MIRACLE OF THE HUDSON

WARNING: this is not a regular column about helicopters and includes graphic scenes which may disturb some readers. Especially men.

IT WAS JUST ONE OF THOSE FRIDAYS… I had been flying as much as possible in anticipation of downtime with my wife, Des, who was heavily pregnant with our fifth child. The kids were with me doing what kids do (although I’m a helicopter pilot, I’m not a helicopter parent) and I had just put my feet in the pool and cracked open my first cold one of the evening. Des, in the meantime, was in Joburg running a few errands before the birth.

But being in operations, this is exactly the time, when you are relaxed and anticipating the weekend, that you get a call about a “developing situation.” In this case, it was about a major snarl up on the N3 Highway, where a tanker had overturned, spilling its load, with vehicles backed up many a kilometre both ways.

Desire Tonking with the baby that couldn't wait.

“Hi babes,” Des said calmly. “Not to alarm you, but I’m stuck in traffic and my contractions have started.”

I believe helicopters are the answer to every emergency or tactical situation where you need to get into or out of tight spots, and I was pretty sure we could airlift her off the highway if necessary. But nope, nothing doing with our Robbie 44s, which aren’t allowed to land just anywhere, especially not next to a gridlocked freeway. And so, I called my colleagues at HALOhelicopter emergency medical service, based in Midrand. They said they would be on standby, ready to swoop in and airlift her from the emergency lane if need be and, in the meantime, would dispatch paramedics by road.

Read more in this months edition..