The 79 year old School Inspector and Helen Bedd

Our story begins in early 2004 when Mr. Peter Love, a retired British School Inspector has two ostensibly chance encounters in Egypt’s Valley of the Kings with Ms Jon Cellitti, (aka Helen Bedd - of whom more later). A sprightly seventy nine year old, Love blooms under the attentions of Cellitti and shares his dream of one day flying over the Victoria Falls. The shiny wings on his peaked cap from Exeter Flying Club, and the research he has done on African Aero Safaris make his dream more than merely an old man’s wishful thinking. Love has what mountaineers call ‘le style anglais’ in abundance. It is the potent mix of dashing adventurousness, fortitude and self-assurance characteristic of the great British explorers. It was perhaps inevitable that Cellitti would catch a dose of this style and after an extensive exchange of e-mails they resolve that together, they will live their dream of a flying safari in Africa.

Jon Cellitti is a dynamite little blond package - a merry widow of indeterminate age, thanks to perhaps a little, um you know, - work. Beneath the vulnerable exterior of the petite widow beats the heart of a mega deal realtor from San Francisco. And, with wonderful implausibility, under the alias Helen Bedd, Cellitti turns out to be a member of the Association of Retired Espionage Agents (A.R.E.A) and also of WoW, the Widows and Widowers Institute.

The remainder of the international contingent is composed of the Luftwaffe: Michael Wippler and Peter Simchen are both from Dresden, in what was previously East Germany. Their English is quaintly aeronautical. Thus, when asked to confirm something on the radio, a simple “affirm” is not sufficient for the punctilious Germans who inevitably respond with a splendid “Rodscher zat.”

The South Africans

Adding local colour are entertaining Jo’burg motorcycle distributor Butch Hirsch and his wife, Shael Harris, an Amazonian PhD in marine biology who have brought along their pristine C182, ZS-FIX.

The tour leader and owner of African Aero safaris is David van der Spuy, son of the late General van der Spuy, one of the two founders of the South African Air Force. The writer, a lapsed Private Pilot flew as a passenger with van der Spuy in his smart four seater Cessna 182 Skylane.

The safari

For the international pilots, the first few days are spent dealing with pilot’s license validation requirements in South Africa. There was also time set aside to do the usual Jo’burg tourist things such as visits to Soweto. Ironically, it was not in Soweto but in the luxurious Palazzo Hotel in Sandton that van der Spuy’s briefcase was stolen with all his cash for the safari plus cell phones, credit cards etc.

Day one of the actual safari started with the slowness of African time. The old adage of; “time to spare? - then go by air” applied as we sorted out documentation for cross border flights and did last minute shopping and currency swaps. Finally we were airborne in a loose gaggle of four airplanes. Once over the Magaliesberg and clear of controlled airspace van der Spuy leads the group down to a few hundred feet above the ground and we cruise leisurely northwards.

Flying low and slow was for me a revelation. Up till now, going places in an aeroplane meant taking off climbing to as high a flight level as possible for smoothness and then getting bored by the slow passage of scenery and time. But van der Spuy turns the journey into a voyage of discovery, taking in all the features and secrets hidden from any height greater than 1000 ft above ground.

The other aircraft soon become tiny in the rugged landscape, flying between looming granite mesas and buttes as old as time. West of Polokwane we fly over a gigantic plateau that contains mysterious, apparently virgin fertile valleys straight out of the febrile imagination of Rider Haggard. And this is all in our first two hours of flight, before we have even crossed the border into Botswana!

After swooping past soaring eagles over the Limpopo River we land at the huge tarred runway of the Limpopo Valley airport in the Tuli Block - a 17,000 hectare private game reserve that, thanks to its enormous population of elephants and the dryness of winter, has the appearance of a shelled WWI battlefield. Containing lion, elephant, eland and baobabs, it is soon clear why the Tuli Block is known as the land of the giants.

We know we are now in Africa because the terminal building is an open sided thatch boma and the robust female air traffic controller uses a handheld radio to organize customs and transport. I stay at Mashatu’s tented camp for the first night and then the main lodge for the second night. As the sister camp to world renowned Mala Mala, this is Africa at its best. The hospitality is seamless, the accommodation sublime and the experience is enhanced by rangers who love sharing their knowledge. It is winter and the nights are long and cold so our beds are pre-heated with a hot water bottle that I nestle between my chilled ankles.

After two soul restoring days at Mashatu we take to the air again for one of the longest days flying, a 430 nautical mile flight via Francistown to Sandibe Lodge in the Okavango Delta.

Leaving Francistown we head west over the vast Magadigadi salt plans, across vast tracts of bush without any sign of habitation of man or even beast. And then near Maun, we are abruptly over the wetland wilds of one of Africa's prime wilderness areas - the only place on earth where a river flows in one direction half of the year and then reverses itself to flow back for the second part of the year. We fly gently round in a big slow circle over Chief’s Island before landing on the dusty surface of Chitabe airfield.

Progress has come to the swamps and the Mokoro dugout canoes, which traditionally were made from Sausage trees, have been replaced with fiberglass replicas. But the ride is just as magical as we glide on a carpet of pastel lilies into an opening in the reeds, bathed in sunshine. The water isn't deep but it's alive with creatures of all sizes, ranging from tadpoles to gargantuan hippos guffawing at their own jokes and showing us the size of their Mokoro eating mouths. The moment is timeless, heavenly and unforgettable. Then, back on the Land Cruiser, we cross paths with lion, leopard, kudu, wildebeest, buffalo and the ubiquitous elephant. In the twilight a pack of wild dogs on the hunt slinks through the shadows of dusk.

Sandibe Lodge is a Conservation Corporation triumph. The name derives from the Bushman word Santantadibe which means “it does not belong to us”. It reminds us that we are but privileged visitors to this Eden that will (hopefully) still be here long after we have gone. The lodge is wonderfully simple - a huge thatched roof provides cover for the dining and lounge areas and a roost for countless large fruit bats. The imposingly tall structure is nonetheless dwarfed by imperious Jackalberry trees, filled with the calls of Meyers Parrots. In the camp there is a personal valet to see to our every need.

That evening, replete after a gourmet meal and fine company, we retire to our simple yet spacious room with its raised deck overlooking the Sandibe River. As we reflect on a day fully lived, we listen to the rusty bed spring noises of the fruit bats and the eerie sonar pinging sounds of the Scops Owl. Outside our room a humungous elephant bull known as Hoover crunches noisily at the trees.

After an early morning breakfast and a pre-flight briefing on the bonnet of a Land Cruiser, we fire up our by now trusty airplanes and are again low level over the waterways of the Delta, past teeming herds of buffalo and elephant. After clearing customs at Kasane, we are airborne for Livingstone, Zambia. We swoop around the bends of the Zambezi at an altitude low enough to chase our shadows across the lazy waters of the broad river. Approaching Livingstone we are cleared for the "flight of Angels" - to over-fly the famous Falls.

Once back on the ground and more immigration formalities We check into the rustic Thorntree Lodge on the north bank of the Zambezi. Our bungalow is a few feet from the flowing waters.

At Victoria Falls we haggle with the vendors in the local craft market for mementos before we stroll into the Victoria Falls Park for precipitous views from the edge of the gorge. Mist and spray makes the rental ponchos appreciated. After drying out from the falls we walk to the main bridge to vicariously enjoy one of the Luftwaffe defy death on the 111m high bungi jump.

It’s easy to loose track of time and we decide that if it’s Monday we must still be in Zambia. On departure from Thorntree Lodge we drive to the nearby Simonga Basic School. For many this is an unexpected highlight of the safari. The school is valiantly struggling to eke the most out of its grossly limited resources but its pupils and staff are so genuinely happy to see us that even the most jaded heart melts. We have brought gifts of writing materials and sweets and the unalloyed songs of gratitude from the children reveal to our international flyers the true heart of Africa.

Back in the air, van der Spuy leads the entire gaggle in a flyby of the school that brings out all the children to cheer and wave. Then we retrace our route low level along the Zambezi River to Kasane. With much encouragement we begin to get the gaggle close enough to actually feel like a formation and we try for some air to air pictures with a digital camera - which proves a lot more difficult than with a conventional SLR camera.

After a top-up fuel stop and the formalities of immigration, we head south along the border with Zimbabwe and the main road. Where the arrow straight road has been widened to act as “Emergency Landing Strip 1”, we turn south- west and head into the Makgadigadi pans.

Near the edge of the vast surreal salt surface van der Spuy leads the four aircraft down until our wheels are crunching through the thin crust of the surface. Standing in the shade under the wings we gratefully sip bottled water and cannot but be awed by the smallness of man under the vast dome of the cloudless sky.

With what is effectively an infinitely wide runway we take off in formation. The next leg is a relatively short hop to the town of Nata. Still at low level, we are rewarded with the unforgettable sight of the surface of a pan abruptly coming alive and turning bright pink as a cloud of flamingos takes to the air beneath or wings.

The village of Nata turns out to be a truck stop but Nata Lodge has spacious and luxurious log chalets and Earl Grey tea. After the desiccation of the salt pans some of us plunge gratefully into the swimming pool, regardless of its being mid-winter, while others head off into the bush on quad bikes.

The following morning is going to be a big day’s flying so our Flight Commander manages to get us all up and going at 6.00 am and, skipping breakfast, we are soon shivering in the predawn chill on the back of a game viewer speeding towards Nata airstrip 15km away. For a nominal fee some locals have guarded the aircraft and cleaned off the millions of smashed bugs from low level flying.

Crossing back into sunny South Africa, the clouds begin to build and we land at Polokwane under lowering ceilings. After a few phone calls it is clear that we will not be able to fly over or around the escarpment and into Tzaneen so van der Spuy arranges for the bus that was to meet us at the Tzaneen airport to come all the way to Polokwane to fetch us.

Tzaneen is a welcome change to the dusty savannah and bush. Cool, misty mountains provide expansive views over tropical plains a thousand feet below. I avail myself of the sensual delights of an aromatherapy massage and a workout in the superb Agatha spa that is part of the luxurious Coach House hotel. Dinner is sublime under the expert hands of Chef Gaylord Tearle and so replete, we retire to the luxurious suites.

We transfer back to Polokwane by bus, stopping at a mountain-top tea plantation whose panoramic views are unfortunately lost to us by the blanketing cloud. Back at Polokwane airport we kick our heels in the airport cafeteria for endless hours while we wait for the cloud base to lift. The airport is officially closed but undaunted, van der Spuy works his charm with the air traffic controllers and they clear just him to take off for a look-see. He returns and confirms that all is clear to the west and so we complete our refueling and are soon heading for Welgevonden West airfield.

Makweti Lodge straddles a deep ravine and features swinging wooden bridges to the thatched chalets. This is a place to relax, read a book, listen to the sounds of the bush or lounge on your private verandah viewing birds and other wildlife that wanders by. It is an opportunity to write up ones journal and digest the abundance of incredible experiences from the past ten days.

By now our foreign fliers were becoming proficient at navigating the wild spaces of Africa and so our Flight Commander was confident that he could leave them to find their own way back to Lanseria. And so it was that he proudly listened on the ground to the plummy tones of a 79 year old Englishman with his “Wilcos” and the Teutonic ‘Rodscher zat” as the remaining two aircraft found their own way back.

No words can do justice to the multitude of memories such a safari creates. For me it was about learning to celebrate the rambunctious joy and the rare privilege of private flight - the freedom to go where and when and how high or low one pleases. Like Jonathan Livingston Seagull I learned what it is to really fly and thus what it means to really be alive. African Aero Safaris and Dave van der Spuy made this possible - and in the most luxurious of ways.

Author: Guy Leitch - SA Flyer 2004