Denver to the Congo, starring Ted E. Bear

Some friends of mine have a seven year old daughter named Aubrey who wanted me to take her paper bear with me on my trip to Africa. This is a video I created about my trip, starring Ted E. Bear.

Denver to the Congo starring Ted E. Bear from Justin on Vimeo.

Out of Africa

We had a departure time of 10 am. The customs and immigration process went very smoothly; no last minute bribes as our field manager had expected.

As we were getting the airplane prepared for the flight, another expat saw our odd looking jet and decided to come over for a chat. Our airplane tech and I chatted with him for a little while. He was telling us how he was there to pick up some guy who was going to pay him $5,000 to fly him over the border to Angola. His passenger apparently didn't want to go through customs, he said.

Yeah, his passenger was probably a drug runner. If not a drug runner, then he was probably doing something highly illegal. It's amazing that guys like this would risk spending the rest of their lives in a third world prison to make a few thousand bucks.

Well, it was now time to blast out of the Congo and I couldn't wait to do it. We taxied out to the runway, pushed the thrust levers to takeoff power, accelerated to 165 mph, lifted off the ground, and made a right turn to the northwest, to Accra. This one felt even better than blasting out of Bamako. Goodbye Pointe Noire. Goodbye Congo. I hope I don't see you again for a long, long time.

Congo to Accra, over the Gulf of Guinea:






Accra to Bamako:




After Accra, we made another fuel stop in Bamako. This time the place didn't give me the willies as much as it did before. Our handler and his assistant greeted us again and we all had a nice chat and a good laugh. Our handler's assistant noticed my new company hat and asked if we had another one. Luckily, we did have one. So I gave him the spare hat and he seemed very happy with it. Unfortunately, this set off a flurry of requests from our fuelers for a hat for them as well. I had to tell them that we didn't have anymore. One of the fuelers took off his old hat and showed it to me. I gave him a look of, "I know, I wish I had one for you". And I wish I did too, they would've loved them.

Now it was time to finally leave Africa. Three hours later we were back on the island of Lanzarote in the Canaries; out of Africa and back to civilization. It felt great.



Approach to Lanzarote:








After checking into the Costa Calero, we enjoyed another excellent dinner buffet at its restaurant and talked about the trip. After a good night's sleep, we were off to the Azores again for a fuel stop.



Lanzarote (Canaries) to Santa Maria (Azores)






I spotted what looks like an aircraft carrier (maybe):





I think I said in one of my earlier blogs that the first Azores approach was the most beautiful I'd ever seen. Well, this one was even better. I just wish I could've taken pictures of it.

It was another crystal clear day except for the scattered layer of low lying clouds over Santa Maria. We flew over the full length of the island, east to west, at an altitude that brought us amongst the puffy white clouds and just above the green rolling hills and mountaintops. As we crossed over the airport, which was situated on the western coast of the island, we began a turn back out over the ocean and then another turn back towards the island to land on its runway.

While flying the airplane, I took a few moments to admire the view. The differing shades of ocean blue were sparkling in the sunlight and I couldn't help but think that compared to a place like western Africa, this was heaven. It was hard to imagine that these two completely different environments were actually on the same planet.



One of the islands in the Azores that we passed on our way to Newfoundland:






Thunderstorm we had to deviate around:






So we landed on Santa Maria, got some fuel, took some more pictures, and then took off for North America - St. John's, Newfoundland to be exact. Several days before, when we had flown from St. John's to Santa Maria, it took us 3 hours and 6 min. because of the great tailwinds. But this time those winds were headwinds, and it took us 4 hours and 15 min. to get back to St. John's. At one point, we were cruising at only 320 mph (compared to a maximum of 620 mph when we were going the other way). But we made it to St. John's with no problems and with about an hour and twenty minutes of fuel left.

After overnighting in St. John's, we made a fuel stop in Toronto, and then flew on to Denver. We overnighted in Denver and then the next morning flew the airplane on its final leg to Provo, Utah where it would be stored until we needed it again.

Shortly after takeoff from St. John's:




Lots of lakes on the island of Newfoundland:









Departing Denver:


Approaching Provo (on the other side of the mountain range):










The trip was over and we were back in the US. It was a great trip and a great experience, and I can't wait to do it again. Maybe to somewhere other than western Africa though.

In the Congo

After arriving in the Congo, we spent the next day driving around town looking for a local cell phone, exchanging US dollars for local currency, and getting everything ready for the flight the next day.

My hotel room:






Hotel grounds:






View from my hotel room window:




We got to see Pointe Noire in the daytime, which wasn't really a pleasant site, but an interesting one. This place was definitely third world. There was trash strewn everywhere; lots of trash.

There were a lot of street vendors. I even saw a guy with an old copy machine trying to sell use of his machine for 25 francs per copy, which isn't as much as you'd think. We would normally spend about 12,000 francs on dinner.



600,000 francs (about $1,200)


Driving around Pointe Noire, Congo




















The store where we got our cheap local cell phones:


Riding around Pointe Noire (notice the beautiful shag upholstery)












Back at the airport, we found our airplane in the same condition that we left it. No dings, no fuel stolen. Our field manager told us that the locals would sometimes steal the fuel from visiting aircraft. Apparently they do that often to the lone Air France A330 that flies into Pointe Noire a few times a week. But today, the locals were just sitting under the wing of the giant A330 playing cards.

We were told that we needed to move our airplane and park it in a different spot on the ramp, so we started the engines and moved it to where they wanted it. However, the spot they wanted us to move it to was even more in the way of other aircraft, which didn't make any sense to me. About an hour later, as we were finishing up at the airport, they asked us to move it again, so we did, to a slightly different spot. Hmmmm, I had a feeling they'd ask us to move it again a little later in the day.

The airport was bustling with activity. They even had a local airline - Air Congo - I think it was. They flew some old 737's and apparently hired western expats to fly them. Can you imagine signing a contract to live and work for two or three years in the Congo as a pilot of their local airline? Nope, me neither. But we got to meet one of these interesting fellas. It was while we were inside our plane, doing some work.

He was from New York, probably in his mid-50's. And yeah, he was a little odd, but friendly. He was drawn to our odd looking learjet and knew that we were from the US based upon the 'N' on our tail number. I had a lot of questions for him about air traffic control and how they do some things around here and he was able to answer about all of them. He told us to meet him at some local pub for drinks later that night. We smiled and shook his hand with not a single desire or intention of taking him up on the offer, but it was nice of him.

This airport was full of the crappiest aircraft I'd ever seen. We watched one of these aircraft, mostly old Russian planes, take off. It looked like they could crash and burn at any moment, so we always made sure to watch when one took off. About halfway down the runway, they would begin to rotate and lift the nose a few feet off the ground where it would remain for another 15 seconds or so until the airplane had enough energy to actually lift off the ground and fly. The lifting off the ground and flying part wouldn't happen until after they were well past our line of sight and probably right at the end of the long runway. There were many times when we thought, "oh, I don't think that one made it", but then we would see it very slowly climbing above the horizon, where it would level off just about treetop level, and then gain some more speed before continuing it's climb. Aviation in the Congo is a scary thing but I guess it's no more dangerous than anything else in the Congo.

A little while after we got back to the airport, I got a knock on my door. It was our field manager. He told me that the airport had called and said that we needed to move our airplane immediately. No surprise.

I grabbed my headset and badge and got into our car along with our field manager and airplane tech and went back to the airport. This time we took a different route. Maybe it was a shortcut, who knows. The road we were on this time was a road of sand. Yes, like on the beach, but deeper. There was no water to make it compact. It was insane. Somehow we made it through the road of sand and back onto a paved road on our way to the airport.

As we walked out onto the ramp, we saw a big cargo DC-10 landing. That was the jet that we had to move our airplane for. By the time I got in the cockpit, the DC-10 was already in front of us, waiting for us to move so it could take our spot. So, I fired up the engines, and moved it back to the same spot it had been in before they asked us to start moving it. Yes, our original spot. Ahhh, Africans.

The field manager and I got back in our car and our driver took us to the hotel. Our airplane tech needed to stick around a little longer, so he took a taxi. After he got back to the hotel he told us about how they had taken the road of sand again and this time they got stuck. So, he got out of the car and helped direct traffic to give the driver enough room to pull out of the sand trap. I had a good laugh picturing our airplane tech out there directing traffic. I'm just glad it wasn't me.

The road along the beach that our hotel is on:






Arriving at our hotel:




View from the entrance to the hotel lobby:




The next day we completed our first mapping flight and it was a flawless one. They decided we'd do another one the next day just to make absolutely sure we got everything, though. The second flight went almost as well as the first and the company was happy with what we had done so now it was time to go home. We were scheduled to leave the next morning.

To Africa - Part II

After an overnight in the Canaries, we took off for Bamako, Mali; our first fuel stop in Africa. Our three hour flight would take us over hundreds of miles of the Western Sahara Desert as we crossed over Morocco and Mauritania and then into the lush jungle terrain of southern Mali. The Sahara was definitely a God-forsaken place. I don't remember ever seeing any kind of body of water or sign of civilization (except on the coast) for the hundreds of miles that we spent traversing it's terrain from 35,000 feet. The terrain would occasionally change from a reddish mountainous terrain like you would see in the deserts of the American West, to a flat terrain full of identical sand dunes for as far as you could see.



Arriving at the airplane at dawn in Lanzarote:


Crossing into Morocco, over the Western Sahara Desert:




















I went over my plan of action, in case the unthinkable - a dual engine failure - were to occur. I would quickly point the airplane toward the nearest airport, if there was one. I would then allow the airplane to begin a shallow descent while executing all of our memory items (standby fuel pumps on, ignition switches on, etc...) and then run through the checklist in an attempt to restart the engines. While that was happening I would quickly note our latitude/longitude off of our multi-function display and alert air traffic control to our position and current condition. I would then activate the emergency locator transmitter (ELT). If the engine restart failed, I was reasonably certain we could land the jet on one of the sand dunes, gear up, and after giving a final latitude/longitude report to ATC just a minute or so from touchdown we could be certain that someone would know our exact position and be able to home in on our ELT. Of course, it would be many hours if not days before any help would arrive, but with our survival kit of bottled water, food, flares, sleeping bags, and other items, I think we would've made it out of there alive. Also, if we were to land it without any serious damage to the airplane, our satellite phone would still be working and would be another invaluable communication source; allowing us the ability to call literally anyone in the world. But thankfully, none of that happened, and we made it across the Sahara after about an hour and a half of flying time.

There is virtually no radar coverage in Africa, which means that the ATC controllers cannot see where you are, and because of that, we had to make position reports as if we were over the ocean.

As we crossed into Mali, the terrain changed into the lush jungle terrain I mentioned earlier. On approach, I looked down at the city of Bamako and saw dirt roads and shacks and nothing more. This would be my first time in Africa, and it looked exactly like I thought it would - poor, depressing, and a little scary. About an hour before, we had read through the latest Notices to Airmen (NOTAMS) about the Bamako airport, and were alerted to possible goats, dogs, and other animals on the runway. I was flying, and was preparing myself to go-around if I saw a herd of goats that wouldn't leave the runway.











Thankfully, the runway was clear and we landed at Bamako with no problems and then taxied into the ramp area. Our handler directed us where to park. He was an African man in his late 50's, and he carried an umbrella which I assume was used to shield him from the African sun, but in our case, was used to help direct us where to park.

We shut down the engines and opened the door to find our handler, his assistant, and three soldiers (minus the AK-47's, thank God). The handler and his assistant greeted us with a warm smile and decent English, and then helped us with the paperwork.

This place gave me the willies. I did NOT want to have to stay here. There was nothing particularly frightening about it, really, but it was my first time in Africa and I just didn’t like the feel of the place. My fear was that we would start the airplane again and find out that there was some kind of maintenance issue that required us to remain in Bamako for a few days. Luckily, that did not happen and after a quick refuel and some chit chat with our handlers, we blasted out of there on our way to Accra.

One of the things I love about flying a jet is just how quickly you can leave a place that you don't like. That's why blasting out of Bamako felt really, really good. But, of course, we were still in Africa and would eventually be landing in the Congo to stay for a few days. It's not like the Congo would be any better than Bamako, but it still felt really good to leave that place.

We were on our way to Accra, Ghana - a large African city on the coast. Flying time would be about 2 hours. We flew east-southeast for the first half of the flight into Burkina Faso to avoid Côte d'Ivoire's (formerly known as Ivory Coast) airspace. After we were clear of their airspace, we made a turn to the south into Ghana all the way to its southern coast to the city of Accra.

Somewhere over western Africa:


Accra was fairly modern, at least compared to the rest of western Africa. They actually had radar for approach into the airport. We landed at a busy time for the airport, got some fuel, and took off for the Congo.

Accra to Pointe Noire, Congo would be about a three hour flight. We flew across the Gulf of Guinea to the city of Libreville, Gabon, and then south along the coast to Pointe Noire. Somewhere around Libreville we crossed the equator and I took a picture of our flight management system (FMS) showing our latitude as S 00 00.00 - right on the equator. The picture of our MFD also shows exactly where on the map we were when we crossed it.











We descended into Pointe Noire at dusk. By this time, we had gotten fairly used to the incompetency of the African controllers. It took both of us, concentrating on what the controllers were saying, to even partially understand what they were talking about. In fact, you'd never understand what they're saying unless you already had a pretty good idea of what they're going to say.

The Pointe Noire controller was just as bad as the rest. Instead of him directing us where to go, we just told him which point we were going to and which approach we were going to fly. He seemed ok with that and we landed at the coastal city with no problems.

The airport was bustling with activity. It was dark now, and as we opened to door to exit the airplane, we were greeted by the other members of our team who had airlined in a few days before. Our field manager also spoke French, which was great, as French is official language of the Congo Republic.

We also had a handler who, along with our field manager, guided us to the terminal where we went through the customs process for entry into their country. The terminal was not in great shape and not very clean either but it didn't look like anyone cared. This was Africa, after all.

After the customs process was over, we followed our guides to a small room full of Africans. It was the immigration office, we were told. We sat down while our field manager argued with the guy in charge of immigration. I didn't plan on immigrating to the Congo, but nevertheless, this was where we were. Our field manager told us that they were saying our passports were no good because their government had changed with the recent election. It was a bogus claim in an attempt to receive a bribe. Our field manager argued with them some more and eventually the matter was resolved. The immigration official would accept our passport because we were a special case - we were pilots, he said. Great, now let's get out of here and onto the hotel, I thought.

We left the small immigration room to the main terminal area, which was full of locals. We quickly walked out of the building into the parking lot which was also full of locals. Immediately, we were bombarded with locals trying to help us with our bags, in exchange for money, of course. We dismissed them and made our way to a pickup truck, where all of the radar equipment that we had carried from Denver, was being loaded. It was the pickup truck of a local, who our field manager had hired to carry the equipment to our hotel. Our field manager asked our radar technician to ride in the truck with the local to which our radar tech replied, "by myself?" I gave him a very sympathetic laugh as our aircraft technician then volunteered to ride with him.

Now our field manager would have to negotiate (a word I would hear a lot in Africa) with the driver the price of transporting the equipment. As they were negotiating, some local children were standing next to us calling us "Chief" and asking for money. We did our best to ignore them and guarded our pockets as well.

After the negotiating was done, it was time for all of us to head to the hotel. We had our own car and driver; a local taxi who our field manager had hired a couple days before. We were now on our way to the hotel and out of the airport madness.

There were only a few paved roads in town; everything else was dirt or sand. There are no rules of the road in the Congo, at least none that are enforced. People just drive any way they deem appropriate. There is no right of way. People cross the street constantly and were nearly hit by our car on many occasions. I'm sure many people are hit by cars every day in that city, but I doubt anyone cares. This is Africa, after all.

Taxi ride from airport to hotel:


We finally made it to a street along the beach and then turned into our hotel. The Hotel Palm Beach had a wall around it with a security post at the entrance. After checking in, we dropped our luggage off in our rooms and went upstairs for dinner.

It was a nice restaurant and a nice hotel, at least by African standards. Actually, by African standards it was five-star all the way. The food was pretty decent, though I soon learned that their pizzas were the best. It reminded me of the pizza I used to eat in France.

After a long dinner, we headed off to our rooms. We would spend the next day exchanging our US dollars for local currency, getting a local cell phone, and filing our flight plan with the air traffic control tower for our upcoming mapping flights.

We had spent the last four days travelling 9,000 miles on 22 hours of flying time and now it was time to get some sleep.