Dream Flights
I have flown for quite a few years now, qualifying for my PPL in 1977 and flying a modest amount each year since.
In 1998 we decided to take a different kind of holiday, pack everything we enjoyed into it, and took that holiday in a place where everything is intended to be enjoyable. The Caribbean.
In the spirit of the idea, we touched on aviation at several points. My wife Alison also enjoys riding her horse, so some horse riding was also part of the idea.
January 10th, we arrived at Heathrow, taking the quickest option to Barbados, and the first aviation thrill, Concorde! Not being in the category of regular supersonic travellers, we found this to be a profound delight. Thanks to El Nino the upper air headwind was also significantly lower, and our scheduled flight time of 4 hours 15 minutes, awesome in itself, was reduced to 3 hours 40 minutes, and of course we left right on time. Arriving 20 minutes before we left, at 9.15 am local time, we still had a full extra day on the island too, bargain! Arriving before we had left made up for being "cheated" of the extra 35 minutes we'd have spent on Concorde (there's no pleasing some people!).
Concorde's flight deck, 60,000 feet up, Mach 2, about 45 minutes left to run …
The first week of the holiday was to be spent in Barbados, the second in St Lucia. Alison was to ride horses on both islands, however my flying treats were only going to begin after a hard week of winding down from work, snorkelling and "submarining", getting sunburned, the usual kind of thing.
We were sorry to leave Barbados, and the wonderfully placid western coast sunsets. Some other time, perhaps ...
The inter-island flight, courtesy of LIAT and one of their Dash 8's, was interesting, contrasting the low-lying, scrubby nature of the Bajan landscape with the lush mountainous terrain of St Lucia. The trade winds that had made Barbados so deceptively cool made more mountainous islands quite an aviation experience. They blow in from the east, in general, and usually at about 30 knots, and as the Dash 8 weaved between the peaks of St Lucia, bound for George Charles Airport, close to the capital, Castries, there was a significant amount of slipping and sliding movements as the aircraft rode the shifting currents and eddies. A seat-of-the-pants pilot would have had but one message ... "confusion".
We had arrived on the Saturday, enjoying a period of adjustment to our new location before starting into our own activities again. Since St Lucia's beaches weren't as good as those of Barbados, the temptation just to hang out and swim was less compelling too, and by the Wednesday we'd just about adjusted to the rigours of flying as a leisure activity.
We met Conrad at the George Charles airport and were introduced in turn to the Cherokee 180, which was to be our "ride". Sitting rather faded by the tropical sunshine and looking somewhat weathered thanks to the salty air, "Rudolph" still had that aura of solidity that a well-used aeroplane eventually acquires, that patina of endless skies, endless dusty places visited. Peter, the owner, later revealed that he'd been on a trip virtually to Alaska in this aeroplane, and it regularly sortied northwards across the Americas.
With the formalities already completed on Peter's computer (flight plans and triplicate customs forms for each place, since just about every trip is an international flight) it remained to clear customs, a simple matter for "crew", and board the aeroplane. The 180 hp engine fired first time and burbled happily, and under a searing winter sun we taxied to the holding point for runway 09, backtracking 27. On the way there Conrad started offering advice on handling the aeroplane in Caribbean conditions. The turbulence was the main factor. The idea was that just about every landing and takeoff would be performed at about 80 knots, well above the 65-70 knots I'd been expecting, keep a contingency of speed in hand. At some airfields there would be an additional technique to maximise takeoff performance, adding flap at the moment of rotation. Dragging an aeroplane with flaps down the runway would affect acceleration, so leave the flaps up until they were required, then apply them, rotate and climb away. Sounds simple, but a Cherokee's manual flaps always take a bit of a haul to apply, so this could be amusing.
At George Charles, however, there is plenty of runway for a Cherokee 180, even on a hot day, so flaps at the threshold were not a problem in this case. If a US airline could put a 727 into George Charles, then we'd be OK. However the first 727 to arrive there was also put through the perimeter fence because of the nice tropically soaked runway ...
We accelerated down runway 09 and lifted off into the turbulence, rocking and swinging, but climbing! Conrad swept his hand in a "turn left" movement and I banked fairly steeply to port and out over the bay north of Vigie Point. The thick vegetation and red and silvery roofs fell away behind, replaced by the turquoise blue of the shallow bay. Conrad's advice was that the turbulence was being generated from the hills at the eastern end of the runway, and a quick exit northwards was always a smart move. So, well below the altitudes I'd ever been told to initiate crosswind legs, we were already on track for Point-a-Pitre, Martinique. The lush greenery of St Lucia became muted in the blinding haze, although beneath the aircraft the sea, 1500 feet below, was now looking a very deep and choppy blue, deep water. We passed Pigeon Island a short time later, only the day previously we'd visited the place on foot.
Conrad was already playing with the GPS, and despite my impression that we'd just need to turn north and wait for more land to appear, I began to see the use of GPS in these almost IFR circumstances. We reported, "north coast, St Lucia" to George Charles, and were handed over to Point-a-Pitre at "mid channel". Pretty much the moment we contacted Martinique we could also see "Diamond Rock" glistening in the distance, and the mass of the island looming ahead in the haze. I was still waiting for the engine to go into auto-rough at mid-channel but it never missed a beat.
The French controller directed us to head straight to the airfield, report "south coast, Martinique" and to join downwind for runway 09. Point-a-Pitre is, by Caribbean standards, huge. Once we'd crossed the hills at the south coast, the airport lay ahead in the large plain occupied by the city Port au Prince, the airport, and large tracts of farmland and marshland. For my first landing in the Caribbean this was going to be very simple, a nice easy introduction, so I took a standard circuit, perhaps slightly wide, so that I could assess the conditions as we motored down final approach in the gusts and the thermals.
We landed with no problems at all, apart from those of sheer distance. It looked like it could be a 2 mile taxiing exercise to reach the terminal and thanks to some confusion between Conrad and the less-than-helpful controller, we ended up parked outside the old terminal building rather than the GA park adjacent to our initial turnoff point. In the heat and humidity, the amount of walking required was formidable, but eventually all formalities were observed in typical Gallic tradition (hand waving and a conspicuous lack of interest). It was with great relief that we boarded Rudolph again and set out for the holding point.
Our next stage was to Canefield Airport in Dominica, the next island along, and absolutely nothing to do with the Dominican Republic, an entirely different Caribbean location! I'd fancied Canefield as the Dominican airport of choice because the approaches seemed simpler on paper than those for Melville Hall Airport on the north-eastern side of the island. To land at Melville Hall apparently requires the base leg to be carried out just above the treetops northwest of the runway and the turn onto finals needs to be accurate because overshooting the centreline puts an aircraft uncomfortably close to the mountains south of the airport. OK, Canefield it is.
We departed Martinique, climbing ahead and into a wide circuit to the south of the airport, instructed to pass overhead the landing threshold at 2000 feet, heading northwest. Off we went as planned, on the downwind leg an Air France 747 slid over the threshold to land. We would have headed directly on track for Canefield except for the large mountains which are effectively the northern end of Martinique, these have peaks over 4000 feet and although we could clear them, it wouldn't be by very much so we opted for the western coastal route. For most Caribbean islands a western coastal route is a very bumpy route as those trade winds have just passed over and around those 2-4000 ft mountains, the easterly route is always more placid in standard trade winds conditions, but is often somewhat circuitous. So we endured and in a way enjoyed the random changes in heading and altitude as best we could while listening to the radio chatter of other aeroplanes playing the airy heights in comfort. The cloud from the mountains was always intriguing, always changing. Never really moving. The lush greenery extending up the steep slopes and into the enveloping shrouds made it all rather simple to look at, no chaotic manmade patterns, nothing particularly intriguing or puzzling. We called "north coast Martinique" and were handed over to Canefield at "mid channel", losing the French atmosphere and returning to the pseudo French/English of the majority of the islands inhabitants. We were cleared directly to Canefield, "call at the south coast, call field in sight, call base leg" and motored towards the mountains rising from the sea. There is a small strip of flat land around Dominica, its called a road. There are also small alluvial areas at the foot of some of the peaks, and on which mankind has built settlements. They can't be called cities, and barely be called towns, and the chaos of red, silvery, rusty roofs contrasts sharply with the unremitting greenery, rising at improbable angles on the slopes of the mountains.
Scott's Head - Dominica
The buffeting alongside Dominica reached new and exciting proportions, the aeroplane rather like some toy boat at the foot of Niagara Falls. We remained well out to sea in order to avoid the worst of the ride, and the more extreme downdraughts. However Canefield airport was on this coast, and to reach it we also had to reach land, preferably while still airborne! Canefield is an odd airfield by typical Caribbean standards. The main oddity is that the runway is approximately north-south (01/19). Trade winds are of course east-to-west. Not only that, but when they reach Canefield they've just been forced over 4000 foot mountains and are gratefully heading back to sea level. So I was expecting a 90-degree crosswind with downdrafts. What I wasn't expecting was the proximity of the airport to the sea and the mountains. See previous references to a road.
Back home in England I'd rehearsed these trips in a flight sim package on a PC, just to get the orientation of the landmasses and the approximate times en-route, plus an inkling of what was involved in each landing. The orientation and times en-route aspect worked surprisingly well, but the terrain modelling on the computer was, shall we say, fanciful? Or, perhaps totally incorrect. Canefield does not in fact exist in amongst flat land occupied by sugar cane plantations at all ... the name is an example of Caribbean humour. The land near Canefield airport is less than 300 yards from coast to foothills, and some of that is taken up by the previously referred to road. The other surprise was that at each end of the runway there was no more flat land, instead there were rocky bluffs a few hundred feet high on which had been built small communities. So the approach to Canefield involves flying towards one of the communities (the northern runway end) and when you could see the slats on the shutters, turn right and land. Conrad was getting pretty tense about this newcomer to the Caribbean trying this approach in one go and suggested that if I didn't like the situation to feel free to throw away the approach and ... err perhaps head back to St Lucia! I resolved to abort at the slightest hint of something unmanageable and the stress level went up a couple of notches.
It was the easier approach since the bluff housing the southern threshold's community was taller and closer to the runway and the Cherokee just wouldn't descend quickly enough to land if we overflew that village, even at rooftop level. Conrad was willing me to make the approach at a direct 45-degree angle to the threshold and turn final over the numbers (at 80 knots) and somehow stop in the remaining runway. I decided to hedge my bets a little more, ever mindful of Conrad's concerns, and be ready to execute a sharp right turn out to sea if things started to get hairy. Every moment became a continue/abort decision point. The ride became rougher, the houses got closer and Conrad's hand was saying turn right, turn right, 45 degrees to the runway. I decided that I was happier with a compromise, curved turn onto a line that was perhaps 25 degrees off the runway centreline, which took me closer to the hill and gave me less of a last-minute turn to perform. Due to the short runway, a high approach just wasn't an option, floating at 80 knots over any more runway than strictly necessary was also not an option, so the curving turn also dropped us past the houses now flicking past the port wingtip. With eyes fixed on the threshold and judging the approach, the buildings flicking across my peripheral vision were quite distracting. 25 degrees, the nearest thing to final we were going to get and the runway was closing fast. We crossed the rocky shoreline at 80 knots and 50 feet or less, full flap at the last moment before reaching shore, we were committed to land. A turn calculated to bring us to the centreline, but not so steep that we would drag a wingtip in the grass, and suddenly, sink! Power on and the aeroplane fishtailed feet above the tarmac, ballooned slightly. I maintained attitude and brought the aeroplane down on power, chopping the throttle and standing on the brakes at the same moment, while taking off the flap to keep us firmly on terra-firma as the speed fell below flying speed. We stopped with 25 feet of runway left and a hill just beyond the perimeter fence, did a quick 180 and taxied in, getting a sobering view of the approach we'd just flown, elation all round. Conrad was happy too; he was still alive!
Canefield was friendly and relaxed, and we took a small jeep cab to Roseau, to admire the gingerbread architecture, and to find lunch and a drink.
Departure from Canefield was also interesting, but before we left we watched an island-hopping Dornier 228 approach over the southern community and their tall bluff. Because the aeroplane was uninsured to do the northerly approach it performed this rather hazardous straight-in approach, fully utilising its STOL capabilities. Even more impressively it departed southwards too, rotating with very little runway remaining, and climbing like a homesick angel until the bluff disappeared under its retracting wheels. We, in Rudolph, were to leave the way we came, taking off northwards and cranking around to port and getting away from land as soon as possible. Takeoff checks acquired a certain extra importance in such circumstances. The windsock pointed like an old seafarers telescope out to sea, resolutely and implacably offering us just a strong crosswind. Somewhat less resolutely I pointed the aeroplane down the runway and applied power, wondering why I would do things like this and call it a holiday. This was the first time we did the last-minute flaps trick. It was going to be a double act, I'd sense the aeroplane's willingness to fly and I'd call "flaps" as I rotated at which point Conrad would haul on 2 stages and in theory we'd be departing! I held the aeroplane on the ground until 75 knots, keeping just enough back pressure to stop the nose wheel from undergoing any more stress than was normal, the speed was soon at 80 and I called for flaps and rotated decisively and climbed us to about 50 feet as the flaps came on. At that point I reduced the climb angle and turned hard out to sea, very conscious of the tailwind component we were now getting from the land. After a few more moments the aeroplane felt more assured about things and we took off the flap and climbed away westwards for about a mile before turning southwards en route for George Charles. Dominica looked magnificent to port side although the turbulence was giving us something of a kicking and the engine RPM would fluctuate rapidly as its workload constantly changed. We opted to pass Martinique by taking the east coastal route and on handoff to Point-a-Pitre we informed them of this decision. The eastern part of Martinique was less dramatic than the western coastal areas but the ride was much more relaxed, the only hitch was when the Point-a-Pitre controller insisted on referring to George Charles as "sierra lima ooneeform" which confused Conrad despite it being his home base's three-letter code. An American Eagle pilot heading over into Grenada came on frequency and laconically remarked "he's referring to George Charles".
Our handover to George Charles went well and St Lucia loomed from the haze ahead. We routed across to the west of the island to pick up the base leg for runway 09, picking up the lighthouse at Vigie Point as the most visible landmark. Here the final approach doesn't seem so bad, the mountains and hills to the south being on the far side of Castries and the harbour, and Vigie Point, a small hill right by the threshold, not seeming to be a significant hazard. We took about a 1 mile final, slightly high, and motored in. Conrad warned that there would be a potential wind shear at 400 feet as the aeroplane passed over a steep granite island in the harbour entrance and sure enough, we got wind shear at 400 feet. Being prepared meant that the power was already being fed in and we cruised through it without an upset, and coasted in to land with the sun setting behind us; our shadow already applying its brakes on the runway ahead!
Profuse thanks to Conrad, and a request that if he could find the time, we'd love to take him and his wife out for dinner.
The next trip was scheduled for Saturday, southbound with Peter, the aircraft's owner. In typical Caribbean winter style it dawned sunny and bright and we took a taxi from Marigot bay across Castries to the airport. Peter is one of those expatriate Englishmen who seems to have lost absolutely nothing of his Englishness, and was the model of civility and charm. An unlikely looking adventurer whose life nevertheless is filled with interesting undertakings and challenges overcome.
Today we were looking at many more landings, the route taking us to St Vincent and thence to the Grenadines, an archipelago of tropical paradises casually strewn between St Vincent and Grenada. In the Grenadines we'd be visiting Bequia, Canouan, Mustique, Union Island and Carriacou. Despite all this there'd only be three sets of customs forms required, one for arrival in St Vincent from St Lucia, one for arrival in Carriacou from Union Island (Carriacou is part of Grenada, all the other Grenadines are under the umbrella of St Vincent, although Mustique is something of a law unto itself). The final set of forms would be for arrival in St Lucia from Carriacou.
We departed George Charles in typical style, with a sharp turn port and north out over the bay to leave the turbulence behind. In this instance we were doubling back on ourselves and so we took a downwind leg past Vigie Point lighthouse and turned southwards to fly along the west coast of St Lucia. There was a fair amount of rain about in various showers, which could be seen painting the surface of the Caribbean like huge artist's brushes beneath the towering cumulus, 4/8 broken. The air was a lot clearer than Wednesday's unbroken haze and St Vincent could be seen as we were handed over to Hewanorra approach control. Hewanorra is the international airport of St Lucia, situated at the opposite end of the island from the tourist hotels, and, in view of the St Lucian road "system", probably about a 2-hour 20-mile drive. Hewanorra looked very peaceful as we called abeam the Pitons in turbulence, and about 2 or 3 minutes later we crossed the extended centreline for Hewanorra's runway 11 and out across the Caribbean to St Vincent, brooding under a canopy of cloud which sadly obscured the volcanic crater on the northern part of the island.
The airport at St Vincent (ET Joshua) is on the south-eastern part of the island and so we routed around the less turbulent eastern coast, after the customary "mid-channel" and "north coast" calls, quite a relief after the kicking we got as we passed abeam the Pitons (I wanted to be close, and we kept 2 miles offshore, it seemed close enough!). Along the eastern coast of St Vincent we passed through a fairly hard tropical downpour which rendered us effectively IFR for about 4 very loud, very dark, very blind minutes, after which we emerged into sparking sunshine and a glittering sea ahead. Beneath us the black sand beaches passed one by one as the mountains to starboard began to moderate into high hills. Kingstown appeared to the southwest and we called "field in sight" as the runway became visible dead ahead. This is another of those airports where the landing direction is not optional, you always land from the southwest, and by about 400 feet you are committed (in a Cherokee at least) to landing whatever happens. Because there is a pronounced upslope aeroplanes tend to stop quite well, and the runway is generous in Caribbean terms. However all departures are tailwind takeoffs to the southwest because of the runway upslope and highish terrain to the northeast means departures are not completely safe even assuming the aeroplane can outclimb the upward slope.
As we approached the airfield our plan to approach over the sea to the east of the airport and turn onto right base for runway 07 was thwarted by a departing Helenair Beechcraft commuter airliner. We asked the controller which way the Beechcraft was climbing out, guessing that it was going to be in our direction and sure enough it was, taking the eastern less bumpy route to St Lucia. We therefore improvised and with the controller's approval we routed overhead the airfield as the Beechcraft curved away eastwards beneath our port side. Moments later we passed a frigate bird, same level and about 30 feet to starboard. Never was I so relieved to have avoided a bird strike, I'd never comprehended just how large those birds are.
Left base leg for ET Joshua, St Vincent (centre)
We descended over Kingstown and curved around onto finals, the runway upslope becoming more apparent by the moment. Apart from some extra power at the last stage of final, the landing was a walk in the park. We took a cab into Kingstown, being offered the full tour by the taxi driver. We explained that we had a full day ahead of us, off the island and we couldn't really go for that. He was quite persistent but we had to fix our time in Kingstown at one hour and no more, enough to visit the churches there (very odd architecture, believe me) and take in the main drag through town. Our ride reappeared on schedule and we took a somewhat circuitous route back to the airport where Peter had remained, chatting to various people and making friends, the only way to really get on in business in the Caribbean or elsewhere.
We departed ET Joshua downhill and downwind on runway 25, a very long takeoff run with a 30 knot tailwind, the wheels were probably very relieved to stop spinning I should imagine! It was quite an odd feeling to have such a high groundspeed and to lift off and be flying level with the ground falling away as though we were climbing. Eventually it occurred to me that in fact we could manage a better climb angle and we went up to about 2500 feet en-route to Bequia (pronounced "beckwee"). The airport at Bequia had been extensively modernised, considering that it was such a small place, it had the aura of being a lot bigger, and the runway was actually clear of most of the high ground on the island, which made a change. However a tall rocky spine about 500 feet high extended across the extended centreline for runway 12 and made another curvy approach a necessity, although in this case it wasn't particularly challenging., at least compared with Dominica earlier in the week. The shortish runway wasn't a great problem despite our 80-knot approach. I felt I was getting the hang of all this after all.
We were just "collecting airports" so we stayed as briefly as we could. However there was a detective in the airport who was looking for a ride to Union Island, three stops away, since we were planning on routing Mustique, Canouan and thence to Union Island before carrying on to Carriacou. I must admit I had reservations about the idea of flying 4-up in a Cherokee in 90-degree temperatures from short runways. About the only thing that wasn't a problem was actual altitude since most airfields were a few feet above sea level. I expressed my concern to Peter about weight and its distribution and he did a few quick calculations based on his knowledge of the aeroplane and was happy with the ability to depart from Bequia and arrive at Union Island in safety. I looked at the airfield charts and discovered that Canouan and Mustique were probably borderline cases and elected to fly our impromptu passenger directly to Union Island. In the Caribbean things work so much more smoothly if you're well in with the authorities, and this favour was doing Peter a lot of good. We departed heavily-laden from Bequia, climbing straight ahead until the aeroplane felt completely contented and then turned right on course for Union Island. In the brilliant sunshine, over the glittering sea all my concerns over weight and balance faded into the background and I pondered what Union Island was going to offer in the way of arrival or departure quirks. Peter briefed me about the approach, and for runway 08 there was a high ridge on finals necessitating a steep approach. Generally it could be avoided by turning onto finals about 400 yards from the threshold and about 150 feet below the crest of the ridge, however with four on board and potentially tricky wind conditions we elected to skim over the ridge and face the known factor of a sharp wind gradient over the crest. Since we wanted to descend rapidly after the ridge in any case it seemed reasonable.
I resumed looking around at the beauty of the surroundings, the visibility was superb, the rainstorms parading a few miles behind us, between St Vincent & St Lucia, were but a memory. This was a different world. On my scans to starboard I occasionally noticed the detective's hand holding the grab handle above his window. I wondered whether he was nervous about this pilot, whose knowledge of Caribbean flying was still pretty much zero. He had been warned!
En-route we passed Mustique, rather far to port to see any details, and we passed more closely to Canouan and I caught my first glimpse of the airfield there. The runway was being extended. Peter mentioned that they're adding about 1/3 extra to the runway, however this resulted in the runway being temporarily shorter, about 2/3 of its length before the works started. Added to that was the presence of a very large crane, parked centrally on the new section, jib aloft, close to what should be the threshold for my landing. I resolved to take a closer look when we returned and make a decision at that time.
Union Island is rather large by Grenadines standards, and we crossed the eastern tip and turned south-westwards along the southern coast. We had a grand view over the entire island, with its interestingly sculpted peaks and distinctive hills. The airfield appeared ahead, the approach was going to be a "downwind join" over the sea, descending to about 1500 feet, turning above the new marina being built, flying a base leg which would be at 45 degrees to final approach (avoiding another mountain) and then flying a half-mile final. At 1/4 mile out we'd cross the ridge and then descend as rapidly as possible to land. On the downwind leg I took a good look at the ridge, it was almost knife-edged and not at all wide, and sat square across final approach. A three-degree glideslope passed through this ridge about halfway up. Hmm.
We wheeled overhead the marina and angled towards final at about 1500 feet and in a gentle descent, mountain to the left and the ridge ahead with the runway visible beyond. I arranged the descent to keep the runway visible since I didn't want to be flying level as we approached the ridge, forward visibility in the Cherokee not being in the same league as the Robin aircraft I would generally fly. If we were going to clip a tree or a house I'd like to know beforehand so I could remember a prayer quickly!
Our groundspeed decreased markedly as we turned onto final and power was fed in progressively. There were houses on the ridge and I was anxious not to go over there with handfuls of power so I put a contingency of speed onto the approach and kept the runway in sight as the houses drew close. With about 15 seconds to the crest of the ridge I reduced power almost to idle and skimmed past the houses and bushes with about 150 feet to spare and about 10 knots excess speed. Now we had to get down! A gently-entered sideslip knocked the excess speed away very quickly and with full flap applied as we crossed the ridge line we were set up fairly well for a steep approach. The deceleration worked rather too well, for in fact I needed to apply a dribble of power to maintain a decent approach slope in the very late stages. We touched down on the numbers and decelerated as rapidly as we could, using about 3/4 of the available runway. A rapid taxy back to the apron and our good deed was done. The detective went off to solve his murder (for such was the crime) and we bought some tourist bits & pieces.
At Union Island we needed to make a choice, the next logical place to visit would be Carriacou, south of Union Island, and then return to St Lucia via Canouan and Mustique, however our flight had added extra time to the entire schedule, with organising the detectives bag and weapons etc in the Cherokee, and we were now running close to the far end of the flying day, the tropical sunset. Sunset in the Caribbean is not the laid-back affair you might expect. For those of us flying in the 40 and 50-degree latitudes those long summer twilights are a fact of life. In the Caribbean the sun descends steeply to the horizon and carries on steeply below it. Sunset is quick, twilight is short, and darkness is almost absolute. Our route timings and allowances for time on the ground now extended just beyond sunset, and Carriacou had to go off the agenda. Peter called through to cancel our arrival there and we headed back out to the aeroplane for the next leg, to Mustique.
As Peter was bidding his farewells to the Union Island officials I watched a Britten-Norman Islander arrive, taking the "turn finals after the ridge" approach. It was impressive from the ground, but just another day to them. There were no passengers arriving, and the crew had time to chat with us. They knew Peter already, so I assumed he'd occasionally made use of their services instead of flying Rudolph. It seemed like a fairly close aviation community in the Caribbean, despite the physical obstacles to socialising on a regular basis!
Departure from Union Island was not a problem, although we used the "flaps at rotation" technique to increase our margins somewhat. The runway was rather carrier-like, extending out a short way into the sea, with no obstacles to be overcome, so we simply climbed straight ahead to about 2000 feet and angled to port to follow the coast until we came to a gap between peaks and crossed the island (which took about 60 seconds) directly en-route to Mustique. To the east the Tobago Cays shone in the sunlight, with myriad yachts moored in the shallows created by the horseshoe reefs. Idyllic.
The Tobago Cays, nowhere near Tobago.
We bypassed Canouan en-route to Mustique, we'd be returning to Canouan in due course, our rather to-and-fro routing meaning that we would have fewer problems with arriving at airfields from the "wrong" departure point, all the paperwork would tie in a little better.
Peter mentioned the quirk at Mustique, there's always a quirk. Mustique's runway 08 has a ridge at the landing threshold (remember the trade winds, 08 is almost always the landing threshold) and the runway starts on the lower slopes of the ridge. There is a very small chance of landing "on the numbers" because the roundout would be so severe as to be dangerous for the unpractised aviator. However since the runway was used for bringing in and taking out a supply of the world's rich and famous, it is generous by Caribbean standards. I took a leisurely left-hand circuit to assess the landing, noting the somewhat redundant displaced threshold markings for 08, invisible until the ridge is crossed by which time they are well underneath the aeroplane! During the over flight of the island, I'd already selected a few houses that were suitable for my retirement, so long as I worked solidly for the next 500 years. Final was tricky to judge. Straight in but without the threshold being visible. Line up with the further stretch of runway and fly towards the ridge in a gentle descent, applying power as the ridge is approached to compensate for the venturi effect over the crest. We'd clear the crest by only 50 feet at best, so when serious sink started, a lot of power was used to drive towards the crest and the aeroplane needed to be flown level as it crossed the ridge rather than the ideal gentle descent. As the trees flicked below the power was chopped and the aeroplane settled into a gentle descent to the runway, still quite a few seconds from roundout but with runway already disappearing behind us. We touched down on the numbers and braked hard so as to make the single runway turnoff, to starboard. We had 50% of the runway ahead of us, unused! It was very quiet at Mustique, a few aeroplanes parked in grassy clearings between trees, and everything manicured to the last detail, a "designer island". A twin engined aircraft that had evidently landed extremely heavily, was being maintained to one side, the engine mountings still needing to be replaced since both engines were looking in a depressed fashion at the ground a few yards ahead of them.
We passed muster with the customs man, despite the fact that we'd just arrived from Union Island, another territory of "SVG" (St Vincent & Grenadines) and in theory his interest in us was irrelevant. Perhaps he was confused because we'd arrived late and had come from Union Island en-route to Canouan rather than from Bequia to Canouan. As it was, we didn't leave the airfield precincts anyway since we were now under pressure from the sunset time.
Takeoff from Mustique held its own fascinations thanks to the local geography. We taxied to the threshold, and in the spirit of the Caribbean, we used all the runway which entailed a steep uphill taxy to the turning area on the lower slopes of the ridge, then a 180 degree turn and apply the brakes. At this point the runway appears to you looking rather as though you have a couple of moments to round out before landing, the perspective is distinctly odd. At the far end of the runway is a hill. A hill that the average Cherokee isn't going to clear no matter how well it can be persuaded to climb. To the right of the runway at the far end is another hill. From the threshold the turn looks as though it should be to the left. I said to Peter "so, it look awfully like a left turn the moment the wheels are off the ground" to which Peter replied, "no, fly on towards the hill at the end, and about 20 seconds before you'd fly into it, a gap appears on the right and you turn right and fly through there". The thought of this and the downdrafts as the trade winds come over the hills immediately made the adrenalin switch back in. We decided that the Caribbean flaps procedure was still prudent despite the decent runway length and, power checks completed, I applied power and the aircraft headed downhill to the level section of runway 70 yards ahead of us. By the time we were on level ground the aeroplane was barrelling along very happily and the hill at the far end getting ever-closer. We arrived at flying speed and I called for flaps, then held the aeroplane down as the speed came up. Still the gap on the right hadn't appeared and I hoped momentarily that the builders on Canouan hadn't used Mustique as landfill. With moments to go before we became part of the hillside ahead, we flew past the hill to starboard and the gap appeared. I gratefully cranked the Cherokee around into a 60-degree-banked starboard turn and we arrowed through the gap and gratefully flew out over a rocky bay, the myriad hues of the water beneath seeming a little brighter than usual. Since we had a decent "head of steam" we retracted the flaps and turned further starboard and around the hill en-route to Canouan.
Steep turn to starboard avoiding the hills at Mustique.
As we approached Canouan we had the option of arriving on right base for their runway 13, situated between two sizeable hills. I discarded that option because I wanted a better look at the crane that was occupying the underrun area for 13, so instead I performed an overhead join, getting the lie of the land before committing myself any further. It looked very doubtful. The crane was very close to the threshold and it was obvious that the Cherokee wouldn't be able to pass over the crane and get onto the runway without overrunning. Since the overrun area consisted of huge boulders and then sea, it wouldn't do any of us any good to have excess speed here. There were three other aeroplanes parked there, so evidently the approach wasn't that problematical.
I positioned on a left-hand downwind leg, continually assessing the situation, performed the usual circuit checks, which by now were becoming very familiar, and then concentrated on assessing the feasibility of final approach. With Peter's agreement we'd try a final approach "with options", where the option was to throw away the approach and fly between the two hills and onward to St Lucia. The final approach was carried out offset about 10 degrees to the left of the runway, by now the situation of the airfield and crane were all known and I realised that we'd effectively fly past the crane jib, immediately turn through ten degrees to port while rounding out to land, throwing the approach away if things looked bad. The approach was flown quite slowly on this occasion, and against all flying school advice, full flap was applied only as we passed abeam the crane jib. Peter, in the right-hand seat kept a close eye on the jib and the moment he said "clear" and the landing was on, down went the last stage of flaps, for the last few seconds of flight. It made a difference too, with maximum braking we stopped 15 yards from the end of the runway, did a quick 180 and back to the apron. Upon arrival at the apron I realised that the three aircraft were all there as a lure! They'd all received some kind of damage from overruns, and ours was the one intact aeroplane there! Again we spent only a very short time here, as daylight time was running out.
The take off from Canouan was the most exacting, and I was intensely relieved that the detective we'd ferried had been met on Bequia rather than here, we'd just not have got out from the airfield with four on board. Dominica's fairly tricky Canefield had at least got a longish runway. Not so here at Canouan. The drill was for the full Caribbean short takeoff, no flaps until rotation, then 2 stages. Before the takeoff roll, full power against the brakes and then release and go, with slight back pressure to encourage better acceleration. Lining up was interesting, trying to get all the runway ahead of us without snaring the wingtip light in the building contractor's fencing, and the sight when I looked down the runway was not exactly encouraging. I'm accustomed to seeing obstructions at the end of runways, but not generally so close. We were lined up and about to roll, and those boulders were easily visible, waiting in the deceptively calming sunshine. It took a lot more resolve to open the throttle and launch the three of us towards those unwelcoming rocks. But I did.
Peter was very calm and I took some reassurance from this, he'd flown more than I could know, and he must have seen a great many situations unfold. I'd already agreed that while being P1 for these flights I would defer to him in all his recommendations, because of his experience and local knowledge. I don't think for a moment that he'd have hesitated to say "I'm not happy with this" if he was in any way concerned. So we went. The apron was approximately 200 feet from the far end of the runway; we were still on the ground as we passed the apron. I'd already decided that we'd build as much speed as possible and climb away at the last moment, so when I called "flaps" with 100 feet to run I knew the aeroplane was going to behave itself. We skimmed over the boulders with perhaps 20 feet clearance, very close, but not staggering into the air, which was what most worried me. I held the aeroplane low over the water until it felt ready to climb and as we passed through 250 feet began a gentle turn port to head in the direction of Mustique, this time en-route to St Lucia. Once again I could relax for a few moments. The idyll was somehow improved by the successful arrival and departure at Canouan, nothing better than a difficult job completed. I experienced a twinge of sadness as I thought fond thoughts of my last Caribbean takeoff "behind the wheel". It was wondrous to me.
We climbed steadily as we flew northwards along the eastern coast of Canouan, en-route to St Lucia. The haze to port was difficult now, the sun was in the west, brilliant, and the portside view was somewhat limited. The sea, golden and glittering, the sky, golden and fathomless.
We climbed around the hill and the Grenadines all came into view, Mustique ahead, Canouan behind, and the looming shape of Union Island still further behind seemingly on the horizon, with those strangely shaped mountains. Off beyond Mustique, and slightly to port was Bequia, and beyond was the bulky mass of St. Vincent, a dusty grey silhouette against the dusty golden sky.
Canouan. The runway just visible centre-right.
One more wistful glance at ET Joshua airport as we passed east abeam, and the resolutely cloud-clad volcano at the northern end of the island, and all of a sudden we were reporting "north coast St Vincent" and being handed back to St Lucia, Hewanorra control at "mid channel".
The Pitons appeared ahead from the haze, and Hewanorra airport on the flat land to the southeast of the Pitons, quiet in the late afternoon sun. Back in the lee of the Pitons the air became more playful again, but somehow I was just unconcerned about it. I was cramming memories of the days flying into my memory, trying hard to prevent everything just falling into one chaotic, wonderful thought, trying to keep the detail. Looking across at the incredibly verdant (no, impossibly verdant) landscape of St Lucia to starboard, tinted gold by the sunset to port, and all the bays and other places explored on the ground over the past week. Marigot Bay and our accommodation passes slowly by, tomorrow we begin our journey home to England, and I really just don't ever want to make that journey.
We pass the Hess oil storage area and the runway at George Charles comes into view from behind a headland. At that moment the vacuum pump fails, I mention it to Peter and apologise for being in control of his aeroplane when something like that happens. Somehow this random failure seems personal! Instruments are somewhat redundant in any case, the visibility is good, and the airspeed indicator is all we seem to need as I gently turn left base for runway 09, setting us up for my last landing in the Caribbean for goodness knows how long.
Apply power over the rocky outcrop at 400' on short final, and we coast the rest of the way with the aircraft's long shadow already on the runway ahead of us, the already 3D landscape popping into ever greater perspective as we settle to the runway between myriad hills, yachts moored, cruise ships looming in Castries harbour. Gentle touchdown, no brakes, no frenetic procedures, just a gentle letting-go, aching with sadness and poignancy. The slowest taxiing I can manage, and the final methodical shutdown, watching the prop as it spins down to stillness, savouring even the final small movements as it settles into its resting position in front of us. Then a moment of personal silence underpinned by the sounds of gyros spinning down to rest. A reluctant reaching for flight bags, a slow walk into the small terminal building and some paperwork. We sit in conversation with Peter, interrupted only by a hilariously drunken local politician who is ushered away by his minders, and talk of flying, and returning, and hope and wishes.
The sun has set and the remains of the daylight are fleeing, the tropical night sounds are starting up. Peter waits for us while Alison runs to the shore stripping down to her swimsuit, leaving garments all over Vigie beach, which I dutifully pick up as I follow. She swims for a short while then dries herself off and we are returned to Marigot Bay in Peter's car. Our gratitude can't be measured, we can't give thanks enough, and as Peter disappears into the Caribbean night I'm sure I'll never meet someone as generous of himself.
Tomorrow night he'll settle down to sleep before beginning another week of work in St Lucia, as we'll be in a 747 bound for London via Antigua, wishing we were not looking down to the darkened sea retreating behind us, putting more miles between us and paradise.
On the Sunday, in an attempt to avoid the blues, we took a helicopter trip with luggage, from Castries, Pointe Seraphine to Hewanorra Airport instead of a tortuous taxi ride, wonderful in itself, and a fitting end to an aviation-tinged holiday. But still the end.