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Katrin Cooper didn’t need to be asked twice if she wanted to go along on the Buttonville Flying Club’s annual trip to the Caribbean. What more could a student pilot on the verge of getting her private license ask for in the way of cross country experience? Having wrapped up her company that specialized in exotic underwater photography, she had the time for an adventure. And who knows, if the planes stayed on the ground occasionally, she might even get in a couple of scuba dives to add to her 4,000 plus hours of diving experience.
Dave “Ultra” Cox was also keen. Retired for the last year, Dave certainly had the time. But could he find an aircraft big enough to carry his stuff? Dave believed that two of everything was a necessity. The only exceptions were aircraft (of which he had three) and wives (of which he had only one). Finally, Dave decided to pare down his load to 22 bags, take his Beech Baron 58 and, incredibly, leave his Sherpas behind.
As Dave sat in his Unionville home thinking about the trip, though, he was worried. Not about getting there and back- Dave had about 1650 hours and plenty of licenses and ratings (private, multi instrument, night, VFR over the top and a taildragger qualification). No, his concern was that he might not be able to bug Warren Cresswell enough over the next three weeks. It would take some effort and imagination.
Warren “The Streak” Cresswell was equally concerned as he thought about the trip in his Maple home. Warren had just sold his business. He wasn’t worried about taking three weeks to do the trip. And he knew that he would be well prepared, with about 2,000 hours in his Mooney M20F, private and commercial licenses, and night, instrument and other ratings. No, his concern was that he might not be able to bug Dave Cox enough over the next three weeks. It would take some effort and imagination.
Add Mike Koff to the list of worried people on the trip. Mike was the prime organizer behind this year’s trip. He’d been to the Caribbean in his Cessna 185 Amphib before, and that experience, together with his 900 hours of private license experience, his night and float ratings, and his recently acquired instrument rating, left him confident about his abilities. But how could he keep Dave and Warren off each other’s backs? The thought of the effort involved made him shudder. Mike is a tax specialist, so he’s used to challenges. But this one would make the Income Tax Act seem like a dime store novel. It would take a lot of effort and imagination.
Ron Marshall is a recovering lawyer who retired from his partnership earlier in the year and was just looking to celebrate and learn with a few hours in the air. Ron was the rookie of the licensed pilots on the trip, with about 260 hours, but thought he could contribute with his private and commercial licenses and his night and instrument ratings. And unlike some of the others, Ron wasn’t worried at all. Relieved, maybe. Yes definitely relieved. There were those that said that after 10 years as a banker and 23 as a lawyer, the next gruesome phase in Ron’s sickening spiral downwards would be a job as a used car salesman. But Ron had fooled them all. He was working on his instructor rating.
Gord "Sunshine" Roberts wasn’t worried either. He was keen. Buttonville airport was close to his Markham home, and he’d put in about 450 hours of flying in the last few years, most of them in his new Cessna 172SP. Gord was a moderate compared to Dave- he only had one of everything- one house, one cottage, one Harley, one aircraft. But who knew how Gord’s recent sale of his business would affect him. He had found it virtually impossible to stay in the country. Trips to Cuba, Tahiti and Mexico (twice, once for cave diving) during the winter couldn’t satisfy him. He became sea-level challenged. If he wasn’t flying, he was diving. Would the trip to the British Virgin Islands be enough? We didn’t think so. We all watched him carefully- we knew he’d be agitating for another trip, or trying to stretch this one out.
These, then, were the pilots of the Caribbean.
Myrtle Beach- home of 108 golf courses and 60 miles of beach. This was the target for March 3rd- day one. Only one of us would make it, and that would be on a commercial flight.
Weather dictated departure from Buttonville (CYKZ) on Thursday, March 3rd, a day earlier than planned. This made for some interesting logistics, since Ron (who was to be flying with Mike) was in Delaware on some board business until the evening of the 3rd. However, Ron had packed his "island clothes" in case this happened. A scramble to change flights, and Ron headed for Philadelphia airport. Philadelphia airport security promptly relieved him of the fold-up saw in his emergency cross-country kit, along with (believe it or not) the CO2 cartridge from his Mustang lifejacket.
While Ron was nervously eyeing the latex gloves of Philadelphia airport security, Gord and Katrin (C-FGAR) were touching down at Port Columbus, Ohio (KCMH) to clear Customs. They had left CYKZ VFR just before 11:00 a.m. local time, and made the jog west to avoid weather problems. Warren (C-GMMM) was waiting for them, and Mike (C-GMDA) arrived shortly thereafter. The plan was to reach KCRE Grand Strand (North Myrtle Beach) by sundown (Gord had no night rating- more on this later), but the late start made this plan look marginal. The group decided to head for Greensboro, North Carolina (KGSO), and re-evaluate from there.
They did make Greensboro, but were an hour short on daylight to extend to KCRE. Dave met them at KGSO in his Baron (C-FKCX), having been in Florida earlier. The group made plans for an early departure for Myrtle Beach the next morning.
In the meantime, U.S. Air had delivered Ron on schedule to Myrtle Beach International. Geoff Wood, the BFC Treasurer, was in Myrtle Beach on a golfing holiday with his wife Daphne. A quick call by Ron from the airport and he had a bed for the night, along with the warmth of Geoff and Daphne’s hospitality. A couple of calls to group cell phones, and we knew the rest would be arriving the next morning.
Arrive they did, in clear skies and a bit of haze. Everybody was on the ground by 11:20 a.m. local, and were greeted by Ron and Geoff. Warren left to arrange the rental car. Gord spent what seemed like an eternity replacing his landing light, to many jibes as to why a pilot without a night rating would really need one anyway.
Then it was a seafood lunch, a stroll around Celebrity Circle shopping complex (with looks of horror as Ron and Katrin bought flip-up sunglasses for flying), and off to Bass Pro Outlet. Ron replaced his confiscated CO2 cartridge for his lifejacket. Dave and Warren bought bonefish flies (dreamers). Dave bought a fishing hat that also covered his neck, and was promptly dubbed "Lawrence of Tortola."
Geoff and Daphne joined us for dinner at the Sea Merchant Restaurant (great crab chowder and salmon), and we headed back to the Bay Watch Resort, where we’d checked in earlier. This was a terrific resort, with modern accommodation at very reasonable prices.
Favourite memory of Myrtle Beach- Dave snoozing on a park bench and waking up before we could get the picture.
New code learned- "Whatever works for you," as it relates to flip-up sunglasses, really means "That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve seen in my entire life."
Florida thrusts like a guiding thumb
To the southern islands of rumba and rum**
We left Myrtle Beach in clear skies with winds of 10 to 15 knots, but thunderstorms were only hours away. This would become a pattern- we were always one step ahead of the weather. Some would say we were lucky. We weren’t so sure. We figured it was because Gord had joined us on the trip. We started to call him "Sunshine" (which seemed better than "Ray").
Geoff drove to KCRE to see us off. It was obvious Geoff was missing his airplane at that point, and we tried to be as gentle as possible in removing him from the strut on Gord’s 172. We prescribed 54 immediate holes of golf and told him we’d call him in the morning.
Warren left first for St Augustine (KSGJ). This would also become a pattern. Once Warren was ready to leave, he was gone like a streak. Not that that was bad. Both Warren and Dave, having faster aircraft, provided regular weather and other reports back to the slower aircraft, and relayed radio calls where necessary, throughout the trip. Those actions were invaluable as a safety factor. Also, during the waiting periods that inevitably followed their early arrivals at the end of each leg, Warren and Dave would arrange weather briefings and figure out the best route for the next leg. At the end of each final leg, the waiting periods also provided Dave with an opportunity to find a transport truck to move his luggage to the hotel.
Mike left Myrtle Beach next in MDA, followed by Gord and Katrin in GAR, and Dave and Ron in KCX. Ron and Dave measured headwinds of up to 55 knots at 8,000 feet! They decreased to about 20 knots as we neared St. Augustine. But they provided Gord and Mike with some interesting moments. Although both chose lower altitudes, Mike said he stared at the same car on I-95 for far too long. Gord ran 40 minutes behind schedule, and Gainesville called St. Augustine at one point looking for him.
Although we had hoped for a leisurely lunch in the historic downtown area of St. Augustine (the oldest permanent European settlement in North America), headwinds had put us behind schedule in getting to our various destinations before dark. We grabbed a quick bite at the FBO, Aero Sport, and headed out. This time we headed in different directions.
Warren was headed to St. Petersburg to visit friends. Mike was off to Venice to collect Doug Morley, who was joining us for the leg to the Virgin Islands. Doug had recently sold his company (is this beginning to sound familiar? -ultimately, Mike was the only one on the trip that had a job). Doug did not have a pilot’s license, but had travelled regularly with Mike in MDA to such things as the Indianapolis 500 and the Montreal Grand Prix. Doug contributed not only to the flying part of the trip, but also to the ambiance.
Dave delivered Ron to Ft. Pierce (KFPR), and then headed for Orlando. Gord and Katrin caught up with Ron in Ft. Pierce shortly after 5:00 p.m. local time. While he waited, Ron made accommodation arrangements for the three of them. We had agreed that we would stay at the Radisson Hotel on the beach. Ron had stayed there two years ago on his way to the Bahamas with the Club. It was solid accommodation on a nice beach at a reasonable price. The only problem this time was that the Radisson had been bulldozed due to damage from last year’s hurricanes. Ron was laid back enough that he considered sleeping in the rubble, but finally decided that Gord and Katrin might be more particular, and started looking at alternatives.
It is typical of these types of Club trips that we rarely make advance accommodation arrangements. Usually, it works out. Ft. Pierce was one of those rare times when we got burned. Last year’s Hurricanes Charley and Frances ravaged Ft. Pierce. Many hotels were destroyed or severely damaged. Those that were left were full of construction workers doing repairs throughout the city. A Holiday Inn room that used to cost $69 a night now cost $159 if you could get one. With the FBO’s help, Ron finally found a mediocre Best Western room that he could share with Gord and Katrin.
Ron also found an Econo Lodge room for Warren and Dave to share when they arrived the next day (Sunday). It was small, but God knows no room would be big enough for the two of them. Mike and Doug planned to arrive early on Monday morning, when we would all leave for the Bahamas.
Gord, Katrin and Ron had a continental breakfast at the Best Western. It cost U.S.$195, but the room came along with it. They then hopped in the rental car and stopped at the FBO to reserve a life raft for the trip to the Caribbean. We were assured that the FBO had never had a customer use one, which gave us a lot of comfort until Ron (the lawyer, of course) started examining the wording of that assurance. When Ron suggested that perhaps some customers never got out of their planes fast enough to use the raft, Gord and Katrin locked him in the trunk.
Gord, Katrin and Ron then headed for Kissimmee to check out the Warbird Museum. They got half way through their almost two hour drive when they clued in to the fact that it was on an airport (duh- most airplane museums are), and that they could have flipped over from Ft. Pierce in Gord’s 172 in less time. Oh well. The positive part was that they got to eat at Denny’s, that culinary icon of North America.
Most of the museum displays were outside. The hurricanes had visited Kissimmee as well. Twisted pieces of metal were all that remained of many of the museum’s buildings. Nevertheless, it was worth the visit. They had two beautiful flying-condition B-25 bombers, two immaculate Harvards that you could sign up for aerobatics, an F-104, a Warhawk, a Vampire and many others in various stages of repair or restoration.
Gord, Katrin and Ron were back in Ft. Pierce by 5:00. They had spoken with Warren and Dave by cell phone, and knew that Warren was in his room watching Tiger Woods beat Phil Mikkelson by one stroke in Miami. Warren was also preparing an amazingly thorough flight briefing for the trip to the Bahamas the next day. The group collected Dave on his arrival, headed off for Mexican food, and met at Warren and Dave’s room for Warren’s briefing.
At dinner, Warren treated us to a short poem called "Floridays," written by Don Blanding in Fort Pierce back in 1941. This was the first of many poems, articles and historical summaries that Warren had prepared before leaving on the trip and that he shared with us as we reached specific destinations. They added immensely to the trip, and parts of them are included in this article.
Favourite memory of Fort Pierce- the Radisson Hotel.
New code learned- "It’s going to be a good day, Mon" is a Caribbean weather briefing that really means "31010KT 10SM CLR 25/19 A3001"
Cat Island- was it named after the hordes of feral cats that met the English when they arrived in the 1600’s? Or was it named after Arthur Catt? And was Arthur Catt a famous British sea captain or a pirate? Nobody seems to know, but the south end of Cat Island, Hawk’s Nest (MYCH) in particular, was our planned destination on Monday, March 7th.
Gord, Katrin and Ron picked up Dave and Warren at 7:00 a.m. at the Econo Lodge and headed for the KFPR FBO. We were expecting Mike and Doug to arrive early from Venice for an early launch to the Bahamas. They arrived at about 8:30. In the meantime, Warren had a bit of trouble locating his passport, so the time waiting was used well in fretting, pacing and unpacking. Fortunately, the passport showed up. Mike refuelled, and we launched into a clear blue sky.
Ron was travelling with Warren in the Mooney for this leg. It was a bit different than the Baron with the glass cockpit, and Dave lost no opportunity to remind Warren of the safety benefits of advanced technology. Warren in turn reminded Dave to get his head out of the cockpit occasionally for safety reasons. Dave referred to Warren’s simple approach as "reverse snobbery." And on it went.
We arrived in North Eleuthra (MYEH) to refuel and clear Customs. The incredibly helpful and friendly attitude of the FBO representative at White Crown Aviation stood in stark contrast to the surly, imperious and unhelpful attitude of the Customs agent, who ruled her fiefdom with an iron head. This was unusual- most Customs people in the Bahamas are good to deal with.
Ron caught a few pictures of the other planes arriving until reminded by Warren that it’s technically illegal to snap pictures on a Bahamas airport. A couple of years ago, one of our Club members spent a few uncomfortable hours with the Bahamian authorities after innocently taking a few pictures at an airport. Fortunately, Warren agreed not to report Ron. Dave wouldn’t have been so lucky.
After everyone arrived, Ron assumed his "I’ll be your waiter today" mode, since Hawk’s Nest Resort’s restaurant asks its guests to order ahead for dinner. After Ron finished his call to place the order, the group grabbed a cab to the ferry, which took us to Harbour Island for lunch. The Coral Sands restaurant made a mean grouper sandwich, and provided a wonderful view of a pristine pink sand beach.
We left North Eleuthra by 4:00 p.m.. Gord continued to impress with his handling of occasional MVFR conditions, and was frequently happy to have his friend Otto Pilot on board.
We arrived in Hawk’s Nest for dinner. The resort had some shortcomings (more on that later), but its kitchen was not one of them. Its lamb, lobster and Wahoo (that’s a fish, not just an expression of excitement in the southern States) were spectacular.
Dinner culminated in what was to be the first of many safety lectures from Dave. Over the next few weeks, those lectures spawned fertile discussions on everything from rates of climb to risk levels, and we all learned a great deal. Warren, however, spoiled the mood of the first lecture by reminding Dave that he’d forgotten to wear his lifejacket on the short hop from North Eleuthra to Hawk’s Nest.
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Tuesday dawned CAVU with winds 160 at 7 knots. Those winds would pick up during the day and provide us with some interesting moments. Following the breakfast safety lecture, we headed in different directions. Dave and Warren went bonefishing. Doug, Gord and Mike bicycled to a deserted beach a few miles north of the resort. Katrin went for a beach hike. We were all back for lunch and some pool time.
With the sun at a less intense level about 4:00, five of us headed for the marina to grab some sea kayaks for a tour of the mangrove swamp. This was a highlight of Mike’s last visit to Hawk’s Nest, and we were all encouraged by his obvious excitement. But there were two problems.
The first was that there were five of us, and only four lifejackets. Warren decided to do without one. There was a great deal of risk attached to this decision- not that Warren would drown, but that Warren would be the subject of an interminable safety lecture from Dave. Warren pressed on regardless.
The second problem was that the seas were high, and the last portion of the trip would be along the coast. But Mike assured us that the seas were no higher than last time when Billy Lowe had done it and Billy couldn’t swim and…we decided to give it a shot.
The first leg down the channel was great- downwind and open. Gord spotted (no pun intended) a spotted eagle ray just below the surface. But where was the first turn? Mike had a map. It had sea monsters and a big "X" on it, so it may have come out of a cereal box, but we tried it anyway. After several tries, a lot of dragging of kayaks through shallows (Gord’s deck shoes are still drying out) and many mutterings about why weren’t the kayaks equipped with GPS, we found the right channel through the mangroves. But the challenges had just begun.
We were now paddling into a substantial wind. And the open water coastline section was coming up. We stopped just short of the coast to freshen up with a swim and catch our breath, and then plunged our bows into the open waters.
Mike had told us that the idea
was to paddle directly into the waves, rather than get caught sideways to them.
This was a lot like climbing a ladder in a sitting position, then rocketing
down the other side, but it seemed to work. Warren perfected the technique so
well that he was almost in South America before he realized he’d better turn at
some point to reach the inlet to the marina. After a fair bit of sweat, and
barely before the sun dipped below the horizon, we made it back to the marina.
Mike entertained us with comments about human achievement and commitment levels, and we all agreed that the lifejackets were completely irrelevant. Had we fallen overboard, the waves and coral would have shredded us like Parmesan cheese. The resort manager couldn’t believe we’d done the trip in those conditions. He muttered something about "Not for the faint of heart," or perhaps it was "Less brains than an aardvark," and we headed for the bar for a Captain Morgan internal massage.
The bar was a self-serve honour system when it was not manned (it never was), which was terrific. The resort had also recently installed wireless Internet access, which is a huge plus for pilots wanting to get weather briefings or catch up on e-mails. But a couple of things could have been better.
Our bills included a 15% gratuity on charges to the self-serve bar. The general management attitude tended toward apathy (yes, we know it’s in the Caribbean). They missed a golden opportunity to refer Warren and Dave to a local for bonefishing by showing little interest in their bonefishing inquiries (maybe they didn’t think they were looking at real bone fishermen?). When the phone lines were out (as they often were) on checkout, we were told we would have to wait as credit card charges could not be authorized. Pilots are often on a strict timeline, as we were (and in fact as Dave always is), so we paid cash to save time. It occurred to us that a better approach on the resort’s part would have been to keep the phone lines from being our problem by processing the cards and doing the authorizations later when the lines came back up. Extra risk to the resort? In some cases yes, but happier clients? You bet.
Favourite memory of Hawk’s Nest- not being in a sea kayak.
New code learned- "You never know what you can do until you commit yourself" really means "When you do something that crazy you ought to be committed."
Turks & Caicos- eight inhabited islands almost 600 miles southeast of Miami, covering only about 193 square miles but with 230 miles of some of the best beaches in the world. Our destination for Wednesday, March 9th. Named for the indigenous "Turk’s head" cacti and the native Lucayan term "cayo hico", meaning "string of islands", there is still debate about whether Ponce de Leon had been there before Christopher Columbus arrived in 1492.
To get there, we had to refuel in Stella Maris (MYLS) on Long Island in the Bahamas, cross the Tropic of Cancer (23.5 degrees North latitude), and pass Crooked Island, Acklins Island and Mayaguana Island.
The Crooked Island passage remains one of the most important shipping routes to the Panama Canal, Central and South America, but in the late 1600’s, pirates such as Blackbeard and Henry Morgan hiding out in the surrounding islands made it a treacherous passage.
Mayaguana Island was a tracking station for NASA during the Mercury and Apollo space programs. About 7,000 feet of its originally 11,000-foot runway remain. The current population is only about 300.
On leaving Stella Maris, Dave was careful to demonstrate to the rest of us that he was actually wearing his lifejacket this time. We headed southeast at 1500 feet over gorgeous banks and reefs. Scattered clouds skimmed by like bonefish avoiding Warren and Dave’s hooks. Off Mayaguana Island, Ron spotted three humpback whales. Now this was the Caribbean.
Warren and Ron touched down in Provo (MBPV) at about 11:30 a.m. local time. Dave was already there, trying to finalize arrangements at the FBO for a room so he could attend a telephone board meeting at noon. It took more than a half hour to get the telephone connection itself. Now this was the Caribbean.
Warren renewed acquaintances with Boise, who rolled out the FBO’s red carpet literally. Provo Air Centre was a very service-oriented FBO- not cheap, but one of the best in our travels.
Accommodation costs in the Turks and Caicos typically border on the outrageous. As usual, we had not reserved ahead, but with the FBO’s help, we found the Caribbean Paradise Inn. It was a short walk from the beach, its prices were reasonable, and the Parisian owner/operator, Jean Luc Bohic, bent over backwards to welcome us to his newly renovated facility. He started out with coffee. That made him an instant hero. Most of us were coffee-deprived on these flights, since our bladder size was minuscule when stacked up against the fuel tank capacities. He then brought out the rum punch, which, as Doug observed, when combined with the coffee, created a great risk of a bunch of wide-awake drunks. Somehow we survived, and headed for the beach to walk and gawk until sunset.
Back at the resort, we met Louis and Barbara Luyten, the owners and pilots of a Mooney from Connecticut. We had chatted with them at Hawk’s Nest, and they were heading in our general direction, so we expected we would run into them again. Believe it or not, Louis had 25,000 hours of flying time, in everything from a Warrior to an F-104. Louis and Barbara joined us for dinner at the Coco Bistro, an excellent outdoor restaurant that was a quick walk from the hotel.
As was the case in many places, the red hats that Mike had organized for trip participants drew a lot of attention when the group was together in Provo. We would inevitably get stopped on the beach for an explanation. Mike had arranged for the hats to include the Canadian flag and the flag of the British Virgin Islands, with embroidered airport identifiers on the back showing each end of the trip.
Thursday, March 10th brought different things to different people. Dave, Mike and Warren made another attempt at bonefishing, with some success. Doug, Gord and Ron went for a 7:00 a.m. walk on the beach, with a couple of refreshing swims in the gorgeous Caribbean, and a bit of local shopping. Katrin chilled out and visited the conch farm.
Around noon, winds had picked up, and the weather became more unsettled as the afternoon progressed. Ron’s walk on the beach to join a friend at the Point Grace Hotel for lunch was more of a sandblast than a stroll. He didn’t have to shave for three days.
Late afternoon was taken up with flight planning, calling Customs in Puerto Rico, and eventually dinner again with Louis and Barbara at the Coco Bistro.
Favourite memory of Provo- not being in a sea kayak.
New code learned- "You should have seen the one that got away" really means…well, you know what it really means.
Puerto Rico- the most easterly of the Greater Antilles, with the Atlantic Ocean to the north and the Caribbean Sea to the south. Columbus claimed it for Spain in 1493. The Americans grabbed it in 1898 at the end of the Spanish-American war. Its citizens are U.S. citizens, but don’t vote in the U.S. presidential elections. That must have been an immense relief to them in the last two elections, given the candidates.
Borinquen (TJBQ), on the northwest corner of Puerto Rico, was our target for Friday, March 11th. Borinquen means "land of great lords." "Well," we said, "if the shoe fits…"
Borinquen was a key U.S. Air Force base during the cold war. Its 11,000-foot runway serviced B-52’s until 1971. Now, it is simply an uncontrolled airport, with traffic that ranges from light aircraft to Fed Ex DC-10’s that fly in and out of its hub there.
This would be our longest over-water stretch of the trip, and fuel management would be critical. Initial indications were that we could all make it with adequate reserves, but we had two planned alternatives in the Dominican Republic if fuel started to look like it was running short at any time. Once again, Dave and Warren’s advance weather reports from their faster aircraft were an incredible safety factor, allowing us to select the most efficient flight level given winds at levels that they tested.
Provo’s ceiling was 5000 overcast, but we really did not intend to get above that in any event. Mike and Ron left Provo in MDA at 9:30 a.m., and touched down at TJBQ four hours later.
On the way, we passed over the Mouchoir and Silver banks southeast of the Turks & Caicos. Those shallow banks are the largest breeding and calving grounds for humpback whales in the world. Their visits from the North Atlantic generally take place between December and April, and we were anxious to see if any were there. If there were, they treated us with the same disdain that the bonefish tossed at Dave and Warren. We saw no whales whatsoever. Any other mammal you’d expect to be hidden away during mating season, but where do you hide a whale in shallow clear water? We also passed over the Puerto Rican Trench, the deepest point in the Atlantic Ocean at 27,000 feet, and passed by the Mona Passage. The latter is the passage separating Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic, and joining the Atlantic Ocean and the Caribbean Sea. It is a churning, dangerous passage and has had some earthquake activity in its history. The worst was in 1918, and it resulted in a tsunami that flooded many parts of the northwest corner of Puerto Rico.
We had differing results at Borinquen Customs and Immigration. Gord and Katrin spent 25 minutes getting through. Mike and Ron breezed through- no bag checks, no airplane check, nothing. In fact, it was a bit of fun (I know, "Customs" and "fun" don’t usually appear in the same paragraph). The young Customs agent had never seen a floatplane before, and seemed to be a bit in awe of it (Mike’s big amphib drew a lot of attention generally throughout the trip). The older Customs agent had exactly the same birth date as Ron, and we joked about being twins.
Alice at the FBO did a great job for us. She arranged for a rental car, which we took a few miles to our accommodation, Villa Montana. What a great resort! It was located in a picturesque setting on the beach. Yancie Toran, the general manager, made it clear that she was anxious to keep us happy. Everything was right about the place.
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The group took a walk on the beach, snapped a bunch of pictures and bet on the time of the sunset. Dave won at 6:39 pm.
We decided to try to find a local restaurant on the water for dinner. That was a mistake. We drove fruitlessly through the nearest town, Isabela, but couldn’t find a place that looked appealing. At one point, we got sidetracked into some back streets of the town. The shadowy doorways and the Harleys weren’t looking good. We beat a hasty retreat, earning the moniker "cowards of the Caribbean" from Doug. We licked our wounds at the resort restaurant, and then retired for the night.
Favourite memory of Borinquen- that incredible sunset at that amazing resort, Villa Montana.
New code learned- "Maybe we should try the hotel restaurant" really means "Let’s get the hell out of here!"
"The girls are coming! The girls are coming!" Pandemonium reigned at the Villa Montana on Saturday, March 12th as Dave, Gord, Mike, Ron and Warren looked forward to the arrival of their respective wives on commercial flights into San Juan International (TJSJ). That’s our story, and we’re sticking to it.
Warren drove Dave and Doug to TJBQ at 8:00 a.m.. Today’s logistics were a nightmare, and Dave needed an early start. Dave would have to fly to Beef Island, Tortola (TUPJ) in the British Virgin Islands and drop Doug off along with Dave’s mounds of luggage. Then, having freed up a bunch of carrying capacity, Dave would return to San Juan to pick up 3 passengers so that we could fit everybody and their luggage into the four planes for transport back to Beef Island.
Arrival time for the ladies’ Air Canada flight at TJSJ was 3:10 p.m., except for Valerie Marshall’s flight on Northwest (it’s a long story), which was scheduled to arrive at 3:25 p.m.. The guys’ flight from TJBQ to TJSJ was less than two hours, so we planned to be at TJBQ by 12:30. We passed some time in the morning taking some pictures around the beautiful resort. Gord, Mike, Ron and Warren took a drive along the coast to the famous surfing location, Rincon Beach, which was hosting a surfing competition but had no surf. Or maybe it just seemed like no surf compared to the waves at Hawk’s Nest.
We arrived in TJSJ right on schedule, and so did our wives. Ron and Mike had an interesting 20 minutes on approach to TJSJ, since MDA’s alternator didn’t seem to be charging at all. That situation improved somewhat with the shutdown of everything electrical but the radios and the transponder, but it was still touch and go. We managed to spare the battery by using Ron’s handheld emergency radio a bit (Dave was so proud that we had it handy), so nothing serious developed other than the inconvenience of having to get repairs made at the FBO. That wouldn’t happen on the weekend, which added to our logistical issues.
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The FBO did their best to fix MDA immediately, but didn’t have the necessary parts. Mike and Carolyn stayed behind in San Juan while the rest of us headed for Beef Island. The trip was uneventful. Gord, Katrin and Wendy parted ways with us at TUPJ. They had arranged to rent a 34-foot sailboat for the week. The rest of us were staying at Leverick Bay on Virgin Gorda.
Dave and Warren also parted ways with us. They got right back into the Baron and headed back to TJSJ on an IFR flight plan (generally the authorities around the Caribbean don’t allow VFR flights after dark- perhaps related to drug traffic, we suspected). Mike and Carolyn hopped in the Baron and were back on Beef Island that night, but not in time to catch the ferry to Leverick Bay. That would happen first thing in the morning. In all, Dave made seven flights that day- a measure of the man’s generosity and stamina.
For the rest of us, the 8:00 p.m. ferry to Leverick Bay actually left at 8:20 p.m. Bill Harding, another Club member who had arrived at TUPJ earlier that day, met us with Doug when the ferry docked at Leverick Bay. Bill’s significant other Irene (a controller at CYKZ) and their daughter, Lauren, had accompanied Bill to TUPJ in his Cessna P210. We joined them for a very late dinner at the resort restaurant. Doug handed Val and Ron the keys to their room at the resort. Knowing that they would arrive after the resort closed for the evening, Doug had very thoughtfully checked them in.
Favourite memory of San Juan- if you think we’d say anything other than "Meeting our wives at the airport", you must think we’re pretty stupid.
New code learned- "It’s wonderful to see you, dear" really means, "I can’t believe you have survived without me, dear."
This was a place with a violent and exciting history. The names on the map alone told you that- Gun Creek, Devils Bay, Smuggler’s Cove, The Dungeon, Fat Hogs Bay…wait a minute- Fat Hogs Bay?? Anyway, the Virgin Islands have lived and died by the shipping business, legitimate and otherwise.
Christopher Columbus first discovered them in 1493. He found so many islands in this area that he named them “Las Mil Virgens,” or “The Thousand Virgins” to honour the legend of St. Ursula and the Eleven Thousand Virgins. Obviously, mathematics was not Columbus’ strong point. This is the only record in civilized history of someone slipping a decimal in naming a country.
St. Ursula was a fourth century catholic saint. She was the daughter of a Christian king in Great Britain. Trying to avoid marriage to a pagan prince from Gaul, she embarked on a three-year journey by ship. She traveled only slightly lighter than Dave Cox, so was accompanied by ten young women of noble birth, and she and each of them were in turn accompanied by one thousand virgins. After many adventures, they all ended up in Cologne, where they were slain by catholic-hating Huns and Picts. The order of Ursulines was founded in 1535.
The British took the British Virgin Islands in 1666, and they remain British to this day. Tortola, the largest of them, has a rich pirate history, where names such as Bluebeard, Captain Kidd and Sir Francis Drake live on. So does the name Parson Audian, a pastor of St. Michael’s Church on Tortola, and a part-time privateer. Parson Audian was reputed to have dismissed his Sunday congregation early in order to chase a prize ship.
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Virgin Gorda, the second largest of the British Virgin Islands, is still relatively untouched. It has magnificent beaches, and many secluded coves that are favoured by passing sailboats. "Virgin gorda" means "fat (pregnant) virgin" in Spanish, and describes the profile of the island as seen by Columbus’ obviously desperate eyes when he named the island in 1493.
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Our week on Virgin Gorda was heavenly. Ron and Val’s resort room was just steps from the Saba Winds villa where Bill, Irene and Lauren, Dave and Dina, Mike and Carolyn and Warren and Sue were staying, so the group spent a lot of time together at the villa for leisurely breakfasts and lunches, dips in the pool and Bill’s exotic mixed drinks. The Harding Headstomper was the most interesting and damaging.
Dinners were typically at local restaurants, and there was a terrific selection of quality dining. The Bitter End Yacht Club’s bean soup, Georgio’s lobster, the Leverick Bay Resort’s mahi mahi…awesome.
Other activities worked their way into the relaxed schedule. Mike had begun his scuba certification in Canada earlier, and finished his certification with four open water dives in the Caribbean. The local dive shop, "Dive BVI,: was first class. Ron and Val, who had been certified for some time (insert jokes about mental stability here), joined them for several dives. They included dives on two famous wrecks, the Royal Mail Steamer Rhone and the Chicuzen. The former went down in a hurricane in 1867. At dinner the evening of the dive, Ron combined Warren’s history speech with Dave’s safety lecture, linking the weather and other mistakes that took the Rhone to similar things that we see in aviation.
The tourist in us took over for short periods. There were drives to secluded beaches, snorkelling and swimming, visits to the ruins at Coppermine Point, walks up the mountain (or runs in Irene’s case- she was in training for the Boston Marathon), a beach barbecue at the resort with mocko jumbies (island spirits) in attendance, and visits to the Baths.
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The Baths are huge boulders sprinkled around a beach area as if dropped from a giant hand. They are perhaps the most popular tourist attraction on Virgin Gorda, with interesting walking paths, nice beach areas and beautiful water. The currents there, however, can be tricky. One tourist from a cruise ship had to be helped from the water after being trapped in a current. We invited him to Dave’s safety lecture that evening.
Dave had continued his safety emphasis even when we weren’t flying. He had now turned his attention to driving safety (except when he was actually driving himself). Doug had initially obtained the required BVI driver’s license in order to rent our SUV. There were two gruelling qualifications in getting a BVI license. You had to have $10, and you had to have a pulse. When Doug left the island for home on Tuesday, March 15th, Warren and Dave both got their licenses. Ron tried, but failed the second qualification. Too long in the islands already.
On Thursday, Warren was leaving the villa to drive Mike to the airport to retrieve MDA from San Juan. Dave called out, "Drive carefully," and, having planted his seed of safety, turned and walked into the villa’s plate glass window. Ron tried the same exercise with a different window a couple of days later. Fortunately, they were hurricane-proof windows and didn’t break.
Gord, Katrin and Wendy had rejoined us by this time. They sailed their boat Island Magic into the Leverick Bay harbour on Wednesday, and there was a great reunion for Wednesday dinner. We heard of their whale sightings and other adventures, and they took all interested parties for a sail on Thursday afternoon. Ron demonstrated his Saskatchewan-born sailing prowess by steering the boat into the only fishing buoys within 10,000 miles. They snagged on the propeller. This necessitated Gord’s going into the water to unhook them. Warren watched the Captain’s heels disappear over the stern and began sobbing uncontrollably. Where was Dave when he needed him? This didn’t seem safe at all.
Mike now had MDA back in his hands and safely tied down at Beef Island. Mike’s return from San Juan coincided with our sailing out of Leverick Bay on Thursday afternoon, and it was a thrill to watch his low pass over the bay as he headed for TUPJ.
Thursday also marked Sue and Warren’s 26th anniversary, which they celebrated by doing laundry, and later heading out for dinner at The Rocks. This was a restaurant in a beautiful outdoor setting that reminded us of the Coco Bistro setting in Provo, but with rocks instead of trees.
Friday, March 18th dawned just like every other day- sunny, 26 degrees Celsius, with few to scattered clouds. We had only one day of rain during the week. That was on the day we dove the Rhone, so what did we care? And really, how could we complain about one day? After an active morning, and lunch at a local restaurant, we started to feel the depression of the next day setting in. Saturday was the day we all left Virgin Gorda and headed home.
The ladies were on commercial flights out of San Juan. We had to be underway early Saturday morning and catch the second ferry in order to be on time for the ladies’ flights back to Canada. That meant packing and checking out on Friday evening. We packed light bags with heavy hearts.
Favourite memory of Virgin Gorda- if you think we’d say anything other than "spending the week with our wives," you must think we’re pretty stupid.
New code learned- "Don’t keep us in suspense- do we have a room or not?" really means "I’ve done seven flights today, and if you don’t give me the room key now, I’m coming over the counter to take it, unless I fall asleep first."
St. Croix sits 80 miles east of Puerto Rico. It was the next destination for the "group of six" remaining after the ladies were dropped off in San Juan for the return flight to Toronto. No sense in the group rushing out of the Caribbean just because the ladies had to return. Having said that, there is no truth to the vicious rumour spread by the ladies that they could hear the guys cheer as the Air Canada flight lifted off at TJSJ.
We had had a bit of trouble getting out of Beef Island airport. The Customs and Immigration process took forever until our handler Delroy arrived to take control of things. The airport’s fuel pump wasn’t working for quite a while. Gord tried for a lengthy period before he could get through to flight service to file flight plans. Eventually we headed out.
This time, we headed for Isla Grande (TSIG) airport in San Juan, rather than for San Juan International. SIG is a much more general aviation friendly airport than JSJ. That became clear to us on our first visit there. And even though the ladies were flying out of JSJ, the difference in cab ride time from SIG was almost nothing when compared with the cab ride from the FBO at JSJ.
The approach to Isla Grande was interesting if nothing else. We were asked to turn right over the shopping centre (fun to find from the air), then vectored directly over the tower at San Juan International, then to left base for SIG. While we were over JSJ, we heard an aircraft that had just landed report an iguana on the runway. Not a runway hazard you hear much of in Canada.
We were at the SIG Flying School/FBO by 2:00 p.m.. Sad good-byes to the ladies. It had been a great week. We had time for lunch in the old city of San Juan, and ended up at La Mallorquina, which billed itself as the oldest gastronomical establishment in the new world.
La Mallorquina opened in 1848, so we were a bit late for its opening. Its specialties included authentic Puerto Rican fare such as rice and beans and Asopao, a heavy rice soup. It also included a rule on each page of the menu-things like how long you could stay, how much of a gratuity when, etc., etc. It was a bit tiresome- they obviously had too much business. We finished up, paid our account and headed back to the airport. We touched down in St. Croix (TISX) before 5:30.
Columbus "discovered" St. Croix in 1493. It was originally populated by the Carib and Arawak Indians from South America. The arrival of the Spanish fixed that. By 1596, not a soul lived on the island. However, by the early 1600’s, the Dutch had settled on the east end of the island. Not to be outdone by a bunch of dike pluggers, the British settled on the west end of the island. That was a better move. The west end was rain forest, the east only desert.
Possibly because he was embarrassed by this obvious slip, the Dutch governor visited the English governor one evening at his home and murdered him. This may have originated the term "plugging" someone, but likely not. Picture one 17th century governor murdering another. Perhaps a strangulation with a feather boa?
St. Croix then passed through a succession of owners. The Spanish depopulated the island again in 1650. The Governor of St. Kitts then purchased it and deeded it to the Knights of Malta for four years. The Knights of Malta forgot to remove their armour while swimming, and the French West Indian Company bought the island from their estates. The Danish West Indian and Guinea Company then bought the island (which then contained over 90 tobacco, cotton, sugar and indigo plantations) in1733 for $150,000. The United States bought St. Croix for $25 million 184 years later. The magic of compounding.
St. Patrick’s Day was in full swing when we arrived in Frederiksted. Bohlke International Aviation was handing out loot bags containing rum, highlighters, maps, combs and other goodies. The festive occasion had drawn plenty of visitors, which we wouldn’t have expected. There were no rental cars available, and hotel rooms were at a premium. Tuddy Bohlke was good enough to rent us the company van, and personally escorted us to the Sandcastle on the Beach hotel.
We checked in and Mike was in the water immediately. In addition to being our resident human relations consultant, investment adviser and psychologist on the trip, Mike was the resident fitness freak. It seemed he was in the water morning, noon and night. He couldn’t get enough water. And that accurately described the showers in some of the rooms. Mike claimed the pressure was so low it took him an hour to rinse out one armpit.
Otherwise, the hotel was great- a friendly atmosphere and clean rooms, right on the beach with a view of the sunsets and the Frederiksted Pier in the distance. We had dinner at the hotel restaurant and listened to live jazz as we sipped our after dinner coffee.
Warren mentioned some relief at being freed from the roosters at Saba Winds villa, which had often provided wakeup calls when not really requested. Ron suggested he not count his chickens- it wasn’t morning yet. Mike and Warren then adjourned to the Lost Dog Bar, a local bar in a questionable section of Frederiksted that we saw as another of Mike’s commitment tests. We were relieved when Mike and Warren returned.
Sunday, March 20th was tour day. After a leisurely breakfast at the hotel’s beach restaurant, we returned to the airport to firm up car rental arrangements. We ended up keeping the airport van and renting an additional car to facilitate some separate activities that we had in mind for the next day. We all then piled in the van and headed for Christiansted.
Christiansted was founded in 1734. It was once the capital of the Danish West Indies, and is now a national historic site. The charming buildings of coral blocks and Danish brick (the latter brought as ballast in ships, believe it or not) gave us a much better impression of the town than we had of Frederiksted. After a leisurely lunch at a seaside restaurant, we headed for Fort Christiansvaern for a brief tour.
Fort Christiansvaern was completed in 1749, but added to between 1834 and 1841. The island became prosperous thanks to slaves and sugar. In 1803, it had a population of 30,000, of which 26,500 were slaves at more than 200 plantations. Uprisings were common, and the fort was built not only to protect the town from pirates and privateers, but also from slave uprisings. It has been beautifully restored, and provided many photo opportunities, including several of Dave behind bars and in irons. We tried for some pictures of Dave getting 40 lashes, but he drew the line at that point.
Our next stop was Point Udall on the east end of the island. An interesting monument there marks the eastern-most point of the United States. Then we headed west for Frederiksted via the south shore of the island.
Dinner and drinks at the Sunset Grill on the beach north of Frederiksted completed our day. Brett Fetterolf, the owner of the Sunset Grill, has a business card that describes him as Owner, Manager, Waiter, Bartender, Janitor, Plumber, Landscaper and Handyman. I guess he had to trust the cooking to someone. Whoever it was, Brett picked the right person- the meals were delicious.
There were enough gaps between flying days in St. Croix that Gord, Katrin, Mike and Ron decided they would try to get a dive in. St. Croix is famous for its wall dive near Cane Bay, but the group wasn’t organized enough for that one. They simply showed up at the Scuba Shack at 8:00 a.m., rented some gear and headed for the Frederiksted Pier. It is a huge pier that is relatively new and still being improved for cruise ship access to the town’s picturesque waterfront. And it is alive with sea life of all types- octopus, lobster, barracuda, turtles and even seahorses. It was a simple dive with terrific results.
In the meantime, Dave and Warren were touring the rainforest and shopping in Christiansted. We have yet to see Dave’s “coral” shirt, which we suspect is really pink, not “coral.” The rainforest tour by Gord, Katrin, Mike and Ron was unintentionally lengthier than Dave and Warren’s. They were searching for both a restaurant and a rain forest centre that didn’t seem to be where they were supposed to be. After a number of lengthy detours, they started looking for lunch alternatives.
The crude map showed a site for "beer drinking pigs" that ended up being the restaurant that they were originally looking for. It looked closed- not a brew-addled porker in sight. "Do you serve lunch?" Mike asked the owner. "Yes," was the reply, "but not today."
The owner recommended Psycho Frank’s Lobster Reef Café. How could we not try that one? It turned out to be a café with no coffee but a great house salad, self-described “world famous” lobster bisque and a 5-year old waitress.
Gord’s group also toured the Cruzan rum distillery, which describes itself as the most honoured rum distillery in the world. They arrived near closing time, and the hosts seemed to be more intent on wrapping up for the day than catering to their guests. It was a rushed but interesting tour.
It was time to move on the next day, so a bit of preparatory work took up our late afternoon. A weather check had encouraging results, and we were able to reach Borinquen Customs by telephone to let them know our ETA the next day. Dinner at the Sunset Grill capped off a great day, and we retired early for an early morning start.
Favourite memory of St. Croix- watching Dave set the timer on his camera for a group shot and run to be in the picture, only to have the rest of us turn our backs to the camera.
New code learned- "Beer drinking pigs" really means "Beer drinking pigs" not "Men."
Tuesday, March 22nd was to be one of our longest days. The North American weather forecasts made us nervous. It looked like if we didn’t make it home by Saturday, we likely wouldn’t get there before Tuesday, and some of us had commitments for Monday. We decided to make as much progress north as we could, so that we would be in a good position to monitor the North American weather and react quickly if necessary. Our target for the day was Stella Maris (MYLS), but we recognized that, depending on winds, we might only get as far as Provo.
We were wheels up by 8:00 a.m. and in Borinquen (TJBQ) by 11:15. Once again, Customs and Immigration drooled over MDA, and we were at the FBO quickly, where Alice was waiting to look after us in her usual energetic fashion. Alice drove us to the airport cafeteria for our first meal of the day (sandwiches to go), and introduced us to her charming daughter. While we were waiting for Alice outside the cafeteria, Mike set off the alarm in her van. We all had visions of a Puerto Rican jail in our future, but Alice arrived quickly to turn it off and rush us back to the FBO. Weather checks, flight plan filings and we were back in the air, heading for Provo (MBPV).
Mike and Ron filed for four hours to MBPV and we arrived in three! Our best tail wind of the trip so far. And on our longest over water stretch- a perfect place for it. We would definitely press on for Stella Maris.
Boise rolled out the red carpet again at MBPV. We enjoyed Provo Air Center’s great service again, but again were surprised that they didn’t have an on-site weather briefing available. We compared notes on the trip from Borinquen, and heard about Katrin’s sighting of whales breaching off the Puerto Rico coast.
Some quick weather checks, flight plan filings, and we were back in the air. Once again, the tail winds were with us. Mike and Ron filed two hours to MYLS, and arrived in 1:45. At one point, they gained eight knots ground speed by changing altitude only 500 feet. Once again, Dave and Warren provided great advance weather reports in very hazy conditions.
Bill Harding was at MYLS with Irene and Lauren to greet us. This was a pleasant and unexpected surprise. Bill and Irene had decided to stop on their way back for a visit with Allan Spector, a Club member with a home at Stella Maris. We enjoyed catching up with Allan that evening, and chatting with his aircraft partner Paavo Kivisto (also a Club member) and Paavo’s charming wife Jan.
The next morning, Dave and Warren slipped over to Hawkline Aviation at the airport to see what was happening with North American weather. Unlike the weather in the Caribbean, which was pretty much 80 to 85 degrees with light to moderate winds every day we were there, the North American weather had been all over the map (no pun intended). As we suspected, things were still very unsettled over Florida. We wouldn’t get in there today- no sense rushing out of the warm weather of the Bahamas. We’d stay for another day and enjoy Stella Maris Resort.
Mike and Ron decided to take a short bicycle trip to the local Tackle Shop/ Internet Café to catch up on a few e-mails. The quality of the bicycles left a bit to be desired- they were the last ones left on the rack. At one point, someone from the resort warned Ron about standing on the pedals going up hills. Apparently, other guests had lost body parts doing that when pedals had given way. Nevertheless, it was an enjoyable ride and a good bit of exercise.
The Tackle Shop was a local fishing outfitter that catered to bonefishing. There were pictures of Michael Keaton, Lawrence Fishburne and John Grisham on the wall with big smiles and holding their prize bonefish. No pictures of Dave and Warren, though.
The Internet exercise was a time-consuming exercise to say the least. Access was dial-up, not high speed. The phone lines went down part way through the exercise. In the meantime, Mike had been making calls to arrange for a rental van. He left Ron to finish e-mails while he returned to the resort to be on time for his 10:30 appointment with Joe, the van rental man. It didn’t occur to him that nobody else in the Caribbean feels a need to be on time for appointments, and Joe was no exception. Van rental arrangements were still underway when Ron returned to the resort.
The rest of the group was definitely not on island time. They were waiting impatiently for Ron and Mike to return so that the tour could begin. All were anticipating yet another encounter with Christopher Columbus. There was a monument on the north end of Long Island, about ten miles from Stella Maris that we were going to see. It commemorated Columbus’ landing in 1492 and the gentle Lucayan natives that lived there when he arrived and disappeared shortly thereafter.
Columbus was actually responsible for naming the Bahamas. In 1492, he landed in San Salvador, an island in the eastern Bahamas. He mentioned the "baja mar" or "shallow sea," although some historians claim he simply sneezed.
The Lucayan Indians had been in the Bahamas since the 10th century. The Lucayans had moved there from the Lesser Antilles to avoid their enemies, the Carib Indians, who loved to kill and eat Lucayans. When Columbus arrived in 1492, there were about 40,000 Lucayans living in the Bahamas.
Columbus and the ensuing flood of Spaniards made the Caribs look like a bunch of little old ladies. They enslaved the Lucayans and shipped them off to work in the mines. They brought disease and other hardships that wiped out the entire tribe within a quarter century. We looked at the monument and thought more about Lucayans than about Columbus.
Our visit to the monument had been preceded by lunch at the Cape Santa Maria Resort. This is a great resort. It’s on a beach that has made a "top ten in the world" list. Some of us had stayed there in previous visits and knew it to be a resort with great accommodation and a top-notch kitchen. It was also the site of another sea kayaking misadventure when Ron and other Club members were there two years ago. But that’s another story.
We returned to the Stella Maris Resort mid-afternoon. Gord, Mike and Warren went sailing at the marina. Ron had a swim and finally opened his instructor’s course books to do a bit of reading. Dave and Katrin relaxed. For dinner that evening, the resort hosted a rum punch party and a barbecue. Some of the group headed for Mario’s restaurant instead.
Favourite memory of Stella Maris- the return to Cape Santa Maria Resort.
New code learned- "See you at 10:30" really means "I’ll get the rental car to you sometime today, Mon."
Our fresh look at the North American weather convinced us that Thursday, March 24th was the day to leave the islands. It looked like the severe weather in the southeast U.S. was breaking at least temporarily. We could get into Florida today, maybe a bit north, but not likely much farther. We set Ft. Pierce as our target, and would re-evaluate when we got there.
A quick breakfast and we were wheels up by 9:30 a.m. and headed northwest over the Exumas and Andros Island. There are some who think that the waters off Andros Island hold the lost City of Atlantis. Strange underwater formations discovered from the air starting in 1968 led to much excitement but nothing conclusive. Atlantis or not, the waters around Andros Island are spectacular from the air.
Mike and Ron planned four hours to Ft. Pierce and arrived in slightly less time than expected. The airport was incredibly busy. The controllers barely had time to breathe. MDA ended up orbiting for a while before getting permission to enter the control zone. After having flown for close to four hours, Mike and Ron were not enthusiastic about orbiting for long, both from a fuel point of view and from a bladder point of view. They landed with some relief and headed for U.S. Customs and Immigration.
Ron recognized the Customs agent from two years ago when Ron had come back from the Bahamas with two other Club members, Andre Turgeon and Akky Mansikka, in Andre’s Cessna 185 Amphib. The agent had taken a dog through the whole plane that time. He was a charmer, and he hadn’t changed.
"How are you today?" Ron asked. "Well, we’re the second busiest airport in the nation, and it’s one of the busiest weekends of the year and I haven’t had my lunch yet, in fact I haven’t even had time for a coffee yet and…" Ron expressed his sympathies, but started to think to himself that the problem with striking up a conversation with Customs and Immigration is that you can’t walk away. In fairness, the agent cleared us quickly and even managed a smile.
The flight service centre in Miami was also frantically busy. Miami radar was out. IFR departures were delayed as a result. All this was happening just before the Easter long weekend, one of the busier weekends for air travel. Ron went looking for a phone at the Tiki FBO to close all four flight plans.
A 17 year old was on one of the phones trying to file a flight plan, and she’d been on hold for ten minutes. She offered to keep the flight service specialist on the phone after she’d filed and hand the phone to Ron to spare him the same wait- a wonderful gesture that saved us some time. We chatted later with her and her family at the Tiki restaurant (you won’t find a much better burger). We also saw her later, taxiing the family Bonanza for takeoff as they continued their trip from Colorado. Tough life!
We had plenty of time left in the day, so we would continue north. IFR was likely out of the question given the radar problems and delay, but VFR looked okay. Except for Warren. Warren hadn’t flown VFR in at least 400 years, and the thought of it made him cringe. “You mean I have to look at the ground?” he asked. Somehow, we managed to convince him that he could do it. Nevertheless, both Dave and Warren contacted Daytona Approach after departure and easily converted their plans to IFR.
The rest of us continued VFR (with some MVFR) to Savannah/Hilton Head International (KSAV) and arrived right on plan. Signature Flight Support, the FBO, recommended a Marriott downtown that had wonderful rooms with breakfast included at $99 a night. Yes, we were back in the good old U.S. of A. We finished our day with dinner at the Warehouse, an oyster bar on Savannah’s historic waterfront.
Savannah and Georgia (named in honour of King George II) were founded in 1733 by General James Edward Ogelthorpe, an English parliamentarian. He had a hankering to give a break to about 150 inmates in England’s debtors’ prison by using them to create a new colony in Georgia. That fell through, and he ended up bringing simple tradesmen, farmers and their families. The original charter for the city banned as residents “lawyers, Catholics and rum drinkers.” The fact that a resident could be a prison inmate but not a lawyer perplexed Ron, but seemed perfectly natural to the others.
Savannah was settled by the English to provide a buffer between English settlements in the Carolinas and Spanish settlements in Florida. Given that purpose, you would have thought they’d have loaded up on Catholics, rum drinkers and especially lawyers as the most expendable portion of the population.
The Spanish had been in Georgia since about 1521. They brought with them the peach, which is now the official state symbol of Georgia. They took with them ships full of Indian slaves.
They also brought with them smallpox and the bubonic plague, which decimated 90% of the Indian population (isn’t this sounding familiar?). The Georgia Indian population had tried many ways to get rid of the Spanish. They had even tried to invoke a little known Spanish curse. They had learned it from an Ojibway tribe that lived in what is now the Ottawa area. But the chants of "Brian Tobin! Brian Tobin!" from their medicine men had no effect.
In fact, "Savannah" was the name of a band of Shawnee Indians who were imported to the area by the English for protection against other bands of Indians. You would have thought they’d have been more anxious to fight the Spanish.
Georgia’s representative who signed the American Declaration of Independence was from Savannah. His name was Button Gwinnet. He was the only such signatory to die in a duel. Gwinnet was gunned down from 12 feet by the General of the Continental Brigade of Georgia. That shot, Warren observed, was "right on the Button."
In 1793, at Mulberry Grove, a Savannah plantation, Eli Whitney invented the cotton gin. Where the name “gin” came from we can only speculate- there is no record of Whitney’s alcoholic tendencies. The cotton gin separated cotton fibres from the seeds and turned cotton into a viable crop. Cotton became a key to Savannah’s prosperity over the next century.
During the Civil War, General William Tecumseh Sherman razed most of Savannah’s neighbouring cities on his famous march to the sea. Savannah was spared, and given “as a Christmas present” by Sherman to President Abraham Lincoln in 1864. As a result, it has houses that date back to the 1750’s. Fortunately, it also has a historic foundation with more power than Quebec Hydro. Tourism is now its biggest industry.
Friday, March 25th brought severe weather to Florida and Georgia. A low moved east out of the Gulf of Mexico. Warm air from the Gulf met a disturbance out of the U.S. Midwest. Nickel-sized hailstones and funnel clouds were expected close to Savannah. We weren’t going anywhere.
If you have to get stuck somewhere because of weather, we’d all recommend Savannah. In fact, we’d recommend hanging around Savannah trying to get stuck there. It’s a spectacular city, and deserves a spot on everyone’s “must see” list.
We had breakfast together at the hotel. Dave went to arrange a rental car for our stay, while Katrin called home and went into relax mode for the day. The rest of us headed out to take a trolley tour of the historic city.
Jane, our trolley driver, was a fountain of information. Savannah’s layout was designed by its founder General James Ogelthorpe. It was a grid sprinkled with 24 public squares to encourage community interaction. Twenty-two of those squares are still in place. One of the others is covered with a raised parking lot, and the second by the county court house. The Historic Savannah Foundation is reclaiming both in the next 2 years. The impact of these squares on a visitor’s impression of the city is immeasurable. There is not another city like it.
The oldest house remaining in Savannah was built in 1754. Close by, our guide Jane pointed out the smallest house in the city- a house so small, she said, "y’all couldn’t cuss a cat in it without gettin’ fur in your mouth."
The larger group reconnected with Dave and Katrin for lunch at the Six-Pence Pub. We then headed for the Mighty Eighth Air Force Museum.
The 8th Air Force was activated in Savannah shortly after Pearl Harbour was attacked in 1941, and distinguished itself in the Second World War. It had 350,000 members, of which 26,000 were killed and 28,000 captured. It produced 261 fighter aces and 305 gunner aces. Its personnel earned 17 Medals of Honour, 220 Distinguished Service Crosses, 850 Silver Stars, 7,000 Purple Hearts and 46,000 Air Medals. The museum is relatively new, with a great variety of exhibits that make it worth the visit.
Dinner at a seafood restaurant on the riverfront included a planning session for the next day. Weather forecasts at this point made it highly likely that we would be able to get out of Savannah by 9:00 or 10:00 the next morning. We’d plan for that and see what happened.
Favourite memory of Savannah- the historic city itself- squares, parks and Spanish moss.
New code learned- "Could I have a quick look at the map" really means "If you navigated in the air like you navigate in a rental car, we’d be somewhere in China by now".
Severe weather continued in lower Georgia and Florida on Saturday, March 26th. Miami continued to have radar problems and we had heard that some commercial flights were prevented from coming into Florida. Savannah had reasonably settled weather first thing in the morning, but we had two problems.
Firstly, Savannah had a 400 foot ceiling and Gord didn’t have an instrument rating. Secondly, the weather farther north was very iffy.
We solved the first problem by plopping Ron into the left seat of Gord’s C172. Ron did his instrument rating in a 172SP, was current and totally delighted to have some actual IMC to work with. On the second problem, we decided we’d head as far north as the weather appeared to permit, and re-evaluate once we got there. That would become a pattern for the day.
We planned our first leg for London, Kentucky (KLOZ), which looked to be the limit of the decent weather. Dave, Warren and Mike (with Katrin right seat) were off in rapid succession. Gord and Ron followed, all over the top at 8,000 feet in bright sunshine. Dave and Warren provided their usual advance PIREPS.
As was usually the case, GAR gained gradually on MDA, so that by the time we reached the Appalachians, ATC had moved GAR to 10,000 feet so that Gord and Ron could safely overtake Mike and Katrin. The only problem with that theory was that GAR immediately encountered an extra 10 knots in headwinds at 10,000 feet and actually started to fall behind MDA.
Gord and Ron saw groundspeeds as low as 60 knots a few times, and started monitoring fuel a bit more closely. Both GAR and MDA were seeing moderate turbulence over the mountains. Finally, Ron requested a return to 8,000 feet, and ATC gave MDA and GAR vectors around each other. We landed at KLOZ in bright sunshine and a light breeze.
A courtesy car with Warren as chauffeur took us to lunch at the local “deli” for homemade barbecued pork sandwiches and huge clubhouses. Warren and Dave had checked the weather, and it looked like we could make Parkersburg, West Virginia (KPKB) by dark if we moved along quickly. It would even be VFR conditions. Beyond Parkersburg still looked iffy.
We left for Parkersburg together as soon as we finished our late lunch. Conditions were VFR, so Gord flew GAR this time, with Ron in the right seat. Dave was well ahead of us and was able to confirm that conditions remained good for VFR. We touched down at PKB just before sundown in marginal VFR conditions. What a nice airport- clean and well kept, with friendly service.
After a weather check, we faced a decision- did we continue night IFR or night VFR? VFR would have to be at no higher than 3500 feet, and might be marginal at times, but would allow a direct route. IFR carried some risk of icing, but it looked like a light risk. We filed VFR and called Canada Customs to advise our arrival times.
Ron would be flying GAR again, since Gord was not rated for night VFR. Both Gord and Katrin were without a Canpass, so GAR and MDA would have to clear Customs in Hamilton, which provided later service than Buttonville. Dave and Warren, both with Canpasses, headed directly for Buttonville, where they had an uneventful arrival. On their way, they continued to radio back PIREPS that confirmed we could continue our VFR flights.
Gord and Ron’s Customs experience at CYHM was not exactly uneventful. They arrived at about 10:30 p.m., before Mike and Katrin arrived in MDA. Customs had confirmed in Ron’s telephone discussion from Parkersburg that Ron could leave the plane in Hamilton to call Customs to announce the arrival. Ron did that and arranged for a fresh pot of coffee at the FBO at the same time, while Gord remained in the plane clutching his bladder.
Ron was told there would be a wait of about 10 minutes before Customs could arrive. It took closer to 15 minutes, and they arrived at the same time as MDA arrived. Somehow, they ended up clearing MDA before turning their attention to GAR, even though GAR had been waiting patiently for 15 minutes. Oh well. Gord’s bladder was now up two sizes.
Perhaps it was the strained look on Gord’s face radiating upwards from his bladder. Perhaps it was the dark tan accumulated from Cuba, Tahiti, Mexico, Mexico again and the islands on this trip (at one point someone suggested we change Gord’s nickname from "Sunshine" to "Turk"). Perhaps it was just because he had nothing to declare. Something prompted Customs to go through Gord’s bags completely. And they were very interested in his passport too.
"My, Mr. Roberts, you certainly have a lot of stamps in here. What do you do for a living?" "Nothing." True, but wrong answer. "Er, I’m retired." Ron stayed out of this conversation. He was furtively looking for the first aid kit and the defibrillators in case Gord’s bladder exploded.
Finally, after a close look at Gord’s bag of bran in one of his bags, Customs sent us on our way. A quick half hour and we were touching down at CYKZ. It was 11:55 p.m. local time when we rolled into the hangar, and there were Katrin and Mike, along with Dave, who had made a special return trip to greet us on arrival.
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And it had been quite a trip. About 5,000 miles over three weeks, and a return slightly ahead of schedule. Some of us considered it the trip of a lifetime, one that would likely not be repeated. Others were already talking about a more ambitious trip next year. But all of us will remember this one.
*Although I was the writer of this story, I wrote it with generous input from everybody on the trip. An account of a true story can only be as good as the material the writer has to work with, and the intelligent, humorous people on this trip have to get the credit for any positive aspects to this writing.
In a very few parts of this story, I have taken small liberties with the facts for the amusement of the trip participants. The liberties with actual history may be difficult to figure out since, as they say, truth is sometimes stranger than fiction. Only the trip participants will know what factual parts of the trip are not in fact fact. If you were not on the trip, you will have to guess at those parts. You can avoid that uncomfortable situation by coming on the next trip and checking for yourself.
**Don Blanding, "Floridays," Fort Pierce, 1941