"A Fly-in is not a "fly-in" unless you fly in". At least this was my rational when I decided that the best way to experience the biannual Overberg fly-in/ air-show was to arrive in an aeroplane. Added to that, the easiest way to ensure a camp site for myself on the Friday night was to provide a wing to camp underneath, logical conclusion, take my 'own' aircraft. Little did I know as I booked one of FTC's C152's for my adventure, what a cocktail of experiences I was lining up for the weekend.
Navigation log - check, filed a flight plan - check (for two aircraft in formation), in my mind this was going to be a fairly straight forward flight to Overberg with Jaco in the right seat and Koos and "J" in ZS-IIK flying just off my wing. Princess LIA who has not been much of a princess to me in the past was being given a second chance... As forgiving as I am, I'm not sure I'll be giving her a third!! After take off we were climbing through 800 ft when LIA coughed, not a chesty cough but certainly enough to get my attention, being the "Princess" I gave her the benefit of the doubt, another cough was enough to turn both Jaco, (my passenger) and my heads briefly before the third cough which prompted an immediate call to the tower & a right turn back towards the field! It would seem there was definitely a change in the tone of my voice because we landed out of a low circuit with fire engines on the taxiway eagerly anticipating some excitement for the day.
Half an hour later it was round two for our flight to Overberg, this time in good ol’ faithful, PIC. Flight time planned at a record breaking 90kts was 1 hour 30 minutes but as we glanced at the GPS, it was clear that our shadow on the ground was moving considerably slower than planned, 30kts slower at times. This became an amusing aspect to our adventure because relative to the speeds that Overberg controllers are used to it was akin to watching paint dry as we plodded out our track towards their reporting points. I believe this painfully slow moving blip on their radar screen became more of an intriguing fascination than an irritation by the way that they were routing us from a very long final approach to the coast, back to the final approach and back to the coast again several times as they fitted three or so crowd pleasing displays in front of us on a single approach. Eventually it was our turn, the combination of scarred perspex and direct sunlight as we squinted into the setting sun didn't help matters, particularly as Overberg appears to have two parallel runways, a glance at the plate on my lap confirmed that the left “runway” was in fact a taxiway that is built to double up as a runway in an emergency situation.
At one point it became easier to sideslip the aircraft looking out of the corner of my windscreen and I was having visions of doing a very tricky landing trying to maintain an ounce of dignity as hundreds of people witnessed me approaching sideways and skidding all over the runway, until a large cloud saved the day as the sun slipped behind it. The rest was easy as we landed and were directed to our parking where we'd be camping under the wing for the night. For a young pilot, it's the stuff dreams are made of... until of course you're trying to knock your first tent peg into concrete solid ground with a rock that bears no resemblance to a decent mallet. Relieved appreciation doesn't do justice to the feeling as the last peg barely penetrates the ground, only just anchoring the last of the guy lines.
The show itself being predominantly military meant thundering jet engines, those of the Grippens, Hawks and Mirages, absolute precision demonstrated in the formation display of South Africa's pride, the Silver Falcons
and aerodynamically defying manoeuvres by the unsung heroes of the SAAF flying their rotary wings, the Oryx, Augusta and Rooivalk. Unfortunately though, there are occasions in this life that can blow a sombre dark cloud over even the most exhilarating, electric atmosphere and humble the most passionate of aviation enthusiasts. An aircraft crash forces all of us to remember that it is a privilege to taste the sky and not a given right, as much as we long to be, we are not birds and we are fallible in our flying machines! As Dave Stock's Lightning disappeared as a plume of black smoke on the horizon there was an instant, tangible lull in the atmosphere. The cause, the blame, the investigations, all futile in turning back time and in consoling those who knew him. The irony, he died fulfilling a passion and purpose that sustained his life. It may have been this fact that prompted the organisers to continue with the show as planned and it was only fitting that the day ended in a tribute to Dave as the Silver Falcon's flew the “missing man” formation. Few dry eyes witnessed that formation.
For me the air-show was a first, a first where I was not only a spectator but also a part of the aviation fraternity. To experience the show alongside contemporary's in the aviation world, students and instructors from FTC was unlike any I had previously felt and it was good to feel a part of something. Flying had become more than flying alone and I understood now why little boys want to be pilots!
Flying out of the Overberg show confirmed to me that this is my life, to touch the sky, taste adventure and find our God in places that few others do. Gazing down on His creation gives a perspective reminding me of how small I am in the grand scheme and it's humbling rather than heroic for me to be in a tiny flying machine above our blue green planet. I did however, in my frailty feel a little more heroic as one of the most humble of aviators himself, Maj. Scott Ternent agreed to formate with his exemplary team, the Silver Falcons on our 70's Cessna 152 ZS-PIC. As we had been briefed, as they strapped in, Scott gave us a call to let us know, I hastily started up and squeezed in a radio call to Overberg Tower between a dozen other enthusiasts departing. We received our clearance to route out coastwards, turning right along the coast for Arniston where the Falcons would find us and formate with us.
As I advanced our throttle, balls to the wall with a slightly nose down attitude to maxmize our speed, Scott with the Falcon's in formation had an optimistic over-estimation of our cruise speed and did the same to “catch” us, suddenly, from nowhere, five Pilatus Astras appeared behind... and then as suddenly in front of us, air-brakes deployed in an attempt to slow down to our speed. Number 3 and 5 broke off left and number 1, 2 & 4 to our right to rejoin us in a more “civilized” manor for Cessna pilots, with full flaps and gear extended, positioning themselves either side of us, Scott's voice came over the radio, “How does it feel to be lead of the Silver Falcons Paul?”, ZS-PIC was the lead of the Falcon's, the excitement I felt cannot be described, I was like a child receiving the gift he'd waited for all year on Christmas morning, it was a privilege and an honour like none other. For a moment, I did feel a little heroic! 
An equally elated Jaco in my right seat and I were taking turns to fly and take photographs because after all, who would believe us if we had no solid proof? “Smoke on... go” five minutes of pure exhilaration and “flaps up... go, gear up... go” and they were gone, but not the experience, that will always remain. All I can and must say is, “Scott, and Silver Falcons, thank you for sharing your little piece of the sky with us, it made our little place in the sky a whole lot bigger, we are honoured!”One weekend, one little Cessna 152, one tent, one reminder of the privilege and frailty of life and one National aerobatics team. A simple combination maybe, but one to remember for life. A simple note to students of FTC and any other flying schools, don't let opportunities like this pass you by, a little planning and a whole lot of enthusiasm is all it takes. Happy landings!!
