Backcountry Pilot

Brakes checked. Tailwheel locked. Flaps down.

Ok, now we’re committed to landing. We’re too deep into this narrow valley, surrounded by rising terrain to be able to climb out at max landing weight. The only remaining option is to make the landing onto what could just about qualify as an airstrip. A go-around is not an option. No matter what, this landing is a certainty.

Mention the term "bush pilot" and most people conjure a vision of bearded and well-flannelled Alaskan pilots battling the icy winds of the great north, or perhaps dust-covered pilots in Africa trying to land on small airstrips whilst avoiding the local wildlife. But there is another place in the world where bush pilots thrive that is little known to those outside.

Dearden with his beloved turbine PorterWelcome to Indonesia and the mountains of West Papua where due to the lack of infrastructure, the only form of reliable transport is small bush aircraft. It is home to some of the world’s most challenging bush flying.

I am incredibly lucky to have this opportunity to fly here and even luckier to be flying the legendary Pilatus PC-6 Turbo Porter. For the uninitiated, the Porter is a largish all-aluminium tailwheel bush aircraft, built in Switzerland. In addition to the pilot, it seats up to nine passengers and is powered by a single Pratt and Whitney PT6 gas turbine engine that puts out a de-rated 550SHP.

As far as bush aircraft go the Porter is one of the very best in the world, due largely to its ability to carry its own weight in payload (approximately 1400kgs payload capability) and can land on just about anything you might dare to call an airstrip. As a tailwheel aircraft, it has greater capability to land the steeply sloped airstrips that are so often found in the the mountains of Papua.  And finally, thanks to its large, low-pressure tires and long-travel oleo main gear, it’s ideal for the many roughly prepared "runways" we encounter.Unloading fuel drums in Sinak, PapuaLiving and flying in one of the most inaccessible places on the planet wouldn't suit everyone, but to those who know me, it comes as no surprise how I ended up here. I've always lived a fairly nomadic lifestyle, for which I have my parents to thank. Born in England, I grew up in the Middle East, moving from country to country with my father's work in the oil business. After university, I settled back in England but was soon getting itchy feet again. Bored with the nine to five IT job, I decided to finally do what I’d been putting off for years and learn to fly airplanes.

After three years of training and spending every penny I earned chasing the dream, I acquired my commercial license and instrument rating. Then finally, after six months of applying to anyone flying airplanes, I heard about a job flying Cessna Caravans in Indonesia. I applied, got an interview and eventually "landed" the job!

Traditional koteka wearing locals in Bilau, PapuaI spent two fantastic years flying the Caravan all over Indonesia from the islands of Timor to the jungles of northern Borneo but it wasn’t until I did a couple of tours in Papua, and jump-seated a few flights in a Porter, that I realized there was another level of flying to be found. Mountains!

A typical flying day in Papua begins the moment the sun shows its face over the horizon. Everyone starts early to maximize the morning calmness, an operational tactic practiced by mountain pilots the world over to avoid turbulent winds and thermal updrafts that develop as the day warms.

Many of the mountain airstrips in Papua are aligned with the slope of the terrain, so we can only land in that direction and depart the opposite way. These are aptly called “one-way strips”. However, because the airstrips face upslope, they are heavily affected by anabatic (up valley) winds that intensify from around 10am onwards. So the sooner we get airborne in the morning, the more places we can go in a day. Trying to land on a short airstrip with big tailwinds isn’t the best idea -- ground speed is increased and minimal approach airspeeds are required to get stopped in the short distance available, but this is one of the reasons the slow-flying Porter excels in this environment.

Turning final at Idedua, PapuaThat’s not to say we don’t ever land with tailwinds. In fact, it’s fairly common because the moment the sun starts to heat the upper slopes and reduce air density, a slow, but constant upward flow of air begins. Depending on the location of the airstrip it isn’t unusual to land with a 10-15kts quartering tailwind. Combine this with the thinner air at higher altitude and one can be landing with a good 20kts+ extra groundspeed. However, that tricky tailwind on landing makes for a handy headwind on departure.

Another common feature of these one-way strips is there are no go-arounds. This is due to the rising terrain behind the airstrip that climbs at a greater rate our aircraft are capable of. Therefore we use what are typically called “commitment points.” This is a point of no return, usually defined by an altitude and distance from the airstrip, although many experienced pilots will have a visual idea in their head of when they’re committed to landing.

Pilatus PC-6 Porter landing in the bushBefore reaching this point, the aircraft needs to be fully configured and be on the right profile to make the landing. After this point there is no choice but to land, as any misfortune associated with getting on the ground is preferable to climbing flight into terrain. If the airstrip becomes blocked by an animal or person, start praying they get out of the way. Luckily they usually do. I’ve been told that if you do hit a pig it is best to turn around and fly back out again, as the locals can get rather upset (and they have bows and arrows!).

Saying that, the locals are a pretty friendly bunch on the whole. They’re always grateful when an aircraft shows up carrying food, fellow villagers, building or medical supplies and usually very helpful in unloading the aircraft. For most folk, aircraft are the main mode of transport from their village into the main towns to see relatives, go to the doctors, go to school or sell their wares.

Local people of Tsinga, PapuaIt's always fascinating to see how many Papuans have adapted to life with air travel. A few of them know how to put seat belts on and can help new travelers to fasten theirs too. However, many of these villages are so far away from civilization that our every day objects, such as seats and seat belts, are completely alien concepts. It can be a struggle to make certain the passengers are loaded with one traveller per seat (as they sometimes try to sit on the floor or in each other's laps) with seat belts correctly fastened and not wrapped in strange ways around necks, arms and legs. Though this borders on the ridiculous, you soon get used to these types of situations that quickly become normality.

Unloading at Deneode, PapuaPapua is definitely not an environment for everyone. Its remoteness doesn’t allow for much of a social life and the difficult operating conditions demand continual honing of one’s flying skills, but I love it here and especially love flying the Porter. The people, the flying, the mountains and the craziness of it all keep me here. Many pilots come with dreams of exotic bush flying, and leave when they realize it’s just not for them. It’s challenging, difficult, and dangerous, but it’s also hugely rewarding and if you speak to any of the pilots who’ve stuck around, they’ll tell you, we have the best job in the world.

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