The MAF Blog: Worldwide Pulse

Posts Tagged ‘Tarakan’

Can’t Stop This Flight!

Posted on: April 18th, 2012 by Tripp Flythe  |  2 Comments

About 45 minutes into a 70 minute flight, cruising along at 10,000 feet, I looked over to see my engine monitor gauge flashing “25.0 VOLTS” at me (it’s a 28 volt system). I cross checked with the ammeter above it, which was showing a discharge. Then, a few seconds later, my low voltage light began glowing bright red. It appeared I was having an alternator failure. I followed the “LOW VOLTAGE” emergency checklist, and found the voltage regulator circuit breaker had popped out. I reset it, and the system began charging for about 20 seconds, but then it popped out again. I tried calling our base in Tarakan on the HF radio, about 100 miles away, but apparently the gremlins that took away my voltage regulator also got into the HF radio, because they couldn’t hear anything I was saying. I was now only about 20 minutes to my destination of Long Metun, well over halfway there, and the weather was nice, so I wrote down my position, time, and ETA, and turned off the master switch to the electrical system in order to preserve my battery power. Thankfully, unlike a car, an airplane’s engine is not dependent on the battery (at least after starting), for situations such as this.

MAF Cessna on Indonesian airstripJust before landing, I switched on the power briefly to lower the flaps, and tried to contact our base again to tell them I was landing. No answer. After landing, I looked under the panel to see if I could find out what was causing that circuit breaker to pop. I opened the cowl and looked at the alternator and voltage regulator. Everything looked normal. It had now been over 45 minutes since anyone had heard from me, and they would begin looking for me soon if they didn’t hear anything. So, I and the airstrip agents made the 15 minute hike into the village to use their HF radio. After telling them I was OK, I got a waiver from our chief pilot to make the one-and-a-half hour flight back to Tarakan, since I’d be without an alternator and flying “in the dark” most of the way. I was disappointed since I’d specially arranged my schedule that day to do some church flights for several folks out of Long Metun: two pastor’s wives and their children were heading home to two different villages, one pastor was heading to Malinau, and there was a medical patient in another village I was to pick up. They were also pretty disappointed.

I told them I was going to have to head straight to Tarakan without passengers, but if for some reason I started the plane and it began working again, I’d shut down and they could get on board. Well, someone must have been praying hard, because sure enough, when I started it up, everything was working normally! I made it the rest of the day without another problem with the electrical system. (We still haven’t figured out what caused that circuit breaker to pop, and we’ve flown it several days since it happened).

The Amazing Race Against the Sun

Posted on: February 8th, 2012 by Tripp Flythe  |  2 Comments

At 4:20pm, as I was packing up my toolbox after a day of maintenance in the shop. Isto, one of our Indonesian employees, came to me, “There’s a lady in Malinau having complications with labor, and she needs to get to the hospital in Tarakan.” My first thought was, “No way there’s going to be enough time!” I knew sunset was around 6:00pm, and with it being a half-hour flight each way, plus having to fuel and pre-flight the plane and turnaround time in Malinau, there just wouldn’t be enough time. Our MAF Aviation Operations Manual stipulates that we must be on the ground before sunset, and strongly recommends we be on the ground 45 minutes before sunset. The jungle turns into a big black hole of nothingness when it gets dark and is no place for a single-engine airplane.

Passengers helping a medevac patient board the plane at Malinau.

However, there was a plane that had just been flown that day. So it was just about ready to fly, except for needing to add some fuel. I immediately went to Steve, our program manager, and asked about getting a waiver for an after-sunset arrival. He agreed to give me an extra 15 minutes after sunset, while there was still some light left. Program managers can grant waivers, but there needs to be a very good reason. Another of our pilots quickly checked the sunset time in Tarakan for that day, which was 5:57pm. I had until 6:12pm to be on the ground or else I’d be filling out an incident report.

I quickly filled out a flight plan, grabbed my helmet and flight bag, checked fuel (which had already been added by our awesome staff), and got in my favorite Cessna 206 for the empty leg to Malinau. Thankfully there were no delays from ATC, and I was wheels up leaving Tarakan at 4:40pm. The weather was beautiful, and with only myself and a few hours of fuel on board, I was quickly up to my cruising altitude of 4,500 feet. Normally we run our engines “lean of peak,” a method of leaning the engine to an economical fuel burn to save fuel with the tradeoff of a slower airspeed, but today I was using a richer fuel burn, trying to squeeze out every knot I could in a race against the setting sun.

I arrived in Malinau around 5:12pm and was relieved to see our MAF airstrip agents waiting on the ramp, along with the lady in labor and her family. We quickly loaded the lady into the airplane, and after just eight minutes on the ground, we were airborne again, heading back to Tarakan. Half an hour later, we touched down on the ground in Tarakan at 5:52pm . . . five minutes before sunset! An ambulance was there to take the lady to the hospital where she could get the medical help she needed, and I was relieved to have a little bit of light left to park the airplane.

The Difference a Year Makes

Posted on: October 12th, 2011 by Sarah DesJardine  |  2 Comments

Sunset in Tarakan, Indonesia

Sunset on the island of Tarakan, my home now. Praise God for moments of beauty.

One year ago I had tears in my eyes, OK, pretty much running down my face, as I said good-bye to family and friends and the U.S., knowing I wouldn’t be back for almost 4 years…

Now I still cry sometimes because I miss friends and family and home, but by daily choosing to see the good––and with God’s help––I am learning little by little how to be content here in this new life. I’ve been blessed with an excellent Indonesian “family” of MAF friends to give me some of the love and support I miss from home.

Praise God for providing family away from home.

One year ago I had butterflies in my stomach thinking about what our little house would be like…

Now I love our friendly little place and feel at home here. It’s been a long road to get to that point, with a few “potholes” along the way, like the unwanted rodent guest in our toilet, sewage woes, and a cobra in our yard.

Praise God for comfort across the world.

One year ago I knew how to greet people in Indonesian and introduce myself, but that was about it…

Now I am done with formal language study and can carry on a conversation reasonably well, as long as the other person talks slowly and doesn’t mind repeating things.

Praise God for understanding, humility, and a sense of humor.

One year ago I was horrified by the little black ants that are absolutely everywhere. I was constantly stopping to kill them as they interrupted my food prep time…

Now I ignore them, mostly flicking them off whatever I need to cook. After all, there are much bigger and scarier bugs to worry about, like huge spiders, creepy millipedes, or big red fire ants. I just can’t worry about those little ants anymore!

Praise God for teaching me little by little how to adapt.

One year ago I wasn’t sure if I would make it through my first year in Indonesia…

I have and it was hard, but I did it with lots of help from God and those that love me both here and in the U.S.

Praise God for carrying me through the journey.

A Day In The Life of an MAF pilot in Kalimantan and Papua

Posted on: September 28th, 2011 by MAF  |  2 Comments

From valley lows to mountain highs, overcoming geographical obstacles to serve the people of Indonesia . . . all in a day of the life of … MAF pilots in Kalimantan and Papua.

MAF pilot Dave Holsten talks about a “typical” day of flying in the Kalimantan program.

[Pilot – Indonesian word for pilot, just pronounced differently]

In Kalimantan, most of our airstrips are located down in valleys, and that means there’s fog that won’t burn off until about 9:00 a.m. If you get too early of a start to the day, you just have to circle over a cloud layer until it breaks up. So, our pilot/mechanics arrive at the hangar around 7 a.m. There’s usually about an hour-long pre-flight process, getting passengers and cargo loaded, getting flight plans filled out, checking the weather and all of that.

Mission Aviation Fellowship serves Papua Indonesia

Early morning fog at one of the interior villages in Kalimantan. (Photo by Dave Forney)

From Tarakan or PalangkaRaya, our other base with the float planes, it’s typically 30 minutes to an hour to each airstrip. We depart around 8:00 a.m. Most of the guys are making anywhere between five to nine landings a day. It’s sort of a loose schedule that exists. Someone may cancel that morning, or a medical flight comes up and we’ll have to rearrange things … it’s all very fluid. We have airstrip agents, volunteers from local churches, who help us get the passengers off and on, fill out passenger manifest lists, tie down cargo, and help the pilots. “Turn around” time takes 20 to 30 minutes and we’re off again.

There’s a lot of zigzagging around during the course of the day. Usually there are some fueling stops involved and we have to work with the weather. Then, most guys arrive back to the hanger anywhere between 2:00 and 4:00 p.m., or 5:00 p.m. if it’s a long day. An average flight day is usually a 10-hour work day. You get the airplane in, get all your paperwork done, look over things real quick to make sure everything is still OK, and then head home.

Lately our guys have been flying about three days a week. The other two days are spent doing maintenance on their aircraft. Many of us have different roles—inventory, chief pilot, instructor pilot. So, there are other responsibilities that are always on the back burner.

Mission Aviation Fellowship serves Kalimantan Indonesia

Preparing for takeoff at one of the Papua airstrips

It’s different in Papua, where the airstrips are on top of the mountains. MAF pilots there can start at sunrise and begin landing around 7:00 a.m. MAF pilot Brent Palmer has a unique role in that he splits his time between flying and IT tasks. Here he describes a typical flying day in Papua, and his IT role.

Because we fly in the mountains, we need to try to get our flights done early. Once the sun heats up the mountains, it generates the winds and many airstrips we use become unsafe. So, we try to get those done early. That means I’m usually up at 4:40 a.m. and out the door by 5:30. I do my pre-flight check and get off the ground by 6:00 a.m. There are a couple of strips that we go to that actually have a sun problem. If I’m going to one of those, I’ll actually go a little bit later because if we get there around 7:00 a.m., you can’t land until the sun gets a little bit higher. The airstrip is actually in the shadow and you’re approaching into the sun and cannot see the airstrip; it’s just black. So, there are a couple strips that will have a later departure time.

Testimony of Tears

Posted on: August 25th, 2011 by Natalie Holsten  |  2 Comments

I hate goodbyes.  Especially the goodbye-we-probably-won’t-see-you-again-this-side-of-heaven variety with a little (ok, a lot) of blubbering and crying thrown in.

Last month we said that kind of awful goodbye to our home of almost 10 years in Tarakan, Indonesia, as we departed for furlough and an eventual move to the MAF base in Papua.

In the weeks leading up to our departure, I anticipated the goodbye being hard. We allowed our roots to sink deep in Tarakan, and I knew it would be painful to leave. I figured I would shed some tears (on top of the normal ridiculous amount I cry; I cry like I sweat – involuntarily and profusely). But I was not prepared for the depth of emotion that swept over me as I said goodbye to friends.

And I was also not prepared for the outpouring of emotion from my Indonesian friends. On the morning of our departure a group of neighbors came over for one last hug.

My neighbor clung tightly to me. “You can’t leave us,” she choked out as I stroked her hair.

Her elderly grandmother chided her softly, “Ibu isn’t dead, she’s only moving to Papua!” And we laughed through our tears.

Later at the airport a group of friends gathered for one last farewell. A few, per local custom, brought parting gifts – a beaded necklace, photographs, a jeweled brooch.

Our longtime house helper Orpa wrapped her arms around me, and with tears in her big brown eyes said, “Ibu, you were the first person who really loved me.” I want to cry right now, just remembering that moment.

But as difficult as the goodbyes were, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. My tears, my heartache at leaving beloved friends, are a testimony to God’s faithfulness in giving me a love for the people he called us to serve.