Return from Round One

Yesterday, Rook Nelson and I flew his Twin Otter from Sebastian, FL to Port au Prince, Haiti, on a non-Agape Flights mission. We were loaded with over 4000 lbs of tents and two passengers, who were going to help distribute and set them up. The donation was from New York and was being delivered to Son Light Missions. The passengers were wearing firefighter shirts. I asked them if they were firefighters. No. Haitians love uniforms.

We ran through some bad weather on the way out of Florida, and were thankful for each other's presence so we could split the workload. After a fuel stop in Exuma, Bahamas, we flew into Haiti. Air traffic control within 50 miles of Port au Prince is a nightmare. Imagine trying to squeeze all of LAX's traffic into Homer, Alaska. The controller can't possibly speak to all the inbound traffic, and chances are, you won't be able to key your mike without someone else stepping on you. We were able to tuck under the clouds, and then get to the airport on a visual approach, all the while trying not to have a mid-air collision with a C-5 or a UN helicopter. Getting clearance to land was nearly impossible. One pilot flies the plane, and the other pilot madly tries to make radio calls. There is one runway, no taxiways, and three ramps, which are only connected by the runway. The harbor is guarded by various battleships, red cross vessels, and cargo ships. From the air, it is difficult to make out any specific earthquake damage, however, you can see that EVERYONE is outside. The streets are teeming with people and tents and debris.

The US military has set up a perimeter around the airport, and many aide and relief workers, along with the military of various countries, have set up camps on the airfield. Near our parking space, 50 or so pallets of Red Cross Emergency supplies were sitting behind a barbwire fence, with no apparent access or use for anyone. Aircraft are coming and going constantly, fairly equal numbers of military and civilian planes. The person we were delivering the tents to (you have to have someone to receive items, you can't just dump them on the field) went off "in search of a truck." We knew we were in for a wait, and did so as patiently as possible, knowing there were storms building on our return route every moment we spent on the ground. Eventually, we let the ramp guys unload the plane and stage the stuff across the ramp for the elusive truck to collect. Rook's Saturday cargo had been unloaded and reloaded in Agape trucks within 15 minutes of landing. He wasn't expecting much of a wait. After they unloaded the plane, one of the rampers came up and asked me if we had any water we could give them. I handed over a half-full two liter that was our personal supply in the cockpit. They all thanked me profusely.

When we were finally ready to leave, three girls ran up and asked if we would give them a ride back to the States. They came down to Haiti as volunteers and none of the charter planes that brought volunteers in are coming back. The only good way to get out of Haiti is to find a bus to the Dominican Republic, then buy a commercial ticket out. All commercial flights out of the DR are booked solid for 3 weeks. Rook and I exchanged a glance, asked to see their passports, and shrugged our shoulders. They're Americans, they really want to leave, and we're going back to America with an empty plane: what's the big deal? Someone wearing epaulettes ran up and told us that, as of Friday, they re-opened immigration and customs for passengers

to Haiti (until then all controls have been suspended since the earthquake). A $10,000 fine and having your aircraft put on the US Border Patrol's black list is the big deal. We off-loaded our passengers, told them good luck, but it seems Haiti wants to keep them and the US doesn't want any people coming back across the border.

As we were sorting out the passenger drama, a man in a vest came up and told us we had to come in and file a flight plan. We both knew that we could file on the radio, even from in the air if we chose. But Vest Man was insistent. I stayed on passenger duty, and Rook went inside to sort out our flight plan. Once in the building, Vest Man explained that his family is hungry and living on the street- could he please have some money? Rook handed over a "flight plan" with a twenty dollar bill and came back to help me expel the stowaways.

Completely empty, the Otter had no problem with a short intersection take-off, greatly reducing our wait-time for the frantic runway. We headed back north. As the sun set, Miami Center radioed us to say that the Bahamas, where we needed to land again for fuel, doesn't allow flight after sunset. We spoke to Nassau control, and they confirmed that it would be illegal for us to land at Exuma. Multiple choice tests are so easy: (a) illegal landing on runway in foreign country, or (b)running out of fuel and crashing into the nighttime waters of the Bermuda Triangle. As we touched down in Exuma, it was growing dark and we got called up to the tower. We got a hand slap and were refused permission to take off. According to the radar, the entire coast of Florida was laced with embedded thunderstorms. So, we weren't going anyway. We apologized for breaking the law, and then enjoyed the rest of the evening drinking Dark & Stormys (fittingly) in a hotel bar.

Well rested, we finished our flight back to Florida this morning. I said goodbye to Rook. I hope it doesn't take an international disaster to get to see him again.

I drove back across Florida to Agape Flight's hangar and checked up on my work at dispatch. Two planes went out in my absence: the DC-6 and the Embraer. The week is filling up with flights, but most amazingly, the hangar is, once again, chuck-full of donations.