The battery in our aircraft was working okay now, but my Canon camera battery lost its power so switched to my iPhone camera which I did not like using in flight as it has no wrist strap and any sudden turbulence could wrench it out of my hand and out of the cockpit where some unsuspecting hyena or giraffe could come across it and try to discern its identity and possible nourishment value. I thought about the wonderful movie, "The Gods Must Be Crazy" about a gentle Bushman of the Kalahari walking along in the desert to hunt for dinner when he gets hit on the head with an empty Coca Cola bottle tossed out of an airplane at high altitude. The poor Bushman, rubbing his sore head, picks up the bottle and looks up at a blue sky where he can just make out a distant object moving fast towards the horizon. That coke bottle "from the gods" became the center piece of a rash of misadventures for the innocent Bushman and his tribe.
There was a broken cloud cover which we decided to fly under. Good decision as the visibility under the clouds was very good and we flew low over the most amazing Zambian landscapes of alternating dense forests and emerald green meadows.
Just before landing in Kasama, we heard on the radio that Wolf and Emily had their plane's cylinder head temperature situation checked out and problem was explained and resolved and they were on their way now to join us. Everybody was happy to hear this. We had become a family of intrepid adventurers and we had enormous interest in the well-being of all of us. At Kasama, we taxied to our parking spots on a large square ramp in front of a slightly aged terminal. A chain link fence rimmed the ramp area and pressed up to that fence were probably 300 local people of all ages starring at us as we climbed out of our cockpits. Most of them looked serious as they gazed with obvious curiosity. We were being directed by official airport greeters and customs agents to proceed to the terminal to get our paper work and visas done. I couldn't resist sidestepping closer to the fence to get near the locals. Little children, noses pressed through the openings in the fence, looked at me with enormous eyes. I called out "Hello!" to all of them and the serious looks disappeared and they all started smiling and laughing.
Customs clearing for about 40 people in the small terminal was an exercise in turning in tight circles to get out of the way of the next person in line. There was some discussion about visas and one of the agents let it be known that we U.S. citizens didn't need visas. Well, okay. Sounded good. After getting our passports stamped, we moved back out to the ramp where we could stop and chat with the people lining the fences. They were so nice, and full of questions. We had to get on with the business of refueling so did so knowing that the process involving one refueling truck would take a lot of time -- as usual.
After 45 minutes or so, the airport authority decided to allow the locals, who did not return to their homes but actually increased their numbers as more family members arrived, to come out on to the ramp and see the planes up close. When that gate opened, a tide of humanity poured out on the ramp and made beelines for us. Nick called out to me, "Watch out that no one tries to climb on the plane!" He was still trying to direct the refueling truck in our direction. We were all actually happy to greet these people and answer their questions and let them take pictures. When Nick joined me, he helped some children into the cockpits, put our caps and goggles on them and their parents happily took pictures with their phones. It was like a huge "Show and Tell" exhibit in school. I remember standing near the wing and this very serious boy of about 16 years of age came up to me. He was not comfortable making eye contact with me nor did he smile. He just starred at the plane and in a low voice asked, "Is this your plane?" "Yes." "What is it?" "It's a Travel Air 4000". He kept starring at the fuselage and wings and then asked, "Where are the guns?" Well, this took me aback. He still wouldn't look at me and all I could say was, "There are no guns. We don't need any guns." "Didn't it come with guns?" It began to dawn on me where this line of questioning was coming from. "In World War I there were airplanes that looked something like this one - an open cockpit biplane - and they had guns mounted on them after they were made. Those pilots were in a war. We're not in a war, so we don't need guns mounted on our plane." The boy then turned his attention to questions about flying. "How long does it take to learn how to fly? A year?" Oh how I enjoyed giving him the good news that a seventeen year old could get his Private Pilot's license in a couple of months, maybe sooner if he were to fly everyday. His eyes betrayed a bit of elation though he still was not wanting to look directly at me. I guessed it may have been a religious or family cultural assessment that such behavior would be rude. I really don't know for sure. As I turned to field questions from others who surrounded me, he wandered off. I still think about him and wonder how a boy with an obvious interest in airplanes and flying who lived in a town far from a major city on this vast continent would ever have the opportunity to pursue his interest.
As the fueling process was nearing an end, we U.S. citizens were alerted that a mistake had been made in the Customs office and the we did in fact need to fill out Visa forms and make payment. This process was going to slow us down more and as we lined up to get done what was required, a huge, very black storm cell started heading our way. Others whose documents were in order were told to go ahead and take off for Kawa, our final stop for the day.
Finally finished with Customs, we returned to the ramp and headed for our planes. The locals had retreated homeward in the face of an advancing storm. The sky just about 2 miles from the airfield was heavily bruised with black and blue clouds and it was all moving our way. The wind was just starting to pick up. Sam and Max yelled at us, "Go! Go! Take off now!" We ( five aircraft) lined up and took off one after the other down the dirt strip banking left and building up airspeed to increase the distance between us and that storm cell. The Grand Caravan and Antonov stayed behind to wait out the storm. Everyone else was in various formations headed to Kawa.
This second leg of flying was really very nice. We had gotten ahead of the storm. There was an overcast, the air was reasonably calm and we enjoyed the vastness below us as we kept an eye out for each other and for wildlife below. Throughout the rally, I always made it a point to keep track of everyone flying in our particular formation. I would count them out in my head and check the count again after 15 minutes or so. As we individually might make turns or climbs or dives at whim, I felt it important to keep track of where everybody was in relation to us. We flew over some amazing wetlands that seemed to go on forever. The sun was out in full at this point and the light reflected beautifully off the marsh grasses and reeds. It was amazing to see out in the middle of this seemingly uninhabited expanse a few grass huts and fisherman in homemade boats out on the dark nature-made canals meandering through the carpet of spongy green march cover. We buzzed over them and they were as surprised to see us as we them.
Kawa is a private grass airstrip owned by a British, Zimbabwe-born man who, like other British ex-patriot land owners and farmers, took part in the "White Flight" after Robert Mugabe became president of Zimbabwe in the early '80s. These ex-pats preferred the prospects of maintaining their lifestyles in tension-free Zambia. The estate where the airstrip is located is comprised of lovely, well-groomed lawns, a man-made lake, a beautiful home, and a staff of workers who in anticipation of our arrival had prepared a delicious lunch and cocktail bar in the shade of an outdoor dining area.
Here, the "locals" who greeted us were White ladies wearing big sun hats, and gentlemen in their hats, and sporting walking sticks. The feel of our host's environs was decidedly colonial and so this visit was a big step back in time in some ways. The only Black people whom we saw were the shy, reserved, cautious staff who were catering to our culinary and libation needs.
The Caravan and Antonov did arrive in Kawa about the time we did as they flew faster. There story about "waiting out the storm" in Kasama caught all our interest. Minutes after we five aircraft took off from Kasama, the storm cell hit the field like a bang. Winds went from near calm to moderate to severe in very short time and the heavy Antonov nearly weather vaned into the wind while the Caravan was pushed around, fortunately without sustaining any damage. Torrents of rain came out of the sky. It was agreed that if our light, vintage aircraft as well as the Cessnas and Pipistrael and possibly the helicopters had not made it out in time, they would have all been flipped into the air and damaged beyond repair. The Crete2Cape Rally would have ended that afternoon except for the two big luggage/cargo carriers! After departing Kasama finally, they encountered moderate to heavy turbulence as the storm cell took up its post in the area they needed to get through. Martyn's wife, Julia, had nearly decided afterwards to finish out the rally on camel! Olivier, one of the video crew who flew in the Antonov was exceptionally green around the gills when he got off the plane in Kawa. It was not a fun flight for them. We were happy though to know we were all now safe and sound in Kawa.
After our lunch, Pedro and Keith in their Travel Airs, Johannes in the Waco, Boris and Yulie in the helicopter performed an airshow for everybody doing low passes and just having a lot of fun. It was a great, "barnstorming" sight to see.
We stayed the night at a nearby youth camp with dormitories and a few three bedroom cabins for the "married folk". Nick and I shared a cabin with Cedric and Alexandra, and Paddy and Sarah (pilots of one of the two helicopters). The rooms were rustic and not unlike the accommodations I experienced when I went on Girl Scouting trips in the 6th grade except for the tap water which appeared out of the bathroom sink and tub taps in varying shades of brown and orange depending on how long one was willing to let the water run through sputtering cycles of steam. Our beds did have nets which was very nice.
The night went by uneventfully though I was hoping for the distant sound of a lioness and/or her mate conversing with each other in those low, guttural announcements like we heard in Tanzania.
Enroute to fueling stop in Kasama. A cloudy day, but fun flying over this beautiful stretch of Zambian wilderness.
Welcoming crowds in Kasama.
On the VintageAirRally website or Facebook page, there are videos of the rally and one shows the moment the gates were opened and these lovely people swarmed out on the ramp to learn things about us and our airplanes.
I took this photo of the storm cell as we taxied out for a quick departure from Kasama. The Caravan is still parked on the ramp. The coming downpour can be seen about a half mile behind the Caravan. The two rampers in green vests waved at us with big smiles though worried if we were making it out in time.
Still close to Kasama, we could see distant storm cells passing through the region.
Weather improved as we headed out of the wetlands of Chilubi.
Over vast, isolated expanses like this, it was always comforting to know a friend was right off our left wing! "Hello, Cedric and Alexandra!"
In the middle of this marshland, we came across a couple of dwellings. The waters here have abundant fish life and for the family living here, life was good!
Parked at the private Kawa grass strip. These birds of ours just looked so at home on a sod strip.
Fueling at Kawa. The guys helping Nick delivered the fuel barrels in this truck going from plane to plane. The poor guy last in line had to wait a long time. Fortunately, our greeters here came around with beverages and good conversation.
Nick and Alexandra chatting after a long day of flying. The red Nu-Waco flown by Johannes and Fabian of Germany is in the background.
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