So here I am onboard an Alaskan Airlines flight from Seattle to San Fran – exit row to myself looking out the window at the Oregon coastline trying to get the Mama Mia soundtrack out of my head. More on that later. Back to the start of the trip takes us back to Brisbane, Queensland and myself and Robbie Cousland, a young RAAF pilot, boarding a modified DC-10 en route to Pago Pago, American Samoa. We took eight F-18s to Vegas for Red Flag in order to get the RAAF pilots exposed to an intense war-like exercise and build some relationships with our close allies in the process. I’ll mention more about the specifics a bit later.
So Cousy (Robbie’s callsign) and I boarded flight Omega 10 and strapped ourselves in to the DC-10 for the 6-hour ride. Omega contracts themselves out to refuel US and foreign air forces during trans-oceanic flights and helps train pilots with refueling. My first experience was a bad one in the front of an F-14 which resulted in a several failed attempts to get my refueling probe in the refueling basket followed by me ripping off an antenna on the bottom of the jet which in-turn worked its way down the right intake. Minor damage to the turbine blades ensued and I got to give blood and pee to make sure I wasn’t flying drunk or high. I wasn’t - I just wasn’t too talented at getting “the thing in the thing”. Those are the technical terms.
Back to the ride from OZ to Pago. Robbie and I lounged in the business lounge of this ex-Japan Airlines DC-10 and I even got a JAL bar of soap. Nina, don’t think I wasn’t thinking about souvenirs for you! A nap, some studying of charts for the exercise, and some banter with the troops that were on the flight, and we were touching down in Pago Pago.
Now Pago Pago is a place we have to stop out of necessity only. You put two tankers and eight hornets up in the air and you’re realistcially only going to get about 2500 miles from your last departure point before you have to either land or run out of gas, and Pago Pago is that point when you’re lifting off out of Australia. It’s not ideal, but they’ve got gas, a runway, two McDonalds, and some really large Samoans to help you get your aircraft parked. I’m talkin’ BIG dudes, and it’s impressive to see a 400ish pound man shuffle around in a skirt and sandals whilst waving some wands to help you park a plane. Nonetheless, we got the jets there all in one piece and got ourselves (about 40 enlisted troops and the 10 pilots) to the hotel to get some food and get some sleep prior to the flight to Hawaii the next morning. A quick swim and a couple of Coors Lights (I accepted my tertiary choice for American light beer since it was all they had) and I was a happy sleeper, waiting to get up and strap in for the six-hour hornet flight to Hawaii.
A continental breakfast at the hotel (not a bad one considering we were on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere) and a quick flight brief by the Commanding Officer (CO) and we were out the door to the airport. Now we had a few things working against us before we even got to the airport, worst of which was the Category 3 typhoon (read hurricane if you’re in the States) that was bearing down on the island from the northeast and a few other issues that made two of our jets inoperable. This left us with six jets ready to fly, and I was content since I was flying as #4 of 6. A good spot with little responsibility and with a few guys behind me (5 and 6) to bite the bullet and stay in Pago in case of other issues. It started raining as we started the jets and we were anxious to get out since we were fighting against daylight and weather. After getting both my engines online I got the bad call from one of the refuelers that they couldn’t get the DC-10 (the one with the most fuel to give us) started due to a bad starter and of course, it being Pago and all, there wasn’t one at the airport to hook up to the plane externally. Hmm. Thirty minutes went by and the CO made the call to take three hornets with the second tanker (a 707) to Hawaii and let us work out the rest. The three hornets and tanker took off into the weathery abyss leaving me in charge of the remaining 3 hornets. I used all my wishing powers to will the DC-10 to start, but unfortunately I must have used those powers up on getting Stella through her second six months of life surgery-free. Dog-gone it.
Before we shut down the jets, in a comical move, we taxied the three “good” jets and two “bad” ones to the highest point on the parking ramp which measured in at a colossal eight feet above sea level. We learned later that the storm surge of the typhoon was predicted to be 25 feet. Of note, the buoyancy of an FA-18 is akin to an unlucky mobster on the Sopranos when it’s full of fuel. And the waiting game began.
We, now minus only three hornets and their pilots, a 707, and a handful of maintenance personnel, headed back to the hotel to ride out the storm. We walked in the lobby to a whiteboard full of information on how to ride the storm (now named Typhoon Rene) out (i.e. don’t look directly at the glass when there are palm trees flying through the air) and a A4 printout of the storm and its predicted path. Right over the island with predicted winds in excess of 100mph. Awesome. The eye was expected to hit at 4am local time. We prepared by getting two cases of beer and hunkering down in a second floor suite which Cousy and I were sleeping in. Now I’m sure there are different reactions to imminent disaster, and the good people of American Samoa were busy boarding up their windows and getting supplies. We decided to take a different approach and enjoy Rene. I don’t think anyone was awake for the 4am zero hour, but we woke to calm winds and cloudy skies – Rene, with respect for the low-lying jets, took a left turn about 50 miles from the island chain, and veered south, gaining intensity to a full-fledged Category 5 Typhoon. We thanked our lucky stars, nursed a few headaches, and ventured out to the actual town of Pago in search of some lunch.
Pago doesn’t really have a whole lot to offer in terms of great eateries, and it’s even worse when the town is expecting a devastating typhoon to hit. Most places were boarded up and we eventually found a resort with a restaurant and a view. Stomachs full and ready to be in Hawaii, we went back to the hotel and got a decent night’s sleep for the next flight.
Weather was good the 3rd day of Pago, the 707 returned to help us get to Hawaii and we got three jets out with the 707. The DC-10 left with the remaining two jets about an hour later and we arrived in Hawaii about six hours later, crossing into the Northern Hemisphere and into good weather. The flight was mostly in cloud up to the 0-degree latitude line and tanking was rough but manageable. Oahu was a welcome sight although getting out of the jet I didn’t receive a lei, just a rather inquisitive look of a customs official, wondering why an American was flying an Australian jet. I told him I was an American flying an Australian jet made in St Louis and he looked even more confused so I just gave him my passport and we called it even. Waikiki lay in wait, and a day of relaxation before heading to Miramar on Tuesday. More on that in the next post. Until then…
