The next flight was to Fernando de Noronha, an island off the coast of Brazil that belongs to Brazil. It was only an hour and half flight. There was nothing on the island, and I mean nothing except a few bushes, and the airport so I topped up the gas and turned around in less than half an hour and I was off again. The next flight was all the way into the middle of the Atlantic to Ascension Island.
Ascension Island has been used by the navy of Britain for hundreds of years since there is nothing else out in the middle of the Atlantic. The island is mostly volcanic with dozens of volcanic cones on the island. You have to ask permission to travel to the island since the only way on or off is by British Military planes, private yachts or in my case private planes that have to land at the military airport. I faxed my request in months ahead of time and got it back all properly stamped in plenty of time. I guess for all bureaucrats, the proper form is always welcome.
I kept an eye on the GPS for the entire flight. It was reassuring and kept the nerves at bay to watch the miles click off knowing I was getting closer to the island every minute. When I could start to see the top of the volcano rising from the sea, I felt even better. When I made that first call to the airport and heard a voice after three and a half hours over open ocean, I relaxed and smiled. Wideawake airfield has a big long runway built for military bombers and tankers in World War II when Ascencion was a stop over place for military planes heading for the Mediterranean theater. It had been upgraded several times because there just isn’t much in the South Atlantic and pilots like having someplace hard and flat if the engines quit working right.
I landed half way down the runway to keep the taxi short. The place has an enormous parking area in case of war but I was the only plane on the island at that point. A follow me jeep came out and led me off to the south area and had me stop near the ops building. I got out and tied down the plane. The guy in the jeep took me over to the ops building where my papers were checked and properly stamped. They sold me fuel; another stack of papers all stamped authorized me to sleep on the island for the night, another stamp.
By the time I was fully stamped, the Captain in charge told the driver of the jeep to give me a ride to the hotel on the island, which was quite nice of the fellow. The driver and I talked about flying across the Atlantic in my ‘old crate.’
There was a pub near the hotel and I had dinner before turning in early, tired from the flying that day. I had learned in my first trip to sleep whenever and as much as possible.
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Copyright Rod O'Steele © 2009