It’s amazing how just a little perspective can change everything. Get stuck in traffic and chances are you won’t be appreciating the bright colours the people are wearing, the manic bustling of street vendors, the shape of the buildings or even how cute the cars look all lined up. But hover 500m above it all, in a helicopter, and it’s a whole ’nother story.
King Shaka Aviation - that’s hangar four at Virginia Airport - has been offering chartered flights, among other helicopter services, to the people of South Africa for a while now, and one Saturday, they offered me a test ride with some of my friends.
We had a narrow window of opportunity. We needed the wind to be gentle and the skies to be clear - and though that may seem as given as a Kardashian in front of a camera, Simon Gear and the rest of the meteorological crew had other ideas. But as luck would have it, Saturday dawned fresh, clear and blue and at 8am, me and my posse found ourselves watching a woman wash a helicopter with a bucket and rag.
“It’s kinda small,” notes one of my friends. “Can we really all fit in there?”
As we deliberate - these choppers really are smaller than they appear in TV shows - our pilot, Hylton Spencer, greets us and then proceeds to hold onto the back of the chopper, and press down until the cockpit part lifts up into the air. Then another man comes along with two fuel canisters, and starts to siphon gas OUT of the chopper.
“Why would he do that?” says my friend, the first sign of what I later identify as fear beginning to show. “Ag, pilotty stuff,” I say.
Indeed, Hylton, is simply doing all the usual pre-flight check ups. It takes less than 10 minutes before we are seated, buckled in and adjusting our headsets. Hylton twists and turns some knobs, says things like “Echo 1 clear for take-off over, November 1” and then the motor and blades start up. Even with the headset on, the sound of the blades spinning with increasing power is mighty and drowns everything out.
And, without so much as a bump, I realise we are about a foot off the ground. We seem suspended in time, and then, almost suddenly, we rise. In seconds we reach an altitude of 500m, which comes with an automatic view of what seems like an unending shore stretching towards the city.
The chopper is a little wobbly, making me quite aware of the seemingly impossibility of our situation. We’re four grown men floating above the earth in a metal cocoon that is susceptible to wind.
My sense of adventure kicks in though, and I start to look out the windows.
We fly along the shore, past the Moses Mabhida Stadium, past surfers and early morning joggers, past empty pools and sandcastle builders, past the crayon-like Suncoast building and all the way to the harbour, where a tiny orange dot hovers like a mosquito over a ship. Hylton tells us that captains are delivered to their ships by helicopter, which I think is pretty damn cool, in a super-spy kinda way.
We fly over a high-rise block of flats, and are impressed by the number of rooftop pools it has.
We slowly turn - it feels much like a motorcycle taking a sharp curve, only in the air - and make our way back along the shore, this time turning towards the Umgeni River, and following it as if it were a road.
Immediately the bright blues and creamy whites of the beaches are replaced with the darker greens and browns of the vegetation and sand banks of the river, which twists and turns almost endlessly around factories, parking lots, shacks, suburbs and dirt roads.
We soar in silence, taking in as much as each eyeful would allow, savouring the fantastic details only this viewpoint could provide.
I notice that satellite dishes pepper the roofs of so many homes, that ones without it seem incomplete. Pools sparkle in more back yards than I ever thought possible and cars move soundlessly across busy roads.
We fly over New Germany and get an exclusive sneak peak at the construction of the new bridge that will link the area to Kwa Mashu. They’re almost done.
We’re in hillier terrain now, and are higher than we have ever been. Hylton points out a waterfall, but the moment is interrupted by a sheer cliff face which materialises in front of us.
Hylton sort of turns the chopper, but we seem to be heading straight for the cliff wall. As we near it though, we are leaned back by gravity, as Hylton raises the bird and we make a daring ascent.
It’s exhilarating - or terrifying - and when the chopper levels up as it reaches the top of the mountain ridge, it’s breathtaking.
We land on the smooth surface and wait a few minutes for the blades to stop whirring before setting foot on actual ground. When we do, the full extent of what we had just done sets in. In front of us, the Inanda Dam spreads itself majestically across the valley.
Tiny cloud-like indentations on the surface caused by boats alert us to the actual size of the dam, while the singing of a Shembe group - as small as white stones themselves, carry crystal clear up the mountain.
We’re treated to a bowl of berries, muffins and fruit juices, while Hylton tells us that this particular spot gets a lot of young men on their knees and popping the question. I’m not surprised - it’s so romantic, I might even propose.
We take a few pictures, marvel some more, and polish off the remaining berries before slipping on our seatbelts. In what seems like seconds we are on our way back to the hangar. With just metres to go, Hilton points out a school of dolphin, which seem to be jubilantly celebrating our return.
As I turn to see the dolphins, I notice that one friend has his fists gripped around the steel bar in front of his seat, his eyes half closed.
Did he at least enjoy some parts of it? “No yeah, absolutely,” he says, “but my favourite part was when we landed”.
Ah, well, win some, terrify others. - Sunday Tribune
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