A few years ago I was invited to participate in the filming of a ScubaWorld USA TV segment. The entire trip was exciting but unusual almost beyond belief.
We left Houston for the island of Cayos Cochinos, Honduras. Our flight into La Ceiba was uneventful until we exited the plane. There were armed soldiers stationed everywhere. They were all carrying automatic weapons and didn’t look to be older than a teenager.
On exiting the plane, we were greeted by dozens of armed military personnel. Non-Hondurans were escorted into a small waiting room that was standing room only. We had no couches, benches or chairs to sit on and none were visible in the entire area. There was a large window between us and the native Hondurans. The soldiers didn’t allow any intermingling or communication between them or us.
We had a couple of hours wait as we were told that our airplane was having mechanical difficulties at the last airport. A few hours later, we heard the distinctive sounds of a DC-3 passenger plane. The plane flew the length of the single runway at a very low altitude. I was intent on watching the plane as it looked just like the ones first flown in 1935. Also, it was unusual for a passenger plane to be flowing so low.
It turned final and as it touched down, the pilot lifted the left wing high without touching the other wing to the ground. The plane was drifting down the runway with the right wheel on the runway and the right wing just a few feet from hitting the ground. The left wing was high in the air. The plane slowed and finally the left wing descended until the left wheel should have made contact but the plane skewed abruptly to the left as the left tire had blown out on takeoff and the flat tire acted as a brake.
We watched flabbergasted wondering if the plane landing on one wheel was the one that was supposed to take us to Roatan airport for our stay in the town of Coxen Hole for the night. Sure enough it was. We thought, OK, so where do we stay now, we surely can’t get on that thing. Suddenly we see a Jitney with 4 men careening across the airfield with an airplane tire bouncing on the back. We watched as they jacked the plane up and replaced the tire all the time the plane was sitting half-way on the single runway.
The airplane was an exact duplicate of the DC-3’s that were first flying in 1935. We wouldn’t have taken a bet this wasn’t one of the first year’s production. This trip then took on an aura of the Twilight Zone.
The tire replacement crew had the plane re-tired in just under and hour and pulled up to the terminal for us to board. Many skeptical glances were made towards the tires and some of us actually wanted to go kick them just to ensure ourselves they were okay.
There is only one way to get to Cayos Cochinos (Hog Island) and that is by boat. The man that had invited me had an option on a resort on the small island 25 miles off the coast of Honduras. He was hoping to promote the prospects of the Scuba diving opportunities and ScubaWorld USA was going to be on location to do it. The licensee’s sales agent needed half a dozen divers that would be willing to follow the TV producer’s directions as to when and where to dive and they didn’t feel it would work with paying divers. I, therefore, was given the opportunity to enjoy a week of Caribbean diving for just the cost of my airfare.
The privately owned island was very small, less than 100 acres, very hilly and full of foliage. The island had a Spanish name, Cahos Cochinos, but it basically meant, Hog Island. To get to the island required a 4 hour boat ride from the resort of Roatan. To get to Roatan, you flew in the antiquated DC-3.
On boarding the aircraft, the first thing you notice is that the seats appear to be the original military type seats, small canvas backed seats, no seat belts and everyone and everything rides. School children in their uniforms that had flown in to go to school on the mainland; mothers with babies and goats for the milk they preferred to nurse them with; and farmers with their cages of chickens on the way back to replenish their brood.
We didn’t ask for beverage service as there wasn’t a flight attendant and an in-flight meal was out of the question. The engines attempted to start several times and when they did, it was with an outpouring of smoke, flames and ashes. They coughed and sputtered but got us to the end of the runway. One of the pilots leaned his head from behind the canvas and hollered in Spanish what I interpreted as; “Hang on!”
I was sitting by the window and watched the large mountains on either side of the small valley slowly move by. I could have moved forward a bit and seen almost the same scene from the large separation of the airplane skin in several places.
It appeared and felt like the plane was barely flying and looking down; I could see the landscape rushing up to meet us. There was a small village located on a rise between the mountains and we had to clear both to make it out of the valley and over water. We couldn’t have cleared the buildings by more than a few hundred feet, if that.
The pilot again shouted something in Spanish and a person sitting in front of me told me the pilot said we had to be able to land at the airport on Roatan on the first attempt because there weren’t any landing lights and the strip was on the beach. It was already getting dark and I could just see us having to return to the well guarded La Ceiba and the waiting room. It was well into twilight when we bounced to a stop on a rocky beach airstrip on Roatan.
The next morning we boarded the Hog Island Resort boat for a 4 hour trip to the resort. The boat was a 32 foot open cabin single engine boat used for both transportation and diving purposes. The resort was designed for up to 12 divers; double occupancy cabins. The island is surrounded by black coral reefs and fantastic marine life.
The food being served at the resort was nothing short of terrific. Fresh, cooked to perfection and included seafood items we caught ourselves. A diversion from diving, when a break was needed, was the trek over the hill to visit the native village. There the natives provided island grown bananas and fresh coconut shelled as you watched.
As for diving, we made numerous trips to an open ocean, sea mount that can only be found by compass and experience. The dives were sensational. The sea life abundant and as varied as can be found almost anywhere in the world. I didn’t but a couple of the divers even approached and touched some sleeping Nurse Sharks. At night we dove near the island and discovered a whole different world of night sea creatures. We caught our next evenings’ meal of Lobster several times. Can you believe you can get tired of lobster for dinner?
If you’ve never been Scuba diving, it’s interesting to be doing a dive on directions from a TV producer. Even more when they sound a horn underwater to alert you to ascend so you can be filmed dropping backwards over the gunnels into the water several times so they can get different shots to review.
During the first several days they shot an hour’s TV program and we made so many water entries and exits, I can’t remember any single one.
Our flight from La Ceiba was at 7:30 a.m. so we were up by 3:00 and in the boat by 3:30 for the 2 ½ trip. We hadn’t gone 5 miles when the engine just quit. It was chilly in the early morning and a squall was forming in the distance. The operator was in the engine compartment trying to rectify the problem when it was discovered that the boat was taking on water. A couple of us started bailing while the engine was undergoing repair.
The engine finally resumed running and we got another few miles and it quit again. By this time the thunder, lightening, wind, and rain was on top of us. The leak was worse, it was colder and it was obvious we weren’t going to make La Ceiba on time to catch the twice a week flight.
That trip was one of the most stressful I’d ever taken. The engine broke down a total of 5 times on that 2 ½ hour trip that ended up taking almost 7 hours. Our flight was long gone and the next flight back to Houston wasn’t for 3 more days.
My host had some meetings that he could not miss and negotiated for a private pilot with a Cessna 182 to transport us some 160 KM miles to San Pedro Sula. We boarded my host in the back seat with his leasing agent and me in the front passenger or co-pilot seat.
Our pilot looked like he had retired, or should have, 20 years before. He had donned a well-worn old Eastern Airlines pilot’s jacket and wore a 50 mission hat reminiscent of WWII pilots.
I have a private pilot’s license and felt somewhat comfortable in being able to take over should this old veteran should decide to drop off or become disoriented. I was concerned with all the weight that was aboard though as besides the 4 of us, we had all our luggage and diving equipment. In addition, I knew that besides our weight at or exceeding safe limits, the rearward luggage storage being packed was not in our favor. A Cessna 182 has a useful full load capacity with full fuel tanks of 604 pounds. The total weight of the passengers alone had to top out at 750 pounds plus the weight of the luggage. Obviously, we flew with less than full tanks and were still probably 200 pounds overweight at takeoff.
My fears were realized when, as the wheels lifted off the runway, the stall warning horn was screaming. I didn’t have my hands on the wheel but could sense that the pilot was near limits on functioning control. Should we lose lift at this altitude or worse yet, stall, we were now over the Honduran jungle and the likelihood of a gentle landing was out of the question.
I could feel the plane mushing and not climbing efficiently but we slowly climbed as we were fast approaching some large trees forming the jungle directly ahead. We cleared the trees by just feet and then the ominous jungle mountain was blotting out the windscreen as we approached. It was only by a gradual turn into a valley that we were able to slide by and head inland towards Tegucigalpa before finding another valley and turning back towards San Pedro Sula.
The rest of the trip was a low-level scenic ride between towering Jungle Mountains as we flew through the valleys between. We never did gain enough altitude to have been able to clear even one of the smaller peaks.
Landing in San Pedro Sula was frightening. Our plane was surrounded by machine gun toting soldiers. No one had informed them that a private plane was going to land there, especially with foreigners aboard. It took several hours and several interpreters to convince the army that we weren’t there to overthrow the government and allowed into the terminal and board a modern jet aircraft for our return to the United States.
It was a harrowing adventure and I’d do it again in a heart beat. Remember, the joy is in the journey, not just the being there.