19 SA Flyer Magazinemy right, and the cloud-filled Kagi/Efogi
valley visible off the nose. Phew.
I landed at Efogi and Kagi, modifying
my circuit patterns and approach paths to
avoid the patchy stratus dotting the valley
and, as I was the first aircraft to visit for
three days, I easily solicited a full load for
the return flight to Moresby. My five-seat
capacity hardly made a dent in the crowds
waiting strip-side, and there were more than
enough scraps for Sarge and Cameron,
who had persevered in the nasty weather
and also navigated their way out to the
jungles behind me.
I prepared to depart, making a call
to Moresby HF as I lined up at the top of
the strip at Kagi. Kagi’s sloped runway
points down the valley almost exactly at
Port Moresby, and on a clear day you can
see 20 miles to the lower country around
the Brown River, where the foothills of the
Owen Stanleys melt into the uneven terrain
of the Moresby coast and the swamplands
of Galley Reach.
On this day, there was nothing but a
shroud of scud between me and Moresby.
I’d have to climb back into the same soup in
order to get home. Sure enough, within 20
DME Moresby I was fully IMC again, and I
realised that there was only one way to get
back: to fly to the runway on instruments,
using the same technique as I had during
the departure. The danger here was hitting
the 1,800-foot-high Mount Lawes on
descent into the Port Moresby circuit area.
I transferred to the tower frequency
at 10 miles, and requested a ‘practice’
twin-locator instrument approach for
Runway 14L. This was a devious plan – the
approach wasn’t for practice at all – it was
for real.
It worked, and I descended in the cloud
while tracking Moresby’s twin NDBs (non-
directional beacons) Parer and Jackson,
breaking visual just below 1,000 feet,
three miles out on the extended runway
centreline. l was extremely relieved to make
a safe landing back at home base and
taxied in and parked outside the aero club.
Outwardly, I was proud that I had
beaten the weather, but, just between you
and me, was also very much aware that
the whole experience had bordered on
foolishness, with my actions setting me up
for some sort of calamity: either getting lost
in the extensive cloud and being unable
to let down safely, or mistaking my real
position and making contact with Cumulus
Granitus in the heavy overcast.
Within the hour, Sarge was safely
back too, and ambled over to the aero club
apron to have a word. “You arsehole!” he
protested. “Visual in between layers!” We
grinned at each other. “That was bloody
pea soup out there!” continued Sarge,
feigning anger. “I didn’t see anything until
I popped out of cloud at about 8,000 feet
over Manari!”
Sarge and Cameron had both had a hell
of a time finding their way out there, having
to rely, as I had done, on their instrument
flying skills. It had been a stressful
experience for them too (that’s what
happens when you play follow the leader
with a dishonest leader). The conversation
soon turned to Cameron – he had not
returned and we were worried about him, as
his Cessna 185 had nothing but bare-bones
instrumentation. There was no chance
for him to cheat as we had done and fly
an instrument approach procedure to get
home. The weather in the Moresby areawas now worse too, with the cloud right
down on the deck, and no clear patches
anywhere. There would be no more VFR
flying today.
Jonathan ‘The Long Arm’ Thomson,
TNA’s chief pilot, soon joined us at the aero
club with the good news that Cameron was
safe on the ground in Efogi, and, due to the
inclement weather, had decided to stay the
night in the village. This information had
been passed on by the TNA agent at Efogi
via HF radio link.
Cameron turned up in Moresby at noon
the following day, with a captivating tale
of an uncomfortable night spent in a bug
infested grass hut with generous offerings
of burnt village food, dodgy water from the
creek and the close companionship of the
headman’s daughter. He assured us he
turned down all three.j
columns
Matt with his prize from the
Independent Publishers Book Awards.