An article I wrote in 2011.

The last flight:

With sunlight slowly spilling over the horizon, my fingers brush over dented aluminum under a plastic anti-abrasion tape. The front edge on the airplane’s tail, has received years of affliction from gravel runways and dirt clods flung up from the wheels. This 206, 5Y-SIL, is the oldest Cessna 206 in AIM AIR’s fleet. She has just enough time left for this roundtrip flight to the Boma plateau in South Sudan, then down to Nairobi for the next inspection. And then she will eventually join Mission Aviation Fellowship’s fleet and move down to Tanzania.

As I finish inspecting all I can, and before asking her to once again haul 400 kilograms of supplies into Sudan, it strikes me that this plane was working high above Sudan before I had started kindergarten. At one time it was based in Juba, then when the civil war heated up, it moved to Nairobi and joined the AIM AIR fleet. It’s name retains significance. The Summer Institute of Linguistics owns her, the same organization my parents have worked for since 1960’s. I realize this may be her last expedition into Sudan, and a small chill moves through my spine.

But details that demand my full attention for flight squeeze most of this vicarious reminiscing from my conscious stream, and as my hands and eyes flow throughout the cockpit, they prime the cylinders with fuel, and look around outside to ensure everything is clear. It is, and I twist the key to “Start”.

This may be a last flight into Sudan for SIL, but no one will talk about it. I doubt anyone else is even thinking about it. And in a couple of months AIM AIR may decide we need her back up here in Lokichoggio. But that feeling of gratitude for years of great service, even for an inanimate object, doesn’t leave as I climb out above Lokichoggio; a landmark cliff to my left, and sunlight flooding onto my face.

If only that was the most significant part of the flight. But after an hour and a half of great, smooth, flying, the day unravelled, and I did not make it home that night. Even if SIL had received a ticker tape parade and lengthy speeches, we would have missed them.

5Y-SIL began service as N2093U, a gift straight from the Cessna factory paid for by many generous people in Switzerland. Her blue stripes on white were broader then, and on her nose the words “Friendship of Switzerland” were painted in English on the right side, and in French on the left. She came first to Cameroon.  Then in the early 1980’s she joined a newer, smaller program in Juba, Sudan. She did not have a GPS then, and Juba was probably one of the most remote areas to operate an aviation program.

Around this time, Denny and Sue finished an exhaustive evaluation and orientation at the JAARS center in Waxhaw, North Carolina. At the time Denny did not understand why his orientation seemed tougher than expected. He was asked to perform tasks while the rest of the class watched. Before leaving the US, they mentioned in a chapel service that they planned to leave and begin serving in Juba, Sudan. After the service, Ron Pontier, a missionary kid who had lived in central Africa and now was an AIM AIR pilot, introduced himself to them. “Out of all the places in the world people have chosen to live, Juba is the worst!” He told them.

Denny began flying 93U soon after a long, dusty, difficult drive from Nairobi to Juba in their brown Suzuki four wheel drive. 93U rested under the blazing sun when parked, A maintenance team made up of the same two pilots that flew her, cared for and inspected her. The maintenance facility was the same spot on the airport where she sat out in the open. Denny brought the tools and parts out in boxes to the airport.

When ready for service, 93U flew faithfully as the only airplane based in southern Sudan, and possibly the busiest airplane in the JAARS fleet worldwide. It was not uncommon for her to go one hundred hours in a month. Several times there would be only one SIL pilot operating and maintaining 93U by himself. Denny admits there are probably other places throughout the world that would be considered “the worst place people have chosen to live.” But Juba was remote, and isolated. It would be years still before the UN took over the church’s “Operation Life Line Sudan” and aircraft began flooding the south Sudanese sky coming across the Kenyan border. Most of southern Sudan seems the same from the air, and as one of the few airplanes navigating across the vast flat land below, using a compass and featureless maps, it took a lot of preparation, diligence, and a cautious approach to survive. Denny began to understand why the JAARS instructors were extra tough on him during orientation. They knew he would be operating mainly on his own in a remote, demanding program, often as only pilot.

One of the key features Denny used on the run from Juba to Pibor, a small town in the middle of a vast open area, he called the “elephant checkpoint.” During the dry season, when visibility typically drops to a couple miles and navigation becomes an extra challenge, a watering hole formed as the rest of the land dried up. He learned to look for a gathering of elephants, faithfully present around the watering hole, to get his position and turn in for Pibor. An SIL family worked on a translation of the Bible for the Murle people, and 93U would invariably bring in groceries, mail, and supplies for them on those runs to Pibor.

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My first destination, Mewun, lies on the side of a hill. It would make a great ski slope, except for never having snow. Its one of my favorite places to fly to, even if a little more challenging than the average airstrip I go to. Recently I have learned the best way in for a safe landing is to be right on altitude when I cross my committal point. After committing, landing is the only option. Then I hit the landing spot as early as possible on the runway. Once firmly on the ground, I cut the throttle, retract the flaps, and apply the brakes hard, slowing to a crawl as I roll onto the steepest part of the runway. After the transition, it usually takes full power to accelerate slightly to a good taxi speed and avoid becoming stuck in the soft soil at the top.

Lately, around thirty kids, in a semicircle singing at the top of their lungs, greet every one of my arrivals. I’m sure they have no idea of the challenge to land here, but their celebration sure seems appropriate.

After collecting everybody’s weights and feeding them into the iphone, everyone gathers around the airplane to pray, and then we load up. Taking off from here happens very fast, immediately after we barrel down the hill and hit the first crest and bounce into the sky. The airstrip falls away below us as the airplane continues to gather speed, slowly settling, then accelerates and begins to climb away. SIL has something special none of the other 206s have, called a Robertson STOL kit. At the same speeds our other 206s’ would be rumbling down the airstrip, this one is already floating above it.

After fifteen minutes over tall grass and green lands, we reach the end of the plateau and descend into Boma. I park at the end of the airstrip, not sure if the parking area is firm enough for me to roll on. We unload the airplane, then I ask the driver of the truck who came to meet us if he brought the Avgas drum. He nods, so I walk over to the back door with him. After we gently drop the drum to the ground, I read the top: Jet A-1. Not good. I ask him, “Is there another drum that says “AVGAS 100LL” on it.” He shakes his head and looks down, embarrassed. I’m pretty frustrated. I came to Boma yesterday and talked with him about the fuel we had remaining, even pointing to the top of the drum in front of us, “The other drum says ‘AVGAS 100LL’ like this.” “Yes” he said emphatically. He also assured me it is a full drum.

Unfortunately a drum of Jet A-1 is as useful to a 206 as bubble bath in the middle of the desert.

My math and iPhone app both tell me I will be arriving with 45-50 liters if I press on to Loki. That’s just under an hour reserve, and not very comfortable, especially for rainy season. I take some comfort in the fact that the wind will be behind me if I stay low, the weather was good when I flew up this route, and Loki has good weather. There doesn’t seem to be any other option.

In times like this I hear a reminder given to me by Denny during his weekly bible study on Hebrews. Week after week he showed us the importance of trust in God, living by Faith instead of by Law. “What this means is throughout the week you will be faced with choices. You can choose to make a quick decision with your human abilities and make an Ishmael, or you can trust God and wait for an Isaac to come.”

I pray to God frequently while wrestling with the fuel issue. I wanted to get home to Loki, but I didn’t want to make an Ishmael.

I talk to my Chief Pilot about this, and agree on a plan. A few minutes later I get a call saying they want to send 3 Jerry cans of Avgas to a closer airstrip: Kapoeta.
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This airplane was here once before at an airstrip up on the plateau above me. A place we call Boma Upper, and the home for a people group still very much unreached with the Gospel. A week after N2093U was there in Boma, two airplanes and three pilots were taken hostage. One of those airplanes and two pilots were part of AIM AIR.

Civil war remained almost a constant thing in Sudan’s post-colonial history. This presented challenges for flying. Standard procedure was to circle while slowly climbing to 10,000 feet over the departure town before starting to cruise to the destination. The pilot would start another circle when overhead the town, and descend to landing at the airstrip. One of the larger United Nations aircraft departed the town of Wau, and while circling overhead felt something hit their tail. Post flight inspection revealed it was defective surface to air missile that fortunately did not detonate, but instead left a large dent in the vertical stabilizer.

Denny’s next scheduled flight was from Wau to Maridi in 93U two days after the previous incident. After a lot of prayer, he began the slow climb, spiraling over Wau. A voice came over the common traffic advisory frequency for south Sudan: “Aircraft departing Wau, where are you going?”

Silence followed. Then the voice asked the question again. Denny was reluctant to give out any critical information.

He asked, “Station calling, who are you?”

The Voice laughed. “Who am I? Confirm you are the aircraft going to Miridi?”

Denny replied “I will not state my destination until you state who you are!”

Silence followed again. Eventually the Voice said “OK, have a good flight.”

When Denny returned to Juba, he talked to several officials. They told him it must have been rebels on the radio that knew his airplane and its mission, and decided to not shoot at him.

Later on, after a shorter day of flying, Denny parked the airplane and took his motorcycle home. When he reached the house, his wife told him the other pilot had just called on the radio requesting Denny come back and meet him at the airport. He sounded very concerned.

As Denny approached the airport, he saw a large column of dark smoke rising ahead. At first airport security refused to let him onto the airport property, but the airport manager intervened. Denny arrived at the airplane, surrounded by armed soldiers and a badly shaken missionary wife and her children. The pilot said that just as he rotated for takeoff about an hour earlier, a flash of light to the right caught his eye. Over the raido he was requested to land immediately. As he turned back to the airport, he saw smoke billowing up from a line of MIG fighters parked north of the runway.

The soldiers immediately suspected the pilot and 93U of shooting the fighter jet on take off. They were baffled how the Cessna 206 could have done it when they were unable to find guns or missiles on it anywhere. Regardless, they detained the pilot and the mother with her children. The airport manager waved it off, saying they’ll eventually figure out it wasn’t that airplane.

Evidently the night before rebels snuck onto Juba airport property and set a timed explosive on the fighter jet. It happened to detonate as the 206 just began clearing ground to start its flight.

Since 93U was the only civilian airplane based and operating in south Sudan, it made a lot of key friends in the government, including the airport manager. These friends helped considerably later on when work in more difficult areas in the region were started.
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While in Boma, standing next to 5Y-SIL, the truck driver says he knows of a place nearby with a lot of Avgas, and goes to a nearby HF radio to call them. About 16 kilometers away to north, the Wildlife Conservation Society keeps an airstrip. While praying about the fuel situation, I continue texting Nairobi base over the sat phone. It becomes clear I need to make sure the other airstrip is more than usable, but in great shape, and that they have enough AvGas I can use. Over the HF I ask about every variation of questions about the airstrip and fuel. I’m convinced it is the best solution. But if it doesn’t work out, I will be further from Loki with even less fuel in the airplane.

I make the five minute flight over to the Wildlife Strip. Eventually a land cruiser meets me with a professional crew. They pump half a drum of fuel in for me and say I don’t need to pay because of their relationship with us and with the mission organization in the area. I takeoff extremely delighted. However, dreams of reaching home begin to dissolve away as dark clouds build up on the way to Loki. A caravan is on a visual approach in, and then I hear the tower report him on the ground. Dodging clouds, I set a hard limit for how far I am willing to go. If I don’t see the airport by this point, I’m turning around. Just before reaching my waypoint, I see two lightning bolts shoot down from the clouds ahead. Not much to think about. I turn to the right and reset my heading 180 degrees. I tell the tower I am diverting to Kapoeta. He sounds apologetic about the bad weather.

I spent the night away from home, but with God’s impeccable timing, I had those three jerry cans of fuel waiting for me, giving me just enough fuel to reach Loki with a healthy reserve.

The next morning I flew into bright, blue, clear skies, and arrived in Loki in time for breakfast. I realized a last sentimental flight was overrated anyway. But in telling SIL’s story, you can’t help but tell God’s story of faithfulness, provision, stormy afternoons, reversed courses, but clear skies in the morning.

Denny said that airplane taught him how to make 180 degree turns.

As the oldest 206 in our fleet, I’m glad it was still around to teach me the same thing. Trusting God to provide an Isaac doesn’t always mean I’ll get home at night, but it should mean I can easily decide where I’m going is not working, and I need to turn around and wait. It may not sound exciting, but that simple faith allowed Denny and SIL to serve for decades, first in a worn torn, remote, and unstable region, and then as a fantastic addition to the AIM AIR family.

Farewell to 5Y-SIL. May a true understanding of trust, patience, 180 degree turns, and wisdom go with you to the next group of pilots who fly you for God’s Kingdom.