Russia can best be described as a series of bureaucratic hassles punctuated by brief moments of flight. For example, what should be a 30 minute refueling stop in Gorky turns into a 4 hour intensive negotiating session. First Gorky doesn’t release us because the next airport along our route isn’t certified to accept aircrafts without wheels. No one can explain to us why we need wheels, but in Russia a rule is a rule. I am tempted to strap on the wheels from the rusting Lada outside the control tower just to get the clearance.
After seven phone calls, we manage to find an airport willing to accept wheel-less aircraft, but that requires a change in the flight plan, which means more telexes to Moscow. Rinat, our Russian navigator in the back seat, goes to the airport library, pulls down a big book with yellowing pages with the approved VFR flight paths between Gorky and our next airport, and gets to work with his slide ruler. This manuscript was written in the days of Kruschev and probably not opened since the end of the cold war, but Rinat refers to it like the holy bible.
Since we fly too low to be tracked by radar, Rinat admits to us that air traffic control has no idea where we actually are. So we let Rinat submit his plan with the 12 waypoints and wait an hour for Moscow to telex back approval. In reality we refuse to fly this crazy course, so Rinat simply closes his eyes and announces every few minutes on the radio “Control, we are approaching waypoint Tango Bravo.” In reality, we are nowhere near Tango Bravo, but everyone seems happy, and Rinat gets to keep his job.
Once we have our approved route with the 12 waypoints, we still have to deal with Olga, the air traffic control clerk who doesn’t let us take off because she receives a telex that there is a chance of thunderstorms en-route. Olga, who is about 50 years old and has never been in an airplane, is adamant that it is too turbulent for us to fly. We grab Olga and take her to the window. She suffers a sunstroke from the blue skies and sunshine outside.
Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice three uniformed customs officers approaching our heli. These piranhas can have the helicopter completely in pieces on the ramp within 15 minutes. I run outside, and with enough Shalon-Verniol mission patches (like the kind we wear on our flight suits) and a few jokes in broken Russian, I get them to go back into the terminal empty handed. Meanwhile Michel manages to charm Olga and we are finally off. We have escaped from Gorky. Total cost: 6 mission patches, 3 Eurocopter pins, 2 baseball caps and an instant Polaroid picture of the airport manager and his son at the controls of our heli. I just hope we have enough patches to last us to Alaska.
Saturday 16 June
Today was a great day with 7 hours of flight time. Leonid, the aviation expert in Moscow who obtained our permits to enter Russia, starts to call ahead and prepare the airports for our arrival. We land at Yekaterinburg and are greeted by a fuel truck, a pre-approved flight plan, hot coffee and sandwiches. America! I am liking Russia more and more. The Russians have even made me an honorary Airport Security Officer. Leonid has also found a trick to get our flight plans approved faster. We file them as though we are a fully instrument rated aircraft, get approval from Moscow to use the normal airways, and then we fly wherever we want anyway. Moscow thinks we’re a 747, but no one seems to mind.
Either way when we land at most airports, we look like visitors from another planet . Rinat and I have a lot of fun joking about the Russian aviation system over dinner. I still lose the drinking games, but the margins are improving
