Bush Pilot

Bush pilot

Hagai Cohen

“You're all set” said Major Adams, endorsing our flight licenses. “You are qualified to fly the Cessna 172.”

All four of us were airline pilots posted in Nairobi at the peek of our flying careers. With only one flight a week, we had a lot of spare time on our hands.

Major Adams, with his handlebar mustache, pipe, and major's baton, was a relic. Thirty years earlier, he had been an instructor at the R.A.F. flying-school in Nairobi, Kenya. Since then he had never left Kenya nor updated his flying skills. The Kenya board of transportation, in their ignorance, had authorized him to issue pilot’s licenses. He also rented out airplanes.

We wanted to visit the Ngorongoro crater in Tanzania. A small plane was the only way to get there. As we did not trust Major Adams or any of his pilots and because we needed a local, license to fly ourselves, all four of us took the fifteen minutes check ride and Major Adams stamped our licenses.

We landed at seven A.M the next morning on a strip next to the crater. We moored the plane, checked into the lodge, and, after breakfast, hit the road in a Land Rover. After a three and a half hour bumpy ride to the crater highlands of northern Tanzania, we arrived to a very impressive and dramatic part of the world.

The caldera was the most exciting we had ever seen, we had to descend a rocky track that dropped 2000 feet in two miles. Ngorngoro is famous for its highest density of lions but we did not see any.

To add to our bad luck the fan belt snapped in the territory of a heavyset rhino. While I was changing the fan belt, an angry rhino huffed and puffed at us, so we drove the Land Rover behind a tree surrounded by dense bushes, where I finished the job in relative safety.

We finished installing the fan belt at 3:00 P.M. At 5 P.M., the local predators get hungry. The thought of becoming a part of the Nature’s food chain was not at all appealing. The trip was a waste of time.

Back at the lodge, after a shower and a pint our disappointment dissipated. We found ourselves coordinating our stories for the people back home. The rhino turned into a herd of rhinos and fixing the fan belt became “overhauling the engine under the watchful eyes of a hungry lioness.” While thus engaged, a strange, burly character walked in.

“Abed,” said the man, brusque and loud, to the bartender, “a pint to the Captain's table.”

“Right away, Captain Smokey, sir,” said the bartender.

Captain Smokey wore green flight overalls with the words BUSH SAFARI printed on its back. A revolver was strapped to his right boot and a commando knife to his left. All kinds of equipment hung from his belt: a homing radio, a signaling mirror, a bulky marine Morse semaphore, night flares, a smoke flare, a whistle, two flashlights, and more ‘unidentified objects.'

“Who is this character?” asked Mike.

“A very lucky guy,” said Kim. “He'll never get hemorrhoids.”

The three of us looked at our friend, puzzled.

“A perfect ass-hole,” he explained.

“Where could he have come from?” asked Mussik.

“Who the hell is he trying to impress?” said Jack (that is me) rhetorically.

The eyes of the few people in the lounge at that time were on the Captain. As his beer arrived, the Captain instructed Abed: “Set the table for four. My guests will dine with me.”

He must have been in his mid-twenties, cocky, over-confident, and obviously in love with himself. Soon a party of three walked into the lounge, a man, his wife, and their teenage daughter.

“Sorry we’re late,” said the man to Captain Smokey as they approached his table.

The Captain dismissed the remark and said: “Oh, don’t worry. I do not waste my time, even when I relax with a beer. I am planning tomorrow’s flight.”

We smiled at each other and listened in on their conversation. The family was on safari as a graduation present to the girl we were told.

“Tell me, Captain," said the girl, "how did you become a pilot?” She stared at the Captain with lustrous eyes.

“You don't just become a pilot, you have to be born one," he pronounced loudly. "You have to be the right stuff from your first breath, gifted by God.” The Captain wanted everybody to heed his immortal words. We could not believe what we were hearing.

“Is it dangerous? I mean to fly a plane?" asked the girl.

“Danger is my middle name, my dear,” said the braggart.

“Where did you learn to fly?”

“I learned from the best and most famous pilot in all of East Africa - Major Adams,” he said, with a proud lift of his head.

This was too much! The name of Major Adams brought an impish smile to my face I had been with that rusty relic, in his own plane. If I had to give him a check ride, he wouldhave been grounded.

“Excuse me, please,” I said to the boys, “duty calls.”

I rose and walked toward the Captain’s table.

“Excuse me please, Captain, sir," said I. "I could not help overhearing your conversation. It is fascinating, your being a pilot, so glamorous, so romantic. All my life I wanted to meet a real pilot face to face.”

“Oh, my dear man, please join us. You have come to the right place.”

I pulled up a chair and sat down. “I'm Jack,” I said.

“Captain Smokey." He held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you.”

“Tell me, Captain Smokey, how does one know he's the right stuff?"

“Well, my dear friend, if you don’t know the answer to that, you are certainly no pilot."

I held a straight face; it was hard as I was having an attack of gastro-giggleeitis.

“How does it feel to fly? Is it exciting? Is it thrilling? Do you feel ‘high’ when you fly?”

“Exactly the right words, my dear friend; despite your accent, I see you have good command of the English language.”

“Thank you, Captain Smokey,” I said humbly.

"It is just as you say, exciting and thrilling. There is no such sensation on earth, and I am of the privileged few to experience it."

“How do you find your way in the bush?”

“I know the bush like the palm of my hand. I don't trust all those damn instruments; nobody knows how to read them anyway.”

I am what they call a natural pilot I can feel the speed and the altitude day and night, it’s in my bones”.

At that moment, I heard Kim’s voice behind me saying in Hebrew: “I'll hire Captain Smokey to take my mother-in-law for an excursion, and I'd better do it quickly, before it’s too late.”

My three friends pulled up their chairs, giving Captain Smokey a large group of admiring listeners.

“How high can you fly Captain Smokey?”

“Well, let’s see, last week I flew over Kilimanjaro. Oh no, sir, I never ever fly over of the volcano crater. The natives call the mountain “the breathing mountain” and, once in a while, unprovoked, the mountain sucks in everything that flies over it.”

(The Cessna he was flying cannot fly above 10,000’. The plane carries no oxygen, the Kilimanjaro towers to a height of 19,000’.)

My friends and I exchanged glances but kept tight control over our amusement.

I composed my next question carefully, looking into the Captain’s eyes with great admiration. “Have you ever flown through the sound barrier?”

“Of course, many times.”

“How does it feel?”

“It’s a great sensation. You fly the airplane, and leave your noise behind. The sound arrives later usually after the landing.

“Do you always wait for the sound to arrive after landing?”

"Of course I do, it is a part of the N.O.P."

“What is N.O.P?” I asked.

“Normal operating procedure.”

“Thank you, Captain Smokey, I would never have known.”

“Did it ever happen that your sound got lost and did not arrive?”

“God forbid! It's a bad sign if your sound gets lost.”

“Can you talk while flying above the speed of sound?”

“No you can not.”

Captain Smokey's discourse was now self-sustaining and he continued to educate us.

“Did you know heavy planes have difficulty going down?

“No I did not know but I think I understand what you are saying.”

I said. “I lived next to a quarry and the big trucks carrying heavy boulders, always traveled down very slowly, with great difficulty, while the unloaded trucks sped down easily.”

The Captain looked at me and said arrogantly “You can never understand. It was a waste of time talking to you.” He then turned to the young woman seeking more of her admiration.

I was sorry at the abrupt end to my conversation with Captain Smokey. I had several more questions for him; I wanted to ask particularly about the worthless equipment strapped to his belt. Especially about the bulky marine Morse semaphore, now found only in museums and obsolete since the First World War.

We returned to our table where we merrily discussed Captain Smokey, who had definitely salvaged our trip.

We were in our plane, about to take off next morning, when we saw the Captain taxiing to the airstrip.

“Bush safari 09 - transmitting blind - rolling Ngorongoro strip, destination Nairobi, climbing flight level 80.”

That was the Captain informing other planes in his location. There was no control tower on the airstrip.

“Bush Safari 09 - Adams 07 - Hold position, hold position,” I radioed the Captain.

“Adams 07 - Bush Safari 09 –holding position what seems to be the problem?”

“Bush Safari 09 - Adams 07 - I have just received a cable from Nairobi control. Are you ready to copy?”

“Affirmative Adams 07 - ready to copy, go ahead.”

“Break, break. Kilimanjaro active since 5:00 GMT this morning. Break - flock of vultures sucked into mountain at 06:00 GMT - break. All birds known to be wearing oxygen masks. Break. Use caution. Break.”

“Who's this speaking? “ The Captain sounded annoyed.

“It's Jack, Captain Smokey. Last night we had drinks together."

“FUCK YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Now, the Captain sounded furious.

“Watch your language, Captain,” I said. “You have ladies onboard."

I heard something akin to a growl. I continued: "We are fifteen minutes behind you, Captain, but we’ll meet you on the ground in Nairobi, while you wait for your noise to arrive.”

I wish I could have seen Captain Smokey’s face. Unfortunately, I had to imagine his rage from the way he handled the take-off.

I never did meet the Captain again but, on every visit to Nairobi, I inquired after him. He seemed to be doing well and had become a famous and recommended bush pilot. Unfortunately, the glorious career of Captain Smokey came to an abrupt, but not unexpected end a year later.

A television film crew of three, with all its equipment, boarded Bush Safari 09 in Nairobi. The Captain did not weigh the cargo. Nairobi is 5,500 feet high. The takeoff distance is significantly longer as the engine power is low. Captain Smokey crashed at the end of the runway when he tried to lift the Cessna below the required speed.

Kim’s mother in-law is safe - for now.

*****************************************

Approved

Approved
Hagai Cohen
3 June 2003

“Today, I am twenty one, Daddy, not your little girl any more. It’s time you told me what happened on your first date with Mom. Neither you nor Mom is willing to talk about it and Grandma gets amnesia when I ask her. I have had enough evasiveness. I am not leaving this room until you talk.”

“Listen darling, if I tell you without your Mom’s consent, I’m a dead man.”
“You tell me, Dad, and I’ll deal with Mom.”
“Ok, but if you ever use this story against us, I won’t know you.”
“Deal! I love you, Dad.”

“Well" I started, "it was fall in New York. The fall colors were beautiful that year and the weather-man promised wormer temperatures. Your Mom invited me to spend the weekend at her ‘country house’ (this very house), to hike around and look at the fall colors.

Linn and I had had a long-term work relationship. We had known each other for two years and until then our relationship had been formal.
As I had nothing better to do, I accepted the invitation.

The drive up to the house was a pleasant one. With every mile northward, the fall colors became more radiant and luminous.
It was also the first time we discussed personal topics. The questions and answers revealed we had many common interests. Our taste and preferences in food and wine were similar. I also discovered that your Mom was a romantic. It was somewhat surprising, very different from the buttoned up image she projected at the office. I was especially impressed with her great sense of humor and her sweet impish smile.

Before setting out on our hike, we sprayed ourselves with insect repellent. We hiked through the woods, across farmer Baker’s meadow to the stream and the lake. We leaned over the side of a narrow ridge, trout nets in our hand. It was really fun to hold each other from falling into the water, While trying to fish. Our catch was three nice size rainbow trout.

Only after we had bagged the fish, Linn told me all she could cook was meat loaf, and had no idea what to do with trout. This pleased me, as many women in my experience; find it romantic to have men cook for them. It was my turn to impress Linn.

On our return to the country-house, I steamed the trout with fresh ginger, chopped scallions, and soy sauce. While the fish was steaming, I cut the vegetables for the salad and in less than fifteen minutes, dinner was on the table. A bottle of Chardonnay was uncorked to enhance the taste of the fish and Linn was in high spirits.
After the repast, she suggested we return to the meadow and lie down on the flat rock to watch the stars.
The full moon turned the meadow and the forest into a romantic setting.
While we were spreading a blanket on the rock, our faces touched inadvertently and before we knew it, our passions were kindled. After a few exploratory kisses, we stripped rapidly, scattering our clothes all over the rock. The exposure of our bodies to the caressing breeze, the moonlight, the warm rock and an overdose of hormones made our lovemaking highly intense, and very promising.
After the delicious lovemaking, we lay on our backs to watch the stars.
I was still enjoying the residual pleasure of our act, when a loud noise startled us.
We jumped to our feet to see a three thousand pound bull with a horn span of four feet, huffing and puffing through his huge nostrils while digging his hoofs into the turf threateningly.
We did not know that while we were feasting on the fish, Farmer Backer had rounded up his herd and brought it to the new pasture.
I had good eye-to-eye contact with the beast but my severe look did not make an impact on him. ‘I am not really after your harem,’ I said in panic. The determined bull was not impressed.

He was twenty yards from us, when he charged. I hoped the rock itself would discourage him but he jumped right on it like a springbok.
His stomping felt like an earthquake. Linn screamed. I pushed her and we jumped to the side.
Were you scared Dad?
“Correct, we were horrified, petrified, terrified, and etcetera.
The granite rock was too slippery for the massive bull. He skidded and fell over on the other side.
While the bull was recovering himself, Linn cried: “Let’s get the hell out of here.” She collected the clothes we’d thrown off hastily half an hour earlier. She used my jeans as a laundry bag and stuffed in shoes and all.
The fall made the bull more determined. He turned all his anger towards Linn who had made my pants look like competitive horns. I used the blanket to divert his attention and every time he missed us, we inched towards the log fence. We finally made it to safety.
Retrospectively, I think we did a great job escaping the vicious bull, but at that moment, all I thought about were my words to the bull: ‘I am not after your harem.’ I think Linn took it as an insult.
‘It wasn’t that funny’ she said, and fell into silence. Not a word was said and the tension was unbearable, we forgot we were still naked.
Suddenly Linn put on a sweet smile and said: “You know Jack, we were lucky….”
“You bet,” I said, thinking it’s a miracle we had escaped the bullfight unharmed.
“We were very lucky Jack,” she said again, “we did not step on a single ‘meadow muffin’.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Cow pat, if you must know.”
This silly remark was what relieved the tension. It started a nervous laughter that very soon became hysterical.
After controlling myself a little, I continued in the same vein. I knelt down, put my hand on Linn’s hips and said: “Thank you, my dear Madam, for letting me protect you. Bare handed, bare footed and bare assed.
I bravely fought the killer bull to save your life. Not every day Madame, does an opportunity like this present itself to a man.
I’ll kill anything for you Madame, a bull, a tiger and even a water bug, if necessary.
You, lady, have retrieved my lost dignity. I’ll be your slave forever. Thank you, thank you, and thank you!”
Linn picked up a branch, rested it on my shoulder and said:

”With the authority vested in me from heaven, I dub thee Sir Jack, Knight of the BULLSHIT and lord of the MEADOW MUFFIN. Arise Sir Knight and kiss your queen.”
“Yes, my dear.”

The naked knight and his equally nude queen walked joyfully back hand-in-hand along the pathway strewn with fallen leaves. While walking on the path, carrying their garments under their arms, they knew, they had fallen in love.

Our moment of euphoria did not last long. As we approached the back yard, a car turned into the driveway and caught us in its headlights. We were so startled we stood stock-still.
It stopped five yard from us. Unexpected and unannounced, Linn’s mother, Grandma Ruth stepped out of the car. It was extremely embarrassing.
“Are you crazy or what?” she screamed at us. “What do you think you’re doing walking about like this in the woods?”
“Mom!”
”There are lime disease ticks, spot fever ticks, poison ivy and you might even catch a cold.”
“Mom, please! Would you believe me if I told you we were chased by a bull and barely survived?
“I’ll believe anything about you, my dear girl, but I am sure the bull had nothing to do with the way you look right now.”
We started to laugh at Grandma Ruth’s great humor. The embarrassment and discomfort disappeared.
Linn said through her laughter: “Mother… this is… my friend…. Sir Jack, the savior.”
I dropped the blanket from under my arm, stepped forward in all my nudity, and offered my hand.
“Please to meet you Mrs. Kaplan.”
Your Grandma took my hand, looked me over from top to bottom and said: “Nice physique, Jack.”
“Thank you Mrs. Kaplan.”
Without letting my hand go, she continued. “Listen to me you two weirdoes, run into the house and take a shower, TOGETHER! Check each other for ticks, THOROUGHLY! Or I’ll come in and do it myself.”
That evening, while Grandma Ruth enjoyed the last trout, I received the stamp of approval.”

“Will you walk to that rock with me, Daddy? Please, please, oh, please!”
“Why not? I haven’t been there for years and it will be nice if you find the socks I lost that night.”


The End