By Garry Mitchell 

At about 900ft the door behind the captain’s seat slid open and our engineer announced that the left engine has a stream of oil pouring from the centre section.

“How much are we losing and how long do you think we’ve got?” His response was very vague. We immediately retarded the power from the left engine and commenced a vigil of the engine gauges.

We’d just taken off from Nigeria’s Lagos airport and this aircraft had not been flown for three years. 

The first officer on this flight was a Nigerian national: he had more hours in the aircraft than anyone else in Nigeria and I wanted him along. He could speak the language and understood the local requirements. As we turned downwind and asked for a landing clearance, everything was still normal and we hoped to get back on the ground as swiftly as possible. That old pilot saying came to mind - ‘I’d rather be on the ground, wishing I was in the air, than in the air, wishing I was on the ground.’

The tower advised that we were number three in the sequence and that we’d have to track outbound and join an approach, behind the third aircraft. With both engines still running there was no need to declare an emergency and interrupt the flow.

Several minutes later, the torque gauge on the left engine flicked back and forth: this was the first sign that our oil level was now getting dangerously low, as the gauge relies on oil pressure for its operation.

A minute or two later the amber oil light illuminated in the central warning panel and, as we’d discussed, the engine was shut down and feathered immediately. By now we’d climbed the aircraft to 6,000ft and we simply upgraded the need to get on the ground with the tower.

The Nigerian first officer looked over from the right hand seat and asked, “can I go and sit down the back? I’ll send the Australian First officer up.”  I replied, negative, you’re here until we get on the ground.

The Nigerian controller vectored us towards a 10nm final and, despite having only one good engine, we weren’t having any trouble maintaining our height and controlling the aircraft. There was only one person in the back and we’d taken off with half fuel, just in case.

At approximately five miles we were cleared for a visual approach, although we couldn’t see anything ahead. You could see the ground below but nothing but dust ahead: apparently this was a normal day for Lagos.

Now we needed the local knowledge, so I asked our Nigerian Captain (sitting in the right seat), “Do you recognise anything below us?”

“No,” he replied, “all the streets look the same.”

Luckily we’d mounted our Lowrance 2000 GPS on the dash prior to our departure, so it was as simple as following our GPS to the end of the runway. At 1,500ft we could see the runway through the dust and we managed to land the old Shorts without any further issues.  

As we taxied off the runway, the Australian first officer/engineer opened the door and stood behind me. Again, the Nigerian asked again, “can I go and sit down the back now?”  I replied in the affirmative.  

I think he was worried about getting into trouble: the guy just wanted to go down the back and hide. I personally would prefer to be up front watching what was happening and trying to help.

So it was back to the hangar and off home for us - we’d try and get this old Shorts out of Africa another day. Our American engineers assigned to getting this old girl back to Guam, inspected the engine and explained that we’d saved the engine by shutting it down when we did.

The oil level could not be seen on the dipstick as it was well below the three quarts measurement. They poured three quarts in before they could see the oil level again: the engine had been shut down with four quarts remaining. The amber light on the CWP was our warning of an impending failure. It was designed for situations like this and we’d simply used it as it was designed to be used.

It was late Friday afternoon in Lagos when we arrived on our second attempt to move the Shorts: the terminal was heavily congested and there were no fans or air-conditioning. The immigration personnel commented on our visas and I remembered that the Nigerian embassy officer in Canberra had commented about there being some confusion as to which visa to issue us, as no one had ever flown an aircraft out of Nigeria…that they knew of. They usually go in and never return.
 
One of our instructions from a Nigerian representative, was that we were not to get into a taxi under any circumstance. And so a driver and van waited anxiously outside, ready to rush us to our accommodation.  Due to the visa confusion, it was now well past 6pm on Friday and nothing could be done to facilitate our departure the following day. We’d try and get away Sunday.

Our accommodation was heavily guarded. There were always three guards with machine guns present: hundreds of expats working in Nigeria are kidnapped and held for ransom every year. They usually take the money and let you go, I was told, but who would pay anything for me I thought! My business partner certainly would not part with any money to get me back.  

Our local contact suggested that we get going as soon as we could. Apparently the new government had been elected and on Monday the old government had to move out and they expected trouble. To accomplish this we needed the Aviation Authority to open on Saturday and re-validate our Nigerian Licenses. These were issued because the aircraft was still Nigerian registered. This was not going to be cheap but we were told that it was definitely doable.

By Saturday afternoon we finally had everything we needed and everything was in place for our next day departure. Sunday morning, as planned, we lined up on the Lagos runway for the second time, beckoning the old Shorts to get airbourne and get us out of this god-forsaken place.

The troublesome engine had been repaired and it performed perfectly as we climbed out to our cruising altitude. First Officer Laurence Sexton goes aft to check the engines for any signs of oil leaks, “All good” came the reply, “we’re looking good.”

A few hours later we arrived in Kano, (northern Nigeria – in the Niger Delta). We didn’t have any support here so everything was done with small cautious steps. Several hundred US dollars later, we were airbourne, full of fuel and heading into the Sahara Desert.

The sea of desert was everything we’d expected: it stretched outwards in every direction as far as you could see, consuming everything in its path, providing little or nothing for its inhabitants. However, thick dust prevented us seeing anything for the majority of this portion of our journey. Occasionally we’d get to see the ground for a brief few minutes and then the dust would seemingly consume us again. We’d climbed to 11,000ft to avoid as much of the turbulence as we could: the scenery was sand dunes and more sand dunes.

We both breathed a sigh of relief when we landed in Tripoli (Libya). We’d managed to cross one of the world’s most notorious desert regions; one where you wouldn’t want to spend any time on the ground.

Libya was much better than we’d expected. The US engineers who’d replaced the nose wheel and worked on the engine repairs, had refused to fly into Libya with us. They hot footed it home on a 767, saying something about not going into there with a US passport.

A handling agent had offered to cater for our transit and a local driver was provided who would take us into town to our accommodation. As we headed towards town he started talking in his native tongue: he didn’t speak a word of English and we were totally lost as to what he was saying.

After three or four attempts I recognized the words vodka and bourbon and saw some interesting hand gestures. This, I’m assuming, is a dry community and the black market is flourishing. We were extremely keen not to end up in a situation that might look like we’re involved in anything that might be illegal. The last thing we need is to end up in a Libyan jail - I’m not sure where the nearest Australian embassy is and, at best, we’d be a long way from help if it was required.

The short, thinly built driver dialled his office and then handed me the phone, asking in perfect English, “Is there a problem?”

“No, not at all,” I replied, “but please tell the driver to go directly to the accommodation, no deviations, please.”

I handed the phone back to him so he would get the message.

Fifteen minutes later we were seated in the restaurant ordering dinner; both the dinner and breakfast were very Mediterranean and nice, just as good as most we’d seen previously in Greece and Italy. The following morning we purchased Jet-A with US dollars and departed.

I think the air traffic controller on the departure frequency was a direct descendant of the Kernels but, overall, the Libyan experience was a pleasant one. In fact we’re looking forward to going back one day. Next time we’ll land in Bengasi, the home of the oldest Greek city in the world.

The sand storms followed us into the Mediterranean Sea but I was glad to be back at sea as we tracked east towards the northern portion of Egypt. Even at sea we were still engrossed in sand storms blowing out of the desert to our south.

Get the next edition of Aviator Magazine, to find out how this journey tracked its way through Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Muscat in Oman, across Asia and into Guam.