Welcome to My Diggings

Looks like a bunch of archaeologists digging up...tractors?

It’s writing day again! And I honestly don’t know what to write about, as this last month has been rather uninteresting as it comes to blogging material. Instead of waking up before the roosters and spending long days traversing the mountains with my instructor in PK-TCA, I’ve been sleeping in (relatively speaking) and working 8-hour days swinging a shovel with a crew of Papaun guys. Definitely a change of pace, but if I knew it in theory before, I know it in verity now: expect a diverse and ever-expanding job description when you’re in the mission field.

The flood in the middle of March really made a mess of things here. I’m amazed at how God protected us and has kept the flight operations running despite the loss of so much important infrastructure. But, unfortunately, there’s no getting around the fact that we have a lot of work piled up—literally!

All that darker soil you see piled up? It came out of the house.

There are three damaged, but salvageable buildings that need recovering. The flood left them inundated with a 3-4 foot thick layer of sand and of course an excavator can’t clean that mess up without taking down the building first, so it has remained for us to get it all cleared out…by hand. Darron, our Adventist Mission coordinator, got the ball rolling on the arduous task and hired some local guys to come help out. For weeks he could be seen sweating it out with the workers as they dug and pried and pulled all sorts of debris out of the building where his office was.

After getting back from the village, I pitched in for a few days as the work crew started on the second building. Helping out turned into taking over for Darron at the end of the month when his family finished their term here and said their final goodbyes. I was glad the Boyds could finally get a well-deserved break, although I have to admit I was a little jealous. After wishing them farewell at the airport, it was back to my diggings in the second building.

Not the greatest picture, but the floor is several feet below me.

It would have been interesting to note the days we started and finished, but I think it must have taken a good 2 weeks of full-time work with 5-6 guys to get the second building cleared of sand and mud. My favorite (cough) project was the little side room that I tackled with the youngest guy on the team. It was about the size of a large bathroom and the only way in and out was via the top 3 feet of doorway that was still clear. As I eyed the confined space, it was evident there was no particularly efficient way to get this one done. So we just climbed in and got going one shovelful at a time.

You could say he was staying on top of things.

I worked from the back of the room, tossing the sand forward toward the entrance where my coworker would load it into the wheelbarrow. The place had no ventilation and I was intrigued how after half an hour of working in there my clothes and I were as wet as if I had been standing out in the rain, due to the humidity and the fact I was sweating like a pig (or horse, or whatever actually sweats a lot). We spent 2 and 1/2 days in that cave. You could say it was a breath of fresh air—literally, hehe—to be finally done with that one.

Right side was dug out for renovation. Left will be smashed.

As of this writing, we have just completed clearing out building number three and have moved on to the last, relatively smaller projects that we will finish before we let the workers go for the time-being. I’ve been able to do the supervisor thing this week and leave the guys to do their job while I have spent most of the day in the hangar—not to get out of hard work, but because my supervisor needed my help with some projects related to the 100-hour inspection. I must say, although the Parts Room and I have a strained relationship, it was very nice to be back in a place with AC!

Not for actual use! Sorry, I was a bit bored.

As much as I hate to admit it, there have been some benefits to being on the digging crew. For one thing, I’ve gotten more exercise than I know what to do with (and picked up an enviable farmer’s tan during the outside stints). Secondly, though the progress has not been immediately perceptible, I’ve made some important strides with my Bahasa through working and directing my crew. Lastly, it has been a continued reminder of my utter lack of control in avoiding disaster and the truth that my life is completely in God’s hands.

It has been mind-boggling to observe the results of nature’s immensely destructive power and realize how all you own can be swept away or buried in moments. If I’m tempted to go back to my neighborhood in California where there isn’t a threat of flash floods, I’m reminded that the whole state is just one careless spark away from being burnt to a crisp during the dry summers. To be blunt, there is no 100-percent safe place in the world, and what can seem like a good place can change in an instant. And Bible students know that it’s only going to get worse.

And yet remarkably I have found over 100 references in the Bible that say in one way or another, “Don’t fear.” Is it because if you choose to not be afraid, fearful things won’t happen? We know that’s not the case. But is it because we have a big-picture perspective, we know there is a God who often intervenes remarkably, and we have the assurance that “even if” He doesn’t intervene there’s the hope of eternal life at the resurrection day? I think that’s a big part of the answer.

So as I look ahead and wonder what in the world things will be like a few months from now, a year from now, and beyond, I have a gentle reminder: “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things.” Matthew 6:34.

Swing Low, Sweet Charlie Alpha

Not in uniform today; I'm staying for a week in the mountains

A particularly steep airstrip looms in the windscreen of the Porter. It’s definitely not a beginner runway, so instead of trying my hand at the landing I’m just enjoying the ride as Gary makes the approach and touches down on the hillside clearing. We roll to a stop at the top, shut down, and perform the familiar routine of sliding open the cabin doors and offloading passengers and goods.

A few moments later it’s time for me to say goodbye—but this time it’s not to the people who have just gotten off, but to the pilot and plane that brought me here.

“See you next month,” Gary jokes as he shakes my hand and gets back in the plane. The engine spools up and before I know it, PK-TCA is rolling down the steep slope and gliding into the air. I have a strangely detached feeling as I watch the plane become smaller and smaller before disappearing over the far ridge. I’m with friends, otherwise I think the feeling would be a bit stifling. And I know that I'm just here for one week. At least that's the plan—with weather, scheduling, and unexpected circumstances, a plan in Papua is always subject to change.

It's strange to see your plane take off without you.

Despite the little bit of apprehension I have of being dropped in the mountains for a week, I know this is going to be a good adventure. I’m going to be staying in a jungle mountain village along with some Indonesian friends who will be opening an elementary school. Up until now the village has had no school and the parents have been asking for teachers for the last two years since the runway opened. I get to be present for this special time in the village’s history. I’ll also be getting plenty of time to practice and improve my Indonesian language skills.

If this isn't a fun way to eat your veggies, I don't know what is!

The week proves to be a fascinating cultural immersion experience, from joining the villagers for worship services in their church, to participating in a bakar batu, to spending a night with the village men in the honai laki-laki, or men’s hut.

The bakar batu is my favorite. Literally, "burn stones," the bakar batu is a true classic Papuan cooking event. The process, often ritualized by the village, begins with heating rocks over a fire in preparation for creating a big steam pile. After a shallow pit is dug, banana leaves are placed in the bottom, followed by a foundation layer of piping hot rocks. More banana leaves go on top and then it's time to pile in the food: sweet potatoes, taro root, many kinds of vegetable leaves, and finally some type of meat, usually a pig. Then everything is covered thoroughly with more banana leaves and hot rocks before being left to steam. After an hour or two, the food is finished cooking and then the feasting can begin! The steaming food is scooped out of the pit and served on a picnic blanket of banana leaves placed on the ground. Cross-legged diners dig in with their hands and everyone has a blast. Not exactly a gourmet appearance once it comes out of the pit, but it is actually pretty tasty!

Dig in! That's all food on top of the leaves, hehe

We're lucky enough to be there for two bakar batu events. And when the villagers find out we don't eat pig, they very considerately make a second smaller pit especially for us and put a chicken in there instead. My Indonesian friends enjoy the chicken, and I happily eat around it.

Village life is on a much slower pace than the outside world. There's always time to stop and chat, and many daily activities are done as a group. Regular afternoon rains hamper most outdoor activities and so a lot of time is spent sitting around the fire and talking. And as new arrivals, we have just become a great source of entertainment for the villagers during their long afternoons and evenings. From the day we arrive, at any given time there are at least a dozen or so adults and parents keeping us company in the building where we're staying. 

Of course, the children are very intrigued by the colorful posters now hanging on the walls. They don't have to wait long to find out what they're all about, as early in the new week the teachers hold the first day of school for seventy-some bright-eyed kids. The teachers dive right in and get the children organized and singing songs, playing games, and learning ABCs. I get tasked with guest teaching an English class for three of the older kids who have already gone to elementary school in another village. At this point, they don’t remember much of what I teach them, but at least we have fun while we’re at it, and after all, what can you expect in three days of class?

Honai laki-laki - aka, Man Cave

As we settle into a routine—white rice and stir fry for breakfast, school, white rice and stir fry to lunch, playing soccer in the afternoon or taking a rest, white rice and stir fry for supper, and visiting with folks before going to bed—the days steadily slip past and Friday pick-up day looms closer. At this point, it’s still anyone’s guess as to whether the plane will actually make it here on Friday. So far I’ve had a false report from the radio guy saying that Gary was coming to pick me up on Monday after only 3 days, and since then Gary’s been on the radio only once.

Now it’s Thursday and I’m sitting in the radio shack restlessly waiting for the sound of Charlie Alpha replying to the repeated calls from various villages. With the crackly HF radio as the only means of communicating with the outside world, it’s a step back in time to the days before cell phones and instant messaging. There is nothing instant about waiting for a busy pilot to turn up the volume on his radio in between takeoffs and landings—provided he’s out there in the first place.

Hanging out with the guys in the honai before hitting the sack

It turns out today the news is that Gary is sick. I wonder if that means pick-up day will get bumped or if he’ll feel well enough to fly in the morning. I’ve already mentally prepared myself to get delayed, having seen enough of the way the weather works to know that we could get socked in for days, barring any other random snags that might disrupt the schedule. Being mentally prepared to stay longer doesn’t take away from the work of having to get ready for a potential pick-up, however. With the runway 20-30 minutes of hiking away, I need to be all packed and ready to go in the event Gary calls up that he’s inbound to land. This is certainly turning out to be another educational experience, being on this side of the radio.

As Friday dawns, I impatiently wait for the radio operator to open the room and power up the unit. We join the half dozen or so villages trying to call Charlie Alpha, but there’s no answer. After half an hour of that I step out to go and join my friends for breakfast. But as I’m walking away I suddenly hear the crackling business-like voice of Gary coming from inside the shack. I turn right around and scramble to get on the mic.

“I have to check the flight schedule for today when I get to Dekai, but most likely will be coming to pick you up after the last flight. Check back in at 8:30,” he tells me after I manage to interrupt another village’s enthusiastic call to the plane. “Ok, 8:30,” I reply and then head off for what may be my second-to-last white rice and stir-fry meal for a while (I did enjoy the food, though!).

Waiting for the pilot to come on the radio. At least there is a radio

Come 8:30, I’m back in the radio shack, but for the next 2 hours there is absolutely no peep from Charlie Alpha. The radio guy is tired of calling, I’m tired of listening and sitting there. We go out to find something else to do. I figure that the plane will most likely come between 2:00 and 4:00. My guess is right; a couple hours later, we’re able to get a short message from Gary that he’ll plan on landing around 2:00.

And so after a last meal together with the teachers, it’s time to head down the hill and wait for the plane to arrive. With a cluster of kids running and chattering alongside me, I slip my way down the muddy trail, grateful for my rubber boots and rain pants. With rain every afternoon and evening, bringing the boots and rain suit has been the best thing I did in preparation.

The steep grass runway finally comes into view. There’s no plane yet, so the only thing to do is sit on the hillside above the strip, straining to catch a snatch of an engine’s whine. An hour goes by. Some more people from the village arrive at the bottom of the trail saying that Charlie Alpha is stopping at one more village and then will be over here shortly.

Charlie Alpha - "Comin' for to carry me home..."

Sure enough, a sound finally starts to fill the valley and up above a rainbow-colored Porter appears in a gap between the clouds. The plane circles lower and lower and then finally joins a final approach to land. The waiting is over; it looks like I really am going back to Doyo Baru today.

Once again I’m on the inside, this time waving to those who stay behind. Despite the cold and rain, I’ve enjoyed my time and I’m glad I have had the opportunity to live live alongside my teacher and village friends. But I have to admit I’m eagerly looking forward to a hot shower, sleeping in my own bed, and eating the way my Western upbringing has conditioned me.

I guess the saddest thing about flying airplanes is the goobyes

And yet as the strip falls away from beneath the tires and we climb into the cottony sky, I feel a twinge of guilt as I think of the teachers who aren't going home, but rather have left home to live in this remote, off-the-grid corner of the mountains. There’s no email or phone to communicate with loved ones, no electricity and no washing machine. Cooking is done over an open fire and there’s no supermarket to buy oil or rice when they run out. I get to have the adventure of flying around and then going back to a nice house with a fridge and running water, but these teachers are sacrificing all of that so that some kids in a faraway village can have a chance to have an education. If that isn't what you call real everyday heroes...

I’ll always remember the words of one of the village fathers as he thanked us for coming. “This is still a place of darkness; our children don’t yet know the ABCs. But praise God, He has brought you.”

“Happy is the man who finds wisdom, 

And the man who gains understanding; 

For her proceeds are better than the profits of silver, 

And her gain than fine gold. 

She is more precious than rubies, 

And all the things you may desire cannot compare with her.” 

Proverbs 3:13-15

After the Flood

Just as day is dawning...

4:00 a.m., same alarm but different bed and different place. It’s March 17, and we’ve been spending the last few days flying in Dekai area and parking in the mountain village of Korupun at night time. Demand for flights out of Doyo Baru was slowing down a bit and so the most profitable way to keep flying was to spend a week or so where the business is brisk and give time for more flights from home base to get scheduled.

After getting ready for the day, I follow Gary out of the guesthouse and we make our way in the gray early morning light to where the plane is parked at the top of the sloped runway. Folks are already astir as we begin the preflight and some kids are hanging around, interestedly watching us check the plane over. By 6:00, we start the engine and take off for the short 15-minute flight out the valley to the long, lowland runway in Dekai.

The ramp is glistening from the last night's rain as we taxi up to our parking position. The cargo and fuel cart aren’t out yet; it’s a Sunday morning so things will probably take a little longer to get up to full-speed with operations. We shut down and Gary takes a moment to catch up on his texts and emails. Korupun of course doesn’t have regular cell service, which has actually been nice in some ways.

I undo my seatbelt and wait for a moment till Gary is done so I can ask how much fuel to pump into the tanks. But he seems to be very absorbed in something he’s reading. I notice some messages popping up on my own phone, but ignore them. Then Gary turns to me and shows me his phone. Pictures of smashed cars on AAI campus. “There was a flood last night,” he says. I quickly look back at my phone and realize the messages are images of Doyo Baru also. I pull them up and see more incredible pictures: debris piled all over the place, vehicles nose-down and half-buried in mud, collapsed buildings. “Sounds like everyone’s ok, but Hendrik has a broken leg,” Gary says with a sigh.

Our loading guys have just shown up and they have the news as well. The day’s schedule—and the rest of the week’s, for that matter— is out the window; it’s time to make immediate preparations to return to Sentani. We take on as much fuel as possible and then head back to Korupon to pick up Gary’s family and then continue to Sentani. Apart from the grim pictures, we have no idea what we’ll find upon returning. Our airbase runway is definitely gone, so we will have to land at the commercial airport. As far as getting back to campus from there, there’s a chance we’ll be walking.

It looks bad from up here; just wait till you get on the ground.

The hour-long flight north seems strangely devoid of excitement and action. Just an empty sense of detachment, knowing that we’ve got a bad situation up ahead, but just not knowing yet how bad it is. As we descend toward Sentani area, Gary gets permission from ATC to spend a few minutes orbiting the Doyo Baru area so we can get photos for insurance. It’s a strange sight that comes into view. The perimeter by the main road is gone and scores of people are dotting the surface of a gray expanse that used to be our grass runway. On the edge, next to the road is the Cenderawasih Air PAC-750 that was in our old hangar for maintenance. It’s been washed clear out and the hangar itself is half collapsed. From the air we can see how a huge river has just poured through the middle of campus, sweeping a path of destruction and completely changing the landscape. Above the campus and far up the mountainside, gray landslide paths scar the Cyclops Mountain. The only words that come into my mind as we circle are, What a mess…

Development above campus. Used to be houses where the river is.

After landing at Sentani, we’re fortunate to be able to ride all the way back to campus with Rick, an AMA pilot. The 15-minute distance takes 2 hours to cover as traffic is crazy and parts of the road are reduced to one lane. We finally make it to campus and that’s when the real picture starts to sink in. Somehow the photos don’t quite have the same effect as actually standing there in person. If anything, the reality is worse.

I begin slowly making my way toward the far side of campus where my house is, and I have a hard time recognizing exactly where on the campus I am. The place has been transformed from a lush green jungle compound to a sandy riverbed. Trees and undergrowth are gone and in their place are large boulders. I don’t remember those being here, I think before realizing with alarm that the flash flood had carried these huge pieces of rock along as if they were marbles.

Approaching my neighbor's and my house.

Houses are gone and other buildings are smashed up and partly buried in silt, tree trunks and roots. The place where some of the single guys have been staying looks like three quarters of it was sliced off and snatched away. Part of the roof is still hanging over where the rooms used to be.

Campus friends have told me they think my house is okay, although perhaps with some water leakage. I hope it’s true, but I try to prepare myself for the worst as I approach the building. My neighbor’s yard is filled with about 2 feet of tangled branches and driftwood. A small log is sitting against the corner of my house and my lawn is buried beneath a thick layer of muddy sand. I reach for the door and gingerly turn the key and peak inside. I almost can’t believe my eyes. It’s spotless. All around are destroyed homes or at least muddied floors, and my house has not one trace of misplaced moisture inside.

"Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further..." Job 38:11

I spend the rest of the day wandering aimlessly back and forth across campus, not really knowing what to do. I go to the new hangar and poke my head inside the opening in the front where one of the large sliding doors has been opened a few feet. Dank air greets me as I look inside the gloomy dark place. The entire floor is caked with a few inches of gooey chocolatey muck, crisscrossed with a couple muddy-water-filled paths that some staff members tried to clear. The hangar is where the campus families took refuge last night when the flood was happening.

I listen to harrowing accounts of that night. (Click here to read Ruth Boyd's story). Intense rain, a constant low rumble that sounded like thunder but just kept on going, a strong earthy smell, everyone fleeing their houses as water started rising, people crowding around outside the hangar and trying to find a way to get inside the locked building, the onslaught of water and debris breaching the side door after everyone had managed to get inside, water flowing through the bottom of the hangar while the families waited in darkness on the second floor, and outside, beyond the campus property, cries for help all night long. It must have been awful.

Right now it appears things are relatively stable. The decision has been made to allow the single guys to stay in my house for the time being with the warning that if it starts raining hard again and water levels rise we should head to the hangar. Only one guy decides to move in with me, as the others are too traumatized to stay on this side of campus.

Darkness arrives and with it an eerie, foreboding feeling. No electricity on campus; just flashlights. My new housemate and I get back to the house and agree on a plan for the night. I will sleep first till midnight while he keeps watch and periodically goes out to shine the light around to keep potential looters away and keep an eye on water levels. I’ve already noticed that despite the fact the rains have stopped, the small leftover streams running through campus have seemed to get wider and deeper through the course of the day. If it starts raining again, whoever is on watch will wake the other up and we’ll head to the hangar.

After getting my backpack ready just in case, I climb into bed and do my best to fall asleep. I feel very uneasy. Finally, as my few hours before midnight evaporate, I manage to doze off.

Until I hear it. Light rain sprinkling outside. I’m instantly awake, paralyzed with nervousness, willing the pitter-patter to stop. It seems to slow down; I wait. And then it starts raining heavier. And keeps raining. Heavier now.

I wonder if my friend is going to come and wake me up or if he was out walking around when the downpour started. After a moment more of waiting I make the decision that we'll leave for the hangar. I get up, grab my stuff and go out to the front of the house where I find my friend sleeping an exhausted slumber on the couch. With difficulty I wake him up, tell him what we’re going to do, and then we head out.

We stop at my neighbor Stenli’s house to make sure he’s coming too. He says he is, he’s just getting some things together first. A moment later he appears with a small suitcase and we head out for the hangar, doing our best to step across the growing streams. I can still step through some with my waterproof low rise shoes, but there’s definitely a lot more water then when we arrived.

Arriving at the hangar, we slosh through that smelly water on the floor and then climb the stairs to the second floor where we drop our stuff. Then back down to start figuring out if everyone is making it back to the hangar from their houses. Roberts's arrive. Then Boyds. A good number of people are already here, having never moved out in the first place. Finally we’re all in.

Waiting for morning on the second floor of the large hangar.

We quickly try to secure things in the various ground level rooms, taking things off the floors and bottom shelves. Everything is done with flashlight. Gary decides to get a generator from his house so we can have a light in the hangar. If there’s going to be a breach in the hangar wall and we have to evacuate the hangar, we're going to need light in the chaos. I spot for him as he walks carefully through the swift-flowing water now running between the hangar and his house. A few moments later and he’s back with the generator and he’s able to power a light bulb to illuminate the inside of the hangar.

A bleak, but still very welcome sight after a long, tense night.

The light helps with the atmosphere. Families on the second floor do their best to settle down and sleep, while most of the guys stand around near the hangar entrance and restlessly watch as the rain pounds outside and thunder and lightning punctuate the deafening roar of the rain falling on the metal roof. We periodically shine flashlights out the front of the hangar to see if it’s starting to flood badly outside again. The downpour continues as we uneasily wait. I look at my watch - it’s past 2:00 a.m. I decide to go upstairs and try to sleep. Finding a spare mattress, I flop down and lie there in the semidarkness, too wound up to sleep and too tired to do anything else. I eventually drift into a fitful sleep as the rain continues to pound and hound me.

Over the next couple hours the rain slows. And finally stops. Someone shuts off the generator and everything becomes peacefully quiet. I sit up and squint through my sleepy eyelids. A faint gray light is spilling through the hangar door opening. It’s finally morning. I have never felt so relieved for dawn to come. We’re still safe.

Standard uniform for the next week.

The next few days are a blur. Rivers of water now flowing through campus, water levels getting higher. Endless hours of shoveling mud out of the hangar, and then trying to squeegee water off the floor during the night as heavy rains cause water to begin seeping onto the floor again. Getting poor sleep while thunderstorms crash away outside, sleeping with long sleeves, pants and bug spray to keep the mosquitos at bay. Wearing wet shoes and socks all day long. Hearing the sad news that Hendrik, our one staff member who had been injured in the flood, had passed away. A futile effort of a bunch of us guys to try and divert water away from Gary’s house as the flow began threatening to start flood the building, and then excavators finally doing the real job upstream just in the nick of time. Celebrating my birthday in a most memorable way, burying dead rats with Jacob and Nathaniel. Cherise and her friends making my favorite chocolate cake—and the thought suddenly striking me how much it looks like the hangar floor! Taking the time to video call my family for the first time since the flood happened and being able to see the faces of the ones who’ve always been there for me through thick and thin. Electricity and full-time running water getting restored on the hangar side of campus. And things slowly starting to dry out as the river gets fully diverted back to its previous channel.

Yep, this is the good stuff (chocolate, not mud).

Each day I take time to visit my house, to swap out muddy clothes for clean ones and just to assure myself the house is still there. There’s lots of work to be done on the other side of campus, but for a few stolen moments I stay in this familiar place, snacking on some of the food that’s still in the cupboards or just sitting and reading my Bible. One passage that I read slowly and more thoughtfully than ever before is Psalm 46:

God is our refuge and strength,
A very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear,
Even though the earth be removed,
And though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea;

Though its waters roar and be troubled,
Though the mountains shake with its swelling. Selah

 Familiar words, but in real context now. Words to repeat at night when you can hardly hear yourself think because of the noise of the rain thundering on the corrugated roof. And then a beautiful picture in the next phrase:

There is a river whose streams shall make glad the city of God,
The holy place of the tabernacle of the Most High.

God is in the midst of her, she shall not be moved;
God shall help her, just at the break of dawn.

In place of the terrible destructive watery deluge is this scene of a river that brings healing and peace. So different from the fearful, forceful flood that has swept away so much; instead, this is the river of life flowing from the very throne of God.

Then it’s back to the hangar to continue shoveling mud into wheelbarrows—but now with some spiffy new rubber boots.

Things ever so slowly start to look up. Heavy equipment works all day long collecting debris and loading dump truck after dump truck. I move back to my house and Stenli runs a generator for a couple hours each day to briefly power the essentials in our houses. Gary and I start flying again from Sentani airport, first doing the most important flights while splitting time with important projects back at campus and then eventually resuming a slightly busier flight schedule. Then a temporary runway is smoothed out close to the hangar. It’s about the size of a grade-school soccer field, but after a couple careful passes, Gary is able to bring PK-TCA in for a safe landing. It’s an important step as we’re now able to do periodic maintenance at home base in between regular flights out of Sentani.

Parked at Sentani Airport after a full day's flying.

And the moment that makes me the happiest? When Stenli manages to get electricity and running water restored to our houses. The fridge works again. The washing machine runs again. The lights work; no more headlamps to dimly illuminate the house during the dark nights. I can take a hot shower anytime I want. It’s a day I’ve been looking forward to for a couple weeks and I actually hadn’t expected it to come so soon.

For one reason or another, I’ve had a hard time calling this place that I moved to 7 1/2 months ago home. But for right now, at least, it feels closer to home than it ever has.

Weather or not. Or not.

Asking God's blessing and and presence for the day's flights.

4:00 a.m. the strains from the Andante movement of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 21 start playing softly on my phone. The peaceful piece barely gets through the first few measures before I’ve shut it off and have rolled out of bed to start my morning pilot routine: get my uniform on, put sunscreen on my face, shave—? Nah, got this itchy “beard” going and I’ll try to keep it a bit longer. I read from my Bible as I eat my hot meal for the day. Then, grabbing my lunch box and flight bag, I step out the door to walk the dark path to the hangar.

Light is spilling out of the side door and I know the loading crew is already busy getting the barang (cargo) strapped down inside the cabin. I slip in with a subdued “Selamat pagi” (good morning) and begin my own preparations, helping Gary with checking fuel and making sure we have miscellaneous supplies with us. Someone starts to roll open the large hangar doors and now I can see the nearby hills in the early morning light. The passengers are ushered from the waiting area into the hangar and we all pause to have a short devotional. After a heartfelt prayer, it’s time to push the plane out and get ready to fire up.

5:45 engine start. Well, that was the plan, but it’s actually closer to 6:00 right now. We’ve managed to keep our departure slot open so we taxi to the end of the runway, get takeoff clearance from Sentani Tower and then roar into the brightening sky. An hour of cruising follows, during which the undulating hills surrounding Sentani gradually smooth out to flat, featureless jungle and then finally the towering mountain range that divides the island into top and bottom.

The typical daily schedule is a flight from Doyo Baru to a mountain airstrip where we drop off people and goods at their desired destination after which we continue to a larger airport in Dekai on the other side of the range. Using Dekai as a base for the day we make numerous small hops into the mountains, refueling and loading up with cargo in Dekai and then bringing back passengers from the mountain villages who want to go to town. By 3:00 or so in the afternoon the weather is usually closing down the runways and so it’s off for one last stop between Dekai and home where we drop goods and passengers and pick up folks who want to get to Sentani.

America? Piece of cake. Papua? More like papeda...

Today our first stop on the way to Dekai is the mountain village of Bakasa on the north side of the range. The passengers are quietly looking out the windows and enjoying the view and Gary is getting ready to have breakfast while I serve as an autopilot. The air is glassy smooth, as it often is in the early morning. But the early hour brings a problem that might mess up the plans. Rains from last night have left a lingering cloud layer that is hugging the terrain up ahead. The undercast to appears to stretch all the way to the mountains and it’s possible that Bakasa is beneath it and will be socked in for another few hours. There’s no definite way to tell from where we’re at right now. With no one in the village listening to the radio at this hour and nothing like METARs and AWOS systems in these remote villages, it’s just a matter of “Let’s take a look and see.”

Sure enough, an hour into the flight we arrive over top of where the village is supposed to be and there’s nothing but moist gray stratus clouds and the occasional tempting “sucker hole”—a gap in the clouds that’s big enough to afford a view, but small enough to quickly trap a plane trying to descend through. Gary makes the decision to land at the nearest village that is open. Turning back to the passengers, he yells over the whine of the engine, “Cuaca tutup - kita turun di Puldamat” (the weather is closed - we’ll land at Puldamat).

A few moments later we’re on the ground unloading our somewhat subdued, but cooperative, passengers and their luggage. We’ll come back to get them at the end of the day our way back home when the low clouds will have burned off. I’m amazed at how the folks here take unanticipated delays in stride. Don’t try this back in America!

We leave our passengers and climb back in the plane to continue on to Dekai. Thundering down the wet grass runway, the Porter fairly leaps into the air with just Gary and me in it. Half an hour later we’ve over the mountains and descending toward the long, paved runway in Dekai. We touch down and taxi up to where our crew is waiting with a pile of cargo. This first flight will be to Langda. A customer has paid for a load of roofing material to be hauled there. After our ground crew carefully loads the stuff into the plane, we take off for the 20 minute flight. Approaching the area, it’s clear that weather is going to continue to be a nemesis today. The valley surrounding the strip is swirling with white fluffy clouds and we can’t even see the runway yet. Gary maneuvers the plane to find a hole on the far end. This runway is built on a plateau and is one of the few that can be approached from either side. He spots the strip and makes the approach, but it’s clear that once we get on the ground time is not going to be on our side.

No more Windows Vista here.

“How quickly can you unload a plane of zinc roofing?” he laughs wryly. This stuff is the worst to unload, as it’s very sharp and great care must be taken to avoid damaging yourself or the plane in the process. A moment later, we’re on the ground, the engine is shut off and I’m scrambling to open the sliding door on my side of the plane and start undoing the straps. With the help of the village residents, we manage to get the material offloaded as quickly as possible, but it’s a losing battle. There’s still a small window at the end of the runway but right as Gary gets the engine going again for an immediate departure, the view vanishes and we’re enveloped in a drizzly grey mist. There’s nothing to do but wait and see if we’ll be able to get out today. Apparently Gary’s dad spent 3 days in this particular village waiting for the weather to clear!

Gary opens his door and starts chatting with the radio operator from the village while I lean against the door frame and close my eyes to try and take a power nap. A half hour later I hear Gary saying goodbye and shutting his door. “Looks like we can give it a shot.” There’s just enough visibility and we make a dash for it, breaking out into the clear shortly after departing. First and last flight for Langda for today!

We had a repeat 2 days later. This time we waited 1 1/2 hour.

Gary radios ahead to our crew at Dekai to prep the next load for Koropun. We make a couple runs over the next hour and a half. It’s fast-paced work: land at Dekai, check fuel status and maybe add half a drum, load cargo and possibly a passenger or two, start the engine and take off for a 15 minute flight to the mountain strip, chuck the stuff out of the plane as soon as the propeller has stopped turning, grab the sliding seats from the tail section and reconfigure the cabin for a full load of people, help the passengers put on their seatbelts, and then zoom down the sloped runway and into the valley beyond to make the short hop back to Dekai. And repeat.

Some days we’ll make up to five of these round trips, but today the clouds are closing the valleys in quickly and there’s not much more we can do without the real risk of getting stuck for the night. Gary has me fuel up for the return trip across the mountains. We have a load for Puldamat which works out nicely as that’s where our stranded passengers are waiting for us. With the increasingly threatening backdrop of dark clouds over mountains, we say goodbye to the Dekai Info radio operator and point the nose toward the pass where we’ll cross the highest terrain.

Things are not looking promising as we cross the crest. In fact it looks almost worse than this morning. There’s no way we’re going to find Bakasa in the clag and it’s looking like Gary’s going to have to work to find a way into Puldamat. He circles here and there looking for openings in the clouds. Finally finding enough clear air that affords a way to climb back up again if necessary he descends and is able to navigate up the valley to Bakasa. The runway is just visible beneath the murky overcast. “Well, let’s see how fast you can unload again,” he says as he lowers the flaps and commits for landing.

Rice is the easiest thing to unload. Just dump it out the door.

Our passengers are waiting for us, but Gary has to quickly explain that there’s no way to get them to Bakasa today. They’ll have to overnight here until we’re able to get back for another try the day after tomorrow. He finishes explaining this to them and then turns back to help me get the last of the rice and instant noodles out of the cabin. “Feel that downslope breeze—you know what that means?” he asks as he tosses the sacks out the door. I shake my head. “We’re about to get smashed,” he says, pointing at the mist that is creeping down the hillside above us. Great.

Everything’s out now and with no one needing to buy a ride to Sentani, we quickly slide the doors shut on the empty cabin and scramble to get buckled in and get the engine started. The departure path is still clear. We make it out.

A couple days later the weather is much more cooperative and we’re able to deliver our passengers and their goods to Bakasa. In theory they could have hiked, although they had a bit too much stuff to do that efficiently. It would have been a 2 day walk. The flight time? 6 1/2 minutes. Yup, that’s why we’re here.

7 nautical mile distance, as the crow flies. (Garmin Pilot)

"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!

Chiang Mai

Sunset over Chiang Mai, Thailand.

2019. Hard to believe we’re there already, isn’t it?! Well I kicked off this year with a break from the humdrum of hangar life and took a trip to the tourist city of Chiang Mai, Thailand. Honestly, I'd never heard of the place before, but what a fun experience it turned out to be! From waterfalls and temples to night markets and vegan restaurants, there were lots of things to see and try out. I didn’t even do the main tourist activities that Chiang Mai is known for, like the giant zip line and the elephant sanctuary (mainly because I didn’t want to spend a bunch of money). Actually, I think the most fun I had was trying out all the different vegan restaurants in town!

When I first started researching the trip and where I was going to stay and eat, I was surprised to see all the different places that popped up on Google Maps when I typed in “vegan restaurants”. Then I read the various travel blogs and I got very excited by the pictures and descriptions I was finding. Apparently there was a lot more than just rice and vegetable stir-fry on the menu at these places. There was stuff that I would only imagine finding on the West Coast of the U.S., like vegan burgers, pancakes, croissants, hot chocolate made with soy milk, and…vegan brownies. Ok, apologies in advance, but I can’t resist from sharing photos of some of the meals that I enjoyed.

Yep, all vegan. Vegan Heaven restaurant, to be precise. 

Seriously, I'd go back to Chiang Mai, just for the vegan brownie!

...or the chocolate mousse.

Or pretty much everything else I tried! This was a "cheese" platter.

You can't visit Thailand and not try the mango and sticky rice.

Needless to say, I didn’t deprive myself. Did I eat any Thai food? Of course - but not much, haha! I enjoy Asian food, but when it’s something that I eat almost every day in some form, I jump at the chance to have things that I could normally only get back home in the States. It was definitely a treat.

Modesty is required for tourists wishing to visit the temple.

Apart from eating my way across town - I practically tried a new restaurant each meal! - I was able to do some hiking and visit local landmarks. One hike took me partway up the mountain that overlooks the city. At a prominent point on the mountainside I arrived at a large Buddhist temple with an impressive view of the surrounding countryside. It was fascinating to walk around the place, smelling the incense, hearing the echoing gongs, and seeing all the glitter and relics that you'd normally just experience in a National Geographic. It was also intriguing to see the mix of ancient and modern, as monks in their orange robes happily snapped pictures of each other using their smartphones.

Beside the Monk's Trail leading up Doi Suthep

On the way back down, I passed a small structure that had a lovely view and was designated as a meditation spot. I noticed a plaque next to it and stopped to read what it said. Written on it were instructions for the curious seeker on how to pray. It was interesting to see a different religion’s concept of prayer, which involved a series of steps to gain merit, become one with nature, and reach a higher spiritual level. But it seemed empty of the meaning that I’ve found in Christianity’s teaching on prayer. To me, prayer is a way to talk to God, to share my deepest feelings, struggles, and hopes with One who knows me better than anyone else. As one author beautifully described it, “Prayer is the opening of the heart to God as to a friend.” Ellen White, Steps to Christ, p. 93.

Looking at those instructions, I was suddenly reminded of another set of instructions that I’ve read many times before. They are the words of Jesus: “In this manner, therefore, pray: Our Father in heaven…” It makes all the difference to me to know that I'm talking to Someone, that He's really listening, and that the One I’m praying to actually wants me to call Him my Father.

After seeing the views from the temple at Doi Suthep, another highlight was getting to visit the so-called Sticky Falls. I didn’t quite know what to expect at a place with a name like that, but I was rather surprised when I got there to see tourists blithely clambering up and down a set of waterfalls. Any other waterfall and you’d be getting the waterslide experience. Sticky Falls, on the other hand, was exactly that because the rocks had no slippery algae on them and had the same kind of traction you’d feel on the top of a skateboard. Some type of mineral in the water keeps the rocks clear of growth and it’s pretty cool! So I joined in and waded my way uphill feeling rather amused at how easy it was.

Don't try this at home. Unless Sticky Falls happens to be your home.

My sister says it looks fake and photo-shopped. Thanks.

Those were some of the main highlights of my week and a half in Chiang Mai. I also managed a quick blitz to the iconic Petronas Towers in KL during my stopover in the way back. It was a lovely trip overall, and some good time for a personal retreat. And by the looks of it, the timing of my little get-away worked out very nicely. As I write this post, Gary is making the final adjustments with the engine rigging on the plane, customers have been lined up, local ATC has been notified that Adventist Aviation is resuming operations. Somehow it’s hard to believe, but it looks like we really might be getting airborne. Soon.