Indian Ocean Island Odyssey (or Fiasco)
Jeffrey Kempson
Before the South African political transformation, a group of diving enthusiasts wished to extend their diving experience to the more northern reaches of the Indian Ocean.
They were aware of the Coelacanth discovery near the Comoros Islands, and the proliferation of exotic fish and turtles that enjoyed the warm waters surrounding the French dependency of Mayotte in the Comoros archipelago, which featured one of the largest lagoons on Earth.
The fishing club chartered a Douglas DC-6 freighter from Inter Ocean Airways at Lanseria. The freighter had been converted to passenger status by installing several rows of seats.
Whether the aircraft carried passenger oxygen outlets, a galley or other normal amenities found on passenger aircraft, I don’t know. These items are normally removed from freight aircraft to reduce weight to increase the of cargo capacity.
The installation of the seats and other passenger amenities took a few days longer than expected, so the passengers had to seek overnight accommodation. Some slept on seats at Lanseria airport and some in the squash court.
Once the aircraft was nearly ready, a Belgian pilot arrived to command the flight, aided by an American DC-3 Dakota owner and operator (Captain Fantastic in an earlier story) as co-pilot. The Belgian used to be a flight engineer and he sported a worn-out navy blue uniform with faded gold braid which made him look like a head waiter.
Once the DC-6 was deemed more or less ready for flight, work was suspended to allow the pilots to familiarise themselves with the aircraft during daylight hours. Then cosmetic finishes to the passenger installations were continued during the night.
During the afternoon the two pilots and a flight engineer started the engines. When the normal clouds of thick grey oil smoke cleared, they taxied out for a familiarisation flight watched by several passengers who had hoped to have been in the Comoros a couple of days previously.
The takeoff seemed fairly normal and the aircraft climbed away, then banked towards the general flying area. A while later the aircraft became visible on final approach, did an interesting landing, took power and went around again for another circuit.
Driving down the airport access road on my way home, I was startled to see this large four engine airliner descending toward me on the access road with undercarriage and flaps down. With a perceptible roar the machine took power to abort and at about four hundred feet it climbed away, trailing a little black smoke.
Whether they had mistaken the parallel access road for the runway or were just sightseeing, I was unsure.
The following morning work continued on the aircraft and the passengers gathered around at lunch time with the expectation of boarding for an afternoon departure.
Much later that afternoon, it became apparent that departure would be further delayed until at least the next day. The now disgruntled passengers were milling about the airport concourse when Captain Fantastic, looking resplendent in his airline uniform and braided cap ascended the lower segment of the staircase, lit a cigarette which he placed in a long black holder, and addressed the frustrated divers, who should have left a couple of days earlier.
Captain Fanatic’s oration was pure theatre, befitting a man who at an earlier age had to choose between becoming an opera singer or a fighter pilot. Hew chose the latter.
Captain Fantastic was approaching his late fifties, with a full head of grey hair, a handsome face, and a commanding American voice, he addressed the passengers with a disarming charm, and apologised for the fact that a couple of mechanical glitches had initially delayed their departure, but he now advised that his CIA contacts had advised him that there was a formidable Russian fleet present in the Comoros Island area of the Indian Ocean. Not knowing their intent, it seemed sensible to delay their departure for another day or so, until the Russian fleet had steamed clear of the area. Particularly as 52 South African apartheid era passport holders wouldn’t want to have to divert to the nearest other suitable runway at Dar as Salaam in Tanzania. At this, revelation, several of the passengers smiled, and actually applauded this precautionary revelation.
Whereupon, he descended the stairs, and shook several of the willing hands extended towards him.
Now, it became apparent to me that another major problem existed, notwithstanding the imaginary Russian presence at the desired diving location. A major, undisclosed discord existed between the two pilots.
The Belgian Captain was adamant that he would not land the large DC-6 on the relatively short airstrip of Mayotte, but only on the much longer airstrip on Moroni, the principal island of the Comoros archipelago. One of the contributing factors to this decision was that the electrically operated reversible pitch propellers used for braking were intermittent.
However, Moroni was not where the diver’s accommodation had been booked, and it also seemed that there now also existed some low level political dispute between the islands, and permission to land on Moroni had not as yet been forthcoming.
The divers had not been acquainted with this fact and the pilots still hoped to resolve the situation prior to departure.
The next morning, sounds of a tremendous hammering, not appropriate to the maintenance of a serviceable aircraft, issued from the interior of the DC-6 as the last required seats, and a few interior fuselage side panels were fitted. Late afternoon the aircraft was declared ready for the trip, and the passengers cleared immigration and customs formalities. With their weighty diving equipment stowed in the underfloor holds, they boarded the airliner.
As I shook Captain Fantastic’s hand and wished him Bon Voyage he casually said; ‘We’ll get the landing clearance en-route’.
Then he climbed the stairs, turned at the top, and after a theatrical wave, closed the door.
A small crowd of interested off duty pilots and airport personnel watched the DC-6 start up and belch further clouds of oily smoke. Then with chocks removed, the aircraft taxied to the 06 runway threshold, to run up the engines, and complete pre-take off checks. A few minutes later the sound of four Pratt & Whitney R2,800 radials roared along the runway. Abeam the tower the airliner lifted gracefully into the air and the undercarriage was retracted as the aircraft was held level with the runway to gather speed, before the nose was raised to the climbing attitude and the aircraft climbed skywards.
I watched the aircraft until it was out of sight, wondering if I’d ever see it again. It was late afternoon, and Comoros Island time was an hour ahead of us, so the aircraft should arrive there about an hour before local midnight.
Wishing them the best of luck, I headed for the bar.
Much later in that dark moonless night the DC-6 was unable to make radio contact with Moroni. There was no answer to their repeated calls, and the landing flare path had not been turned on.
Having covered nearly 1400 nautical miles, and then flown around on reduced power over Moroni, Capt. Fantastic, and the head waiter look-alike Captain in command considered their options.
Capt. Fantastic ventured the unwelcome opinion that as the passengers were all experienced aquatic divers, they should perhaps consider ditching the aircraft close to the Moroni shoreline. The flying Captain pointed out that the passengers may be good swimmers, and used to the sea, but that all their scuba equipment was locked in the underfloor holds, only accessible from outside the aircraft.
After further discussion Capt. Fantastic suggested that the only realistic option they had was to head for Dar es Salaam in Tanzania, a further 438 nautical miles away, and on first radio contact there declare a fuel emergency.
The other captain replied; “But that’s exactly where you told them they didn’t want to land, and the reason for the extra delay before the departure. And, anyway what about the presence of a large Russian fleet in the area?”
‘Well,” replied Capt. Fantastic. “I just made that up as a plausible explanation for our further departure delay.”
Anyway, a couple of hours later, with the aircraft decidedly low on fuel, they declared an emergency, and were allowed to land in Dar es Salaam.
Doubtless the aircraft’s American registration had helped smooth the landing request, but airport officials were astounded to find that the 52 passengers all carried South African passports.
The passengers were deplaned and herded into the airport terminal lounge on a transit basis, while telephone calls were made to the police, and senior Tanzanian Government officials.
Fortunately, it seemed that the local government was keen to get rid of the aircraft and its South African contingent as soon as possible, before the press could arrive, and a full blown diplomatic incident ensued.
Sadly, the crew did not have a fuel carne’ acceptable to the local fuel company, nor sufficient hard currency in US dollars to pay the landing fees, and refuel the aircraft.
But fortunately the aircraft was owned by a construction company in Johannesburg, with international connections, so it was arranged for British Airways in Dar to pay all the applicable fees, and be compensated by one of the company’s overseas associates.
This was done, and before too many local Tanzanians became aware of the potentially political embarrassment which the diversion had caused, the aircraft was once again taxiing out for takeoff with adequate fuel on board. Moreover, the Tanzanian government had secured landing permission for the aircraft at Moroni.
They took off, and headed back towards the Comoros; with the head waiter still refusing to land on the shorter Mayotte airstrip, where the passengers needed to go.
Some two hours later the DC-6 landed at Moroni, and immigration and customs formalities were completed.
However after landing at Moroni the DC-6B became unserviceable with severe propeller pitch issues which were so bad the plane struggled to clear the runway. So it was then declared unairworthy, pending spare parts and rectification, which now had to be done on the very remote Comoros archipelago.
Arguments ensued about how to get everyone to Mayotte, and to the ensemble’s great good fortune, a French Air Force C160 Transall was parked at Moroni. They were practising military exercises as the Comoros was once a French dependency.
The good natured Transall crew negotiated some sort of permission, boarded the passengers and their scuba gear and luggage then flew them all to Mayotte.
Grateful applause was accorded for this timeous favour.
One last obstacle stood in the way of the passengers leaving the airport for their booked hotel. A 12 foot tidal drop between the airstrip and the main part of the island.
A boat was arranged by the hotel, and once the tide table had been consulted, in due course several trips ferried the passengers and crew at last to their seaside accommodation.
Some several days later it was necessary to arrange a transfer of US Dollar funds to the DC-6 crew, to cover expenses on Mayotte, where banking services were close go non-existent. It was decided a light aircraft should be despatched to the island carrying US Dollar cash funds.
Knowing all the parties involved, and being considered an honest fellow, it was suggested that I pilot the aircraft for this mission. So, very early one bright morning, having been assured that Avgas was available in Mayotte, my then Commercial and instrument rated girlfriend pilot joined me, and due to the civil war in parts of northern Mozambique, we left Lanseria for Salisbury in the then Rhodesia for a refuelling stop, and bathroom break.
This particular Cessna 210 Centurion was fitted with extra fuel tanks in the wing tips that increased our endurance from 6 to 8 hours.
After the quick refuelling stop at the efficient then Salisbury main airport, we climbed to nine thousand five hundred feet and crossed northern Mozambique above extensive patches of cloud, which was a plus for being out of sight to potential ground fire.
The weather cleared over the Indian Ocean, and we landed uneventfully on Mayotte. The tar airstrip was in good condition, and adequate in length for aircraft up to about the BAe 748 airliner, but not a heavy DC-6.
Happily the tide fluctuation was in our favour, and a small boat, and then a Citroen delivered us to the small, but comfortable hotel.
After a shower, cocktails, and an excellent sea food dinner, various passengers cited reasons to try hitch a lift back to South Africa on the C210. I deflected these inquires with the spurious arguments that this aircraft was not insured for passengers crossing a sizable tract of ocean, and in any event safe passage could not be guaranteed, as we only had one engine, and should that fail, we’d all be swimming with the sharks.
This seemed to dissuade them, although some suggested a lottery type arrangement which would permit 3 passengers to accompany Captain Fantastic, my co-pilot girlfriend and me back to Lanseria. I also tendered the excuse that the aircraft would be considerably overweight with the amount of fuel we had to carry to get back to the mainland. This mollified them, as they were unaware that a mildly overweight C210 would have no trouble launching enthusiastically from a smooth tar runway at sea level.
After handing over the cash float to Captain Fantastic’s appointed deputy, we spent two nights on the island, our enjoyment only somewhat restrained by the understandably bleak mood of the now stranded diving club passengers.
On the third morning, my girlfriend and I took off on the return trip to Salisbury and Lanseria with Captain Fantastic in full captain uniform occupying a middle seat. Interesting to relate, he slept, or feigned slumber over the oceanic portion of the route. As we crossed the African coast he opened his eyes, and asked; “Where are we?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me,” I replied.
While refuelling at Salisbury, Captain Fantastic caught sight of a South African registered Citation jet boarding for Lanseria, and tried to cadge a ride. I knew the pilot and persuaded him not to agree on the grounds of insurance and company policy, as I felt he had been responsible for this entire fiasco, and should arrive home in a less triumphal style. This was relayed to him and accepted with bad grace.
The only significant weather we encountered on the trip was a large and virulent late afternoon thunderstorm between Lanseria and Pretoria, necessitating us diverting to Wonderboom.
Captain Fantastic lived in Pretoria, so his luck had finally turned, as after completing immigration and customs formalities, his wife arrived, and drove him home.
An hour later the storm had passed, and my girlfriend flew us back to Lanseria.
Several days later I was at Lanseria, when a chartered Safair L130 Hercules landed, and the Mayotte diving contingent and equipment disembarked. I now regret not having a camera with me, as several of the formerly stranded passengers actually knelt down and kissed the ground.
The hapless DC-6 remained on Moroni Island for several further weeks, sadly corroding badly in close proximity to the salty sea.
In due course, it was flown out by a different crew to Salisbury, where the efficient Rhodesian Affretair maintenance facility repaired it. Then it returned to service as the productive freighter it had been for many years.