"PK-TCA, ready for departure."

Rain or shine, you'll find this plane on a mission most days now.

The long wait is over. Drum roll… PK-TCA is flying again!! And when I say flying, I’m not kidding - the plane has already undergone its first 100-hour inspection since we got going and at the rate we fly, it won’t be long till the next one. It’s so good to be in the air again, but it has been rather intense!  I got the full dose on day one as I rode along in the right seat. I think the approach to landing at the first “runway” left the biggest impression on me. I’ve seen videos on YouTube, and I’ll share the clip I took myself, but honestly there is nothing in comparison with being there. It was something else.

We had taken off from Doyo Baru a bit after 6:00 a.m. with a full load of rice and various goods and flown south toward the mountain range that splits the island into top and bottom. The view grew progressively more spectacular as we approached the crest of the range, with sharp jagged peaks rising skyward and scores of waterfalls plummeting to the jungles below. After topping out over the highest terrain, Gary pushed the nose over and pointed downhill. Shortly after that, he pointed out our destination below and began circling.

Reminds me of home.

 I peered down and caught sight of a green strip far beneath us with small buildings and huts sprinkled alongside it. The runway was situated in a bowl, on an uphill slope and surrounded by steep mountainsides. This was going to be intriguing.

“At this time of day you sometimes get trouble with sun-shadow,” Gary said as he spiraled lower, studying the strip below us. On mornings with clear blue skies, the combination of sunshine and shadows in the mountains can make for a dangerous situation on approach when you transition from one to the other and you’re suddenly blinded by either bright light or indistinct darkness. If you arrive at the wrong time, it’s usually best to circle a while to allow the sun to come up a bit higher. Or there might be another option, as Gary demonstrated in the next few moments. “Sometimes I’ll make the approach from up the valley with the sun behind me to avoid the sun-shadow. It’s a bit of a steeper approach—but that’s why we’re flying a Porter,” he said, making one last descending turn before beginning an eye-popping approach.

We were now in the depths of the valley - a canyon, really - and pointing directly at the mountain wall. Closer and closer the trees loomed in the windscreen until Gary finally banked the Porter to fly alongside the slope, perhaps a hundred feet away from the branches. I gawked silently, too amazed to be scared, but at the same time very much aware that this was way more crazy than any other approach I’d experienced. A waterfall slipped by on our left side, and I realized it was above us! About a mile ahead and on the right side of the gulley was the strip, angling up the slightly gentler opposite slope.

It's beautiful - and you can see how tricky the shadow can be

We were definitely high on glide path. That is, until Gary went full flaps and idle power. Then the Porter showed its hidden talent: the beta approach. With the plane slowed to its 65-knot approach speed and the power control lever at idle, the propeller blade pitch changed to a flat angle that essentially made the prop disc a giant speed brake. The VSI registered 2,000 feet per minute descent rate. In no time the plane was right on the correct profile for a stabilized, powered final approach. And just after that we passed the commitment point. Now, regardless of what happened, the plane would be contacting the ground, either in a successful landing or otherwise; there was no way to perform a go-around and out-climb the terrain surrounding us.

The strip rapidly grew bigger and details on the ground became clearer - ruts, small rocks, rough areas, smoother areas. What was also becoming extremely clear was how much of a slope this runway was! I mean, I'd be nervous to try to start a manual car on something like this, let alone land a plane on it. Suddenly we were at the approach end and beginning the flare, pulling the nose up to match the slope of the hill we were landing on. Then we were down, Gary punching the rudder pedals back and forth to stay in the center of the slippery runway. As the plane lost momentum, he powered up to pull the Porter to the top of the slope and onto the level turnaround area.

Wow.

We just landed on...that? Yep, and the takeoff is like a rollercoaster!

That was just the first of many such approaches to dozens of mountain runways over the next few weeks. It was intense. Not just the landings, but the whole package: figuring out cargo loading, fast-paced turnarounds, negotiating weather, radio communications on HF radio in Indonesian, 12-hour days. I’ll be honest - I felt a bit overwhelmed at the outset. That little nagging voice in the back of my head was asking Are you really cut out for this?

But I’ve been here before. Anyone who’s started a new job has been here. This transition zone of stumbling your way through new tasks and duties, of clumsily trying to figure out the best way to do something and wondering why the solution was so obvious when it’s finally shown to you. Of looking at the plastic card that has your credentials printed on it and asking yourself if you really have the skills it says you have.

It’s simply called learning. And having gone through multiple rounds of training for my ratings and certificates, I’ve had these feelings before. The awkwardness isn’t fun, but I know things improve. I also have to realize that I’ve been observing someone with thousands more hours than I have and who’s been doing this kind of work his whole life and is operating at one of the highest levels you’ll find in this area. Plus, once I get trained in and released to fly by myself, I’ll be operating in the much-less-technical lowlands. So it’s ok to not be a pro right out the gate!

Perhaps it’s just another good reminder to take to heart the verse: “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6, 7. And as many a parent has been fond of saying: Practice makes perfect (almost).

I’m looking forward to writing more in the near future about the actual training and putting you in the window seat that this blog was named after. And in the meantime…I’m going to go sleep - I’m exhausted!