Ballito, South Africa

Friday, 21 March

It’s finally the start of my first proper holiday in about a year. Needless to say I was excited to get away and do nothing. The next 4 days would be spent watching planes, and soaking up the warm sun of Ballito.

An evening flight to Durban had me checking out the sunset from the air, and what a beautiful sunset it was. The two hour flight went by quickly, much faster than my flights to Johannesburg (‘cause it’s not such a great place).

Port Elizabeth in the distance

We touched down at King Shaka International under the cover of dark. The last time I was here was around October Last year, and I didn’t get to see much of the area. Well, I couldn’t see much now, and would need to wait until morning to explore.

**

Saturday, 22 March

Time for the first Aerobatic Grand Prix, held on North Beach in Durban. A taxi ride from Ballito to Durban had us seated and ready for the action just after 10:00 at the Joe Cools bar. The group I was with are mostly from Stellenbosch, so we were eager to soak up the aerobatics and jet noise, considering airshows have ceased to exist in the Western Cape.

The Silver Falcons performed, as did the Gripen (ooooohhhh, that noise!), the various competitors in the competition did their thing, there was an L29 display, P-51 Mustang, Yak formation, A319 and Silver Falcons, and an Oryx also stopped by later during the day.

The competitors often had us remarking at how low they were recovering from manoeuvres, and how they seemed to be struggling with the strong wind. We all eagerly awaited the freestyle event, and were blown away by Phillip Steinbach’s performance (even though we were rooting for our fellow South Africans).

The final results were:

1) Francois Le Vot - France
2) Patrick Davidson - South Africa
3) Mikhail Mamistov - Russia
4) Nigel Hopkins - South Africa
5) Philip Steinbach – Germany

After the show I explored Durban proper. The last time I was there was about 7 years ago, and even then it was only for a short time, so I didn’t remember much of it. It has the marks of an old, once-grand city, which has deteriorated over time. The streets aren’t particularly clean, and the buildings are worn down. There are many stark contrasts; buildings that are falling apart (and probably condemned) built onto modern blocks of flats.

Durban Stadium

**

Sunday, 23 March

An early start had me waking up just in time to see the sun rising above a layer of mist out to sea. What a sight. Come 07:00 we were on our way to the Ballito Airfield, about a 15 minute drive away. The drive alone was stunning; winding roads with sugar cane on either side, and rolling hills in the distance.

The short dirt road to the airfield is closely lined with sugar cane, and I can’t help but wonder what it must be like to cycle or ride a motorbike along these sort of roads.

We pulled in to the airfield ‘parking lot’, and I took in the sight of my entertainment for the morning... a blue Aquilla microlight. The last time I had flown in a microlight was somewhere between 5 and 7 years ago, out of Fisantekraal Airfield back in the Western Cape. I loved it then, and hoped I would love it now (that I was older and a little wiser).

^If you don't feel like reading the next few paragraphs, just watch the video and read on from the photo below. 

Seated behind the pilot, the only thing securing me was a single lap-strap. Nothing to hold on to, and only a pair of goggles to keep the bugs out of my eyes (and nothing to keep them out of my teeth). We bumbled down the grass runway, the 2-stroke engine behind me working furiously. And then we were in the air, the take-off similar to that of a gyrocopter, and climbing to 900ft at a remarkably rapid rate.

We set course for the coast, ground features becoming more detailed as the remains of the coastal mist burnt off as the sun continued its ascent, warming the earth. There is nothing like the feeling of an open cockpit, and it’s made even better in a microlight because there is nothing restrictive, or confining, like in a Tiger Moth for example.

I gazed at the sugar cane below me, and all the dirt roads and tracks, some of which looked to be very well graded. Perfect for the motorbike. To Do List: Roadtrip to Ballito on the DR.

As we cleared the VFR corridor (set up to keep King Shaka International happy, as the Ballito Airfield is quite close to the main airport), I was asked if I would like to have a go at flying the wing. I figured, heck, why not? And grasped the handles, stating “I have control” in my most convincing voice (I was nervous, I’m not going to lie), while silently telling myself ‘Just remember, it’s opposite to everything you know; pull back to go down, and push forward to go up’. What I didn’t realise is that left and right were also reversed, and I soon found out how much I took the rudder in the tin cans I fly for granted.

The yaw from the engine constantly had us going left. Obviously my first instinct was to move my arms (and the bar) right. Nope, that’s not it. My pilot quickly corrected me, and informed me I had to move the bar to the left if I wanted to go right. Ah.

And so I did. And nothing happened. So I shoved it left, and she slowly started moving to the right. There we go. “Once we get to the beach, we’re going to head north” came over the headset. North, north, “Uh, which way is north?” I asked, focusing on keeping us going straight, my arms already hurting from the effort of keeping the giant wing above us in place. “To our left,” came the response. “Got it!” I wondered if he could hear the strain in my voice as we once again started drifting left. At least I was maintaining altitude fairly well.

As we neared the cost the turbulence started to pick up, and I quickly learnt why these guys only really fly in little to no wind conditions; the few pockets of air we encountered had me struggling to keep us pointed where I wanted. Both my pilot and I decided that it was time for him to take control again, and my arms were happy to have a break. I had only been flying for 2 or 3 minutes.

We turned north and paralleled the coast, and descended. And kept going down, and down, until I thought I could reach out and feel the spray from the breaking waves. “Are you ok with this height?”

Are you kidding?! I was grinning like an idiot in the back. “I’m happy!” was my response.

And there we were, a few feet off the deck, crashing waves on our right, and golden beach with green foliage on our left, our shadow chasing us all the way down the coast. Fishermen and beach-goers waved as we zoomed along at a whopping 50mph IAS (indicated airspeed), and we had about a 10mph headwind. But the lower you fly, the greater the sense of speed. And I was loving it!

Soon the turbulence hit again, as an offshore wind rolling off the hills and down onto the beach threatened to push us down into the surf. As we climbed to above the height of the hills, we spotted a shy turtle near the surface. But he quickly dived down to deeper depths as we flew over. Probably doesn’t like 2-stroke smell.

We passed modern villages nestled along the coastline, and every now and then I would fling my arms out to my sides, and feel the warm – and occasionally cool – rush of wind against them. Bliss. After routing along the coast at a higher altitude for a while longer, we turned around to start heading back to the airfield.

Low level once again, though not as low as before. Then we hopped back up to route inland via a few of the other airfields in the area. A cropspraying strip, and another grass (I think it was grass) runway of about 800m.

This was flying.

I had a go at being in control again, and did a slightly better job of it this time, even keeping it steady through a few bumps. But it wasn’t long before my muscles started complaining. I had never realised how physical it was to fly these things, and have newfound respect for these pilots.

Back at the airfield, we circled overhead to join for a right downwind. The circuit was kept tight, with a steep turn from base to final. I wondered if this was going to be a hard landing, and tensed up as we neared the ground, bracing for impact. And... nothing, we gently touched down, the grass slowing us rapidly and we turned off to the hangars.

I clambered off the steed, my arms sore, and my face tingling from the wind, a grin spreading from ear to ear. Now THAT, was fun!

The next hour was spent talking rubbish, drinking coffee, and sampling sugar cane for the first time (odd stuff that. The first bite is wonderful sugary water, but after that it’s like chewing stringy cardboard).

On the drive back to Ballito, we witnessed to cane rats scurrying across the road. My Dad had warned me that they grow quite big, but these things were about the same size as a domestic cat, only a lot beefier and with much longer tails! Maybe cycling and riding amongst the sugar cane isn’t such a good idea...

That afternoon I opted to chill out, and dip my toes in the warm Indian Ocean. It was considerably better than the frigid water we have in Cape Town. The beaches have golden brown sand, are uncrowded, and clean, with lots of rocky outcrops and various bays every few-hundred metres.

The rich are spoilt enough to have houses right on the beach, some even had garages leading to the beach (not quite sure why... boat perhaps?), and others had fancy swimming pools so you could watch people swim in the sea while you swim in your pool (skinny dipping not recommended).

I clambered over rocks, explored, and eventually found a nice spot on the sand, next to a bluebottle (okay, so that writes taking a swim in the sea off). My little blue friend and I sat and contemplated life.  And watched dogs. I love watching dogs, especially on the beach. A couple were walking their two Dashchund’s and Labrador’s. One of the Labs had an affinity for its tennis ball, which its owner dutifully tossed around. On one throw the dog ran off in the wrong direction, realised its mistake, stopped and stood there, staring at the waves, thinking. Its owner brought it out of its reverie, and pointed it in the right direction. The dog bounded off, splashing in the waves, and then stopped again, eyes scanning the surf for the bright yellow furry bundle of joy, spotted it, and I swear it grinned, ears perking up, and then pounced over to retrieve its toy.

I could’ve sat there for hours. And I would’ve, but there was a little crab that kept scurrying around, then would stop and stare at me. I wondered what was up with him. Maybe I smelt funny? I tried shooing him away, but he would only scuttle off, then stop and stare again. Decidedly uncomfortable and considering my blue bottle friend wasn’t saying much, I decided to continue my walk along the beach. I later realised I had probably sat on the crab’s home. Sorry little guy.

There is a boardwalk winding along the beach that probably extends for kilometres and kilometres. Great for a walk, or jog, or cycle. Walking along there, stopping every now and then to watch the surfers, or see spectacular waves breaking, I decided that one simply couldn’t not want to wake up and go for a sunrise jog in this place. I vowed that the next morning I would hit the boardwalk for a jog at sunrise. I didn’t.

That evening I had my first bunny chow (or just “bunny” to the locals). You can’t visit Durban and not sample the local cuisine. Sadly, it wasn’t as spectacular as I had hoped it will be. I’ll stick to my Cape gatsby’s, thanks.

**

Monday, 24 March

Monday was a lazy day.

I had settled into a good routine. Wake up as the sun rises. Watch it for a few minutes, then go back to sleep. Wake up 45 minutes later, make coffee and eat breakfast while watching the world below me. Sort photos, and then go for a walk on the beach.

What more does one need?

**

Tuesday, 25 March

My last day here. The routine was the same as Monday’s, with a final walk along the beach, occasionally dipping my feet in the surf (and trying to be clever which almost resulted in both my phone and I going for an unplanned swim).

Before heading the King Shaka it was off to Virginia Airport for a quick look around their pilot shop, and a very quick lunch.

Check-in at King Shaka was quick and easy. I then had an opportunity to get up close and personal with the 737-800’s engine. These machines don’t seem all that big until you put someone next to them and get an idea of size.

And before I knew it, were airborne and routing for the Cape. The first part of the flight was warm and sunny, with smooth air. But as we approached Cape Town, clouds appeared and the turbulence started. I am a huge fan of “cloud surfing”, and have never really experienced it in an airliner. So I was very happy to see towering columns of white on either side of us, as we avoided the red patches the weather radar painted out before us.

In Cape Town, the doors were opened and the fresh, 20-something degree air whirled in, making me instantly miss the warm sun of Ballito. I’ll be back!

At least the rainbow made me feel a bit better about the cold Cape weather

Argus 2014

A student’s company had organised a charity team for the Pebbles Foundation for the 2014 Argus. After much consideration, I decided, to heck with it, I’ll enter, I mean, what’s 109km.

As one of the team members, I was required to raise at least R2000 for the charity, which I did (thanks to those who donated!), and wear the team shirt (woohoo, free shirt!).

  The days leading up to 9^th of March consisted of eating. A lot. And not always stuff that was good for carbo-loading (oops). I had also done three Peninsula flights in the 6 days leading up to the race, so I got a good view of the route (and each flight I thought ‘What have I let yourself in for?!).

On Thursday, the wind forecast wasn’t looking good. 30kts, gusting 40kts, and a South Easter to boot. Lekker.

The night before the race, the wind was still pumping in Somerset West. I had told myself that if the wind was howling on Sunday morning, I wouldn’t even bother going through to Cape Town. But then I realised I had been eating so much, that if I didn’t cycle the race, I’d need to do a lot of other exercise to burn all the calories I had consumed.

So when Sunday morning dawned windy and chilly, I donned my sexy cycling shorts, tired Hi-Tec tekkies, and Pedal for Pebbles shirt, and duly made my way to Cape Town. It was cool passing countless cars, all with bikes loaded on the bike, and bleary-eyed occupants in cycling attire making their way to Cape Town.

We pulled in near the Cape Town Convention Centre, and went through our final prep. Tyres pumped up (my rear tyre had a slow puncture. Excellent), food sorted, and bottles containing water and energy drinks secured in their holders.

After meeting up with the rest of the team, we made our way through the first checkpoint. Word of advice, invest in a pair of arm-warmers; it was freezing in the shadows of the buildings, and there was a gale force wind adding to the chill factor.

After some waiting around, we made it through the second checkpoint, and stood around there and waited. And waited. And waited. Luckily the sun was rising above the buildings, and it was slowly starting to warm up. All this at just before 9am. And then we got word that the first riders were crossing the finish line. Crazy.

Eventually the group moved to the start line, where we waited some more. Photographers moved through the crowds, taking snap shots (including one where I had just taken a huge bite of an energy bar).  There was a 10 minute delay, in order to give the bunches ahead of us time to spread out. The wind was working its magic. While waiting, I heard one guy complaining to his friend that he had already had two punctures before the race even started. Ouch.

And then, at about 0910, we were off!

Everyone spread out right from the start, and it wasn’t long before I had lost the rest of my team (I wish I could say I pulled ahead, but unfortunately I think I was right at the back).

The start involved a climb. Pace yourself, don’t push it. Save your energy for later. Use granny gear if you must, but just keep pedalling.

Before I knew it we were on the M3. Woohoo! First climb done; I had been expecting a lot worse.

Spectators were on the side of the road, cheering us on. One guy had us all laughing (and some of us swearing) when he shouted “Don’t worry! You’re almost at the finish!”. I suppose that technically, we were near the finish, which was behind us at the Green Point Stadium.

There was even one of those doomsday people, ringing his bell and telling us there was only 1 month left to live. Thanks dude.

‘Am I really doing the Argus?’ constantly ran through my mind.

And then we hit Wynberg Hill. Or, as all the posters on the lampposts said “Whine berg Hill”. The first big climb. It was awesome hearing the shifting of gears and clucking of parts as everyone started shifting to an easier gear. And some very great people were blasting “Final Countdown”. That gave a lot of us the drive to motor up the hills.

After Wynberg, we had a nice long downhill. Nothing like speeding down a hill at over 50km/h, while surrounded by cyclists. It’s exhilarating. And scary. All you need is for one person to swerve into you, or wipe out, and you’ll be smeared along the tar before you know it. Speaking of tar, the roads were awesome! I mean, how often does a pleb like me get to cycle along the M3.

After the downhill it was flat(ish) towards Tokai. With a water station coming up, I decided it was time for a loo break. That was the most unhygienic toilet I’ve ever had the misfortune of using. But at least I could focus on the race properly now.

Before I knew it we were in Muizenberg, with people cheering us on. In the beginning it was like “Oh this is cool! Smile for the people. Yay, happy happy!”. But that slowly turned to “Okes, you aren’t the ones in this race. It isn’t actually easy”. And then it became “Easy for you to say, sitting in your lawn chair with a beer”, and the worst was the smell of braai’s, and boerewors rolls. I was ready to kill for a boerie roll.

‘I can’t believe I’m doing the Argus!’

It was lekker riding along the coast though. With a stop in Simons Town for a marie biscuit and a fresh coat of sunscreen, I was feeling revived.  Good thing too, because a long climb lay ahead. Not sure what it was. Smitswinkel? Somewhere near the top there was an ABSA (I think) trailer, with people sitting inside, and their legs sticking out. The caption read something like “You look like you could use a new pair”. Clever.

And then on to Misty Cliffs. Beautiful scenery. Perfect blue-green sea. But I was over taking photos at this point; I’d seen it enough from the air. 47km left. Almost there.

Still smiling!

 Noordhoek next. I was almost taken out by a member of the PnP team. We had just gone down a hill, and it was levelling off with quite a sharp right turn. This bright spark tried to overtake a group of us by going on to some gravel. At about 40km/h. I heard shouting and saw his front wheel coming towards my rear wheel out the corner of my eye. I was grateful I had kept my speed up and managed to stay ahead of him.

And I don’t think any of his teammates stopped to help. Quite a few people complained about the PnP team.

By this stage, most people had settled into a good rhythm. We were constantly over-taking each other, and falling back, and so on. The KWV team often came past me; I’d be chugging along merrily, and the next thing I was surrounded by a sea of red KWV shirts.

Through Noordhoek, and the spectators were spurring us on “Chapmans Peak, it’s all downhill from there!” and there were poster with “Are you a happy chappy?” all along the road. Well, I was happy until I rounded a corner and saw what a long climb it was to the top of Chapman’s Peak. At least there wasn’t any wind.

‘Ha, I’m doing the Argus!’

A long climb, stick to granny gear and just keep the pedals turning. I think it took me a good 20 minutes to reach the top. I was overtaken by a girl on a uni-cycle...

At the top of Chapman’s, we had a good view of Hout Bay below. And the beautiful twisty road that lead down to it. Unfortunately for us it was windy on this side. So much so that we had to pedal downhill. The wind also hit from the side, threatening to send you flying off the road. So I kept my speed low and did my best to keep my bike from being swept out from under me.

Top of Chapman's Peak. Not smiling anymore!

Hout Bay. One more hill and then it would be smooth sailing. Suikerbossie, the hill everyone ranted about, saying how horrible it is. It’s not a tough climb, but by this point you’re tired, the cramps are starting, and a climb is the last thing you need. Near the top there were “angels” (people wearing angel wings) ready to give you a push.

I don’t know how long it took, but I made it to the top of Suikerbossie. And I was so happy, because it was supposed to be downhill and flat. But no one told us we’d have a headwind. All the way to the finish line. Camps Bay was covered in posters “Welcome to Cramps Bay!”. Too right they were.

15km left. I can do this. I’ve done 15km before. I’m almost there.

10km. There is a hill. Going up. They said it was flat. Liars!

5km. I wanted to shout with joy! I was almost there!

1km. Good thing I didn’t shout with joy and tell everyone we were almost there; my odo was sitting on 108km when I saw a sign saying 4km to go. I was feeling finished. And when I saw my odo was wrong, I felt deflated.

4km. Cruel world. I want this to end!

Final push to the finish. Come on. Go. Go. Go. And there are photographers there, telling you to smile. No you fool, I’ve just spent almost 7hrs on a bicycle, I don’t want to smile!

Over the line. Yes! Keep moving forward. Don’t stop. Don’t fall over.

At last. It was over. My legs were sore. My arms were sore. Hips, shoulders, ankles, even my jaw. I collected my medal. And a Coke. And I found a place to sit down, grateful to sit on something wider than a bicycle seat. And I savoured the fact that I had just completed the Argus.

And then I was told I had to cycle another 2km to get to where my lift was parked. Eina!

And on the drive back home, I sat quietly, revelling in the fact that I was done. I had actually done it!

The next morning, I woke up wondering if it had all been a dream. And then I moved, and my screaming muscles confirmed that I really did cycle the Argus.

 

Me, sporting my hard-earned medal!

Observations from a Newbie...

-         - Buy arm warmers.

-         -  Don’t stress about having two bottles of water, and a camelback, and and and. You can fill up your bottles with water, Powerade or Coke at one of the water points.

-         - Don’t drink too much Coke; the fizz might end up fizzing up everywhere...

-         - If you take energy bars and chocolates, open them so that you can easily grab them and take a bite, without trying to open the wrapper while screaming down a hill.

-        -  Don’t try drink water from a bottle while going up or down a hill, rather drink from a Camelbak if you have one, or wait until it flattens out.

-         - Sunscreen. Lots of it. Use the water resistant stuff

-         - Keep a steady pace. Don’t worry about being over-taken; it’s how the flow goes.

-         - The climbs aren’t THAT bad; just keep the pedals turning. I came to dread the downhills; once I stopped pedalling, the cramping started. And all I wanted to do on the downhills was to stand. But if I stood, my legs would stop working, and start cramping. If I sat and slowly pedalled, my bum would scream at me. It was a lose-lose situation.

-         - The worst bit about the climbs was sitting for so long. 20 minutes in the saddle was agony. You can stand and pedal for short periods, but don’t tire yourself out.

-        -  The last 20km were the worst for me, because I knew I was so close to the finish. And my body knew it would get to rest soon, and started shutting down. So the final push was difficult.

-        -  Don’t stress too much about training. The furthest I had ever ridden was 33km, and the longest was about 2hrs. The last ride I did was 2 weeks before the race. BUT, get to know your bike well. Know which gear combinations work well for the different climb gradients.

Would I do it again? Yes, probably.

The bike that got me through it!

Reach for a Dream 2014

Reach for a Dream

The morning dawned grey and overcast, the clouds threatening us with rain. Pilots and ground crew filled the Clubhouse, mugs of coffee in hand, the smell perking up even the sleepiest of us. Alison stands up front, trying to get everyone to quiet down and pay attention.

First, a Welcome and Thank You to those who have volunteered their aircraft, fuel and time for the Reach for a Dream day. Reach for a Dream is an organisation that gives children with life-threatening illnesses the chance to fulfil their dreams. From meeting celebrities, to swimming with dolphins, to taking to the skies in a light aircraft.

This is where the Stellenbosch Flying Club comes in. Every year, the Flying Club hosts a day to take these children for a short flight. In 2013, weather put a damper on the event, and eventually it was decided to postpone until 2014.

The weather almost destroyed our plans once again, but after the Safety Briefing, presented by Chief Flying Instructor, Peter Du Preez, the cloud base lifted enough to allow us to fly the children to Klapmuts Koppie (a ‘koppie’ just north west of the Simonsberg Mountain) and back.

Aircraft were readied, and lined up on the taxi-way, pilots eagerly awaiting their precious cargo.

Six-seater twin engine aircraft (one Beechcraft Baron and two Piper Seneca’s) were used to fly those in wheelchairs. Other aircraft included;  a Piper Cherokee, a Piper Dakota, two Cessna 152’s, one Cessna Cardinal, one RV-8, and one Pipistrel Motorglider.

93 children were flown, as well as 5 of the Reach for a Dream Caregivers.

It’s always amazing to interact with these children, whose ages range from about 3 years old, to late teens. They’re well-behaved, and eager to climb into an aircraft and get into the air. Some take photos, or look out the window in awe. Others look at the aircraft controls and instruments, and try to handle the controls. Some even take a nap. And my favourite is when they sing; it’s relaxing and humbling to see this child sitting next to you, content in their own little world, even though they have probably faced more challenges than your average adult.

Despite the rather dreary weather, and increasing wind-strength throughout the morning (which gave all the pilots a chance to practice their x-wind landing technique), the day was a huge success. When the children weren’t in the aircraft, they could be found puttering around the access road in a 1934 Austin 10 Tourer, or watching a magician perform in the hangar.

Special thanks go to:

Alison, who organised this event, as well as the Reach for a Dream Foundation, for taking the initiative in the first place.

The helpers on the ground, and in the air:

-          Annie

-          Sue

-          Zelen-Erin

-          Tertius

-          Peter DP(Safety Officer)

-          Kay

-          Jean

-          Debbie

-          Ronnie

-          Johnny

-          Donald

-          Cedric

-          Peter E

-          Jacques N

-          Ron (owner of the Austin)

-          Those who helped from the Clubhouse side; Geoff and Estelle, and the barmen and kitchen staff

The pilots:

-          Mike (Cardinal)

-          Nicholas (Cherokee)

-          Jacques D (Cherokee)

-          Mark (Dakota)

-          Deon (Cessna 152)

-          Heather (Cessna 152)

-          Martin (Pipistrel)

-          Allan (RV-8)

-          Nicholas (Baron)

-          Kevin (Seneca)

-          Eugene (Seneca)

Sponsors:

-          KFC (lunch for the children)

-          Pick ‘n Pay (donuts and Oros for the children)

-          Stellenbosch Flying Club (lunch and cold drinks for the helpers and pilots)

If there is anyone I have left out, I humbly apologise.

Here’s to next year’s event. May we have blue skies and calm winds, and be lucky enough to once again see the smiles on these children’s faces after a flight.

Some say the sky is the limit. But to us, it’s Home.

One Year On

The 26th of January marks one year since I started working as an instructor.

I remember the day well. On the evening of the 25th of January, I was offered an ab initio student. Having had no success finding a job for the last year, I accepted; ad the next day (co-incidentally, my 21st birthday), I met with my victim. Ah, I mean, student.

He taught me more than he realises, and I consider myself lucky to have had such a passionate and studious individual as my first student. It definitely helped make the job a little less stressful.
I am proud to say he passed his PPL Skills Test later in 2013. And only tried to kill me twice.

Since then, I have had 3 other students go solo, with one nearing the end of his PPL training.

Suffice to say I have considerably more grey hairs and stress-lines than your average 22-year-old. However, being able to teach someone and actually have them understand what you're saying is worth it. And having a student teach me something is a remarkably good feeling.

The job brings holds many interesting memories. Some happy, others scary, some angry and disappointed, funny ones, fear, and ones of relief. Perhaps one day I will write about some of those memories.

Regardless of the bad and scary moments, nothing is as calming as the view from the office (except for that time when a large sheet of rain was moving towards the airfield, obscuring the mountains. Oh, and the time when, during the take-off roll a flock of birds flew across the runway... then as we rotated another flock flew in front of us... and as we were climbing away, a third flock had a mass suicide attempt... thankfully those attempts were unsuccessful).

So here's to 2014 (I know I said that in the previous post, but anyway). And to Doing More.