FlightCom — Edition 108 — September 2017

(Joyce) #1
FlightCom Magazine 13

F


OR two years, I flew a
Twin Otter on contract to
a Canadian oil company in
South Yemen. The client,
and we, the crew, had great
respect for each other. They
liked the serviceability of
our aircraft and our reliability. We went
for two years on that contract with a 100%
dispatch reliability – quite a record for any
aviation company.
And we liked the way they ran their
side of the business too. They didn’t try
to overload us or sneak dangerous cargo
on board without telling us. Generally
speaking, they didn’t throw up in the plane
either, and, if they did, they were usually
quite good shots and tended to hit the bag.
In fact, I had enjoyed myself so much
that when my initial contact ended, I slimed
my way back, some months later, and flew
the Pilatus Porter for them until the war in
‘94 made me persona non-grata.
It was during that second incarnation
that we were paid a visit by a collection of
six VIPs, three from London and three from
Calgary, in Canada. I happened to be on my
way back from leave, and was on the same
flight as the VIPs. I was looking forward
to getting my hands back on the cranky,
cantankerous, loveable old Pilatus Porter,
out in the desert at the Central Production
Facility (CPF). The CPF was where the oil
was collected from all the wells, cleaned
and pumped off down to the coast.
The VIPs were intent on conveying that
the whole thing was a bit of an inconvenience
for people whose time was so valuable. One
of these desk drivers began to get under my
skin. He launched into a tirade against the
legendary Twin Otter, which had served his
company so faithfully and had recently been
released to do the jobs which no other plane
could do, in some other far-flung corner of
the world.
We walked out across the apron at
Khormaksar Airport in Aden, the capital
of South Yemen. “Nice to see we’ve got a
proper aeroplane this time!” he blustered,

as he briefed the humble flight crew about
where he wanted his laptop and bottles
stowed. “Not going to be bumpy, is it?” he
shouted at nobody in particular, as if God
was under orders as well. “Oh, the hours
I’ve spent being thrown around the skies
in those old Twin Otters! Times you want
to forget really, when you get to my sort of
level. I don’t know how they got a licence to
build those old rattle traps!”
He then rhapsodised about “his”
decision to go for the BAe Jetstream 32
to replace the Twin Otter. “Nowadays, it’s
not just two engines and two pilots that the
Senior Executive needs, you know. When
each minute of an executive’s time costs
so much, (a thinly veiled hint about his
mountainous salary) speed is of the essence.
The sooner we get there, the sooner we put
the job back on the rails, so that you chaps
can get the bread supplies coming in to
Wifey at home again!”
Incidentally, at that stage, he didn’t
know my function in the operation – that I
was one of the pilots. Nor did he yet know
that we would be having the pleasure of each
other’s company for some time after we had
landed at Base Camp ... neither did I.
His special responsibilities on this
‘jolly’ involved checking the progress on the
installation of the Offshore Tanker Loading
Facility, which was a great big buoy, chained
to the seabed, via which the oil from the
field would be loaded onto the tankers. He
was going to need to take a close look at the
layout of the pipelines and their relationship
to the shoreline, and the best way to do this
was from the air.
We duly landed at the brand new 2,
m runway which the oil company had been
forced to invest in to accommodate the
Jetstream, and disembarked to be greeted
by the efficient welcoming team. Our VIPs
were given a concise security briefing, after
which I was handed the victims. I would
be taking them down to the coast in the
pugnacious old Pilatus Porter, which sat
there, champing at the bit, newly released by
my old friend, Noel, who was also champing

a bit, because he was straining at the leash
to go on leave.
I led my three assigned guests over
to the Porter. As we approached it, the
‘Executive’ kept up a constant background
grumble. “So why have you dragged us over
here then?” the voice whined petulantly,
“And what is this extraordinary looking
contraption anyway?”
“This, gentlemen, is your transport to
the coast,” I said with a broad smile, aimed
mainly at the Executive. “It has only one
engine, its wheels stay out in the wind –
they’re not retractable – it’s not pressurised,
there’s no auto-pilot, it is slow and you are
looking at the only driver,” I said, pointing
at myself. “The trip’s only going to take
just over half an hour, and we’ll be flying
at low level down the pipeline, so that I can
make the daily inspection as we go. We will
have a quick look at a Cathode Protection
Station on the way. We normally close the
door for takeoff, so you don’t get covered
in dust, but after that I’ll give you a shout
and you can slide it back and keep it open
during the whole flight, if you wish. Please
make sure that you keep your seat belts
securely fastened at all times, until after we
have landed and stopped at the terminal.
The company could never afford next year’s
insurance premiums if we lost one of you.”
I secured Exec’s baggage along with the
rest of the cases, under the cargo net at the
back of the cabin, and went on to make sure
that each of the VIPs was boarded, buckled
and briefed.
“Gentlemen, for those of you who
haven’t done this sort of thing before, I
can guarantee you the ride of a lifetime.
However, if any of you at any time, for any
reason, feel uncomfortable, give me a shout
and we’ll break off and go direct ... Enjoy
the trip.”
Having had a look around the plane
to make sure we had oil and fuel and
that nothing important was hanging off
or missing, I climbed into the front. I ran
through the pre-start checks, switched on
the master, boost pumps, igniters and starter

There are some people in this world who wouldn’t be seen dead in a single-engined


aeroplane. They obviously haven’t heard what’s said about most twin-engined


aeroplanes, namely, that if you have an engine failure in a twin, the remaining engine


will only take you to the scene of the accident. It’s also unlikely that they have flown in a


Pilatus Porter over South Yemen.

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