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Indonesian Moon

Published on Wed 7 Oct 2009, 20:45 Last Update: 9 month(s) ago by Meng Ng

Category: All Articles » Flying Journals

Contributed by John S Goulet

“Landing a Seaplane inside the Rinjani Volcano is equivalent to Indonesia landing a Man on the Moon.”

Rinjani is an active volcano that built the island of Lombok along the Indonesian fault. I think that is a realistic way of looking at the role of a volcano. When anyone mentions Rinjani they always say it is on the island of Lombok. Wrong. The island is on the volcano and consequently on the tectonic plate fault line that has spawned the longest and most active line of volcanic reactions on earth. Everybody who lives on the island of Lombok owes their existence and their livelihood to the volcano. The inevitable if irregular eruptions not only created the land they stand on, but also enrich the soil for a bountiful harvest. With the tropical rains that fall on the island come the lush emerald green forests and terraced rice fields that symbolize this exotic region of Indonesia.

Ying and Yang, good and evil, life and death, and all the other polar opposites best describe the condition of living on Lombok or within the vicinity of any other volcano for that matter. Shaken by the sporadic and unpredictable eruptions, it’s no wonder that the people of Lombok worship the spirit of the fiery inverted-cone shaped mountain. They celebrate its very existence and are careful not to enrage the spirits in charge. Don’t rock the boat. Don’t spit into the wind. And don’t tug on Superman’s cape.

I don’t think I could live like that. Always tip toeing around your creator. Always being a quiet good little boy as not to wake your step-dad. Always offering to light the altar candles. Forever throwing white rice, green banana leaves, and saffron coloured flowers into the abyss. Although I took out my Grandma’s garbage on a regular basis, I was always the one to rise to the challenges of our neighbourhood. For example, I led the raid on old man Apsit’s garden. Not just because he had the best garden around, but mostly because he guarded it so jealousy. He basically told us we were not allowed to go there. Mistake.

What is so tempting about the 12,296 ft Rinjani volcano, however, is that somewhere in the distant past an enormous explosion tore off the top of the 15,000 ft volcano and left a gaping crater large enough to place a small city within. With thousands of years of tropical rain the vast crater basin now holds the large beautiful Segara Anak Lake whose surface sits at about 6,300 ft elevation above sea level. Both the Balinese and the Muslim Sasak of Lombok Island make a pilgrimage to toss ritual rice and goldfish into the clear mountain waters. At the risk of appearing irreverent I will say that this scared lake was begging for a bushpilot to pay homage.

Lake Segara Anak is about five km long and three km wide with a 200 year old secondary cone protruding out of the east end. Adding to the expansive feeling of grandeur the surrounding crater rim extends upward another three to four thousand feet to create a continuous enclosure looking so much like a crumbled wall of an ancient Roman coliseum. The only exception is where the initial explosion, or later erosion, created a narrow gap in the north end. Here the excess rainwater flows out forming waterfalls and a river that flows to the sea.

The normal way of getting to this wondrous lake and for that matter to the volcano peak is to hike up. Time magazine did a feature on this particular climb in 2001 and declared it to be difficult, treacherous, and extremely worthwhile. The adventure is akin to climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro, but tougher. It takes two days of slogging up a tropical rainforest trail complete with heat, insects, thieving monkeys, and washed out footpaths. On the morning of the second night you awake early to make the rim at sunrise. Here you can view the lake at its most serene before the inevitable mountain top clouds form to cover the basin for the remainder of the day. If you want you can hike down nearly 3,000 feet to the lakeside campsite, but few hikers do. Even fewer actually make it to the 12,296 foot summit.

Despite being considered “worthwhile” it is also considered dangerous. 11 people have died making this climb in the last five years and 10 have died in the last three years alone. You have to be in very good tropically acclimatized condition to even make the rim in relative safety. The idea then of hiking down to the lake and back up again puts most hikers off, despite what they might have thought before they left base camp in the village below.

I had no intention of making the hike into this timeless abyss. Not when I can have 675 horses pull me up. In fact with 675 horses I could have pulled up Nero and his chariot at well. Yes, I consider myself the decadent explorer. With two bottles of water, a dozen morning fresh donuts from the Dunkin Donuts shop at the airport, and the Pilot Operating Handbook, I started off to conquer the “coliseum.”

This was booked as a training flight with Alex, one of the Indonesian pilots that I was training on the amphib Caravan. When I told him to flight plan us for a Rinjani over-flight and when I jumped in the Captains seat, he knew immediately what I was up to. To his credit, however, he did not ask. It was one of my early morning spur of the moment decisions that I did not wish to discuss with anyone least they attempt to talk me out of “it.” “It” being what ever I am going to do that I am really not supposed to be doing. I hate busy bodies that place logic and reason in front of everything and spoil the magic of the moment by making me realize the futility or wickedness of the pending act. Especially if they are in a position of authority, for instance, my boss or the director of civil aviation.

Just in case you are thinking that I am totally lacking in respect for authority I must mention that I did have the “go ahead” to attempt a landing on the lake in Rinjani. The authorization went something like this:

“You know John we have been thinking about this landing for some time. Of the last three pilots we hired as consultants, one said it was outright impossible, one said it was most likely possible, but foolish, and the third said it was possible, but he wouldn’t try. We would sure like your opinion, as you would be the most experienced of any of them. When you get a chance see if you couldn’t give it a go.”

"The smallness of the villages and fields were to give a perspective on the enormity of the volcanic mountain we were about to enter."

Now that sounds like a case of clear-cut authorization to me. So on this beautiful clear Balinese morning we took off for Rinjani. The Area Control cleared us up to our requested 11,000 feet and during the 30 minutes it took us to reach the volcano I leafed through the POH. The only relevant section I was concerned about was the settings for Take-off Power. I quickly found out that the charts, contrary to what one pilot had said, did go up to and beyond 7,000 feet. (Not that I was about to let a little extrapolation get in my way.) In fact, the charts claimed that we would be able to get full power, i.e., 675 hp, on takeoff.

As the Rinjani volcano was along our normal flight path from Bali to the luxury resort island of Amanwana, run by the Aman resort group, I had surveyed the lake many times before. So this morning I knew what I had to do. I approached the crater from west to east and flew past the northern side. That put the V shaped cleft where the overflow from the lake spills out as a waterfall on my right (starboard) side. The tops of the V were varied from 9,000 ft on the west to 10,000 ft high on the east climbing toward the 12,296 ft pinnacle, while the bottom of the V was at the lake level of approximately 6,300 feet. That V shaped “cut” made up my entrance.

I could have spiraled down from the top of the crater rim, but I was planning for the dramatic. I wanted the entrance into the crater to be a grand entrance and flying through the relative narrowness of the “cut” into the enormity of the “basin” would be like flying into another world and another time. “Ladies and Gentleman, this is your Captain speaking; we have just left the present and returned to the beginning of time.”

I flew past the cut and the waterfall at about 10,000 ft and did a slow left descending turn, away from the volcano and over the numerous terraced rice fields far below. The smallness of the villages and fields were to give a perspective on the enormity of the volcanic mountain we were about to enter. I descended to 8,000 ft and finished my 270 degree turn facing due south straight into the V shaped entrance. From this vista we could see the lake nestled inside the cone. It looked small and I really had to fight the illusion that the crater basin would be too small to circle inside. Proximity claustrophobia began to set it. That is when you are flying between mountains and the canyon walls seem to be closing in when in fact they are not. If you panic you will attempt to turn when you should keep going straight ahead.

Entrance

In the turn I had slowed the aircraft down to 120 knots and before I entered the crater I selected 10 degrees of flaps and slowed to 105 knots. Slowing down gives the passengers a better view and lowering the flaps me a better view over the nose. As we entered I banked and turned right to follow the rim just below the edge, giving the sensation of being inside the basin without getting too low too quickly. Once inside I started a slow left turn passing the 12,296 ft peak on my right and placing the 7,838 ft Gunung Barujari secondary daughter cone on my left. We were still in a left hand turn banking wing low over the crater of the daughter cone allowing us to have a good look inside the vent. We could see the steam and smoke rising from the still active cone.

In fact, when we entered the main crater Alex startled me by hollering, “Look, the volcano is erupting.” Just below the daughter cone was a large fresh flow of lava differentiated by the older flows by the blackness of the lava and by the fact there was no vegetation growing on it. It was indeed a new flow in volcano time, but that was 8 years ago already in our time. Alex was convinced that it had happened since our last over flight on the way to the resort the day before. I said that if it was recent the water would be boiling and steaming. “Oh, yeah,” he admitted.

As we circled I had a good look at the water. My first concern was of course the depth. With the water sitting in an expansive cereal-bowl like hole, you don’t have to be a geologist to extrapolate that the lake would be deep, possibly very deep… reportedly nearly 800 ft deep. If I landed anywhere away from the crater sides I would have deep water. Besides I could readily see to untold depths in the relatively clear water.

I admit, though, I was slightly concerned that the water might have been contaminated with sulfate or chloride, which are both corrosive and which can both be found in volcanic waters if the area is active. The water, however, looked like any mountain lake in the Canadian Rockies. The water was a slightly opaque blue green that appeared clear despite the obvious dissolved minerals obscuring the light transmission.

The real clue as to the safety of the water was the colour and health of the trees near the shore. Even from 2000 feet I could see that the trees growing along the waters edge were a healthy green, and not yellow as they would be if the water had turned poisonous. Moreover the trees acted as our “canary” sentinels that if there had been any recent serious chemical activity then the vent would have been issuing carbon dioxide killing the nearby trees. There were no dead trees.

As I passed between the peak on my right and the daughter cone on my left I set up for my final approach. Flying once around the inside of the rim was partly for effect, but it also served a useful purpose. It allowed me to gauge a feel for the winds that might have been bowling over and around the peak that would affect my final approach. This morning, and I suspect most mornings, it was dead calm. In fact, I would be contending with glassy calm. The fly around also allowed me time to gain perspective on distance and height.

I flew past the entrance, which was also to be our exit, and over the open water of the main body of the lake and made a tight 40 degree bank to the left swinging around to the backside of the daughter cone again. The 180 degree turn served two purposes. For one, it allowed the passengers on the right side of the aircraft (that is when and if we ever flew passengers into the crater) to have a look inside the active cone and secondly allowed me to set up for a full flap descending final with a slow right turn directly onto the main body of the lake. Dropping down low over the backside of the active cone allowed us to spot the many steaming vents and hot springs that we had not seen from higher up.

Finals

It was only as I came onto final did I realize how big the crater and associated lake really was. I knew the lake was something like five kilometers long, but confined inside the caldera’s rim it had looked small. In fact, without proper reference I would have said it was too small to take-off from. The problem was in attempting to find a perspective to judge actual distances and relative sizes. A cliff or rock can be large or small. A tree can be large or dwarfed. The water had no perspective value and the air was so severe clear at this time in the morning I could not judge distances properly. In essence I had no reference. I did not even know the actual water level and with glassy water how would I know to round off before taking a nosedive? I can see why the other pilots had held off. Every survival instinct told me to abort and go around. So according to my plan I did just that.

My plan was to get down as close to the outside shore as possible and use the shoreline as a reference to my height above the water while reading the actual altitude. This worked fine except getting my reference was still difficult. With the assumption that the trees inside a 7,000 to 10,000 ft crater would be stunted and small, I kept thinking I was close to the shore when I was not close at all. It took some concentration and conscience effort to get myself to fly the aircraft closer and closer to the near vertical cliff face shoreline to be able to properly judge my height above the water. When I did get close I realized that the trees were a lot larger than I had imagined. No wonder my perspective was thrown so far off.

Once I worked out the water’s altitude I turned out toward the main body of the lake, skimmed the water with my floats, and headed toward the cleft in the crater rim. The landing/takeoff area could not have been blessed any more perfect. The area I chose was 1) the longest straight stretch on the lake, 2) into any wind that would come up later in the morning, 3) in the direction of the hiker’s camping site if we ever wanted to go ashore and finally 4) facing straight toward the exit for both the takeoff and for any necessary go around.

As this was my practice “go around” and also simulated takeoff (without actually committing myself) I waited until about half way down the lake and then applied full power. Alex was waiting to take the readings of ITT (turbine temperature) and rate of climb. From 6,300 ft we eventually climbed to 8,000 ft with less than 740 degrees Celsius on the ITT (within the green) and over 500 ft per minute climb. Both well within acceptable limits. At 500 ft above the lake level I pulled the power slightly and headed out the exit to visualize what the escape would feel like. I could have stayed inside the basin and spiral climbed my way out of the top, but flying through the narrow walls of the cut was again a way to feel the transition with a dramatic flare.

Exiting through the cut we flew right over the hiker’s camping site, the hot springs, and the falls, and then the landscape dropped away. You could feel the rush as the earth left you suspended. We climbed just enough to make an “operations normal” report to the Area Control frequency and then I banked left and headed back inside. I did another approach and this time followed up with a full stop landing. Landing in that clear mountain water was like landing on a mirror. Struggling with spatial disorientation I felt like we were still suspended in air as I could see the reflections of trees and rocks and clouds below me.

"I had learned many years ago that a two-arm wave means someone is in trouble."

After falling off the step I feathered the prop and Alex got out on the float to take a water sample. The water was as clear and pure as from any spring. I later teased Alex that he could quit flying for a living and start bottling and selling that water. “Alex’s Rinjani Spring Water.”

The feeling of having been the first person ever to land on this lake and possibly the first person to ever have even been on the water, as there was no evidence of a boat, did not sink in while we floated on the beautiful lake. All I could think of was getting airborne again. As soon as Alex was strapped in I applied full power and started my takeoff run. Although I was getting full power on the torque I was not getting full thrust from the bite of the prop. The thin air was certainly affecting both thrust and lift. I had to use every tiny bit of my floatplane experience to coax my baby up onto the step.

Before applying full power, I pulled the control column right back with full up elevator deflection. The nose rose agonizingly slowly until it rose no more. At this point I relaxed the pressure on the control column allowing the nose to drop slightly. This helped the prop to “pull” the aircraft onto the step changing the center of buoyancy from the rear of the floats toward the center and allowing the airflow to build up over the wings creating lift. As the buoyancy moved forward I could feel the force of the water starting to push the aircraft onto the step and so I rocked the control slightly ahead to “help” her fulcrum her way into the hydroplaning attitude.

As soon as she gained the step I pulled back gently on the control column again to search for the “sweet spot,” or the ideal attitude where neither the bows or heals are digging or dragging and the aircraft is riding solely on the smallest section of the V shaped keel. When she was ready to fly, I broke the right and, almost simultaneously, the left float from the lake's surface tension and was airborne. The rest was easy. Alex and I had earned our donuts that day.

Oddly enough we savored our conquest and did not tell anyone for a couple of days. When I finally ventured to mention to the head office in an “Oh, by the way” conversation, they were ecstatic. I was congratulated with an official fax from the head office thanking me for my effort. “For Travira Air, your landing inside the Rinjani volcano is equivalent to Indonesia landing a Man on the Moon.” They could hardly wait to see the photographs.

Alex and I looked at each other. We had no photographs. Neither of us had brought a camera. As there were no witnesses how were we to prove that we had actually landed on the lake? We did not exist.

He smoothed the way for a second flight when he ask, “Do you think there is anyway that you could get some pictures?” I said, “Sure, let me work it out.”

So two days later Alex and I were off again. This time on landing I shut down the turbine and was left with an eerie silence as we ghosted to a stop. Alex and I got out to document our landing for posterity. Alex had come up with the idea that we should shoot each other holding newspapers. He had even brought the original papers from the morning we had done the first landing, as that would be more authentic. Now we could prove that we had actually been there that morning. The irony was that the papers we held carried stories in Indonesian about Bin Ladin and the Al Qaeda shortly after the 9/11 attacks on America. We looked like hostages being held for ransom.

The morning was so beautiful and calm that this time I did not want to leave. The opaque emerald green water was cool, and the air was crisp and refreshing. The trees turned out to be tall straight pine, looking like something out of Myst or descendants from the Mesozoic Period, which blended in well with the alpine atmosphere. The feeling was that of a summer morning in the Rocky Mountains. Alex said, “I’ve never been to Canada, but I imagine that this is what it is like.”

I said, “Yes... except for the volcano” towering over the east end of the lake. Silhouetted against the morning sun, I could make out the rising steam from the volcano cone. The steam appeared thin and wispy from the distance, but it was venting nonetheless. In other words, here was evidence that the volcano was still active and threatening. It was hard to believe that something so majestic and beautiful could be so potentially dangerous. In the calm cool of the morning, the tension I felt was not caused by the awareness of imminent death. The feeling was rather one of unfulfilled opportunity, like that of not having said goodbye to a dying father. I would be disappointed if Rinjani erupted one day and I was not there to see it go. I certainly understand how a volcano could come to be worshipped.

Because this flight was also booked as a training flight I let Alex take over left seat so he could do a series of landings and takeoffs. I already had my fun. On the second takeoff we were flying out the cut toward home when Alex looked down toward the campsite and said, “I think someone is mad at us, they are waving with both arms.”

I had learned many years ago that a two-arm wave means someone is in trouble. Much to Alex’s amazement I decide to investigate. His reasoning was that if we were in trouble we should avoid the person. My reasoning was that if we were in trouble we should confront and reason with the person, but more likely we would be providing assistance to someone who needs our help. Alex made his first glassy water landing and we stepped taxied toward the shore. When he decided we were getting close to the shore he pulled her off the step, but to both of our amusement the waving person was a tiny little dot on the shoreline. We were still a kilometer away. The clear air and magnitude of the mountains had fooled our senses again.

We approached the shore and I had Alex shut down the turbine early. We pulled out the aluminum paddles and slowly worked our way toward the rocky shoreline. The bank was gradual making it easy to nose in the aircraft. With no waves or tide to worry about we only had to hitch a rope and leave her floating. The waver turned out to be Jaron Starling from Australia.

Jaron was a backpacker who had hired some local guides from the village below and set out alone to find this legendary lake. He said it took him three days to get this far when one of his guides came down with pneumonia. The poor guy had been holed up in his tent for several days with no sign of improvement. Jaron said the guy had a fever and could hardly breathe. He certainly did not want to risk forcing him to hike three to four hours back up to the crater rim and then another eight hours back down to the village. Jaron was getting low on supplies and he was concerned about his guide’s health. Could we possibly carry this sick man back down to civilization?

To me this sick man was a minor miracle. We weren’t supposed to be here in the first place but he was our perfect reason for coming here. "We were flying over and saw that someone was in trouble." That was the truth plain and simple. We had no choice but to land.

In fact, that is what I had suggested to Travira Air when they wanted to know how we were going to get official permission to start a tourist run into the lake. Sell it as a safety backup for mountain climbers and hikers who might get in trouble while they were on top. If we were to drop in a couple of times a week it might even increase the amount of hikers willing to risk the journey knowing that they could be rescued if necessary. Medical evacuations and exploration started bush flying and here we could combine the two.

I agreed to take the man as long as he could be ready by 9:30 a.m. It was already 9:10 a.m., and the midmorning clouds were starting to fill the lower valley and spill out through the cut into the lake. By 10 a.m. the crater basin would be filled with clouds and we would be trapped. Jaron had the guide packed and ready to go by my deadline. We loaded him on board and Alex conducted a takeoff and spiral climb back toward the exit. Once through the cut we started a descent, slowly as not to affect our congested passenger, toward Mataram the capital of Lombok where we dropped him off.

By the time we got to sea level he could already breathe easier and the colour came back to his face. After disembarking he shook our hands and turned to leave, no doubt dazed at the experience he had just been through. It took him three days to get up the mountain and less than 20 minutes to get back down. Janaldi Anar Farultuk Terhnir was on his way back to his family.

Watching him trod slowly homeward I felt like I had accomplished something more important than just being the first person to have landed on the Indonesian Moon. Thanks to Jaron Miles Starling of Australia and his two-armed wave we had no doubt saved a man’s life.

Challenge & Response:

Or how to talk yourself into landing inside an active Volcano

Modern CRM teaches pilots the value of the Challenge and Response system for referencing checklists. Here is an example of how the system works.

Have you ever found yourself circling deep inside the ancient rim of an active 13,000 ft volcano wondering how you got there? Then as you continue to circle have you felt the pressure mounting to decide whether or not to continue? Now is the time to reference the POH and find the correct checklist. If volcanoes are not covered in the Supplement Section you can pull out now to save face and just say, “It wasn’t in the book, so why risk it?” Most people would nod their heads in consensus and agree wholeheartedly that you did the right thing.

The Challenge:

“I mean, look at the risks. Did you even contemplate the risks? Shame on you for even considering such a thing.”

“First of all, isn’t there some kind of law preventing you from landing inside a volcano? I mean if there isn’t one, there ought to be. And isn’t the volcano inside a national park. That means it is protected. If you land there then you might be violating some kind of regulations. Plus, you’d be out of radio contact with flight control. What if something happened? No, you had better not go at all.”

“What about the weather? There must be strong downdrafts coming off the mountain. Would you be able to climb out once you got in? And you know the volcano clouds over every day. You would not be able to see the mountain in the cloud. What do they say about clouds with granite centers?”

“You also have to remember that this is an “active” volcano don’t you? It last erupted with a heavy lava flow only as recently as 1994. Can you imagine what would have happened if you had been there at the time? Hah, you’d be toast. Or soup. Not to mention that this particular volcano has been rated as one of the eight most dangerous volcanoes in the world! This baby is a pressure cooker. It can go at any time. Do you want to be there when that happens? Think about that.”

“Not to mention that no one has measured the depth of the lake. You could easily hit a rock and sink the floatplane on landing.”

“And there is basic chemistry to consider. Every one knows that volcanoes turn water into sulfuric acid. Haven’t you seen the movie? Landing there would certainly corrode the floats. You could sink on the spot. Apparently sulfuric acid will strip the flesh right from your bones. Yeetch!”

“Worst yet, don’t you remember that volcano eruption in Cameroun where the vent gasses turned the water in the lake to a carbolic gas that killed every cow and cat and villager around for miles. Remember, the first reports said the Israelis had tested a Hydrogen bomb. That was the only way they could explain the mysterious deaths, because by the time they got there the gas had cleared and they found nothing but bodies. Even the cockroaches were dead. Even the fleas on the dogs were dead!”

“Never mind all that,” says the Chief Pilot. “I checked the Pilot Operating Handbook and the charts don’t even go that high. This lake we are talking about is at 7,000 feet above sea level. You can’t extrapolate these charts so you really do not have a choice. The manufacturer has the last say in how this aircraft can operate and you can’t make it do what it won’t do. It was simply impossible anyway so why try? Besides you have your family to consider.”

“Now, let’s forget all this nonsense and go for a beer.”

We have all been there.

Challenges come from all arenas of your life: mental, physical, social. For some of us just getting up in the morning is a challenge. This type of challenge is wholly psychological in that you have convinced yourself there is nothing worth getting up for. The challenge here is to “face the day” if you are stuck in a situation where you have little control, or to “face the music” if you have recently messed up. A physical challenge is getting up in the morning after going on a bender the night before. A social challenge is facing your girlfriend after making out with her best friend while you were under the influence the night before. We have all been there.

The pressures and decisions of our day-to-day lives are our challenges. Man’s response to these challenges has been to control the environment around him. To delay darkness he has constrained fire, to avoid rain he has built shelter, to foregoing famine he has bred the self-protecting poisons out of plants and the wildness out of animals, to protect against marauders he has fashioned spears, and to counteract pain he has chewed the bark of willows.

When a hurricane blows away his shelter, however, or a flood washes away his livestock, man is really whistling in the wind. It is those times when man’s control slips away leaving nothing but the primitive rite of survival. Those mornings after are really when it would be tough to get out of bed, if you have a bed to get out of.

Natural disasters can ruin your whole day.

Hurricanes, floods, tornadoes, wild fires, and earthquakes are all beyond our control and for the most part unpredictable. Most animals have evolved to have an instinctual fear of natural disasters. Birds fly inland from hurricanes; deer head for high ground in floods; wildebeest stampede from wild fires. Evolution has traced that protective fight or flight pattern into our survival instincts. Man, however, has the ability to learn from experience and can live with the worst of his fears. Besides, not all disasters are all bad.

Volcanoes, like floods and wildfires, bring not only disaster, but good as well. They enrich the soil: floods and fires for the season and volcanoes for generations, leading to a confused state of a primitive mind. When they come they bring death and destruction, but when they finish they allow crops to thrive and civilizations to flourish. How does a society deal with that concept? When you live beside a river or a meadow, do you fear it’s destructive potential to swell into a flood or rage into a wild fire? Or do you view these landscapes as benign and serene? For the most part, I believe people see a river as a river and a meadow as a meadow and leave it at that.

There is something decidedly different, however, about a volcano. A volcano can be nothing else. It cannot become a volcano. It is a volcano and therefore the potential or threat is always present. You may build your woven grass shelter or plant your subsistence crops on the side of a volcano, but when you look up from hoeing your cassava it is still a volcano. It is a hostile landscape that is only temporarily man’s to borrow.

A majestic and awesome volcano towering over and dominating the landscape stirs the deepest fears of man. These fears are not just about running away, but something more spiritual. Those fears are of the unknown. The volcano inspires the imagination and fires the soul. The volcano makes man believe in gods and in other worlds. The volcano makes man wonder where heaven is when hell breaks loose. Fire and brimstone and obsidian projectiles disgorge from the bowels of the shaking earth. Steaming poisonous gasses spew forth. Erupted smoke and ash and dust turn the sky dark and the air becomes un-breathable. Molten rivers of red-hot lava destroy everything in its path. This is hell on the move. This is not a place for man.

Contributed by Author:
John S Goulet
Aviation Advisor
www.ebushpilot.com

About the author and article:
In the days this article was written John was flying the amphibian Cessna for Travira Air. They fly from Bali (DPS) and Mataram (AMI) on Lombok, largely servicing the mining company Newmont Inc on the SW corner of the neighbouring island of Sumbawa, where they land in the inlet at Benete Bay and power up a ramp to dry land. They also land in the bay off Moyo Island (north of Sumbawa Besar) for guests to the rather exclusive Aman Moyo Resort.