Beating the clock

Of course, along the way there have always been challenges, both great and small. It’s part of the job when you hit the road and travel through distant nations. But the two trips to South America in February and March 2020 set a new record.

In the middle of the trip, the novel coronavirus pandemic struck and threw us plenty of curves. We had the experience and the contacts to minimize the disruption caused by the global response to this threat, but several times there were doubts about whether we’d be able to return to the United States before borders closed.

The first tour group consisted of six Daher TBM turboprops. The second group’s customers flew a Cessna Citation, a Citation Mustang, an Embraer Phenom 300, and another TBM. Very nice airplanes for some very nice visits to world-class locations, high-end hotels, and side trips.

The trips started well enough. But after landing at the Cusco, Peru, airport, one airplane was clumsily marshaled into a position such that its jet blast blew the door clean off a Citation’s open baggage compartment. So we followed our procedures, and from my location at headquarters in Palm Beach, Florida, I notified Textron of our AOG (aircraft on ground) situation, got new hinges, and sent them to Cusco with a mechanic; the repair was finished the following afternoon. An excellent response with a good outcome—but was this a portent of what was to come?

While the first group flew to Easter Island on a commercial flight, the second made its way to Bolivia’s Uyuni Airport to see the salt flats; then to the Calama, Chile, airport to view the Atacama Desert; and from there to Santiago, Chile. It was there that two more complications surfaced. During our daily voice briefing I learned that the second tour group’s director—we call them journey directors, or “JDs”—was continuing to experience nausea. We presumed this was because of long-term exposure at the high altitudes of the previous stops. I sent him to the hospital in Santiago. But now we had no JD to lead the group. Sending a replacement was out of the question, because some South American nations were starting to quarantine arrivals from the United States. So the other group’s JD—long-time Air Journey staffer Guillaume Fabry (“G” to most)—was put in charge.

The quarantines were because of the second issue: the unfolding coronavirus pandemic. I’d been watching this with great concern as the desease was spreading in Italy and European nations began to close their borders. I became concerned that the same events could spread. In fact, they already had.

I decided to cut the trips short, merge the two groups in Santiago, and return to the United States. This meant bringing the first group—now flying with G—back from its stop in Bariloche, Argentina.

This was a big decision, but I was convinced it was the right thing to do. It was a hard sell to the pilots, their spouses, and others on the trips. To them, the new coronavirus was a distant matter, and South America might just be a good place to ride out what some felt was just a run-of-the-mill seasonal flu. Besides, they were having the time of their lives. But my tone convinced all but two to go along with the plan. Those two wanted to fly on their own—with help from Air Journey’s headquarters—to visit Mendoza, Argentina.

The return trip

The plan was for seven airplanes (all but those remaining in Salta) to leave Santiago, bound for Arica, Peru, some 900 nautical miles to the north. Flight plans, overflight permits, and landing permits for fuel stops were obtained—a lot of paperwork! From there, it would be a 1,150-nm flight to Guayaquil, Ecuador, with fuel stops along the way for two airplanes at Pisco, Peru. After that, it would be on to Panama City, Panama, and then home. We hoped there would be no snags. But it was tense. We launched for Guayaquil, but we didn’t have enough landing permits to land there. We were on thin ice, as we were told the permits would be approved, but there wasn’t a word of confirmation until the airplanes were two hours en route. The permit numbers came through via Iridium satphone and Garmin InReach receivers, and they were passed on to the affected airplanes over the radio.

The Mendoza group

Meanwhile, those staying in Mendoza woke up to a shock. Their hotel was closing at noon because of coronavirus concerns, and they were politely asked to leave. That’s when they realized they had misjudged the situation. Now they wanted to go home with the rest of the group.

Problem: They had no overflight permit for Paraguay. Getting them would take time, as there are no airways over the Andes that they could use to fly to Arica. The only way was to go via Santiago first, which meant obtaining landing permits for flights coming out of Argentina. Those took three hours for us to secure, but we were lucky. They were the last two permits available.

As for the rest of the route, the plan was to fly to Arica, make a fuel stop at Guayaquil, and then fly 835 nm over the Pacific to Liberia, Costa Rica. Why not fly to Panama, which is only 650 nm away? Because that country would close its borders the next morning. More and more, the return flights were becoming a series of deadlines—all of them subject to change.

The pressure to keep to a schedule had ramped up to sequential imperatives. The initial route segments went well, the two airplanes landed in Arica, and the pilots woke up the next day, ready to launch for Guayaquil. Air Journey filed the flight plans, the flight plans were approved, and the crews got their clearances. With all that out of the way it was time to start the engines.

That’s when the tower radioed that the flight plans would, in fact, not be accepted. Peru was no longer allowing overflights through its airspace, because ATC was concerned that Guayaquil would deny permission to land. Never mind that the overflight and landing permits—colorful, decorative little works of art as impressive as developing world bureaucracies are inefficient—had already been granted, and we had them in hand.

Once more, we went into gear. We emailed, faxed, and WhatsApped the colorful documents to the Tacna and Lima ATC facilities in Peru—on our own. About 45 minutes later, the clearances were approved. False starts and just plain ineptness like this are part of the scenery in many remote nations’ air traffic control procedures, but in this case they threatened to keep the group—and its airplanes—in South America indefinitely.

So did Mother Nature. After takeoff the crews learned that one of Peru’s volcanoes had erupted. Volcanic ash was blowing from east to west, right along the coastal route of flight. A notams check promised the top of the ash was at FL280, which the airplanes could fly above. One more bullet was dodged.

With great relief the airplanes finally landed in Guayaquil—after flying 1,400 nm—gassed up, and left within 25 minutes for Liberia, Costa Rica.

Home stretch

The first group had already passed through Guayaquil and had made it to Panama. However, their stay in Panama had one condition: They had to leave the next day. After refueling, it was a van ride to the hotel and a nice dinner. Outside, businesses were closed and the streets were virtually empty. It had been a long time in the cockpit, with two long legs, one after the other—for a total of 2,400 nautical miles’ worth of flying in two harried days.

The next day the group would file their eAPIS form and split up for the return—finally—to the United States, clear Customs and immigration, and fly home. One of the airplanes would fly to Brownsville, Texas (1,500 nm away), two would go to Key West (1,000 nm away), and four would fly to Fort Pierce, Florida (a 1,150-nm trip). En route, we reconfirmed the Customs arrangements and were thrown another curveball. Bownsville and Key West had no issues, but Fort Pierce wouldn’t accept one airplane because of its Irish registry.

Here we go again. Did I mention that the Irish airplane was at that point over Cuba, and there was trouble communicating? Finally the pilot’s flight plan was amended for a landing at Miami International Airport, and we gave him an updated briefing and information about Customs’ location on the airport. Long story short: He landed, went to Customs, and while not exactly welcomed, was authorized to enter the United States—without being quarantined.

As for the second group—the flights that originated in Mendoza, Argentina—they had a hassle-free 835-nm overwater flight from Guayaquil to Costa Rica. There the crews spent a night in a nice resort on the Papagayo peninsula. The next day, they flew some 1,000 nm to Fort Lauderdale International and cleared Customs without a hitch.

For all the trips’ uncertainties, I was firm about one thing: Air Journey leaves no one behind. We are a team, and our trips are family gatherings that bring people together in indelible memories. Our journeys are where strangers meet, and are united forever. Oh, and remember the JD who fell ill in Santiago? He came back in an airliner.

This wasn’t the trip we planned, but on the other hand it didn’t lack for excitement. It may have seemed in peril at times—especially to the JD heading up the first group’s return—but in hindsight any frustrations dissolve in the face of nostalgia, new friendships, and, yes, a lot of laughs.

The coronavirus has been, and remains, a challenge for us all. It certainly has affected Air Journey. But we are optimistic about the future. Our pilot friends have such a passion for adventure, and the world is such a special place to explore. One day, hopefully soon, the coronavirus’ challenge will pass.

Thierry Pouille is president of Air Journey, a Florida-based company specializing in worldwide escorted trips and flight planning for general aviation pilots.