Fly-Q.

Passion and Pathos at the Belarus Helicopter Championships - tears of joy and sadness in Minsk

For me, the journey to the Championships was rather a long one.

Having flown from my home in Herefordshire in one of the R22s we own to a private landing site close to Stansted Airport, I took a cheap flight out to Poznan in Poland. Here I checked out a R44 for a customer and then in the afternoon I flew back to Stansted. Stage one of my journey was complete!

The next day, I flew Easyjet over to Belfast to collect another R22 we had just bought. Although I've done it several times, it's always daunting taking off in a helicopter that you've never seen before - let alone flown before - and flying for an hour or so over the Irish Sea. This particular journey was made even more stressful by the fact that the alternator belt broke minutes after takeoff and we had to return to base. Of course there wasn't a spare one to put on, so we made some frantic phone calls, and then we made the short hop over to Newtownards where to my amazement we got a new belt fitted. A huge thanks to Julian at Woodgate Engineering. Four hours later we were on our way, and 3 hours after that we were back at home in Herefordshire. Stage two of my journey was complete.

Day Three, Simon and I flew our new helicopter to Stansted, collected G-LIPE and then flew in formation down to another of our friends who lives near Gatwick. Stage three of my journey was complete. Despite the weather, the queues at the check-ins, the mechanical failure we were where we had planned to be when we needed to be there, and we caught the plane to Minsk with no real dramas.

On arrival at the new airport - which is rather unimaginatively called Minsk 2 on account of it being the current active international airport, the first one being too small now - the first thing that hit us was the oppressive heat. It was late afternoon and the temperature was around 36 degrees, and muggy. Thankfully Minsk wasn't suffering from the dreadful smog that Moscow was enduring, but the visibility wasn't brilliant.

We were met like VIPS by two chaps with "Martin Rutty" and "Simon Lichenstein" boards, and soon we were whisked off to the GA airfield where the championships were being held.

On the way we past the first of what turned out to be many war memorials. This one was called the Mound of Glory and is a celebration of the end of Nazi occupation of Belarus in 1944. It's a tall obelisk on top of a 35 metre high man-made hill. Our guide told us that the earth was brought in handfuls by the relatives of those who died in cities, towns and villages where there had been horrific battles and massacres.

At the GA Airfield (which is just to the north of Minsk), Olga was waiting for us. Olga is well known to a lot of HCGB members since it is she who helps translate for the Russian and Belarusian teams when they come to the World Championships. She is a great organiser, and explained that we'd missed the official briefing. Timed arrivals for briefings were never my strong point! But, she added, it didn't really matter since it was all in Russian anyway.

So we sat down with her and a bear of a man, Anatoly, and they talked us through the week-end's format.

Anatoly explained that he wasn't a pilot, but he'd been a navigator and instructor of navigation for 35 years. He took great delight in our utter confusion regarding the scale of the map - 1:200,000 and that the unit of measurement were kilometres. As the briefing continued, he kept saying it was essential for us to use time and bearings to establish our position, and not to rely on the map that we (and all the other competitors) had been given. Admittedly we thought this was not such a bad idea, but when he pointed out that the map was printed in 1984, we began to understand his insistence. It was then that it dawned on us that lots of towns had been built, new roads has been constructed and that whole forests had been cut down since this map had been made, and even the lakes and rivers were fairly unreliable due to the extremely hot summer that Belarus was having.

Deep Joy. That left the hills (such as they were) as a constant since 1984, and they aren't the easiest thing to use for pin-point accuracy on navigation exercises. Oh, the organisers had drawn several large prohibited "no-fly"areas, all of which were pretty close to the planned competition route. Simon was getting nervous, and so was Anatoly! I was even more happy than usual to be the bloke who just had to hold the sticks and go where my team mate told me to go!!

Navex briefing over, Olga asked us whether we'd read the rules. Previously we had quipped that they were the same as the usual World Rules, so we didn't need to, but on the plane we bothered to check. Sure enough, there were lots of subtle changes, both to the format of the competition and also to the penalties incurred for making errors. The most significant change was to the Slalom event, which now started with an empty bucket that the crew member had to fill up with water from a barrel located after the start line and before the first gate. So was there extra time added to the event? Of course not.

After this, it was time to go to our hotel. Anatoly offered to take us, and off we went. I should mention at this point that his English is limited (although it was noticeably better by the end of our stay) and as we pulled up to "our" hotel, I whispered to Simon that this one didn't look like the one on the website. We all went inside to the reception which looked more like a high-security office, complete with woman behind the bars who shook her head whilst chewing fervently on whatever was in her mouth. We made a swift exit and Anatoly made a call to Olga, who told him the name of our hotel.

The route took us pretty much through the centre of Minsk, and Anatoly did his best to tell us points of interest as we passed them. What we noticed was how wide the roads were, how clean everything was, and how recently the buildings had been built. Nothing was old, and most of it was obviously built in the communist era of the 1960s and 1970s. Big, functional blocks of flats, drab offices, massive governmental buildings were everywhere. Simon had done a little bit of research which was confirmed by every Belarusian we talked to: about 90% of Minsk was raised to the ground in the Great Patriotic War of 1941 to 1945. It was destroyed first by the Germans as they tried to advance east towards Moscow and then as they were forced to retreat in 1944 what little that was left was virtually reduced to rubble in horrific street by street fighting.

Try to imaging this happening to your village, town or city. And then try to imagine what it must have been like if every third person in your country was killed in the space of 4 years.

Over 2 million Belarusians died between 1939 and 1945, often whole villages massacred in one, awful day: Minsk has suffered a lot since it was founded in 1067.

After all the travelling, Simon and I were tired so we decided to use the restaurant attached to the hotel. Large enough to feed at least 200 people, we were two of six people present. There were at least 4 waitresses and 3 bar staff. There were also 4 people hanging around the counter at the entrance. I'm not sure what their role was, but I suspect it was to prevent people from coming in to eat. Those that did get through were subjected to over an hour's wait before the food arrived. It wasn't our best choice of eating establishments and one we didn't repeat.

The next day, the first of the competition, starts early. We've got the opening ceremony and 3 events to cram in. So it's up at 06:30 in order to get to the airfield by 07:30 for the start of the competition. Due to the predicted temperatures of nearly 40 degrees and in order to get everything done, the order of events is first the Slalom and then the official opening.

Simon and I have been lent a R44 by one of the Russian team - yet another illustration of the unexpected generosity of fellow aviators. We go into the event as the last participant, which as it turned out was pretty apt since we also came last! I've got to say that neither of us has ever laughed so much DURING an event - "yep, you've missed that gate as well" was a typical catalyst to a fit of the giggles.

16th out of 16, not a great start really, but in our defence, we've never practised in a R44 before, we've never competed in a R44, and this Slalom is the first time I've flown a R44 for about 4 months! And don't forget that our competitors are all from the teams who traditionally win the World Championships.

Pretty much straight after this it was the official opening ceremony. Simon and I have been to several of these over the past few years, and they all follow the same format - speeches from various dignitaries, some pretty girls in traditional costume and a band. Olga has promised that the ceremony would be relatively short, which is always a good thing especially when it is very hot, which it was. The pretty girls were great, and they presented each team with a large round loaf of bread - a Belarus tradition. You break a piece off, dip it in some salt that is in a small dimple in the top of the loaf, and then share it with your new friends.

Of the speeches, one in particular is noteworthy. Not because we could understand it: just like all the other speeches it was in Russian, but because of the gentleman who stood up to make it. He was short, and his jacket was absolutely brimming with medals. After the opening ceremony had finished we were introduced to him, and we were told that he has been an instructor at this airfield when it opened in 1934. He's 98 now, and he's still flying (although he no longer flies solo). Through an interpreter he told us that he had taught hundreds of students and of these 5 had been decorated as Heroes of the Soviet Union, the highest honorary title that is awarded.

He was ever so proud of his achievement, and it was the first, but by no means the last time that we saw tears in Minsk.

After the opening ceremony was over, it was back to the competition. Next up was the Precision Square - my favourite event, and one that we've won on several occasions. We did much better in this on and managed to place 6th. Again, we felt that since we were in a different type of aircraft, we'd done OK.

One thing that always strikes me about these events is how much effort goes into it, and that they are over so quickly. We've prepared for the event, got our visas, booked our flights, spent two days in Belarus so far and we are half way through the competition, and have clocked up a total time in the air of 6 minutes, including the transit to and from the parking area. Thank goodness I didn't decide to become a 100m Runner!

Then it was lunch at the airfield cafe. It was a strange place, comprising several little garden-shed type buildings within a fenced off compound. The food was basic - rather anaemic looking "Frankfurter" type sausages and some delicious lumpy mashed potato and cabbage. Funnily enough, it was exactly what we had been given for breakfast a few hours before!

We'd paired up with a couple of German pilots, Andreas and Holger, who we'd met at previous competitions. These guys were from the former East Germany, or DDR to give it its proper name. This meant that they had just a little understanding of the Russian language and they'd been helping us with the important stuff like ordering beer and pizzas. Their English wasn't good, but we managed to communicate fairly well with Holger doing most of the speaking on their side of the table. When he ran out of words he would speak slowly in German, I'd guess what he was saying and translate it into English and then there would be much furious nodding of heads and smiles all round. We really did manage to get on very well in this manner, and had some sensible and meaningful conversations.

Andreas is a successful businessman and R44 owner, and Holger is a very experienced commercial pilot and instructor. Holger's day job now is as an EMS pilot flying a BK117, but previously he had been on Border Patrol, working for the DDR against the "corrupted regime" known as West Germany. When the wall came down in 1989, there was no border to patrol, and overnight he swapped sides and worked for the "West" Germans for 2 years. The irony of the sudden end to his work was not lost on any of us, and Holger started to teach instead. He now has around 10,000 hours on R22s and R44s, as well as thousands of hours in various turbines. And he still flies as a hobby - now that says something about both the man and the love of flying.

After lunch, it was back to the grindstone of standing around in the heat waiting for our turn to fly the third task of the day, the Fender event. The temperatures were in the mid-30s and thank goodness there were a couple of gazebos giving some semblance of shade and as much free bottled water as you wanted. I lost count of the number of half litre bottles I drank, but I'm sure it was more than 10. It's quite extraordinary to drink this much, and still not need a pee!

We were interviewed several times by various TV stations, which I love, and it was obvious that they were very touched that we had made the effort to come to Minsk. Time after time people would come up to us to say hello, and practice their English. They were delighted to be talking to us, and they would revel in our "perfect" Queen's English accents. Clearly English is becoming more and more important, especially for the younger generations.

Watching the Belarusians do the Fender Event was a rather depressing past-time. They were all so good.

Our turn arrived, and we had a great start, whizzing from the first barrel drop, through the gate and sorting the second barrel drop in what was for us pretty much a record time. But the third and final drop was a different story. Try as I might, I couldn't get the helicopter where Simon wanted it, and try as he did, the sodding fender refused to be swung in to its rightful place. After what seemed like an age (compared to the Russians, it was), we finally managed to drop the fender in the barrel to complete the task. Olga commented later that obviously we were enjoying ourselves so much that we just didn't want to leave the course. What a barrel of laughs that was. And our position? We came 15th, second from last. Oh well.......maybe it's that we weren't that bad, but they were just very, very good!

Once the on-airfield events were over, Anatoly suggested we should do a 20 minute flight away from the airfield in the general area that the Navex was going to be. He was really nervous about us going and insisted in being in the Control Tower until we returned. We departed, with our 1984 map and the ships compass. Simon and I peered through the heat haze and tried to keep on track and on time.

As we suspected, the map bore very little resemblance to reality and we remembered Anatoly's wise words about headings and timing. From time to time he'd come on the radio "Robinson 16, where are you now?" he would say. We knew that we were in Belarus, north of Minsk, but I'm not sure that was what he wanted to hear. We did, however get back pretty much on time and I'm not sure who was most relieved - him or me!

That evening, Saturday, Olga had organised a sight-seeing tour of Minsk. Always the culture-vultures, we were keen to do this trip and climbed aboard the coach they had rented. We sat next to Gunter Zimmer and Lothar Oehler, our other German friends who had also come to the championships. Gunter is his usual funny self and Lothar is happy to play the role of long-suffering co-pilot.

Gunter is a rather eccentric chap. He's got a very successful business in the deep sea diving equipment industry. Instead of flying to these championships, Gunter usually comes in his massive van that he has converted to a rather austere camper van. This van tows a huge trailer - which has a picture of an elephant on the back - in which is stored his Hughes 500. It's a strange lifestyle for a rich man, but one that I admire.

The coach left the airfield and headed to the Belarus National Library. This is an octagon-shaped building which I thought was fantastic, but later our guide told us that it had was in the top ten list of the World's Ugliest Buildings, an accolade that I felt was rather unfair. Three different wedding parties were using it as a back drop for their pictures, so I cannot be alone in thinking it a magnificent building.

After this we headed off through Minsk with our guide talking 19 to the dozen in Russian about everything and anything (we presume). For Gunter, Lothar and us this was a trifle boring, and as the coach headed close to where our hotel was, we got the coach to do an unscheduled stop to let us off. By this time, beer and food seemed like a better idea after the long day we'd already had. Gunter looked wistfully at us - we could tell he would have loved to jump off to, but his hotel was miles away. "Have a beer for us" Gunter said. As it turned out, this was the last thing he ever said to us.

The following day, Sunday, the only event scheduled for the competition was the Navigation with Load Drop Off. I like this format - get the on-airfield events done on Day One, and then wrap up the competition early on Day Two, leaving plenty of time for closing ceremonies and partying.

Just like before, there was a lot of hanging around - we were scheduled to be off last. During this time, more Belarusians would come up to us and try their English on us. We, of course, were very happy to oblige, especially as most of our conversationalists were young women!

There was also another set of people who wanted to talk to us. These were guys in their 50s and 60s who were formerly pilots in the USSR. These chaps would come up to us and start talking earnestly, with the nearest person who happened to speak a little English becoming an unpaid translator. The were so emotional, and I can only guess that it was a volatile cocktail of memories, comradeship, national pride, and perhaps just a touch of good natured jealously that made them so. More than one of these guys ended the encounter in floods of tears, and Simon and I would be left wondering what to do.

When our turn came for the Navex, it was time to focus. If you've never done a completion like this, it's hard to get across quite how tense you become. You're sitting there at the start line and you have so much to think about. There are times to write down, points to plot, headings to calculate, skittles to stow, and much more. All the time the clock is counting down and you've got to leave bang on time. You're very hot, and (if I'm being brutally honest) you're worried about making a complete hash of the event, or even getting utterly lost and having to be rescued. This might sound melodramatic, but it happened to a couple of HCGB members when they went to Moscow in 1994. You know who you are!

For us, things turned out pretty well. We found the turn-points, we got most of the panels located in the search box, we arrived back just 1.7 second too early, we hit one out of two targets with our flour bombs , we were just 0.5 seconds out on our minute square and we popped the skittle through the hole in the "dog kennel" with just one touch. We were very pleased with our performance, and it was good enough to give us an 8th place - mid field in a competition of world-class competitors. Simon, I congratulate you.

Then it was all over. The relief is tangible. More smiles, more cameras, more interviews, more hugs while everyone got sorted out to go home, or least get prepared to go home. Next on the agenda was an air display before the closing ceremony and then everyone involved in the competition was invited to a meal, washed down with lots of vodka.

We all settled down to watch Gunter do his traditional display in his Hughes 500. We've all seen it before, but this time it went horribly wrong. On his first manoeuvre he hit the ground, and the 500 exploded instantly.

Stunned silence hardly gives justice to what I felt. For a split second we all stood there, not believing our eyes. After what seemed like an age the siren went off, and the ambulance and fire truck started trundling across the airfield. It's easy to get angry at the slow response time, but frankly there was zero chance of Gunter having survived the impact.

The public started to melt away, quietly and without a fuss. Grown men, mostly pilots, were yet again in tears, but this time it was very different. We'd lost a friend, a competitor and a fellow aviator.

This terrible event brought a premature close to the weekend's competition. The official closing ceremony was cancelled; the prizes were given out without gusto and were received without enthusiasm by shocked winners in a small side room.

For me, Gunter's death has completely changed my view regarding the validity of doing displays at the Helicopter Championships. As some of you know, I've done my R22 version of this type of display at several Championships, and I've thoroughly enjoyed doing so. But I won't be doing it again at a competition: having seen the effect on people when things go wrong, it just isn't worth it. It's not just those you know and (of course) your family: complete strangers were deeply scarred by seeing what happened so quickly to someone who was just seconds previously having such fun.

It's fairly obviously that our whole trip to Minsk was overshadowed by the death of our friend, but putting this to one side, Simon and I had a fabulous time. We learnt a lot, and hopefully we gave a lot too. We've tried to strengthen the bonds between helicopter pilots from the UK, Germany, Belarus and Russia, and I think we've had some success. If any of you would like to come with us to other events, then please contact us by email, Sales@Fly-Q.co.uk. We'll happily share with you some hints and tips about how to do better than we've done in these competitions, and also how to make sure you really enjoy yourselves.

Martin Rutty www.Fly-Q.co.uk
August 2010