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John Van Lieshout (from August 2000 Newsletter)
It is often said that there are two sides to every story. In keeping with that popular belief I will recount our journey to Venezuela with the previously mentioned two sides.
Trip Backround
In the fall of 1999, Warren Cresswell,Bob
Jewett, Ken Phillips, and myself started discussing the possibility of making a
special trip to celebrate the millennium. A few weeks later, Ken, Bob and
Warren were simultaneously visited late at night by an apparition. This
hovering figure was wearing flying goggles and draped in a "Nomex" teddy
bearing the name EARHART in stenciled letters. She strongly suggested we
proceed with our plans, insisting that there was something in it for us boys
and that she'd make it worthwhile for us. Winking her eyes flirtatiously, the
ghostly seductress vanished. I do not remember being visited by such an
apparition but I did have a dream where I was hovering over Jennifer Lopez. A
sign from the heavens was given to us. Undeniable forces were pointing the way.
How could we not make this journey?
Day 1, Toronto to Chattanooga (KCHA) 6.0 hrs.
We all
assembled at the clubhouse, bright and early, to do some last minute flight
planning. Ken's mom and Bob's wife came along to bid us farewell. Our first
stop was Columbus, Indiana with continuation to New Orleans for some Cajun
bottom feeding cat fish ... mmmmm good. Before boarding GMMM and GAIY. Warren
and Bob, concerned with my bad luck with laundry presented the group with new
shirts and hats to mark our historic departure.
Inscribed on the golf shirts - "Volando 2000 a la Isla Margarita en Venezuela" and on the hats - "Via Venezuela 2000". We departed YKZ exactly at the time we planned to. Inaccurate Wx forecasts and actuals were the norm for the day. But because of our incredible flight planning skills we arrive in Chattanooga instead. The four of us decide to spend the night. The only reason... Bob likes saying it. "Chattaaaanoooooogaaa".
Day 2, Chattanooga to Jacksonville (KCRG) 2.7 hrs. Because of a very large airshow at the airport, it is imperative that we lift off early. The airport was notamed to be closed from 10:00 to 5:00pm. Warren awoke at 5am to do the Wx and flight planning. 10 minutes later, he wakes the rest of us. He does not look well. His clothing is drenched with sweat. His attention seems to be somewhere else as if he's in a hypnotic trance. "Don't worry...airport closing...must leave now...must go to Cherokee airport" Warren continues to mumble. The Wx is marginal so our plan is to take Warren's advice. Get to Cherokee and wait it out.
After lifting off from KCHA, Ken and Warren lead the way to our destination. Touching down at Cherokee, Warren immediately tracks down a courtesy car. With Warren at the wheel, we are speeding away."Hey Warren shoudn't we get a map or something" I ask. In a low monotone voice Warren assures us "Don't worry... close, very close..." Before he could finish, we were careening into the parking lot of a "Cracker Barrel". We are stunned as Warren plows the van on to the porch. The van is barely in park, as Warren leaps out of the vehicle and through the front doors like some action hero.
As Bob parked the van, Ken and I help the senior citizens off the porch. A deep throaty singing voice greeted our entrance into the restaurant. We followed that voice to its origin as it enlightened us "Don't worry, be happy...". There, knelt Warren, before a huge mounted singing fish. Tears gushed from his eyes as Warren ranted "I'm happy...I'm happy". Warren had just purchased the last "Billy Bob Big Mouth Bass", a singing fish. After lunch, the skies opened up and we departed for Jacksonville.
Day 3, Jacksonville to Staniel Cay (MYES) 3.9 hrs. Departed KCRG after some morning fog burned off. Our flight down the east close of Florida was routine until a erratic controller contacted us. GAIY had left the frequecy to open our flight and we had just returned when the distressed controller made contact. Seconds after notifing us of opposite traffic at our altitude, Bob had a visual on it. The traffic was close enough for us to warrant a sharp turn to the right. Bob advised that he made visual contact and we were maneuvoring away from it. "Roger Alpha-India-Yankee. Miss as Necessary".
We landed at San Andros (MYAN) for customs and fuel. Right away we ran into Phil Lightstone and David Grossman. The two of them were kind to wait for us and accompany GAIY and GMMM to Staniel. Getting fuel was not that simple. First we had to pay a taxi to go pick up the fuel guy. Next we had to tip the airport guy for getting the taxi guy and finally we had to give taxi money to the fuel guy so he could get back home. The advertised lowest priced fuel in the Bahamas turned out to be the most expensive.
While this was unfolding, I was eaten alive by flies the size of Buicks. At last we were off to Staniel Cay and the planned 2000 BFC Bahamas Rendevous. Warren had the foresight to book and pay for the eight bed cottage. Eight beds that had a lengthy list of BFC hopefuls. With frozen pineapple daquiris in hand, Billy Lowe greeted our arrival. Billy promptly took us to waiting lounges, parked and detailed the aircraft, and delivered our bags to the cottage. We appreciated Billy's efforts, but Warren advised him he would have to grovel for a bed like everyone else.
The Rendevous dinner was a great success. Bill Harding, Gary Lopes, Billy Lowe and his friend Inge, Sharon Eddy, Tina Rogers, David Grossman, Phil Lightstone, Ray Nissan, Bob Jewett, Warren Creswell and his friend Billy Bob Big Mouth Bass, Ken Phillips and I were in attendance. It must have been quite a day for Ray. He drifts in and out of sleep at the end of the table.
After dinner, we make our way outside to enjoy a fabulous evening. A full moon shimmers on the horizon. Soon the night catches up with everyone. All of us are ready for bed. Warren is ready too. He has set up his table and money box outside the cottage.
Day 4, Staniel Cay to San Juan (TJSJ) 5.9 hrs.
Another day
and our popularity disappeared along with the cottage reservation. The four of
us had to pour our own coffee, and pay for breakfest. We even had to carry our
own bags. The indignity of it all. We were supposed to be off at 9:30am, but a
great breakfast with the BFC crowd changed our priorities. Departed for Stella
Maris at 11:00am today and from Stella we headed for Grand Turk in the Turks
and Caicos.
Near Acklins Island we were forced to divert around a large thunderstorm cell. About 100 miles off Puerto Rico, an overcast layer started to form. Light to moderate rain showers began to sprout from this layer. Visibility was still good enough that you could see these showers well before entering them. Our lowest altitude was 1100 feet over the water.
30 miles west of San Juan the skies turned to severe clear. Triple Mike was on final approach for runway 9 when its landing clearance was cancelled. The tower told GMMM that customs had closed for the day. According to our calculations that was 20 minutes early. Triple Mike and Alpa India Yankee were told to divert to San Juan International. After a lengthy tour of San Juan airport by one of its finest, we finally found customs.
Cleared of customs, our helpful agent recommended a hotel close to the airport. The Hampton Inn could not have been any closer. Located at the button of the runway, the hotel rattled as the jets took off. Fortunately the interior was insulated for the noise. Laying by the pool however, you could not hear what another person next to you was saying to you as the jets took off. We concluded that the pool bartender was deaf.
That night we dined in Old San Juan. A very excellent dinner but Bob and Warren are disappointed that "Scattered Nipples" was not available from the dessert menu. None of us, nor the waitress knew what this was. The name was enticing though.
We cabbed back to our hotel. We would have arrived sooner if our driver knew where our hotel was. We didn't know. We wished he would make up his mind whether to wear his glasses or not. He almost hit several things. Bob, who was sitting in the front seat, left an foot impression on the floor board as he hit the imaginary brake pedal through out the ride.
Driving around the airport, we eventualy spot our hotel. The four of us retire for the night, recovering from our almost near death experience.
Day 5, San Juan to St. Martin (TFFG) 1.5 hrs.
Our next
destination was only a couple of hours away so there was no need to launch
early. Instead we opted to tour San Juan. We hired a cabbie to drive us around.
Although Alfredo understood no english, Bob was able to communicate our desires
by using his superb skills of talking loudly and repeating his sentences. "WE
WANT TO TOUR SAN JUAN. COMPRENDO? WE WANT TO TOUR...DRIVE AROUND...". I think
the fifty dollar bill in Bob's hand was speaking more clearly, though.
The tour was quick and concise, but very enjoyable. Back at the hotel, we decided that since we were already at the end of the active runway, we would just hop the fence. Why go back to the terminal? It's just big and noisy there. We would propably get lost anyway. Ken arranged to have GMMM and GAIY towed to the fence beside our hotel.
The concierge arranged for a bell hop to take our bags to the fence and throw them over. After tipping the bell hop, Ken insisted on taking his picture. "Ok lean up against the fence there. Hold on to it. Now say cheese". Instructing the bell hop, Ken flashed his camera. As the young man walked away, we became inquisitive. "Why did you take his picture"? As a knowledgable airport employee, Ken answered. "Sometimes these perimeter fences are electrified with 60, 000 volts. I'm not touching it" he quipped. Good thinking Ken.
One by one we raised ourselves over the surgical sharp razor wire. Now the distant sounds of howling and barking became increasingly audible. Ken, applying the last of his bandages, remembered. "Oh ya, sometimes these international airports use rabid attack dogs to keep people like us out. An overwhelming sense of urgency was upon us. The barking was deafening. Somehow we managed to load the aircraft, do a preflight walkaround (saftey first) and take off before the hungry pack of German Shepherds swarmed us.
Our short flight to Grand Case, Saint Martin took us directly over incredibly lush St. Thomas and the other Virgin Islands. In fact our trip today resulted in flying the airspaces of 4 countries - US, UK, France, and the Netherlands. The arrival into TFFG was picturesque. A long runway, an ocean at each end with 2 large peaks on each side was our view. I thought it was reminiscent of some airports in B.C. Warren suggested "It was like landing in the cleavage of two large breasts".
Pulling on to the ramp we were greeted by a customs official. Pointing to the large German Shepherd hanging off India Yankee's elevator, the officer informed Bob " Monsieur, please you must keep your dog on a leash". The customs and immigration clearing consisted of dropping a general declaration into a white box. I thought that box was a suggestion box. I suggested the need for airborne video surveillance over the nude beaches and my resume showed I was fully qualified for the position. (It has been more than a month now. I'm not holding my breath.)
We checked into a great hotel over looking an inviting beach on the Atlantic side. Shortly afterwards we were strolling that beach. Bridget, our hostess, recommended an enchanting restaurant for us tonight - Au Bout la bas. (End of the Line) The propietor's name was Francois. He was a fabulous and amusing host who adorned us with attention throughout our meal. The food was incredibly rich and decadent. We all blew a few arteries tonight. The dogs and cats meandering through this unassuming restaraunt reminded me we were in a french country.
After dinner and a few bottles of wine we traveled to the Dutch side. We end up at Cheri's Cafe on Maho Beach for more drinks. Bob and Warren question the need to go to St. Kitts tomorrow. As we board our taxi, I am feeling the effects of alcohol. The rythmic bouncing of the back seat glides me to sleep. Safe and sound back at the hotel, my motor skills are significantly reduced. I stumble to my door and try in vain to insert the key into the lock. Thankfully Bob intervenes. I remember my face hitting the pillow. Good Night.
Day 6, Beach day I woke up to a bright sunny carribean day. Birds were chirping outside my window. And Warren, honest to God, slept in until. 6:30 this morning. Angels were singing hallelujah.
The 4 of us enjoyed a long leisurely breakfest by the quaint pool. Our discussion of skipping St. Kitts seem to settle itself. None of us are eager to leave this corner of paradise. Today was Beach Day. Yahoo! We hired 4 lounge chairs and umbrellas and parked our butts on the beach for the day. I did a fair amount of body surfing, while Warren was on the lookout for "scattered nipple".
Bob and Ken were content with traffic watching, both in the air and on the beach. It was interesting to see all those aircraft flying right crosswinds over the nude beach even though the pattern is left handed. Soon the heat got the better of us . How did we spell relief? - jet skis. Ken kept mistaking his watercraft for an airplane. He wasn't happy unless he was airborne. With sunscreen and salt water in his eyes, Bob still streaked across the water.
Adequately cooled down and soaked we returned to our beach spots. Warren and I went for a walk along the shore and accidentally entered the nude beach. In our haste to find a way out we saw a pirate that would have given Gary Lopes a run for his money. A butt pirate that is. Picture this, if you dare ... a Willie Nelson look-alike wearing a red bandana on his head and a floral print short sleeve shirt tied into a knot just above his navel and unfortunately nothing else. He should have at least put on an eye patch ... somewhere.
Warren and I quickly regained our sense of direction and retreated to the saftey of our umbrellas. The others decided to go into Philipsburg to do some much needed shopping. I stayed on the beach to do some much needed napping. I am noticing that our pace has slowed since we left Toronto. None of us quite sure which day it is. Ken, Warren, and Bob returned to the hotel late that afternoon with their bounty of duty-free purchases. Bob shows off one of his new solid gold Brietling watches.
Tonight we dined at a little place down the road from our hotel. Charlotte, our waitress, was an energetic beautiful french local. The number 15, in silver sequins, was stitched on to her pink T-shirt. With my expert use of the french language, (Warren was no help) I spent the evening convincing her that 15 was my lucky number. Charlotte was very friendly but she reminded me that Papa had sharp knives in the kitchen. After another fantastic dinner and mouth-watering desserts, we are carted back to the hotel in wheel barrows and dumped at our rooms. What service! I think I lost another artery tonight.
Day 7, St. Martin to Antigua (TAPA) 1.3 hrs.
Today we flight
planned for a low and over at St. Barthelemy (TFFJ) to check out the runway and
then onto the volcano at Montserrat before going to Antigua. The local CFI at
Grand Case gave us some tips on approaching St. Barts. and warned we stay at
least 6 miles away from Montserrat. The volcano is still active. Projectiles
are on occasion still spewing from the crater at over 250 miles/hr and that's
going up. The approach into St. Barts. was cool from the air. We couldn't land
there because none of us had the rating issued by the French Government to fly
in. You must receive one hour dual training from an approved instructor to be
allowed to land. It looked like a good place to visit someday.
As we neared Montserrat, Warren and Bob elected to stay to the east side. There was smoke and ash being spewed from the mountain and the winds were carrying this stuff 10 to15 miles northwest. At about 5000 asl there was an inversion layer that prevented the smoke plume from ascending any higher. We clearly saw the fallout from this layer. All of us were amazed that a large portion of the island is still green and thriving. However on the southeast side, there is a huge lava field that has spilled into the caribbean. Pretty awesome.
Landing at Antigua was a non event. We have had flight following, most of the time, since San Juan. A lengthy search for a hotel leads us to the Jolly Beach Marina Villas. It is a very nice place but we are put off by all the extra charges. To use the room phones, you had to leave a credit card imprint. An extra 25 bucks landed you air conditioning. An iron and ironing board - 10 dollars. The electric plug converter was a dollar a day. For 25 dollars a day you could get a golf cart. We got the cart to save our tired feet.
Later that night, Ken drove us to an open air restaurant located right on the beach. Location, Location, Location. Driving down the beach, it became very apparent how dark it was. Ken was able to find all the obstacles on the beach. Untangling Bob from the volleyball net, we wished we brought a flashlight.
At the restaraunt we are waiting for the food to arrive, Ken mentions that he would like to visit a casino tonight. In fact it's all he has been talking about these last 2 days. We try to change his mind. Dinner was alright, The staff was over attentive and the music was too loud. Bob is too busy picking volleyball net from his teeth. Drinking our coffees, we inform Ken that we won't let him go to the casino. He seems to accept our decision. A few seconds later Ken whispers to us "Hey isn't that Jennifer Lopez in a one piece bikini". Where? I inquire. Suffering from whip lash we turn back to see Ken speeding down the beach in our golf cartat a blazing 7 miles an hour. We all knew where Ken was headed. "You and Warren should go after him". I suggest to Bob. "I'll stay here in case Jennifer returns".
Later that night, Jennifer and I are awakened as the golf cart careened into the villa driveway. "You better go Jenn".I reluctantly ask. "When can I see you again". she pleads. Her lips quiver and her eyes begin to pool. "Soon ". I promised. "Now please let go of my knee". I met Warren and Bob as they entered the door. "Where is Ken ?" I asked. Barely controlling the immense grin on his face, Bob answered "We tried ... we really tried". "Yeah" Warren interrupted. The same grin lingering on his face. " We tried desperately to stop Ken from entering the casino, but an incredibly beautiful tall hostess with long legs...she stopped us. She is a hard women. Ken is still in that den of sin". "Well you better go back and rescue him". I demand. Warren agrees "Yeah let's go back but I better get my wallet first. Just in case".
Day 8, Antigua to Martinque (TFFF) 1.5 hrs.
It rained last
night, first rain we've seen on this trip. Warren slept in until an
unbeleivable 7:00am. During breakfast I enter notes into my daily journal. I
inquire about last night's events " How tall was the hostess at the casino?"
"You're writing this down? Bob asks. "Yes of course, I 've been writing
everything down. So how tall was she?" I ask again. Warren Interrupts. "It
wasn't a hostess. It was a ... ahh ... a ... umm ... um a pirate". "Yeah a
really ugly pirate". Bob adds. " a really ugly pirate with no teeth and two
wooden legs". "Don't forget the moulting parrot". Warren insists. For the rest
of the day and the trip, Warren and Bob try to take my journal from me.
The flight service guy at TAPA assured us "Weather - no problem man". We pleaded with him to at least get out of his TV chair and look at the computer screen. He was right - weather no problem. The approach and landing on zero nine in Martinque was, again, routine. No immigration or police are at the airport. But there is the white box.
After a long taxi ride on well manicured roads, we arrive at Hotel Bakua. Without a doubt, the nicest accomodation we have encountered so far. The opulent atmosphere here is undeniable. The view of the bay and Fort de France from the hotel pool is breathtaking. Our place of dining tonight is a small place right on the beach called the "Barracuda". And I do mean right on the beach. The floor was the sand of the beach. Warren did an admirable job of translating the menu and ordering for us. Another exquisite meal mixed with good conversation.
As we walked back to Hotel Bakua, exhaustion began to set in. We retired for the night. Usually, during a trip to the Caribbean I like to meet the local constabulary. Tonight it would be the renowned security forces of the Bakua.
I enjoy sitting on the beach late at night and listen to the surf. I found a lounge chair on the Bakua beach to enjoy the full moon and the gentle sea breezes. The night was warm and the moon was casting its soothing glow. My eyes were heavy with contentment as I drifted to sleep. About 2 hours later, Jennifer and I were rudely awakened by the increasingly urgent prodding of a gendarme's cold night stick. "Si vous ne pas un guest de la hotel allez vite?" as he poked. I had no ID on me and given the many destinations of the past days wasn't quite sure where I was. As the cob webs cleared, the gendarme's badge was now clearly in focus. The thought of spending the night in " Le Clink" made me shudder. I was able to produce my room key. The situation defused, I limped to my room alone.
Day 9 Beach day
Had breakfast by the pool this morning. Fort
de France and the bay is our backdrop. This is too beautiful for us to endure.
Lots of families on the beach today. It is the Easter weekend and the Bakua is
fully booked. Ah crap. We wanted to stay another night. We are forced to check
into the Meridian next door. It's not as nice as the Bakua, but still very
pleasant. After a quick morning swim, the 4 of us take a water taxi into Fort
de France. Warren and Bob want to do some shopping for their spouses.
Exiting the boat, we cross the road. I instead step into the sewage drain and tripped. Scrapping my knee as I fell, I still managed to protect my cameras from damage. Warren expected more shopping and markets. We deduced that the city was deserted for the holidays. As we walked the streets, we found la Mcdonalds. We were pretty hungry and had our share of la Grand Macs and McPoulet nuggets. Our craving for american food had thankfully passed.
Ken, Warren, Bob, and I traveled back to Pointe du Bont and did some more shopping. We also did some weather checking at an internet site in one of the shops. Tonight, our group would experience its first crappy meal of the trip. The service was appalling. The food was even worse. Unhappily, the check with 15% gratuity was payed. I felt the restaraunt should have paid us 15% for being so bad. That's only fair. To get the bad taste out of our mouths, we went to the Bakua for a night cap. A live band was performing as guests of the hotel danced. The lights of Fort de France shimmered across the bay. Myself and the rest are not to anxious to leave tomorrow. But we must, after all, our goal is Venezuela.
Day 10 Martinque to Aruba (TNCA) 5.0 hrs.
Up extra early
today for a morning departure. We had to drag Warren out of bed. He's sleeping
in way too much and our flight plans are not getting done. The routing today
was along St. Lucia and the St. Vincent islands into Grenada for a fuel stop
and then onto Margarita Island and Aruba. Our inital plan was to fly amongst
the Grenadines for some sightseeing before landing in Grenada (TGPY). The haze
restricted visibility too much to make this practical. Even the normally
impressive "Pitons" on St. Lucia were nothing more than mere shadows in this
haze.
The approach into Grenada was like a turtle's pace. The winds were 17 knots, 45 degrees off the runway. Grenada is a very lush island but its people are low keyed. After doing the customs and fuel thing, we did the weather thing. Trying to get info from this so-called specialist was like pulling teeth with tweezers. We would have been better off if he went back to sleep. The hazy conditions prevailed going into Venezuela.
Margarita Island (SVMG) is one heck of a busy airport. Triple Mike and India Yankee were numbers 5 and 6 to land. Strong winds right down runway 9 made for another slow approach. Aviation is alive and well in Venezuela. We saw everything from Cessna 150s to Dash 7s to V tail Beechcraft to DC3s and 767s. The ramp security officer that met us on the ramp was very helpful. Fortunately for us, he knew a little english. We would have been lost without him. The tower and approach control knew basic english and therefore meets I.C.A.O. standards.
Ground communications was another story. Each time we called ground control we were ignored. We got the impression that no one in ground control could speak english and were scrambling to find someone to talk to these foreigners. It usually took 10 - 12 calls before someone answered and even then the language differences put a strain on clear communications.
All frequencies at SVMG were extremely congested. Not even Buttonville on a CAVOK saturday comes close to matching the movements at this airport. Everyone is talking at the same time and communications are constantly being stepped on. Nuts! Apart from the language difficulties, clearing customs and immigration is routine. The fifty US dollar landing fee per aircraft is not. Ouch! Both aircraft had to be moved several times about the airport before we found the single fuel pump. Our fuel has been gradually turning green since Martinque. 100LL is not available down in these parts. Originally, we had planned to stay for lunch but It's a nuthouse here and too stressful for us. We want to get out of here a.s.a.p. and head for Aruba.
Our ramp security officer drove Warren and me to the flight planning office to file. Flight planning zoo is a better description. About 30 people were jammed into a room one quarter the size of the BFC clubhouse. Everyone was ranting at the same time. Mix that with a yappy, whinning poodle and the result - a nut house zoo! Each pilot that filed a flight plan handed it in personally along with a wad of cash. User fees in its worst form. We filed and payed our landing fees. Warren and I were then told to go see the General. The alarm bells go off in my head. Why does the General want to see us? I asked to video tape. I know I did.
Fortunately the General did not really want to see us and we were back in the aircraft calling ground control...several times...no answer, Oh God not again. Several hours passed (well that's what it felt like) before we finally received our taxi instructions. "C - GMMM and C - GAIY taxi alpha and wait". Wait! no kidding. India Yankee was number 14 and Triple Mike was number 8 for take off. Sitting on the taxiway in the scorching heat we waited and waited and waited some more. I witnessed an aircraft abort its landing because another airplane on the runway hadn't begun a take off roll. Then the aircraft that had just aborted came around and turned a half mile final. The Dash on a two mile final did not turn or pull up. It continued down and landed just behind the aircraft that landed a half minute earlier. We received a clearance to taxi to zero nine and hold. Sitting on the button, I counted a further 19 aircraft waiting to take off. Is this rush hour here?
Finally we were cleared for take off from this nuthouse. Our total time in Venezuela was 2 hours and 19 minutes. It was such a stressful and unusual experience that I don't think we fully appreciated our achievement. We did shake hands and do photos, but never really stopped to relish the moment.
Two and a half hours of flying and the planes were set up for landing in Aruba. Easterly winds at 17 knots, gusting 31. This seems to be the prevalent winds here, no matter what time of day or night. For this reason, windsurfing championships are routinely held on this Dutch island. The 4 of us checked into another great hotel and my favorite - The Aruba Grand.
Waiting on the taxiway back on Margarita Island, we decided tonight would be a steak night. The hotel receptionist pointed us in the right direction to a Argentina style eatery. The "Tango" was only a short walk away. The aroma of sizzling steaks lured us towards it. We were in a carniverous mood as the tango dancers entertained us. During the show I was invited to tango with one of the performers. I thanked her but declined. There are somethings the public are just not meant to witness. Jennifer would have been very jealous too.
After the show, our dinners arrived. Five muscular waiters in steel toed shoes, strained as they lifted the T - Bones onto the placemats. The bus boy placed the hydraulic jack under the table and secured it from collapsing. The slabs of meat were hanging off the edge of the plates. As a true carnivore, I have to say it was one of best T - Bones I've devoured. It's been a long day of aviating and the day starts to catch up with us. Ken sneaks off to the casino again. The rest head for bed. I find my place on the beach to listen to the surf, feel the wind, and watch the stars. I am sleepy, but the annoying thumping of a nearby disco drives me off the beach.
Day 11 Beach day
Bob has volunteered to do the laundry
today. The staff is off for the holiday Monday. What a brave soul. The rest of
us want to do some snorkling and we are soon at a recommended spot donning
equipment. Warren is gung-ho. Ken and I convince him to wear a t-shirt before
going in. He has no idea of the pain he would have suffered from his fried
back. I am very disappointed with the site. It lacks colour and life. The reef
is dead and yet hundreds of swimmers are visiting this place each day. It has
no chance for recovery.
Our taxi returns for us. The 3 of us engage in some sightseeing before returning to the hotel for lunch. Nothing quite beats lunch on the beach. Sipping cold drinks while the wind cools the skin. We talk about staying in Aruba for an extra day. "Let's look at the weather, first". suggests Ken. No one needs their arm twisted. Warren and Ken want to do more shopping. Bob has finished the domestic chores and is by the pool, book in hand. I seek out my vantage point on the beach to admire its population and for my obligatory nap. Warren has decided to dress up for dinner. He is looking dapper tonight in his white pants and a short sleeved khacki shirt with twenty or so pockets. He looks like he should be in a Bogart movie.
Tonight we feasted in a place called "Cuba's Cookin". Stuffed like turkeys, we sipped our high octane expressos. We're discussing our best route home when our dimunitive waitress notices the Rolex on Warren's wrist. " Nice, isn't it?" he teases her. She asks for a closer look. Warren obliges as he turns his wrist towards her and in the same motion pours the steaming coffee onto his groin area. We cringe at the sight of him easing his pain with ice water.
When Warren regained consciousness, our waitress persuaded him to remove his pants so she could launder the embarrasing stain. Feeling a bit awkward, Warren surrendered his trousers but only if he could have a table cloth to drape himself in. Our waitress was very apologetic as she raced out of the restaurant ensuring Warren that she would clean his pants as soon as she was able. About an hour later, we asked the staff if they had seen our waitress and Warren's pants. We were informed that her shift ended an hour ago. "What about my pants" screamed Warren. "Oh you're the guy" the staff person remembered. She said the laundromant was closed and you are suppose to come back tomorrow night". Warren was in disbelief as he hailed a cab in a blue and white gingham tablecloth with a suggestive but tasteful slit up the side ocassionally revealling a glimpse of his milky white legs. As the whisting became more frequent, Bob assured Warren that it didn't look like a tablecloth.
Day 12 Another beach day
Our day starts off today, pretty
much like yesterday and the day before. Breakfast by the pool again. Life's
tough. Ain't it? Warren, Bob, and Ken decide to go back to the airport to
pre-fuel the planes and clear up any paperwork. All this so we could make an
early departure the next day. But I am aware of their real motive. More
shopping in the duty free shops in Orangestad. Myself, I'll maintain my
position on the beach.
That afternoon my tranquility is interrupted by those Bobby McFarren lyrics emanating from the pool area. I found Warren by the pool bar singing with his fish. Billy Bob Big Mouth Bass is soon at the bottom of the pool. Warren, oblivious to everything, jumped fully clothed into the pool to rescue the bass. Bob, pulling Warren off the fish, convinces him that mouth to mouth won't work". I add "Yeah, all you have to do is put new batteries in". Warren, muttering to himself, "I think I saw a Radio Shack in town", as he poured the water from his saturated wallet. "Oh darn it. My Radio Shack battery club card is mushy" as Warren laid his money and Blockbuster membership card out to dry. "Everyone stay still. My seven - eleven mega slurpie coupon is gone".
We felt really bad about throwing Billy Bob in the pool. None of us thought Warren would react that way. To make it up to him, we suggest that he can bring the fish to dinner tonight. But NO karoke!
Day 13 Aruba to Cat Island (MYCH) 6.7 hrs.
Out of bed at 5:30
am, we want to start early. The restaurunt is not open yet so breakfast
consisted of groceries bought yesterday. We wanted to leave the hotel at 6:30
but the taxi is late again. The arrival at the airport is followed by more
delays. The 4 of us waited 25 minutes for the security van to take us to the
aircraft on the south side. It was full when it got to us and we waited another
15 minutes. On its return, we learned that our landing fees were still
outstanding. Yet another delay.
Ken and I went ahead to preflight the aircraft while the other two took care of the monies. Both aircraft had a oily thick film on them. No doubt, this mess was from the smoke of a nearby petro refinery. This guck had to be removed from the windows and leading edges.
Triple Mike and Alpha India Yankee finally rolled down the runway at 9:00 am (good thing we were up at 5:30) and were soon level at 7500 feet northbound. It's still murky and hazy and these conditions prevail until the Bahamas. The plan was to fly direct to Puerto Plata, D.R.(MDPP) for a fuel stop but those 9500 foot mountains on the island encouraged us to change our flight plan. We decided to go direct to Santa Domingo, direct to the north coast, turn left at the ocean, and direct to Puerto Plata airport. Santa Domingo approach did not want anything to do with VFR traffic and instructed us to call Domingo radio. Flight service talked to us all the way into Puerto Plata.
Waiting for us on the ramp was a D.E.A. officer. This gentleman was jovial and very talkative. He spoke english very well, but his second language was baseball. He and I hit it off. Fortunately I am very fluent in baseball. We had lots to talk about while the rest hid their contraband. "Oh yeah, that Tony Fernandez...great short stop. He's in Japan, you know. And Pedro Martinez. Wow his ERA, how many strikeouts? What are his opponent's average?"
Fueled up and ready for departure, the planes received clearance to taxi. An American Airlines 767 was told by the tower personnel to stop and hold while the two general aviation aircraft taxi to the active. Now that's the way it should be. It had a nice ring to it. GMMM and GAIY flew direct to Lake Stella Maris (MYLS) at 6500 feet. We arrived about a half an hour after a torrential thunderstorm flooded the ramp area.
With customs and fuel tasks completed, the 4 of us were airborne for Hawk's Nest. While on route, we did some formation flying for a bit of air-to-air video. Parked on the ramp, for some reason (laziness I guess) we skipped tying the planes down for the night. This turned out to be a significant oversight. Tonight, we are the only guests in the dining room. I am feeling very tired. Lots of flying and a lot of distance covered today. Aruba to Bahamas - not bad eh?
After a delicous dinner, I practically fall asleep at the table. With my last ounce of strength, I drag myself to the hammock on the beach. Jennifer is waiting for me but I am just too weak. She's mad. When I regain conciousness, I see some lightning in the distance. I think nothing of it. The no-see-ums are feasting on my body. I retreat to the safety of my bed. I am out before my head hits the pillow. It's about 1 oclock when a huge thunder clap shakes the cottage. The lightning was non stop and the thunder was booming. The wind howled as the rain pounded the ground. The winds made me nervous and I convince Bob that we must venture into the storm and tie down the planes. Fortunately, the planes are a very short walk away and we have a golf cart at our disposal. Bob and I convince Ken and a very reluctant Warren to help. "But it's raining" as he states the obvious "and there's lightning".
With flashlights in hand we huddle in the cart for the short ride to the apron. The lightning crackles as it lights the night. We really don't need the stinkin' flashlights. We arrive at the airport soaking wet and are relieved to see the planes are still there. The wind is increasing in intensity and the lightning strikes are at a feverish rate. The thunder is so loud we can not hear one another. Between the moments of darkness and electrical flashes, the 4 of us human lightning rods manage to tie down or tie the planes to something... anything a rock, a tree. Wet and shivering, we returned to our cottages. The storm stopped on cue as we walked through the doors.
Day 14 Hawk's Nest to Greensboro (KGSO) 6.9 hrs.
We left
Hawk's Nest on a fantastic morning bound for New Bight, Fort Pierce, and
Greensboro in North Carolina. Clearing customs in Fort Pierce was hilarious.
One of the agents in no uncertain terms gave his opinion on his wife, kids, and
Quebec and its population. Paperwork was a turn-off for these agents so they
cleared us and our expensive merchandise into the U.S., Stating "let those
Canadian border guys deal with you".
A very long day of flying got us into Greensboro late. The hotel restaurant was closed. Desperate, this tired bunch headed for the drive thru window at McDonalds. I should mention that we had no car. McDonalds was closing up too. We pleaded with the staff through the drive thru window to feed us. "We'll take anything you have left".
Day 15 Greensboro to Buttonville 3.5 hrs.
We're up at 4:30
this morning and off the runway by 6:30 because of bad weather moving into
North Carolina. It had the potential to ground us for several days. It is high
overcast, good visibility, and raining when we roll. We are soon flying VFR
over the Top between two layers as the sun rises over West Virginia. How
exquisitely beautiful it is. It is almost religious. Triple Mike and India
Yankee arrived onto the customs ramp at YKZ shortly before 10:00. Both aircraft
are investigated methodicaly. All the lugggage is pulled from the planes and
inspected. Billy Bob Big Mouth Bass is confiscated by the officer.
Some Trip Statistics
Total nautical miles - 6011 (3439 to
SVMG, SVMG to CYKZ - 2572)
Total hours flown - 44.9
Total arteries
blocked or blown - 5
Total fuel consumption - (GAIY) 763.3 gals. (GMMM)
463.7 gals.
Favourate number - 15
Latest Warren slept in - 7:00 am
Average cost of fuel - $2.83 us
Most expensive fuel - $3.30/ gal (St.
Martin TFFG)
Least expensive fuel - $1.30/ gal (Margarrita Island -SVMG)
Scattered Nipples spotted - 0
Total number of hormonal surges - 14,
692
Total number of countries or airspaces encountered - 14
Total
pounds of weight gained - 32 average per person
Total number of charts -
15
Total number of pirates - 1 too many
Total cubic footage of steaks
devoured - 43
Total number of pilots that had a trip to remember - 4
