65 SA Flyer Magazinestraight and level again. Things would be
normal for a while and then the ‘wiggle,
build and catch cycle’ would repeat.
Ignoring what the Dutch roll might be doing
to the pax, I was having a wonderful flight in
a gorgeous fast aircraft on a beautiful clear
day.
Have you ever noticed that as soon as
you start to feel that everything is great,
reality likes to step in to smack you on
the head? Well it was my turn for reality’s
‘wake-up call smack’.
After about 30 minutes, one of the
pax behind me began making “Arrr-
Arrr” sounds. Thinking that this was just
the Japanese for “Wow,” or that he was
practicing animal sounds for his safari,
I ignored him. At which the “Arrr-Arrr”
increased in volume and one of his fellow
travellers tapped me urgently on the
shoulder. I turned around to see what he
wanted – and panic immediately set in.
The fellow pax was making very
obvious ‘upchuck’ motions, clearly
indicating that whatever flavour of sushi
Arrr-Arrr San had had for breakfast,
was soon to be visible again for detailed
inspection. I said that panic set in because
this was no scheduled airline flight with
cabin staff to assist and a plentiful supply
of airsick bags. This was a fairly cramped
Cessna with only me as both flight crew and
cabin crew, and not an airsick bag within
100 nm.
With my head full of images of me
scrubbing out the C310 at Skakuza, I
slapped on the autopilot and looked wildly
around for any bag for catching Arrr-Arrr
San’s upcoming sushi. Nothing. Nothing,
except my almost new pilot’s bag. This bag
was my badge of pilothood – more even
than my wings, it labelled me as a pilot.
And nestled in its leather bosom were my
charts, whizzwheel, logbook, licence and
all the other paraphernalia of a real pilot. I
grabbed it from between the seats, yanked
out the logbook and licence (what the heck- the charts are replaceable) and shoved it
backwards into the pax area.
Arrr-Arrr San immediately used it as
a receptacle for a mass of semi-digested
sushi breakfast. Thankfully smiling at
me, he made moves to hand it back.
For reasons that I’m sure anyone would
understand, I indicated that he should keep
it with him.
Now, a design problem with a flight
bag as an airsick container is that it’s
not sealable. And, despite the bag’s
top flaps being closed, the whole cabin
was soon filled with the somewhat less
than faint odour of upchuck. I can also
accurately report to Cessna that the ‘cabin
air’ functionality design was woefully
inadequate. You can guess what happened
next. Yep, one by one Arrr-Arrr San’s
co-travellers succumbed to the smell and
added to the weight of the bag.
I will confess that I held out the longest,
but eventually added my toast and marmite
breakfast to the load just before descending
into Skukuza.
After disembarking the pax, I parked
the now somewhat less appealing C310
with doors open and went to find some air
freshener. Skukuza had a very rudimentary
airport in those days, so all I could find in
the shop was one of those little trees that
you hang in the car (pine scent of course).
I confess that I also nicked a bottle of
toilet freshener from the gent’s facilities to
supplement my deodorising kit.
Off from Runway 35 at Skakuza, left
turn-out to Nelspruit, and all the way, I kept
squirting the ‘strawberry breeze’ around the
aircraft interior. The little cardboard pine
tree was doing double duty in front of an air
vent. Neither was much good. After putting
the still sexy, if somewhat nose-wrinkling
C310 down at Nelspruit and collecting the
two pax for Rand, I had to face the final
humiliation. One of the pax tapped me
rather heavily on the shoulder and said,
“This plane is a toilet” (not his exact words,
but close enough) and because he was
big and aggressive-looking with enormous
hands, I agreed with him. I allowed him to
insult my seductive darling without a word
of protest in her defence.
This story has two good outcomes
though. Firstly, I have never since flown
anywhere without a plentiful and handy
supply of sealable airsickness bags. Never
again will I be without them.
And finally, about two months after the
incident, I arrived at our hangar office to
find a brand new, hand stitched, leather
Pilot’s Folio Bag. It has travelled millions of
miles with me and I still have it. I no longer
use it, but it still reminds me of that other
young pilot’s bag, with puke soaked charts
and a gummy whizzwheel, standing behind
a building at Skukuza, 40 years ago – I
wonder if it’s still there?Charter
Dutch-roll - roll and yaw movement
not appreciated by passengers.j
Always have some of these
ready for your passengers.