MICROLIGHTS FOR AFRICA
By Ronnie Jack

June is a busy month for microlights. While their big brother blik aeries are sitting in hangars waiting for warmer weather the little planes are out in force. The Western Cape Microlight Club (a modest club of about 200 flying members) send out a squadron to tour via Loeriesfontein and back to Cape Town, Carnarvon Vliegklub (in die Groot Karoo) attract 37 aircraft to their fundraiser fly-in and the premier annual event blossoms once again from Upington – the Kalahari Bundu Bash.

For those readers unfamiliar with this event here is a brief overview. The destination is Hakskeenpan. Right in the corner of South Africa adjacent to Botswana and Namibia. About as far from civilization as you can get without a passport. The hosts are Ansa and Eben Mocke who are widely known as Mama and Papa Kalahari. They really deserve their titles, for without them this event would be wishful thinking. With sponsorship and advertising from Misasa (the Microlight Association) this has become a must attend flying event. This year is no exception. Here is a personal account of that adventure.

Jamie Mathewson in new HKS powered Aquilla

It is Wednesday afternoon, the 11th of June 2003. The abandoned Upington Airforce hangar is coming alive. Already trike wings are being assembled and rigged onto undercarriages. Between the missile shelters outside the fixed wing aircraft are tied down to a sturdy cable. The clubhouse is filled with golfshirt boxes and cold refreshments. On the bar counter is a miniature desert tableau complete with red sand. The girls have been busy. They are ready for the arrivals. New this year are clever beanies that double as neck warmers. Also available are snuggly jackets with the coveted bundu bash badge.

“Sign the indemnity and check the fuel you have ordered. The pennetjie is for the competition on Saturday. The GPS co-ordinates for the pans are in your briefing instructions. Don’t lose your name tags. Do you want a beanie? How much fuel do you need at the pan? You still owe me R650. Yes I take cheques.” The pilots are swarming in. Mama Kalahari greets them all and sends them away happy. “The briefing is at 6.30 followed by supper. From now on you pay for nothing. It’s all in the price.” What a bargain.

Chris van Eeden on his way to Koppieskraalpan on the 100th anniversary year of the Wright Brothers first flight

The weather is crystal clear. Papa Kalahari casts a knowing eye at the sky and announces that there will be a fresh breeze in our faces in the morning. He will be proved right. As always the briefing is a noisy affair. Aware of the need to fly safely everyone is confident of the fun ahead. There is safety in numbers.

Ouma’s bobotie hits the spot. Hungry pilots and crew are grateful for her cooking expertise. Tummies full most head for bed early. There’s a big day ahead. 118 miles of desert flying and a headwind. This is the real thing.
As the sun peeps over the horizon the first squadron is airborne. The air is very cold but the sky a gorgeous blue. Upington airport is seeing more departures in an hour than it enjoys in a week. The ground support vehicles load up the trailers and head for the desert. The adventure is on.

“What’s your ground speed?” “Twenty five miles an hour.” “What altitude?” Four thousand feet”. The chat frequency is busy. The headwind is pumping but the ride smooth. At a hundred feet agl the wind is fifteen miles an hour less but the ride is bumpy. Jamie Mathewson is my chauffeur in the brand new HKS powered Aquilla. The back seat is very comfy and the view glorious. It is cold but we are well protected by the new pod. We stay high – there is no need to rush. The beautiful new four stroke motor sips gas at 8 liters per hour and purrs happily behind us. With 60 happy horses working hard we can sit back and enjoy the ride. The desert is superb in the early morning sunlight and the sky is full of happy microlighters.

Frikkie preparing for the pennetjie drop

Every now and then a Bushbaby or Cheetah glide past us. Breakfast is on the horizon and spirits high. Huge pans come slowly into view but these are purely fore-runners for the real one. The ground is moving past very slowly but who is in a hurry?

“Is your call sign really AWB?” “Yes” “Why?” “I’m the regional commander for the Boeremag in the Southern Cape!!” Some things heard on the radio need to be taken with a pinch of salt but it makes flying interesting.
At last Komga pan emerges. The salt works on the Eastern boundary are clearly visible and the line of trikes and Cheetahs on the opposite side show that we are not the first to arrive. Dave Armstrong’s Bushbaby has enjoyed a blowout on landing and veered off the threshold. The ground tracks show the exciting moments enjoyed by it’s crew but no damage has been done. Doctor Gideon of Aviation Engines fame is already busy with the field repair as we land. Lizette and Daan and their staff have the tables ready. Tasty soup and hamburgers are just what the doctor has ordered. Fearing a bursting bladder I give coffee a miss. And give the dunes a little watering while Jamie pops a few liters into the tanks. Three and a half hours of flying have consumed twenty five liters of petrol. No oil required. What a pleasure.

Rob McFie over the desert in P51 Mustang

Forty five miles to go to Koppieskraalpan. With less headwind we need only an hour before Soutpan glistens whitely on our port bow. The camp appears below and the excitement builds. Home for the next three nights and already Llewyllen Stadler and his large crew are busy setting up for our arrival. The kitchen tents are large green ones this year and there are three of them. Serious business will be conducted inside them to cater for our every whim. We shall not go hungry. The boma has been enlarged and the new side covers protect us from the breeze. The paramedics and their large ambulance have already arrived and are on duty. This year we shall ensure that they enjoy a boring weekend.

As always the village builds on either side of the kitchen. Tents spring up in the dunes and aeroplanes are tied down right outside. Should any wind spring up we are ready to care for our trusty planes twenty four hours a day. As it happens there is hardly a breeze the entire four days. Eben must have paid the weather bureau for good luck.
On the dunes above the camp the long drops are already installed with showers alongside. The ladies can sit down on the loo. The water truck has brought tons of the precious liquid for us. Already the wood fired “donkey” has hot water ready for our dune showers. Civilized.

Proving that you can’t keep a good man down Ali Grunau has rebuilt his Cobra trike after the mishap of last year. Looking better than new it gleams outside his gazebo, waiting for a new test in the desert.

As the sun settles on the horizon the Krugersdorp FC Taliban meet for their ritual red wine at sunset. The two Daves and Andy Lawrence join John Runciman in a happy semicircle. John pulls the corks with a satisfying “pop” and the conclusion of a happy day in Africa is celebrated.

Dinner is lamb chops with all the trimmings. Marianne and her daughter Arona have conjured up magic in the desert again. We are a hundred miles from civilization but five star cuisine is at our fingertips. The boma is once again a buzz of happy campers. Without cellphones, computers or television we relearn the social skills enjoyed by our ancestors a million years ago. After dinner the camp fires provide warmth as peals of laughter follow funny stories. The story of the day is a quote from Llewellyn’s top hand. When asked if he’d like to fly in an aeroplane his answer is simple. Yes, in any aircraft in the camp except “daai Brahman met die slap ore” – Anthony’s Sycamore gyro!!!

The night is freezing and my sleeping bag becomes a survival tool. The full moon has come up and the pan is a silver lake. The silence is awesome and contented snores vibrate from tents everywhere.

Rob McFie’s beautiful P51 Mustang patrolling over the camp at Koppiekraalpan

Dalene has a zillion dollar camera with a huge lens. Being a honey she lends it to me for some air to air photos. Rosy Hue aka Rob McFie has brought his magnificent P51 Mustang to the pan. With the wheels retracted it looks just like the real thing. With John in his Pacer as the camera ship we head out into the desert for some amazing shots. The sun is low and the background unbeatable. I get goose bumps thinking of the young WW2 pilots flying the real thing with guns and people shooting at them. I thank God for living in peaceful times.

“Koff!!” goes the Pacers engine and a terrible vibration starts. Calmly John calls off the camera shoot and starts his emergency drill. Mags are checked. Mixture. Fuel tanks switched. Carb heat. Nothing helps. This motor is terminally sick. We are ten minutes from base and below us is the best emergency landing spot in the world – Koppieskraal pan. Carefully John nurses his faithful steed back to camp. She is sick but still willing to fly. As we touch down the motor quits completely. Once again my guardian angels have worked overtime.

Doctor Gideon whips off the tappet covers. The spark plug tells an oily story and there is no compression. This baby will not be flying home on Sunday. We borrow Ebens bakkie and Nico takes us to the only koppie within fifty miles where cellphones work. It is Friday evening and Corrie the Krugersdorp AMO is enjoying his first beer when he takes the call. The backup team is on the way but it will take time to get the necessary spares together. John makes arrangements to return by road and gets on with enjoying the remainder of the camp.

Requests are made to fly to the hotel to watch the rugby between the Scots and the Springboks. The catch is in the return flight. A night landing in the pan in the brilliant moonlight. Eben makes a wise decision. We cannot afford the risk. Any accident from whatever cause when night flying can prejudice the future of this great event. Displaying the terrific spirit of the camp no one disobeys.

Saturday dawns bright and clear. Morne Jonker and his party have hit a buck driving back to camp the night before. It hangs from the Cheetahs wing. At breakfast Ansa makes lists of the competitors on her tidy clipboards. Enthusiasm is high and almost everyone enters. Johan Foley and Frikkie Rupping whitewash the landing zones and the pennetjie drop circle. Eben launches the trikes in orderly fashion and soon the sky is full of deadstick landing competitors. The standard is satisfyingly high. I’ll bet the blik aeries could not consistently land as accurately as the average microlighter.

The fixed wing pilots enjoy the next slot even though the day is getting hot. Vladimer has been busy and there are four Cheetahs in the lineup. Wonderful stuff. Next comes the pennetjie drop and no one scores a hole in one into the barrel. Again the standard is high with a litter of pennetjies in a twenty meter radius. Good bombing, particularly by the girl co-pilots. By four thirty the show is complete.

Dave Armstrong, the Chairman of the Soaring Society arrives in his Samba to share the fun with us. Quinton Maine has flown as his wing man across the desert in his Husky. The Upington Flying Club have sent a Robinson R22, a Bonanza, a Piper and a couple of Cessnas to join the Saturday night party. The eagles have gathered.\

Alexei and Vladimer Chechin with new Cheetah

Candles flicker on the tables in the boma. The linen table cloths have been laid and the crockery lined up for the hungry pilots. But first comes the traditional group photograph. Much noise accompanies the grouping of the large crowd and the photographer does well to squeeze everyone in. We have over 40 aircraft parked outside and 90 people in camp.

The trophy awards and prize giving is fun. Oom Gert, the owner of the farm we have invaded, is here to enjoy our company. He gets a standing ovation as does Llewellyn and Marianne Stadler. Boy winners get hugs and kisses from Mama Kalahari and girls from Papa Kalahari. (The trophy winners are chronicled at the end of the story.) After his experiences at the Free State champs in Kroonstad (he required some airframe rebuilding) it is fitting that one of the Wrong Brothers (boertjie cousins of the Wright Brothers) Ernest Payne should win Grand Champion Fixed Wing. Top Gun for trikes is Herman Mancowitz from Oudtshoorn.

To emphasise that this is an event that encourages participation the Misasa and Aviation Engines sponsored prizes are decided by a lucky draw of name tags out of a hat. Marianne does the honours to ensure no cheating and there are over twenty prizes. Henk Wolmarans is overwhelmed to win the Pilot 3 GPS and almost everyone gets a prize. There is also a surprise prize for the newest mother-to-be in the camp. A pair of tiny booties and a baby jumper are presented to Dalene. New Dad Boshoff grins widely. Gideon Niemann (Doctor Gideon) gets a special word of thanks. He has slaved all week long to keep the Rotaxes purring happily. Without payment. Excellent PR for Aviation Engines Workshop. To wrap up, Martin Walker, a previous chairman of Misasa, thanks Mama & Papa Kalahari on behalf of all the microlighters.

Llewellyn has braai’d leg of Kalahari lamb for dinner. Fourteen of them. He carves with a large knife as the queue arrives. The potjies are full of potatoes and tasty veggies. Soul food in the desert. The conversation is lively as hungry tummies are filled. Dessert is carrot cake and malva pudding with fresh cream. To die for.

Rob McFie

Early Sunday morning and the camp is awake early. Tents are dismantled and a steady stream of aircraft takes to the skies. The Cheetahs are first off with Rob McFie behind. The trikers enjoy their coffee as the support trailer is loaded. Goodbyes and “meet you next years” are exchanged before motors are started. The sky gods are kind to us – we have a welcome tailwind. Jica de Pinheiro is our wingman as we head out for Komga pan for the last time. We are there in thirty five minutes. As promised we have coffee and biscuits waiting. And fuel of course. Ansa’s magic planning continues to the very end of the trip. Next stop Upington and the friendly controller allows Jamie to fly the entire length of the enormously long main runway before landing on the airforce base taxiway. Don’t try this at Lanseria.

Wings are dismantled and trailers loaded. Lulu, aka Gogo Kalahari, gives me a last farewell hug. Everyone agrees that this has been a happy camp and we have all had a superb time. Ouma Fan and Petro are in the clubhouse with soup, coffee and buns to top us up for the road. Sadly we head for home with fond memories buzzing in our heads. Mama and Papa Kalahari, we salute you on a fine show. Please do it again next year.

Should you wish to stay at the Island View Guesthouse call Ansa on 082-717-2341. Expect hugs and kisses. Eben is on 082-717-2340 if you wish to fly to Augrabies or the desert. His advice is valuable. See you at the bash in June next year. Anything that flies is welcome, not just microlights. For more info and stories on 2001 and 2002 see www.microlightkalahari.co.za Misasa’s web page is at www.misasa.co.za

train in the beautiful green kalahari...