Sunset Sentiments

So after 2 and 1/2 years flying in Mozambique, it is time to move on. Hundreds of lifelong memories to take along,mistake's made and sweaty hours flown. To the buddies that made my time here unforgettable and all the kuk times memorable. A bit of poetry from the flying mac.

Sunset Sentiments

Cold,Golden,frothy and sweet. Warm Heart, sunset streak. Afternoon malty Mrs kept steep,standard on the mushroom club beat.

Some come,some go. Pilots and Professional Hunters live life low. No lights , but warm water from the hardwood fed, donkey boiler. Days in lonely mind seem long, but together these boys are soul strong.

Firelight flickers deep in tired eyes,hunting tales shared and stories of pretty girls who cared. Mistakes made and new years plans laid bare. Best friends for life,nothing less. Distant Harsh Sun disappears into the West.

Not house but home,members of the mushroom club will always know. Friends will roam but these memories are set in stone.

Cement sunset sentiments always known.

-Sean M.

Safari Air LTD 2011-2013.

The ultimate Cessna 206 or 210 Hot Start Procedure

Hello people:)

I have decided to write this post about something that troubles most new 206 or 210 pilots,when they have a very busy day of many flights and engine startups and shutdowns,so common to middle and east african bush flying. The sometimes problematic hot-start of the 206's or 210's big continental engine. When you have the common 35-45 degrees Celsius day and you land,toss your passengers and bags out, jump back in the plane and try and start the now wickedly hot air-cooled, horizontally opposed, 6 cylinder engine,you will become a victim of a Cessna/continental design flaw. The aircraft sometimes refuse's to start using manufacturer recommended procedures or normal start procedures All you bush pilots will know exactly what i am talking about.So i hope this helps some-one new out there or atleast makes for interesting reading.

The design flaw of the continental engine is not entirely a flaw. The manufacturers just never realised that the engine would be subjected to such abuse,high air temperatures and quick turn-around times. Normally the engine would at least get 10-20minutes to cool down after a flight but sometimes with bush flying the time difference between shutdown and start up again can be between 3-10minutes. The continental engine has fuel injection and this is where the problem lie's. The continental IO-540 or similar has a central fuel distribution hub mounted on the top of the engine,in the middle of the two rows of cylinders. This distributes fuel evenly into 6 metal fuel lines,one per cylinder. They run from the fuel control unit over each cylinder to a small injector which vaporises the fuel and delivers the correct flow of fuel into each cylinder for ignition.

Now to explain what sometimes causes the hot-start.The 6 fuel lines are not shrouded between the distribution unit and the injectors and because of the fact that they run so close to the cylinder they are prone to heat-up quickly after shut-down. This is due to the engine being air cooled and as soon as you lose airflow over the engine and cooling oil flow within the engine the engine bakes inside the cowling. This in-turn causes the fuel lines to heat up quickly. So you do your normal start and using the auxiliary pump(yellow section of the two-part fuel pump switch in the cockpit),you prime the cylinders by pumping a bit of fuel in prior to engaging the starter. Little do you know that the fuel you have pumped into the cylinders is still (relatively speaking here)cool but the fuel that has now accumulated in the lines has actually boiled or begun to boil. So you engage the starter and after the second or third propeller turn the engine fires as per normal because it has cool fuel to ignite in the cylinder but it quickly coughs and splutters and then the propeller just spins power-less infront of you. This is because the fuel in the lines has vapourised, so you now have hot aerated fuel and this in simple terms does not allow a stable fuel-air ratio for ignition to occur.

Bush pilots have many different techniques to start the hot engine from pulling mixtures out with throttle all the way in,to putting lots of fuel in and jockying the throttle until you get correct fuel to air ratio etc etc. These all work and i have used and tried them all but usually the engine starts very rough. Normally with a backfire or two aswell as un be known to the pilot,a large flame protruding from the exhaust.The problem with these rough starts is that if you have a backfire while the starter is engaged you can damage your starter motor aswell as damage other related electrical hardware.

After trying them all i have come up with what i believe is the best hot-start procedure. Firstly using the auxiliary fuel pump switch in the cockpit,prime the cylinders with a very short squirt of fuel,basically 1-2 seconds and turn the pump off. Check that your prop area is clear and with the mixture fully rich and the throttle 1/3 of the way in from idle engage the starter. The prop will go through 2-3 revolutions and as always you will get that initial ignition with the "cool"fuel in the cylinder but this is where the trick comes in. Before that vapourised accumulated fuel gets into the cylinder and causes you trouble,what you do is as you get that first ignition using spidey fingers,keep the starter engaged but reach with your middle,ring or pinkey finger and flick on the low volume side of the 2 part auxiliary fuel pump switch(yellow section).What this does is it squirts cool,pressurised and stable fuel into the cylinders at a fairly low volume and this results in a smooth,non-backfiring hot start-up. As soon as you have more than a 1000rpm. Dis-engage the starter and turn off the low volume fuel pump switch. Works every time with minimal fuss and without the large flame out the exhaust.

Hope it was interesting and maybe it will save you from killing the battery and starter motor one day when you cant get the beast started.

The lone ranger

A single, lone misaasa tree extends high above the forest canopy. Atop this natural wooden pillar, one dark strange shape breaks the uniform, circular pattern of this particular tree's bouquet. Silhouetted black against the crisp descent of the sun, a vulture sleeps soundly with his bald, scarred head resting softly on his shoulder. Scruffy feather's out of pattern and place moving lightly in the warm afternoon breeze.

A foreign sound comes in waves, at first like a whisper with the southerly wind. The vultures eyes flicker open, alerted by the un-natural humming noise. He cranes his neck, looking lazily for the source of this disruption. There through the shimmers of heat, he spots it, at first only a white speck coming slowly towards him. The vultures interest grows and with two quick blinks of his sharp eyes the object comes rapidly into focus.

The vulture realises what he see's and sighs again in dis-interest. Many times before he has seen this un-shapely, red and white man-made creature flying noisily over head. It is the only other flyer in this expansive, in-hospitable area that the bird calls home. With one last non-chalant blink the scavenger lowers his head slowly to his shoulder, eyelids closing heavy and content.

The pilot configures his 40 year old, rough and ever-faithful Cessna for the approach. His eyes scanning the now dramatic, orange and yellow landscape.  One last radio call echoes into the empty abyss that surrounds him on 124.100. Smiling warmly he  realises that he too is all alone, except maybe for one cantankerous, scruffy  vulture soaring on the wing or sleeping in a tall tree somewhere.

One last weary glance finds him his destination, even though he is thousands of miles from everything he knows. He found something.

He found home.

back in the swing of things

Hey people,apologies for my recent lack of activity on the blog but it has been because i have been so busy:) its great to be back in camp,i moved back into my little ex-portuguese war building which has been rebuilt to resemble a respectable white mans abode:)i share this with my professional hunter apprentice buddies:)the house otherwise known as casa de' gintrap....named after a previous pilot who had way to many tequilas with a rich american client and was found passed out in the room where we keep our confiscated poachers gintraps:)our house has no windows and it has a 200litre avgas drum for a water boiler but we love it like you cannot believe:)our own space away from the ballies(old grumpy camp managers) and the sometimes painful american clients,it gives us space to chill and play a bit of music and drink a beer or two:)friendships formed here will last a lifetime...

well back to the flying.....and man oh man are we flying a stack this year:)more clients than usual but more importantly we are in the process of taking over a large profitable contract for a sugar estate on the zambezi river :)i am currently doing all there flying and it has been fantastic:)finally flying everyday:)with generally nothing less than 4 on board....aswell as the odd medi-vac and full freight load, keeps things very interesting and always a challenge:)so my hours are clocking up and there could be a new bigger aircraft on its way up if the contract works out.....holding thumbs and watch this space:):):)feeling really comfortable on the c206 again:)i have been lucky enough to do a bit of hunting in the 2 weeks i have been back:)3 reedbuck so far:)and flew low over a herd of fifty elephants the other day:)man i love my job:)

anyway possibly leaving for South Africa tomorrow to collect the last C206 and bring it up to camp:)it means i will be home for my birthday on the 06/06:)i cannot explain to you the excitement if it all works out:)

will keep you posted:)literally....

aviation kindness

This is slightly late but i had to throw it on my blog...an act of kindness that i will never forget...makes you realise that making friends and always offering help will come back to you in spades someday....

So there i was stuck in the shit-hole that is Maputo,Mozambique.....i needed to get back to SA and because i was there towards the end of the week the only flights back home were frighteningly expensive,my boss told me to take the cheapest one to get back so that i could return our aircraft which was in Durban for Maintenance back to camp in Moz. I was stuck.....the flights were incredibly expensive and i couldnt expect my boss to pay it,so i said i would wait until monday for a cheap flight......great 3 more days in this hellish city.....i walked back to the airport briefing office and standing there paying his landing fee's was an old tjommie of mine that i had helped in Beira when he came in with his Cessna 421 business liner,low on fuel and beira starved of avgas supplies as it usually is,i ran around the airport and tried my level best to get them fuel and make a plan,which they eventually did and they got back home to SA:)now he was flying a kingair 300 for the same company and was on his way back to JHB,my stomach turned at the thought of asking for a ride home....i kept thinking there is no ways he will allow me to hop on!!! after much chatting and time to build up courage, i asked is there any possible way i could catch a ride with you? after one quick phonecall to his very wealthy boss,the answer was a resounding yes:)!!!!! i couldnt even fathom in my head how this could be happening and how lucky i was,a free-flight in a king air 300,saving my boss alot of smackeroo's in the first place:)He told me i had to be ready in 20 minutes though so i absolutely raced to the hotel,got my stuff and raced back:) after thanking my friends boss profusely and being told to stop thanking him and kindly get on the plane....i was given a prego roll and an ice cold coke:):):) i honestly almost shed a man-tear....i have never experienced and act of kindness so great to someone who was to him a complete and utter stranger.....:)absolutely astounded still to this day.....and if he ever reads this which i doubt he will,sir thank you so much....you made my year:)

after a short flight i found myself in wonderboom with a cheap connecting flight from JHB international to durban,saving my boss in the region of R6000:)and it got even better....from kruger international across to wonderboom i got to log an hour in the 300 because they let me sit in the co-pilot seat and the captain happened to be a DFE grade 1 and instructs on the kingair series all the time,your kindness will never be forgotten:)

Truely blessed:)

The spanish explorer's point

Maintaining 4500ft,routing south from camp to vilanculos,the expansive bay between Beira and Bartholomeu Dias point in the south, fills the perspective from the heavily loaded, red and white c206. The garmin C295 on the dash indicating oh so accurately 00:55:26 to run to Vil. The solitary white sandy finger of the point surrounded vividly by the travel brochure blue and turquoise water. Having flown over this point numerous times,i had always dreambt of exploring this area in a bit more detail,due mainly to how remote and beautiful it is. Little did I believe that 2 day's later, my footprints would join those of early European explorer's who had de-flowered this spot so many year's before. Hmmmm I wonder what would make a trip to this point a little more interesting, turn it into a real old school adventure.....something unique...

the morning arrive's, steaming cup's of Ricoffee and bowls of cereal are quickly dealt with,excitement builds as we await the slowly receding tide. Waiting on the lord if you will,to reveal the sliver of beach where the consistency of sand to water is just right,because this section is where you can comfortably ride a mountain bike. Before we knew it,my boss,a couple friends and I were off,the easy early morning Mozambiquen sun,painting softly now,orange's,yellows and pink hue's on the white sand,the smile on my face and on that of the other's expressing a spot of anxiety mixed in with spoonful's of excitement for the adventure that lay ahead of us. Little did we know what lay ahead in the many kilometre's to come....

After a couple hour's of fairly basic riding,the heat and humidity so common to this country attacked some of our team mate's energy but none the less we carried on going. Until we rounded another sandy Ponta' that is.A massive bay came into view,roughly 20km's south of inhassoro,maybe less. Greeted by the sight of mixed light blue of shallow seawater, intense green of the mangrove's and interspersed red and orange of many thousands of crab's lining the bay. Our initial reaction was awe but the bay quickly turned our smiles upside down,completely un-rideable for almost 6km's,pushing our bike's through knee-deep sand and mud. The soon nick-named baia de diablo or bay of satan,took its toll as well as time to get through in the heat of midday and this caused mutiny in the crew, we were forced to leave 2 of the team at inhassoro,they decided beer and a vehicle pick-up was the way to go. Somewhat disappointed in our cycling comrades,the remaining 2 and myself pushed on into the night.

On our Northbound track with a cool southerly wind on our back's. The full moon throwing silver lashings of light on the now dark, menacing east-African sea. Sweat and sun cream stinging my eyes and the humming of fast spinning tire's on sand, the only things reminding us of reality. Imagine if you may, a magic carpet ride....no lights just the clear air sparkle of star's and white silver light. The thought of an ice cold beer, driving the 26kph pellaton towards the point. My eye's accustomed well to the dark now, the long arcing beach in front of us seeming as if it would never end. An overwhelming sense of humility took over my thoughts and feelings, mainly because of just how unique this little adventure was and with these thoughts my mind drifted in the darkness. A great quote bounced into my mind and it fitted the moment perfectly-'He who ignores times, walks in darkness and who explores it, is illuminated by great light "

After 80km's+- and 0700 to 1922,my muscle's eased as I got off my bicycle and felt the soft sand of Bartholomeu Dias point under my tired feet. The best crab curry of my life and an icey Doiche M beer, were quickly liberated at the small lodge on the point. I lay in bed that night and pondered the return journey the next morning. These thoughts worried me little because I was on top of the world,this was a golden moment, my spirit humbled and indomitable. Pure joy man...pure joy:) Adventures of the near future such as Kilimanjaro and Everest base camp allowed sleep to creep in fast and without consent.

The return journey was tough into a stiff southerly wind as well as with tired body's, but we averaged a decent speed. Before I knew it I was back in the hammock in vilanculos,swinging gently in the wind writing notes on the journey. With a cold one in hand I realised that people need to take more time in their lives to pursue little adventures of their own. To forget about the mediocrity and drama and push for those golden moments in life. Don't let mundane day to day things get you down. Plan an adventure, even just a small one or don't plan and do something spontaneous. Whatever comes of it, even if it is a complete failure, you will be a better person after it all.

'life is life, live it, love always, apologise for nothing'

Fantasticly cool flying vid. Susi Air Indonesia.

This is what all pilots dream of.....flying, freedom and adventure:)

Maybe I might be there one day;) c.v has been sent......

My favourite aviation poem dedicated to the man that taught me to fly:)

To the late Carl Botha,the man who first taught me to fly,god speed on your final flight west:)

Flying West

I hope there's a place, way up in the sky
Where pilots can go when they have to die.
A place where a guy could buy a cold beer
For a friend and a comrade whose memory is dear.
A place where no doctor or lawyer could tread,
Nor a management-type would e'ler be caught dead!
Just a quaint little place, kind of dark, full of smoke,
Where they like to sing loud, and love a good joke.
The kind of a place that a lady could go
And feel safe and secure by the men she would know.

There must be a place where old pilots go,
When their wings become heavy, when their airspeed gets low,
Where the whiskey is old, and the women are young,
And songs about flying and dying are sung.
Where you'd see all the fellows who'd 'flown west' before,
And they'd call out your name, as you came through the door,
Who would buy you a drink, if your thirst should be bad,
And relate to the others, "He was quite a good lad!"

And there, through the mist, you'd spot an old guy
You had not seen in years, though he'd taught you to fly.
He'd nod his old head, and grin ear to ear
And say, "Welcome, my Son, I'm proud that you're here!
For this is the place where true flyers come
When the battles are over, and the wars have been won.
They've come here at last, to be safe and alone,
>From the government clerk, and the management clone;
Politicians and lawyers, the Feds, and the noise,
Where all hours are happy, and these good ol' boys
Can relax with a cool one, and a well deserved rest!
This is Heaven, my Son. You've passed your last test!"

— Captain Michael J. Larkin, TWA (Ret.), 'Air Line Pilot' magazine, February 1995.

C208 Caravan Conversion!!!

so there i was,sandwiched on a greyhound to Port Elizabeth,uncomfortably mashed in the non-flying bus,a dream come true,i was on my way to light my first turbine,my first PT-6 ....more specifically a PT6A-114A,producing 675shp......any guess's what that may be......oh yes....caravan....cessna's swiss army knife with wing's:) and man oh man,was i excited!!!!!

i don't know why but i always had an infatuation with turbine's from day one, i couldnt explain it.....everytime a pilatus pc12 started up or spooled down on the apron where i learnt to fly,i would stand there and drool offensively onto the tarmac,i loved the wine and seemingly endless acceleration they had on takeoff,so much more refined and smooth then there piston cousin's, it's funny alot of the time when you fly a plane that you have dreambt of for a while,it let's you down,its not as cool as you expected it to be,but this time,it exceeded my expectation's:)what a plane.....

after the pax are loaded for the heavy load section of the conversion,a mixture of instructors and student's captured amongst Port Elizabeth's apron,rear door closed and latched and load bar removed from under the tail,a final walk around checking hatche's and door's closed and prop area clear,a climb up the mini air-stair into the cockpit find's me in a hugely spacious cockpit,comfy seat's and 5 point harness's,controls and instruments where they should be,familiar and well postioned,fuel tank selectors both to on, bleed air switch off,beacon light to postion on,fuel and firewall emergency in the normal position,trim nuetral position's and elevator trim for takeoff,control lock's removed,fuel condition lever in idle cutoff postion,propeller pitch lever fully fine,power lever idle position,inertial bypass seperator normal postion,call for start-up,cleared for start-up from ground control,gauge and instrument check aswell as ensuring beacon light is on, all engine control switche's in the correct position for a battery start,ensuring ignition switch in the normal postion, electronic master switch goe's on, electronic gyro's start to spin and a quick check on the voltmeter ensuring that we have 24.5 volts minimum for a battery start,confirmed,we are clear left and right, A loud clear prop to anyone around the aircraft,fuel pump to on, start switch goe's on and immediately the loud electric-like whine and woosh of the compressor of the PT6 come's to life,a quick check of oil and fuel pressure ensuring op's are normal as you do not want fuel going into the combustion chamber prior to light up,the fuel flow gauge confirm's ZERO,the loud metallic TICK-TICK-TICK of the ignitor's awaiting the arrival of fuel into the combustion chamber,back quickly to the NG gauge or compressor speed gauge expressed as a %,minimum to introduce fuel into the combustion chamber is 12%,the Ng rise's swiftly pass 12% and because the higher the compressor rpm the more smooth the start will be, i let it rise up to 18%,it stabilise's and i smoothly introduce fuel by moving the fuel condition lever from idle cut-off to low idle,a fuel flow indication of around 100pph indicate's correctly,the dull woomff of fuel igniting and the immediate smell of burnt jet fuel indicate's first stage light-up,all your attention turns now to the ITT gauge,the engine spooling up quickly now and a secondary dull woomf and woosh signal's second stage light-up and the ITT soar's rapidly toward's the maximum limit's,with one hand on the fuel lever and one hand on the start switch ready for a possible hot-start,you hope and pray that the volatile cocktail of jet-fuel and air stabilise's before it reach's maximum temperature limit's,which is by the way 1090C. for 2 second's on start-up,all of a sudden, the swiftly rising ITT needle stop's its ascent and decrease's back to a stable 650C.+- ,all engine perimetre's checked,all stable and you are ready to rock, start-switch to off,Standby power to armed postion,ensure generator is charging the battery,fuel switch to norm and avionics master 1 and 2 both on and you are ready to taxi-out.oh and get the aircon on for your pax and test the electronic master warning system prior to taxi. All this happening in less than a minute. I cant tell you the smile on my face after that little sequence. Call me easily pleased....

Once started a turbine is very simple to operate and the caravan one of the nicest flying aircraft around,a pleasure in all condition's with its beautifully harmonised controls,it really is a pilots dream machine,incredibly capable and with reverse thrust,huge flap's,de-icing,weather radar and a full auto-pilot it is capable of operating anywhere in any weather:)i loved my conversion and i cannot wait for the opportunity to fly the aircraft operationally in the very near future:)

hope you enjoyed my little caravan lecture:)fascinated by turbine's clearly....

B.A.S.E adventure's

so there i was.....standing statue-like in the middle of a cold quiet Durban street,the feint hue of the video camera illuminating my face. Looking up into the milky black city sky,i waited like an expectant father for my 3 friend's,waiting for what you may ask? well at 2am in the cool morning as the city slept,my friends stood precariously on one of the city's highest building's,ready for the jump,cold and calm in confidence,their face's solemn,introvert and focused. The 112metre's between them and the un-forgiving tarmac,igniting inside them a passion very few people enjoy,the passion to base jump,to jump from thing's no other's would,to jump from place's no one has jumped from before and to leave their very rare signature on landmark's all over the world. Hero's to no one and without any drive for recognition they jump one after the other...my heart in my mouth,the freefall is brief and the crack of the high-performance parachute, like a gunshot, echoe's down the street. Why do they do what they do? why take such risk's?

Having never tried base jumping,simply because of financial reason's at present,i have no idea truely what it is like but having been with these people and helped them break into bulding's and push them through fire exit's in rooftop's,i began to understand the concept and why so few people do base jumping. People who base jump are not looking for recognition or the cool-factor,they don't want highfive's or epic facebook picture's. They are in search of much more than that,they are searching for themselve's. Base jumper's are looking for the intense joy inside that normal people feel when they conquer a great feat in their own live's,for example achieving a goal academically or making the first team rubgy in school,it is that warm content that you feel when you really do know exactly what you are doing and you have supreme confidence in yourself. You don't shout about it or make a scene but it is that feeling that keep's a smile alway's on your face. To a base jumper, real world goal's are not enough,they need more,they want to explore their deepest darkest weaknesse's and fault's and what better way to do it then flirting so intimately with death. When you are standing with your toe's over the edge of the cliff,antenna,building or skyscraper,you will truly figure out who you are inside,fear will show you who you really are,height and the risk's will iron out all your crease's. In that moment of absolute danger,is where a base jumper's mind can make calculated decision's and in milli-second's understand all the risk's, everchanging factor's such as wind and this is where they get there greatest pleasure. Along with that come's a sport un-regulated,un-tainted and un-controlled,free from politic's,money chasers and pencil pusher's and you get the most pure sport on earth.Think about it.....it is the most pure sport on earth.

'Fear paralyse's the majority but give's clarity to some'-Travis Pastrana

I understand why they do it....do you?

 

First post and some Background info.

HELLO people:)

This is my first post on the new blog flap's 40degree's:) i just wanted to give you all an idea of what i am doing with my life and where it all began:)

so i there i was, sitting in the back of the harvard,idling away as it's big rotary warmed it's many gallon's of oil through the round bank of cylinder's. The smell of burnt oil and avgas mixing in the rear passenger cockpit,my smile as wide as ever. On a private farm in the Free State my dad had bestowed a harvard flip on me for my birthday and this is how i found myself tightly wrapped in the 4 point harness like so many SAAF student's and instructor's did when this aircraft was still in formal service.After taxi and takeoff check's the next thing i knew i was airborne and climbing out toward's the maluti mountain's,wide eyed like a kid in a candy store and after many loop's,roll's,half cuban's,lazy eight's and an awesome low pass,we were back on final approach with the canopy open,i held my hand's into the fast moving air,hung my head out the window and quickly realised without any shadow of a doubt,that i needed to fly,no matter how or what,i needed it.....i had to fly:)

That was 5 year's ago and now i fly fat american hunter's around mozambique and more specifically the zambeze delta for a large hunting operation as a commercial pilot. I have seen and done what many will only ever dream of,i have flown Mozambique from south to north and i have learnt many hard life lesson's along the way.6 month's of a yearly hunting season doe's wonderful thing's for the mind,especially with no cell signal,internet or any meaningful way to contact reality,it change's you as a person and for me it has smoothed alot of rough corner's in my life. I absolutely love my job and the people and place's i have met and seen. Some picture's will follow to give you an idea of what it's all about.

My passion for flying is un-relenting and i am alway's trying to better myself, i am pushing hard for the next job,i have dreambt big and toward's the end of 2013,it will be 2 and a quarter year's with my present company and time to move from the 206,so we will see how my dream's plan out,some will say i have dreambt too big....but i don't care,you have to risk it to get the biscuit. Follow me over the next year and i will try to keep you entertained with a bit of adventure,comedy,a dash of philosophy and an interesting story or two. Sit back and enjoy....

A few pic's of life and time's in Mozambique;)