Postcards

On Mt. Kenya, 5,500 feet msl is low altitude

To an aviator, the true aphrodisiac of Kenya is the spectacular flying. Rocky dirt roads make ground transportation slow going, which is fine for leisurely views of the prolific game herds, but the hardy ranchers in Kenya's mountains have long embraced general aviation for both business and personal transportation. Today, the exotic East African republic offers some of the most unusual and intensive general aviation flying in the world.

During April and May 1993, Michael Dyer — from Borana Farm, Nanyuki, Kenya — came to the United States to earn his commercial and instrument ratings at Pro Flight in Vero Beach, Florida. During his training, he invited me to experience general aviation flying in Kenya. I finally did that in June. Dyer met me in Nairobi with his Piper Saratoga.

"Wilson Tower, this is Saratoga Five-Yankee-Delta-Echo-Romeo. Request taxi to customs."

"Wait, I just got here," I said. "We aren't flying out of Kenya, are we?"

"Bureaucracy," sighed Dyer with resignation. "Same as we have to go to the tower to file a flight plan before we fire up."

We taxied to customs past hundreds of bushplanes and transports, from Maules and Helio Couriers to DC-3s and Cessna Caravans, all poised to transport tourists and cargo to myriad game parks, reserves, hotels, and safaris. We also taxied past the wreckage of numerous similar aircraft.

We pulled into a parking spot on the customs ramp at Nairobi's Wilson Field with the engine running. After a while, a Kenyan customs official emerged to wave us on.

"Okay, so we have to clear out with customs on a domestic flight," I observed. "But who do we close our flight plan with on arrival at your farm?"

"There's no one to close it with after you leave the Nairobi area, but at least they'll know where we are going if someone reports we didn't get there."

Aboard our heavily-loaded Saratoga were six adults and as much baggage, parts, and groceries as could be crammed into the cabin and forward luggage compartment. Dyer passed off our loading, commenting that, among bush pilots, overloading is the norm. We weren't at full fuel, however. "I fly down to Nairobi two or three times a month, and if I'm not loaded going home, I top off here and pump out fuel at the farm for high- altitude operations."

I was still a little nervous about our loading as we were cleared onto the active runway for takeoff by a clipped-voiced Kenyan with a decided British accent. Dyer opened the throttle, but the 300-hp Lycoming sounded anemic and the acceleration of our Saratoga agonizingly slow. There was ample time for conversation during the takeoff run.

"You've got to remember that we are at 5,500 feet above sea level," Dyer explained patiently.

After what seemed like forever, he popped 20 degrees of flaps, and we were airborne close to a mile down the runway. A shallow right bank put us on course for his farm north of 17,000-foot Mt. Kenya. I looked down in amazement to see an ostrich in full plumage pass beneath our starboard wing.

Dyer is the eldest of Tony and Rose Dyer's four sons. The couple are third-generation Kenyans who have toughed it out through the Mau Mau rebellion and the radical governmental and property ownership changes which have occurred since Kenya became independent of Britain in the early 1960s. Many colonists chose to leave in the face of political change and the loss of their land. But Tony Dyer, one of the best-known East African hunting safari guides, was determined to stay on with his family. At one time, the Dyers grazed some 30,000 head of cattle on 1 million acres of leased land; today, the family lives on and farms some 100,000 acres on the north slopes of Mt. Kenya, at altitudes ranging from 5,500 to 9,000 feet.

As we climbed beneath a low overcast across verdant washboard hills peppered with small tea and coffee farms, I asked Dyer why there were so many wrecked airplanes on Wilson Field.

"The guys who fly tourists to the ranches and game preserves using Cessna 400-series airplanes, Navajos, and the like, are good pilots with a decent safety record. It's the pilots who fly a local drug called miraa, or 'khat,' to the Sudan and Somalia who seem to have a problem.

"Miraa is a legal drug," he continued, "which is supposed to be somewhat of an `upper' and appetite suppressant. The bigger the load these pilots can carry, the more they earn, so when they still have 500 feet of runway left on takeoff, they load on an additional bag on the next hop. They bend airplanes with monotonous regularity."

As we climbed north over ever-rising terrain, the farms gave way to forested ridges, and breaks in the overcast yielded views of wild terrain with no emergency landing sites in view. Dyer tuned in 118.2 MHz, a sort of "party line" frequency in Kenya, and soon his brother Fuzz was calling us. He had taken off from Wilson Field just ahead of us in his Cessna 180, heading for the third strip on which we would land that afternoon.

"Good view of Mt. Kenya ahead," he reported, and soon, from our altitude of 10,000 feet, the 17,058-foot peak — second highest in Africa to 19,340-foot Kilimanjaro, 214 miles to the south — loomed into view on our right through a rift in the clouds, its snow-covered equatorial peak brilliantly reflecting the late afternoon sun.

Dyer switched frequencies and called the controller at the Nanyuki Air Force Base for clearance through their area. He explained that they fly U.S.-built F-16s.

"Is there much military activity?" I inquired.

"No," he replied. "They get a shipment of jet fuel every once in a while and do a bit of flying — not too wonderful from the standpoint of safety."

As the sun began to sink and we crossed the equator at 10,000 feet, the forests gave way to cultivated, gently sloping fields of waving grain. "Wheat," Dyer explained.

It was hard to comprehend that here on the equator were tens of thousands of acres of healthy wheat fields. East Africa was amazingly different from my preconceptions.

"We're going to drop Charlie off at Kisima farm. The grass strip is at 8,000 feet and slopes uphill. We land uphill and take off downhill."

Swell, I thought. Here we are, in what appears to be a grossly overloaded Saratoga, going into a high-altitude strip. As we banked around and lined up for the uphill landing, Dyer pointed out how deceptive the rising, wheat-covered terrain could be to a pilot losing power and trying to outclimb the mountain. "You can't do it in most airplanes," he explained.

We used normal indicated airspeeds for our approach, but the thin air made our groundspeed seem faster than a speeding bullet. Over the threshold I noticed that the panel-mounted II Morrow GPS showed a groundspeed of 88 knots, while the IAS was at 70 mph or less. Dyer touched down gently and we rolled up the hill to a comfortable stop. Well, I thought, at least we will leave some of our load here, as Dyer's brother Charlie disembarked.

A few minutes later, we lined up facing downhill. "Watch the manifold pressure," Dyer suggested as he opened the throttle. "If you figured the density altitude, you might never take off."

As we gathered speed down the grass runway, I noted that we were only showing 22 inches of manifold pressure. But smoothly and with perfect confidence, Dyer popped 20 degrees of flaps, and we were flying without hearing the blast of the stall warning indicator. I was rapidly gaining confidence in the Saratoga's capability as a bush airplane as well as in Dyer's competence as a pilot.

"Two more stops and then we'll land at Borana, our home strip," he announced. Five minutes later we had dropped down to 6,500 feet and were lining up for the red dirt airstrip on the Craig farm, Lewa Downs, also known as Wilderness Trails. The Craigs operate one of the most popular safari camps and game tours in this section of Kenya. On approach, I was amazed to see a large elephant grazing just to the right of our approach path. "That's Gilbert," Dyer said. "Named after your destructive Hurricane Gilbert. He hangs around here most of the time."

At the Craig's strip, we picked up Dyer's 5-year-old son, Jack, who had been dropped off when Dyer flew down to Nairobi to pick me up.

Next stop was Tony and Rose Dyer's home, Ngare Ndare, at 5,600 feet. We dropped Tony off in the rapidly fading twilight, and the five remaining souls aboard took off for Dyer's Borana strip at 6,560 feet. By Land Rover it would take half an hour to drive there over rocky mountain roads; the flight lasted five minutes.

In the gathering darkness, Dyer had the landing and instrument lights on as we made our approach. The outer marker was a giraffe, the middle marker was an elephant, and farther down the runway, a herd of hartebeest stood in our path. I couldn't resist pointing out this potential impediment to a smooth rollout. "I rather hope we'll stop before we get to them," Dyer replied. We did.

"Why do they stand on the runway?" I wanted to know.

"So the lions can't sneak up on them, I guess," he answered.

Over the following days, I came to appreciate the varied roles played by general aviation aircraft flying off high-altitude strips on the flanks of Mt. Kenya. On weekends, family car-type flying activities are common: a Saturday flight across the Aberdare Mountains at 10,000 feet to visit the Dyers' oldest son, Lewellyn, 7, at his school in the Rift Valley; a Sunday hop up to the North Kenya Polo Club at 8,000 feet for a game of "horse hockey"; a Sunday afternoon flight to the Rift Valley to visit family and friends for a picnic lunch — and to pick up Dyer's wife, Nicky, and son, Jack, who had overnighted with friends.

I became increasingly accustomed to the long takeoff runs at altitudes of 6,500 feet and above. I was especially impressed by the performance of the Saratoga. "There are Piper people and Cessna people out here," Dyer explained. "Lots of 180s, 185s, 206s, and Cessna twins." His brother Fuzz flies a Piper Super Cub and a Cessna 180; brother Martin, a Cessna 185; Gilfrid Powys, his uncle, a Piper Dakota. "All of these are utilized to the utmost as bushplanes," Dyer explained. "When I came back [from the United States] last year, the Saratoga had gone through a Check III, similar to an extremely thorough annual inspection. They zeroed the engine hour meter. Check it now." I was amazed to see 304 hours in one year.

General aviation airplanes are put to many uses. The Kenya Wildlife Service flies mainly Aviat Huskys, monitoring the location and movement of game. On one of our flights, one of their pilots called Dyer on 118.2 to tell him that he was in the area looking for some elephants that had descended from Mt. Kenya's slopes and were destroying the crops of several small farmers. These elephants would probably have to be killed, Dyer explained.

Tracking game, particularly elephants and rhino, is another routine job for airplanes. Transmitters are attached to specific animals in herds and their movements monitored. They are located from high altitudes using special directional antennas and receivers. Once the herd is found, the pilot drops down for a count. Tony Dyer recently acquired a Cessna Aerobat to use in this work.

Crop dusters are mostly Cessna Ag Wagons and Thrushes. The Dyers recently constructed a steep, dirt strip in their wheat fields at 9,000 feet msl for loading these airplanes. "It saves two and a half hours of flying a day," explained Martin Dyer. Before, the heavily-loaded airplanes had to stagger up from lower strips to deliver their loads. Not only does the new strip slope upward, but it ends with a very steep hill on top of which is a flat spot where the crop duster is loaded. Without the momentum of the landing roll, according to Martin Dyer, it wouldn't be possible to taxi up the last 1,000 feet of runway. On takeoff from this pedestal, the effect must be something like a cat shot from an aircraft carrier.

Tony Dyer invited me to fly over the top of 17,058-foot Mt. Kenya in his Beaver. The morning dawned bright and clear as we climbed into this remarkable workhorse of a bush airplane. Enroute, he told me that only a day or two earlier he had secured the approval of the Kenyan government to operate the Beaver out of a new strip at the posh Kenya Safari Club for sightseeing flights over the magnificent mountain. As we climbed through 11,000 feet, Tony Dyer pointed out a rough dirt strip built by the Park Service into which he flies trout-fishing parties. "It takes more than a little bit out of you at 10,000 feet with a crosswind blowing across a really rough strip," he observed.

The Beaver nimbly climbed right on up to 18,000 feet, and I was treated to a spectacular view of the spire — which is reputed to be more difficult to ascend than the Matterhorn.

A few days later, Dyer flew me back to Nairobi to catch my flight to London and Miami. Enroute on the 118.2 "party line," a cattle dealer named Barry heard Dyer on the radio and gave him a call. "Do you have any heifers for sale, Michael?"

"I think that might be arranged," he replied.

The next call was to Gilfrid Powys, who was also in the air in his Dakota. He confirmed that the transaction could take place. All in a typical day of high flying in Kenya.

Robert L. Rodman began flying in Alliance, Ohio, during 1945. After college and graduate school, he earned his wings as a naval aviator in 1954. Leaving the Navy in 1956, Rodman continued to fly, owning a Beechcraft AT-11, a North American P-51, and a Piper Twin Comanche. Today, he lives in Fort Pierce, Florida, where he flies a Cessna 206 and a Quicksilver Sprint ultralight.

P.S.

KENTUCKY

Mount Sterling-Montgomery County Airport. Anyone flying into the Lexington, Kentucky, area should consider visiting the Mount Sterling- Montgomery County Airport (IOB), telephone 606/498-1000, which is about 30 miles to the east. Not only is Mount Sterling a beautiful little town that is going through historic renovation, but the service offered by Kentucky Airmotive, Inc., will spoil you. Tiedowns are free, the facility is new and clean, and they have a courtesy car. During August, the fog and haze that had plagued the southeast prevented me from continuing on to Wilmington, North Carolina. Danny Hill, the airport manager, and Kevin, an aspiring professional pilot who does everything, arranged a ride for me into Lexington and placed my airplane in a hangar for a daily rate that is less than most tiedowns. Mount Sterling has an NDB, and Lexington Approach will vector you in or out if you need assistance. This airport is a logical stop before or after crossing the Smoky Mountains. Built in 1991, the runway is smooth and flat, has pilot-activated lights and a unicom, and should accommodate even the largest corporate jets. These people have an attitude that makes Southern hospitality come alive.

Peter R. Davis AOPA 1193579
Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina