Missing and Presumed Dead

The call came from a clinic in the town of Flores in the Peten region - not far from the temples of Tikal, near where “Apocalypto” Was Filmed. A child with some unknown illness was in critical condition and near death - could I provide a flight from there to Guatemala City where the facilities might provide some better level of care. As many of these cases went, the child had been sick for a long time and the cost of taking the patient to a far away medical facility was both expensive and frightening. The families would be required to accompany the child and provide money for food, medicine and any care - except the doctor’s attention. The only free thing about “free” medical care, if you could get it, was a little bit of a doctor’s time and a sheetless, dirty hospital bed. In fact, the lines to get into the “free” hospital were frequently long and full of people who did not speak Spanish, or only poorly. Preying on those poor campesinos were wicked con artists who posed as doctors and promised to “expedite” their need for medical services - for a fee. Of course, those con-men only ever took the money and never provided the services. Thus, poor campesinos from anywhere in the rural areas were loath to step foot in the big city (Guatemala City). Largely because of that, sick kids rarely got pre-emptive treatment (or any treatment) until they were near death - then the family would ask for my help to get them close to a hospital. This was one of those cases.

My flight from our home in the village of Mayalan to Flores about 80 miles to the north-east, took nearly an hour, partly because I had to fly due east for some time to avoid over-flying Mexican territory. Technically I could have, but, in areas like this it’s best to just respect borders. It’s hard to know who is watching. While getting ready to land in Flores, I called my wife (Jennifer) on the HF radio to let her know I was preparing to land. Our standard practice was always for me to call her and let her know where I was, where I was going and how long it would take me to get there - and when I arrived. She provided my “Flight Following” all via HF radio. Poor Jennifer had to keep that noisy HF radio hissing in the common room of our 3-room casita, while caring for our kids, Genevieve (3) and Beto (3 months), washing laundry by hand, carrying water up the hill, etc…

Looking back in my logbook now I see that I made many more flights from Flores with medical patients than I easily recall - as I scrolled through some of them I began to feel a little sad. Many of the flights from Flores to Guatemala City ended with the patient dying on the plane - in some cases I would divert to an airstrip near the patient’s home and allow the family to collect their loved one. One day, July 12th, 2004, was more memorable than most - it was a busy day as they go - I had been called by the clinic in Flores to do a medevac for a young boy who was critically ill (an excerpt of my flights for that day is attached).

I landed in Flores and walked into the Air Traffic Controller’s office - a dingy, slightly dirty and nondescript building in which there was a very small counter where pilots could file flight plans, a small office where sat the comandante of the office and one or two guys that mainly were there to keep the doors open. There were also one or two guys in the tower, fielding incoming and out-going traffic (maybe twice a day). I first called the clinic to let them know I had arrived and was waiting for them. Normally, in cases like this, the patient and any accompanying personnel would be waiting for me - not the other way around, so this was an unusual situation.

I filled out a flight plan for the trip to Guatemala City and gave it to the man behind the counter, who diligently read each item on it and confirmed that all was correct. He ripped off the pink carbon copy for me to take with me (for whatever reason) and put the white top copy in a basket then handed the yellow (2nd copy) to the comandante, who was leaning back in his chair seemingly looking at the ceiling. I went back out the plane and double checked everything to make sure there would be no surprises, fuel level, oil level, oxygen, machete, flare gun, etc.. I milled around a while, called the clinic again and then wandered back into the cool ATC office building to wait some more. The comandante saw me and waved me into his office. As soon as I walked in I could smell the rum and knew he was drunk - and he acted like it. I wasn’t really worried, most of the hundreds of flights I did had no flight plan and were from, or to, village airstrips or other places where ATC never saw nor heard me and they didn’t care. Having to file a flight plan was a requirement in Flores (a nuisance). I called the clinic one more time, and they told me that they would not be coming. Presumably the patient didn’t make it and there would be no flight. I was annoyed, but sometimes that is the way it goes. I mentioned to the commandant that I would NOT be flying to Guatemala City after all. He waved me off and, not thinking much about it, strolled outside, got into the plane, started it up and called Jennifer on the HF radio to let her know I would be flying home instead of Guate. I called the tower and got clearance for departure, took off and headed south..

The control tower in Flores seemed pretty chill. No aircraft had arrived or departed all morning. I was it. As I was flying along, Jennifer came back on the radio to let me know that the Belgian Midwives in Pojom (sounds like pohome) had contacted her and asked for an emergency medevac for a woman they were caring for. I agreed that there was still time and planned accordingly. Before departing the VHF radio frequency that I was using to talk to the Florez tower controllers, I informed them that I was not going to Guatemala City but had an emergency medevac flight in Pojom - but by then I was so far out I could not clearly hear their response. What I didn’t know was that they also could not clearly hear what I was saying. I also did not know that the comandante had not relayed my notice to him that I would NOT be going to Guatemala City. I also didn’t know the only word they heard, apparently, was “emergency”.

As I reached the latitude of the Mexican border and began heading west to Mayalan, I could see many rain showers in the area. Not unusual for this time of year, but sometimes I have to adjust my flight pattern for them. I also would need a little more fuel for the flight to Pojom and then from there to Play Grande and from there back home to Mayalan. Landing on the soaking wet airstrip in Mayalan wasn’t any harder than any other of the hundreds of landings I had made, and I was able to stop half way down the strip, pulling up right next to the bodega where I kept the fuel. I ran into the bodega and grabbed a couple of 5 gallon jerry cans, trotted back to the plane and hoisted them up onto the wing. Grabbing a hand-hold on the side of the engine cowling, with one foot on a step welded into the frame, I deftly flipped my body up like mounting a horse, until I was sitting on top of the wing next to the 5 gallon fuel jug. I put the large funnel (with a built-in filter) into the tank and emptied the two jerry cans of fuel into the tank. Trotting back to the bodega, I put the gear away and started thinking about the weight of the plane with the new fuel load and how much time I could fly - and what time of day it was. By now it was starting to get a little late, but we still had time. I got in the plane and called Jennifer back on the HF and let her know I had taken on fuel and was heading to Pojom. I clicked the mic, “Call the them and let them know that I’m on my way.” There really wasn’t an airstrip in Pojom, but, a few miles away, over a small mountain pass, was the town of Ixquisis (sounds like eeshkeesheesh). In the picture (from Google Earth) you can see the small road that leads from Pojom to Ixquisis airstrip. The Mexican border is to the right of that (north of it). It was common for us to get a request from one village, land at another many miles away - to pick up a patient that had been CARRIED to the airstrip.

The flight to Ixquisis was uneventful, though sometimes that airstrip gets exciting (another story).

The logbook entry kind of describes that flight from Ixquisis to Playa Grande (where there was a clinic):

Transported patient Edlia Mateo Canyo, husband Fransisco Thomas Sebastian, midwife Hanna from Belgium and first baby to Playa. 2nd baby still stuck.

After we arrived in Playa Grande and arranged transportation for everybody to the clinic, it was getting a little on the dusky side of dark. The midwives practically pleaded with me to stay with them for the night. I think they were afraid of being in a strange place - Playa Grande (or Cantobal) was what I called a “rootin-tooting spur-jangling gun toting frontier town” and it was. I felt bad about leaving them on their own but they were adult, capable women who spoke Spanish well enough. In hindsight, I realize now that I should have stayed with them as I may have underestimated both the real danger and their fear. My problem was that I could not fly after dark and I didn’t want to leave my plane, unguarded, on the airstrip overnight.

If I had stayed with them, Jennifer would have been left alone in Mayalan, but she was used to that and Mayalan was probably the safest place in Guatemala. Had I left the plane on the airstrip in Playa, I would have had to find and hire an armed guard to watch the plane (it was that kind of place). That made my decision easy to make the 15 minute flight back to Mayalan - and I made it just before dark.

As late as it was - and it was past my self-imposed no-fly time,I decided to return to Mayalan. Flying late in the day has some risks. There are no lights in the village, on the airstrip. The mountains obscure the sun to the west, so dusk comes fast and dark. If I find myself still airborne in the dark, I can’t land on the village airstrip due to the trees and complete absence of any light. Just too dangerous. On this day, I barely made it back in the twilight of dusk - cutting it too close, again. I tied the plane down and grabbed my flight kit then walked back along the rocky dirt road from the centro de Mayalan back to our house. People greeted me along the way as I tripped and shuffled along the rocky road.

Arriving home, Jennifer gave me “the look”. I know that look means she did NOT approve of me landing in near darkness. She completely understands the risks and chides me when I stretch the limits - she is great that way. The kids were at the table and dinner was on - I think it was tortillas and beans with rice - my favorite! Jennifer made tortillas herself in village style, taught by the local ladies over the years. My preference was white flour tortillas, something the locals wanted no part of. They always like the Massa (elote corn) dough tortillas. Jennifer would bake mine extra to make it stiff and crunchy, like a tostada.

After dinner we retired to the porch and cleaned the dinner dishes. We strung a small, round LED light from a string to light our washing area. I fastened a wood slab to the railing to make a kind of counter. On that we had 2 little plastic basins. A hose from the raised water barrel would provide wash water. We had a system for washing the dishes: Two plastic basins lined up side-by-side. We would put about a gallon of soapy water in the first, then a gallon of rinse water in the 2nd. After the wash water got completely dirty, we would drain that basin and take the 2nd basin (rinse water) and pour it into the first basin (now was water) and put some fresh water in the 2nd basin.

As we cleaned dishes, the family on the opposite side of the valley played marimba. The Mayan man there had one leg and one eye, injuries he sustained during the fighting. It was really beautiful and soothing music. It was magical.

Suddenly the peace was ruptured by the sound of my cell phone ringing. For some reason it seemed extremely loud, there in the dark, listening to the distant marimba. I answered the phone, standing there in the dark end of the porch - Hola? “Robert!”, he shouted. “You’re Alive!!!” he exclaimed. I recognized the voice immediately to be that of Joselito Gomez, my friend from Coban (a city in the mountains to the east - where I would crash in a later story). “Yes!” “Joselito! I am!” I shouted back, not knowing why he was so excited. “We thought you was dead!” he shot back. I replied - “Who thought I was dead?”

“Everybody!”, he shouted. “The army is looking for your crash site (body) and the ministry of aeronautica is going to start a search in the morning!”. “What!?” was my reply - “what are you talking about?”. He stammered a bit, “they thought you crashed into the mountains after you left Flores!”. “They said you declared an emergency and when you didn’t land in Guatemala City. So they figured you had crashed into the mountains!”.

“I didn’t crash!”, I retorted. “There was medical emergency in Pojom I had to pick up. I TOLD them that…”. Then it hit me. I told them that, that there was ANOTHER EMERGENCY -but- they must not have heard anything except ”EMERGENCY”. Then I was out of radio range. “Oh Robert, you need to call them right away!”. “You need to call aeronautica tonight!” “I will Joselito! Thank you for calling - how did you know to call me?”. “I didn’t know nothing” he said, “I just called. You should call the army too, and also, uh, the Alaz de Esperanza people too..”. “Why Alas de Esperanza?” I asked. “Because the aeronautica (Department of Aviation) called them when you crashed. “Ah, OK, I’ll call them now. Thank you Joselito!”.

Joselito was a great buddy to have. He was well connected and extremely friendly. Two of his brothers had died in a plane crash under circumstances I won’t get into here, and his remaining brother always carried pistols with large magazines and was frequently busy around the Coban airport moving bags of something or other. I was told it was bank work - money - and who am to suspect the worst? I have a few stories about Joselito that get somewhat more complicated over time. I’ll save that for later.

My next phone call was to the ministry of aviation (aeronautica). I called the director on his personal line and explained the whole silly mess to him. He was very happy to hear that I wasn’t dead, like they had thought - and like the other gringo that used to fly from this base before I took over. The Minister was very happy that he would not have to send out a search (recovery) party in the morning after all. My next call was to the commandant of the army (I think - it was the number the minister of aviation gave me). I explained the whole thing to him and he too was very happy that I wasn’t dead. My third call was to the director of Alas de Esperanza. They also were ecstatic that I wasn’t dead - like their previous pilot had ended up.

The previous pilot, an ex-Navy pilot by the name of Irv Ashford. I had met and had drinks with him in St. Louis before he took over the aviation project here in the Ixcan. He as a good bit older than me but had a lot more experience, overall. He was flying a U206 in and out of this village (Mayalan) and using the same casita we did. He would stay overnight frequently when he wasn’t at his “home” base in Huehuetenango. Nobody knows for sure the circumstances of that accident, but he was flying with 6 passengers when he crashed in the mountains near Nebaj. I have flown a lot in the area and landed many times in Nebaj. I could write a lot about the high mountain terrain up there and how the smoke and clouds mingle during some parts of the year, making it hard to figure out where you are - what valley you’re in, etc… The wreckage was utter and complete. Nobody survived. Irv had only been flying in the area for six months before that accident. One important trick to flying in this environment, where there is not much room for error, is to survive the first six months.

When we arrived, the casita was mostly empty - but there were many of Irv’s personal items still in the house; a hat with the number 43 on it, knick knacks, his navy dog tags, etc... I used his hat and figured maybe it was his lucky hat (since he didn’t have it with him when, you know…he crashed). Somewhere along the line I lost that hat. I think it really was lucky because later, when I crashed in the mountains years later (near Coban) I was wearing one that said “Canada”.

While talking on the phone to the director at Wings of Hope (Alas de Esperanza), they said they were really glad I called when I did, because they were just going to call my MOTHER and tell her that I was missing (and presumed dead I suppose).

I slept well that night - comforted in the knowledge that so many people were concerned for my welfare - but especially glad to know that one person - Joselito Gomez - was smart enough to call me on the phone before pronouncing me really dead!

Aircraft: C-206 N29103 Log Entries

Date	Route	Description	Hours
7/12/2004	Mayalan → Florez	Dra. Claudia Lorenzana 703-1678 o 691-8380 Called pager to transport baby on ventilator. Waited for over 1 hours. Called several times. Patient did not show. Mean time, got another call (below)	1.1
7/12/2004	Florez → Mayalan	Stopped by rain storms. Added fuel	1.1
7/12/2004	Mayalan → Ixquisis	Hana de Belgia (Belgium) in Pojon 861-0115 called for Partum complication near Ixquisis.	1.03
7/12/2004	Ixquisis → Playa Grande	Transported patient Edlia Mateo Canyo, husband Fransisco Thomas Sebastian, midwife Hanna from Belgium and first baby to Playa. 2nd baby still stuck.	1.05
7/12/2004	Playa → Mayalan	MP Gauge inop (disconnected from manifold)	1.03
7/12/2004	Mayalan → Playa Grande	To return midwife to Ixqusis	1.03
7/12/2004	Playa → Ixquisis	To return midwife to Ixqusis	1.06
7/12/2004	Ixquisis → Mayalan		1.03

Where things started to go