. Luckily, the Atlas range and impressive flying weaponry are etched into my memory for all time and no photo was necessary.



Thank you Algeria. It was an incredible opportunity and I have no doubt that I will be back.



Au' Revoir!

Wednesday, 13 June 2018

The Democratic Republic of Chaos

My First tour for the ICRC(2nd tour for Airtec) started smoothly with an easy transition via Kigali on Rwandair through the border by vehicle to the unusual little town of Bukavu on the Southern shores of Lake Kivu. I arrived at my accommodation to a surprisingly comfortable crew house on a finger like peninsula that pushes out into the menacing looking, grey-blue of this enormous lake. Crew handover was a pleasure with the customary braai and too many beer's on the evening of my arrival with me ending up on the couch and as one can imagine, wearing those beer's the next day. It was an off weekend and a nice welcome to an otherwise chaotic country.



The flying began with me shitting myself for the first 6 sector's, figuratively due to the immense challenge of navigating an un-pressurised aircraft between colossal and awe-inspiring mountains and active volcano's. To add to the mix for my first day, some fierce equatorial storms which left me a white knuckled mess and contemplating what the hell I was doing in this god forsaken shithole in the middle of Africa. After my first week, I calmed down and began to enjoy myself and realised that this is definitely the most incredible flying that I will probably ever do. Everything became that little bit more beautiful and I began to notice all the mind blowing scenery out of my office window which I had failed to notice during the blur of my first week. The never ending blue abyss of Lake Edward and Kivu to the all commanding, jagged peaks of Mount Rwenzori. Rwenzori looks down on you with disdain and malice like the great Africa goddess that she is, snow capped and wind beaten. Flying along at 12000ft you look up at this immense feature of the great African rift in fear and feel as though this Mountain is pulling you closer, to smite you like the irritating foreign, buzzing creature that we most certainly were.




Most of the time we moved ICRC staff, food and medical supplies to the various base's from the central hubs of Goma and Bukavu to the Northern and Southern hubs of Bunia and Lumbumbashi. When I say hub, in this context, I mean an area of intense human suffering. It is a sad thing to see but a privilege to be able to use your skill set to help people who are really in need. Be it from severe malnutrition, malaria or medical/psychological attention and treatment after a rebel attack. To see what one human with a false agenda can do to a random and innocent inhabitant of a remote village is to me, the most sad and unnecessary act that I have ever come across. These evil rebel groups who are funded by extremist foreign funds and in places, religious or tribal beliefs perform the most brutal act's on their own countrymen . They ride into a village atop a wobbly old Toyota hilux , music blaring out of giant speakers and firing AK47's skyward to make their presence known. With a scene quite like the one  depicted in the movie, Blood Diamond they round up young and old in a random fashion, pull out a large timber axe and start chopping off legs, not arms but legs above or below the knee. The reason for removing a leg or so they believe makes it impossible for that person to become a soldier that might one day fight against them. Short sleeve or long sleeve style, just like the famous film. People don't believe me when they hear this tale. They nod in a false, understanding fashion and then just like the majority of humankind, carry on oblivious to the world around them and the horror being suffered in the darkest hellhole's of the world. Awareness helps all of humankind, ignorance only helps your lonesome self.



My First month in the DRC flew by with around 93hrs in a month and some monumental distances covered. On two or 3 occasions we flew 7.5 hours in a day and one particular flight we managed 430 nautical miles with the nose gear stuck in the down position, no mean feat in the fuel limited LET410 let me tell you. The reason for the nose gear being stuck in the down position was because on landing at this bush strip in the Northern most part of the DRC, wet sand had flung up on landing and wedged itself in the linkage of our mechanical down-lock. For the gear to retract this lock which resembles a hook, simply pivots hydraulically down and to the side allowing extension and retraction or otherwise known as the gear cycle to occur. As one can deduce it is far better to have your landing gear locked down then locked up although the latter situation being almost impossible in the LET due to a myriad of back up and emergency systems. After some furious fuel calculations and the weather god's smiling down upon us we were happy to continue and landed in Bunia with around an hour remaining in the main tanks and alternates near by. I still believe that everything worked out smoothly on this day because we had gone through an immense effort to repatriate a paralysed child soldier to his family on the border with the CAR. The big guy up stairs had parted the cloud's, given us just enough of a very welcome tailwind and guided us safely to our destination. A day that I will never forget and finished off with a well deserved , ice cold beer.


The DRC changed me in many way's, it gave me experiences that I have been dreaming of since I first started flying and challenged me in way's that broke me down and then built me right back up again. It was an incredible opportunity and time of personal growth, I appreciate everything in my life just that little but more each day. I came out of it after all, a better man.






Tuesday, 27 March 2018

LET410 Rating and a new job !

As you have come to expect, things have been a little slow on the blog and I apologize for that but when life takes over you have to get the priority's out of the way first.

Moving on, I GOT A NEW JOB! I really had got tired of the C208B and the Chieftain/Navajo:) The 208 I had simply flown for ever and the Chieftain was a lot of fun but it was a risky aircraft to fly and I am glad I have around 200 safe hours on it.

After some running around between flights for the previous company to get interviews and sim checks done, Air-Tec Global gave me a shot on the Mighty LET410. An amazing opportunity and after 6 months it has changed my life for the better in a variety of ways.

Onto the rating then. The Aircraft Industries LET410 is a Czech built commuter category aircraft that has been around for quite some time, originally designed as a replacement for the Russian Airforce Antonov 2/AN2 .

Aircraft Industries was commissioned to replace this indestructible cold war biplane with an aircraft capable of various configurations such as cargo,mail, medivac, paraops, commuter airline and general Air-force requirements. So as you can imagine and quite predictably, they built this aircraft as tough as a Russian tank.

The L410 is a high wing, twin turbo prop, multi-role Aircraft that has been around since 1971 and has evolved into a design synonymous with extreme operations in the most remote area's of the planet. From the highest airport in the world, Lukla in Nepal to the extremely hot and harsh Sahara desert. Equally at home landing on a snow covered Siberian bush strip or touching down on a big tarmac runway in between the Airliners. She really is capable of any and all operations.

The first power plant to be used on the Let and which is still in use today(being phased out) is the Walther M601 turbo prop engine, variants of these seen on the aircraft are the M601E'S and M601F'S with very slight changes between the variants with some capable of water injection. Water injection is quite simply , atomized H2o injected directly into the combustion chamber at a calculated rate, reducing Inter-turbine temperature and improving overall thermo-dynamic efficiency. This was a design addition after a large market for the let opened up in the hot and high environment of Africa, when operators realized that the M601 was not such a performer in these area's.

Airtec Global has been operating in Africa since the early 1990's and within the last decade have upgraded and overhauled their fleet of Let's as their operation expanded dramatically. The main upgrade's which have taken place on 90% of the fleet have been a complete overhaul of exterior,interior,avionics and most importantly the upgrade to new General Electric H75-200 engines.
These engines have made an incredible difference to performance and efficiency. The difference between old and new makes one think how they used to operate on the previous generation of engines. It is a scary difference let me tell you. All new let's are now fitted with the GE engine type which is a vastly improved and new design based on the M601.

On to the rating. The cockpit of the Let is manly to say the least, every item is over designed and strong. The overhead panel and it's array of circuit breakers and switches are wonderful to operate as they have a lovely industrial style action. It makes you feel like you are flying a real aeroplane and much more involved in the process of flying, not pushing a soft , American-friendly button where something is done automatically for you, it is a very manual experience which is rewarding and fun. In the cockpit of the Let it is very rare to find an autopilot. It is a completely hands on and testing experience which makes it even better if you really love to fly, which I do.

I did my rating in Bethlehem,South Africa with the simulator training completed in Johannesburg. It was an incredible learning experience with the ground school/theory and actual flying completed for us by 2 Ex-SAAF instructors with an immense amount of experience. For 2 weeks I became an absolute sponge and just soaked in every bit of information. Flying the aircraft itself was very different to what I am used to, firstly because I have mostly flown from the left my whole life, flying from the right all of sudden took some getting used to. The aircraft is incredibly well balanced, the engines are smooth and quiet . Colossal trailing link gear on the main undercarriage and nose make landing the machine a pleasurable affair. The Let has some nuances that a flight crew member has to be cautious of which is drilled into you from the beginning of training. The main one for the rating was not to flare the aircraft with too high of a nose attitude. The reason for this is because it has a low tail and if your speed gets too low and you try to arrest the hard landing that you are about to have by increasing angle of attack(fairly normal practice on GA aircraft), it is almost guaranteed to strike the tail on touch down. This has happened at Airtec once or twice and involves a substantial amount of paperwork and a tense management team. After a couple landings this becomes a small issue as you learn to land the machine in a certain style and gradually master it over time. After some upper air work with simulated one engine out operations and some stalls which were beautifully docile, we headed back to the field for a couple circuits and then all was signed out.

It was by far the most enjoyable flight training that I have ever completed and it was such a privilege to have a company look after our every need during this process. I came out of it having learnt an incredible amount and really feeling like a new man and new pilot.

Ready for tour!!!

Tuesday, 28 November 2017

My first day in the swamp

My first day in the swamp.

It was early May 2012. My first season as a C206 pilot for Safari Air LTD, a subsidiary of a large hunting operation in the Zambezi Delta. It was a blissful time, flying every second or third day to Beira and on the odd day into the war torn Luabo area. I was as green as bush pilots come, every part of this adventure was new and exciting. I absorbed every single second with wide eye’s. This incredibly remote area offering up scenes of dark green and lush jungle-like bush that I never knew existed on the African continent. Palm tree’s so large that they stood like sentinels over the swamp land. The exceptional palm being tall enough to be used as a navigational reference, even from 1000ft above. Learning the visual references to fly this area in a competent and confident manner would take me a lot longer than I thought at the time, but that is a story for another day.

After refueling one of our aircraft in the afternoon, I waltzed into the main camp searching for a cold cool drink

to satiate my post, drum lifting thirst. The camp manager and chief pilot caught me in the act of scooping a cold coke from the deep freeze, he chuckled to himself and asked if I would be interested in joining him on a hunting trip to the swamps tomorrow. As I was a hunter at the time and fitter than most, I immediately jumped at the opportunity.  He told me that the other pilot would cover for me for the day. I was then instructed in a very serious manner on the essentials of what to wear and what to borrow from the other professional hunters. I found it strange that I could not wear my farm style leather boots and that a full body overall was considered the best clothing for the job….in 40C heat and 100% humidity it did not make much sense to my naive understanding of hunting in the Delta.

That night I begged, borrowed and stole what was required for my adventure, including a pair of all-star, long top canvas shoes. My hunting friends joked with me that I would not come out alive and that just like an American client this silly pilot would “drop like a fly’. As you can imagine, sleep did not come easy that evening as the ominous campfire stories of being face to face with 1000 buffalo, removing finger long leeches from your legs and walking through waist high water in crocodile infested papyrus banks played tricks on my mind. It all looked so wonderful from the sky, how could it possibly be “that’ tough. How wrong I was….

I awoke to the howl of a short exhaust V6 petrol engine and the dull clatter of tank tracks coming from the other side of the airfield. This monster in the darkness was familiar to me but on this particular morning, the sound caused my stomach to churn. It was now my turn to ride this armoured vehicle into one of the most remote wilderness areas on our planet. I was changed, backpack on and out the door of my rough little pilot cottage in a flash, the excitement of the unknown and willingness to prove myself to the “locals’ had me running. I met the beast on the road, loud American accent’s preceding her arrival. The B/V is a hydraulically articulating, twin bodied, fully amphibious military vehicle designed to conquer all terrain. The only seat’s you want to sit on, are the driver and co-driver positions, as the rear area of both carriages have plastic bench’s. Comfort was not in the original design as driving over snow and water created a magic carpet style ride. This was not the case in the swamp’s.

As the sun lit the horizon directly in front of us, our iron steed howled faithfully eastbound as the baked earth of the flood plain jarred and beat us for our sin’s. The 3-speed automatic gear box being the only smooth part of the 2-hour ride out to no man’s land, seamlessly shifting us through the never-ending saw grass. The flood plain on the outskirts of the swampland was so expansive that it was akin to being far out on the ocean, ground fog held gently in small pools and against clumps of short bush. Just like the ocean explorers of old, a shout came from the helm. “THE ISLAND AHEAD’ -exclaimed our fearless leader. It was the final outpost before the swamp. A place almost atoll in appearance, where previous swamp hunter’s made camp and augmented their deployment into the swampland.

We passed through the bush island slowly, under beautiful ironwood tree’s offering reprieve from the intense East African sun. I imagined the old camps under these trees, fine colonial gentleman sipping on gin and tonics, discussing the ways of the world with big bore rifles resting against their chair side. My respect grew for this endeavor as these men used to hike into this area and mokoro across papyrus rivers. They spent weeks here to shoot just one buffalo while the modern hunter spends only one day. Times have changed, humans adapt and overcome but the act has certainly lost some of its true allure, I thought quietly to myself.

The steel brakes brought the 3-ton machine to a stop on the edge of a pool of water known as the “petrol station’, a large papyrus bank grew southbound from this pool and to the North was a large area of sawgrass. Directly North East from this position standing dark and silhouette against the still rising sun was the sentinel or “the lone palm’. One of the more important navigational references in this barren terrain. I leapt from the iron horse as my legs were stiff from standing, there was no way to sit on the long ride out. Although the local Mozambique trackers managed to sleep the entire journey, the benefits of being bush born and bred. Two old tracks led into this seemingly innocent pool of water. A “Mahdala’ or older tracker gripped my shoulder and looked menacingly into the pool and said-“no go deh…crocodile’. I kept my distance from the pool while the hunting party readied themselves for what seemed like war, ammo belts, knives, webbing and camel backs were put on in military fashion. The vehicle was stripped of its canvas canopy and prepped. Delicious bacon and egg cupcake-like treats were passed around with a freshly percolated cup of coffee. The V6 hummed to life and we slipped into the stinking, dark tea colored pool of the crocodile.


Nothing could prepare me for the size of these slow-moving rivers of papyrus. Some of them 100 meters wide and easily 3 meters deep with papyrus stalks as thick as a man’s arm standing 3 meters above the surface of the water. Being inside this living breathing ecosystem in the iron steed at 0700 with a low sun caused almost complete blackness. The tank tracks struggling to push through these immense obstacles. Sometimes a papyrus stalk would not move aside and would break with an almighty crack. I could hear this noise all around me though and asked our driver the reason, he said-“Pal, you are currently in the middle of a large herd of elephants, look at the white egrets flying above us’. I looked up through our circle in the stalks and noticed the amount of these birds, it was beautiful and then I heard them. The deep guttural moaning and trumpeting of these 4-legged grey giants within in tens of meters of us, their noise drowned in the foliage. I was absolutely perplexed and amazed, It felt completely surreal as though I was on the set of Avatar. Climbing out of this river of papyrus we pulled up for a short rest and refreshment in a circle of saw grass. Looking back, we could see all the grey trunks and heads of the larger bull Elephants contrasting intensely with the vivid green of the papyrus, egrets swirling intently.

The B/V ground to a halt, tank tracks squeaking and squealing as my head rocked forward abruptly. Commotion in the front and trackers standing tall on the aft railing caused my stomach to turn. Binoculars fixed to face, hunters intent on task. The egrets gave away the secret of the Zambezi Delta. Nowhere else on this earth can this incredible act of mother nature be viewed by the mortal man. It is the reason National Geographic came to our camp and gave us thousands of dollars for the privilege of photographing this incredible phenomenon.  The black death, the horned devil…let no man under estimate the power and ferocity of the African Buffalo (Syncerus caffer). The difference here is that 500 meters from our position, almost panoramic in proportion was 1500 swamp buffalo. No where else on earth doe’s this spectacle of nature occur. I was truly speechless…stopped in the moment.

Sawgrass sliced the skin between my fingers, paper thorns pressed annoyingly into the palm of my hand and the weight of the shoulder held 375. Holland and Holland pushing down on my prone frame. Not to mention the yellow swamp Mosquito, designed to draw blood from animals with 1-inch thick skin injecting its maxillae into every bit of taught clothing on my body. This route march was unbearable. 40degree C heat and 100% humidity absolutely assaulting the sense’s. Nothing can prepare you for the feeling of breathing air which feel’s like fire at every inhale, but nonetheless we pushed on. The circling egret’s and the strong smell of bovine floating over the all commanding wall of papyrus, was all we had to confirm the position of our quarry. The hunting party stopped at the edge of a papyrus river, surely there was no way through this on foot?! On the contrary, there was. Rifles overhead, water up to my chin and brown leech filled swamp water stinging my legs as we waded through this impenetrable fibrous mass of green.

That unforgettable smell of cattle is something that I will never forget, it is truly all consuming. Especially when your head is low and lion-like in the light green saw grass, 100 metres from thousands of these incredible members of Africa’s big five. The American clients swaying with exhaustion after a 5km march through immense heat and humidity. I took a deep breath and raised myself up in a push up position to have a look at these incredible animals. That sight will stay with me always and forever……hundreds of Buffalo cows lifting their head’s and looking down their muzzles at me…. nostril’s flaring at me in a curious manner. In between the armada of animals, a gap open’s and out step’s the dream of so many hunters of old. Head swinging side to side under a heavy set of 38” inch horn’s, shoulder’s broad and explosive in design. Time seems to stop.....each breath noticed, every heart beat felt…the ground tremor’s beneath me with every movement of the herd. The Dagha boy or old man stand’s resolute, defiantly looking down on these silly humans…... shooting stick’s come up in a smooth motion, the colossal 458. Winchester Magnum rest’s gently on the bamboo………



The acidic pong of gunpowder fill’s my nostrils …...my vision shakes as 1500 animals scatter in all directions….I cannot forget the portrait of the King in all his splendor……I will recount no more.

Thursday, 10 August 2017

Married to the love of my life:)


Howzit people of the interweb:)

It has been a long stint of in-activity on the blog but a lot of thing's have changed and a lot of things have happened since my last post.

I got my airline exams done,moved to Johannesburg and more importantly married the lady of my dream's:) I really want to be more active on my blog from now on:) I have stories to tell, poem's to let loose on the world and adventures beckoning.

Let's start with a poem for my beautiful wife:) Thank you for being the most wonderful person in my life. I love and cherish you always.

For Jess

Our day has come, I can hardly believe it. A pilot and a ballerina,who could have dreamed this.

But there you were in Afrikaans class, all blue eyes and blonde hair. Nothing more I could do except stop smartly and stare. 30% term pass is all I could handle, my attention drawn by this stunning sweet damsel.

A long stemmed red rose, led to a soft, subtle kiss on my nose. She is beautiful I thought, but brilliant like Mozart and soon enough she became my high school sweetheart. 

My support and my partner, akin to ship and home harbor. She has stood there and gasped when I soloed a glider and always shouted incentive at her favorite mountain bike rider. When my eyes are tied and it all seem's too much, she hold's out her hand, the best kind of crutch.

My sweet Jess has the kindest heart of all, she has picked me up and believed in me no matter how far I may fall. My dearest, my darling something's never change. My love for you is endless, however far I may range.

Thank you for all your tireless love and support, the most precious gift's in life , can never be bought. Yesterday you were my princess, today my Queen. This could only be a day , PLUCKED from a dream.

-25/02/2017.

Thursday, 15 December 2016

The Lone Ranger: A new Perspective.

A cool, wet wind blow's through the top's of a buffalo thorn tree. Rough branches sway awkwardly in the south-easterly breeze. The vulture ruffle's his damp feathers and irritably flap's his heavy damp wings. Another long rain-soaked and freezing cold night, survived in South Africa's biggest National Park. Blade-like talon equipped feet, stretching out the heartfelt cold. Anxious but eager, the bird acknowledges a tough day ahead.

Low mamma surfaced, grey stained cloud, blankets the landscape. No thermals to assist a frame designed for soaring, no help from the elements today as the scruffy bird crane's his featherless neck over shifting branches in the hope of spotting any indication of a predator kill. All around him he scan's in vain. No colleagues circling,not a breath of movement in the expansive, Satara flood plain.

Deliriously low on energy but survival instinct intact. He know's he has to try, taking into consideration body limits and only having 30 minutes of flying energy available to him,anything more and his body will not be able to create enough warmth to survive the unforgiving African night. Pondering now he take's into account all the variables,alternate landing areas,dangers,wind and the best direction to head in for a sustenance. A dull hum echoes through the low acacia-veld. Initially he is concerned but the sound fades as the wind whips and rolls the noise, in and out of earshot.

Just like a dinner bell ringing a lion's roar bellows out across the bush-veld, the vulture however fears nothing in his state of insatiable hunger. This is his chance,he must take it. Dark brown and densely feathered wings arch outstretched into the humid and cold frontal air . Using every inch of strength left in weary muscles and a mindset of do or die, a soft breeze on the beak compels the crafty creature off of his homely perch. He drops momentarily but this is familiar to him,speed brings lift to a set of wings designed for thermic flight. He turns in the direction of the pride of lions, scanning for a kill,hoping for a scrap. Survival is all that matters.

Above in the dreary, wet and grey mass of climatic culmination,water molecules cling keenly to dust and dirt particles. This never stops the stalwart Caravan, plying its trade in so harsh an environment. A single pilot comfortable in his lush leather chair gazes down on the scene from above. The soaring vulture disappears in a flash of  monotone cloud as the Pratt and Whitney powered foreigner climbs hard, away from the rugged reality below. The pilot focus's intently on the task at hand, six pack instrument scan followed intently. Nothing else in the moment matters. Scanning for home, hoping for a gap.


The Swiss Miss (PC12 Tribute)

Since the touch of flight, the feel, took my thoughts and dreams forever steal. In my aviator’s heart the softest place, sits a sweet Swiss maiden in aluminum lace. I have longed for her comfort, her presence, her pace.

Four bladed, sleek perfection. A blend of function and form not needing correction. Sitting high atop trailing link, soaking up pilot’s mistakes without the slightest blink. Cockpit equipped with all a commander could wish for and a cabin, self-loading baggage can only adore.

Into the worst of climatic distress, she will push on faithfully whatever the test. Twelve-hundred horse power bridled by valve, long legged distance she continues to halve. Thousands of miles and coast to coast meet, our lady of Pratt and Whitney purrs on, not skipping a beat.

There she sits proud and poignant on the ramp, firmly and forever her mark on aviation stamp. Master goes on and red beacon cycle, ignitors are ticking and prop turns to spiral. Acceleration brisk and rotation so crisp. Onwards and up into silver-lined white wisp.


Tis’ where she belongs, our sweet Swiss miss. On golden edged clouds and never ending blue abyss.

-The Swiss Miss.