Bernd Sturm recalls island-hopping around some of the most remote areas of the little known South Pacific archipelago.
Bush Flying in Vanuatu
Separated by more than 10,000 miles (16,100km), few places in the world lie further away from Europe than Vanuatu. And they’re worlds apart, literally and metaphorically.
This South Pacific nation consists of 83 volcanic islands (65 of which are inhabited) and spans almost 550 miles (886km) from north to south. Its geography and topography make it a fertile breeding ground for aviation, and airlines play a crucial role in connecting its many remote communities.
But flying in Vanuatu is anything but ordinary. For pilots, it can be especially difficult – many of the airfields scattered across the archipelago are little more than short grass or coral strips, with basic huts serving as the terminal.
These, combined with the difficult terrain, tropical climate and regular thunderstorms and typhoons that batter the islands, make Vanuatu one of the most challenging environments in the world.
Getting There
The largest aircraft in flag carrier Air Vanuatu’s fleet is a Boeing 737-800, so international connections to the archipelago are limited, and visitors from Europe will typically encounter at least two stops en route to the island nation. For me and my companions, the first was in Hong Kong (where I had arrived via Lufthansa) with another in Auckland.
After an overnight stay in New Zealand, we embarked on Air Vanuatu’s sole 737, YJ-AV1 (c/n 42052), for the three-hour flight to Port Vila. Vanuatu’s capital is served by Bauerfield International Airport (IATA code VLI; ICAO code NVVV), which, sitting on the northern boundary of the city, is equipped with a single 8,530ft (2,600m) runway.
The airfield, named in honour of US Marine Corps fighter pilot Lt Col Harold W Bauer, dates back to 1942 when it was established by US troops. It was abandoned by the military four years later following the end of hostilities and was eventually pressed into commercial service. Today it’s Air Vanuatu’s main base, serving as a major hub for domestic operations and connecting the island state to several international destinations: Auckland (New Zealand); Brisbane and Sydney (Australia); Honiara (Solomon Islands); Noumea (New Caledonia); and Nadi and Suva (Fiji).
These are served by the carrier’s varied fleet, which includes the 737 along with two ATR 72-500s, a de Havilland Canada DHC-6 Twin Otter, a Britten- Norman BN-2 Islander and three Harbin Y-12s.
The flag carrier is complemented by charter and sightseeing companies such as Unity Airlines (flying an Islander, a Trislander and a Piper PA-31 Chieftain), Air Taxi Vanuatu with its Islander and single-engine Cessnas, and Vanuatu Seaplanes with its solitary Lake LA-4-200 Buccaneer.
A Route Less Travelled
Vanuatu is a nation of contrasts. Efate (home of Port Vila) and Espiritu Santo (the largest island in the chain) are regular ports of call for tourists and even the occasional cruise ship, but much of the country is remote and isolated.
Even today it has little in the way of transport infrastructure, with fewer than 100 miles (160km) of paved roads – most are dirt tracks accessible only by four-wheel drive vehicles.
Much the same applies to Vanuatu’s airports. The flag carrier has an extensive domestic network, spanning 26 destinations and covering more than 500 miles (805km) of the archipelago, but 80% of the airfields served by Air Vanuatu are unpaved.
Most were created out of necessity rather than practicality – the need to serve isolated communities means many were built despite the difficult terrain. At best, this can mean a short, undulating airstrip while, in extreme cases, high obstacles on the approach path or an excessively sloping runway can restrict arrivals and departures to just one direction. These so-called ‘oneway’ airstrips account for 10% of the airfields in Vanuatu.
And then there’s the weather. Regular thunderstorms and heavy downpours, combined with the often-long grass that covers most airfields, can make runways slippery. Reduced visibility, high winds and downdrafts as well as turbulence also increase the challenges facing pilots in Vanuatu.
Multi-Stop Services
Much of Air Vanuatu’s work across its domestic network provides vital lifelines to the outer islands, carrying locals as well as a variety of supplies and groceries. Cargo often consists of fresh seafood, rice and toilet paper, but it’s not uncommon to see live pigs and chickens being loaded into even the smallest of aircraft.
The airline operates a host of multistop services, calling into several points en route to the final destination and connecting islands and villages that are otherwise several days’ travel away by conventional ground-based methods. These often include multiple airfields on the same islands, where terrain otherwise limits or, in some cases, prohibits connections between villages.
The shortest leg on Air Vanuatu’s network connects Ipota to Dillon´s Bay, both on the Island of Erromango. It takes just four minutes, ranking it among the world’s shortest commercial flights.
Once on the ground, typical turnarounds can be completed in ten minutes, crews leaving one engine running to provide electrical power and speed up the arrival and departure process.
During these periods of frenetic activity, the captain usually supervises the unloading and reloading processes, with passengers, mail and baggage being dropped off and picked up on every stop. The co-pilot meanwhile is responsible for completing the paperwork and preparing the aircraft for its next take-off.
As with any flight, safety is paramount and careful consideration must be given to aircraft performance. Unfavourable conditions – strong tailwinds or a runway in an especially poor state – can lead crews to leave cargo behind.
A Touch of Africa
Air Vanuatu flies twice-weekly to the small settlement of Ipota, where every arrival is greeted with much fanfare. Virtually the entire community turns out to the jungle strip to await the incoming aircraft to welcome longawaited relatives, collect urgently needed goods or simply watch the proceedings.
The service also holds strong appeal for aviation enthusiasts, offering a rare opportunity to sample a Chinese Harbin Y-12-IV. The twin turboprop, which is equipped with sturdy fixed landing gear and Pratt & Whitney Canada PT-6A-27 engines, first flew in 1982 but there’s only a handful of places in the world where this exotic type plies its trade.
The pilots of today’s example, the 2009-vintage YJ-AV6 (c/n 032), face a common challenge as we reach Ipota – the runway is not clear. Instead, it’s occupied by locals and free-roaming animals. We fly a low approach to announce our imminent arrival, and by the time we’ve set up for a second attempt the strip is clear.
Around 30 minutes after leaving Port Vila, we gently touch down at the start of Ipota’s 2,900ft (883m) runway, only to be bounced around on the uneven surface. The grass is long – around 15-20in (38-51cm) tall – and, with no one assigned to cut it or indeed even to maintain the airfield, it will only get more challenging for aircrew.
As we roll to a stop, the Harbin is quickly surrounded by dozens of villagers – even the runway is occupied once again. The colourful yet chaotic scene reminds me of bush flying in Africa, and I’m simply overwhelmed by the impressive sight.
After depositing some cargo and passengers and taking on more, it’s soon time to depart. Remarkably, some of those boarding in Ipota are carrying tools and weapons, including a ni- Vanuatu (a native) man who sits next to me and places a huge machete across my lap.
It’s a far cry from the tight security prevalent elsewhere in the world but serves to demonstrate how air services are a regular part of life in the islands. After bouncing our way back down the grass airstrip at Ipota, we’re airborne again. A turn to the south puts us on course for Tanna and Whitegrass Airport.
The Cargo Cults
Continuously active volcanoes are usually magnets for tourists, but not so for Vanuatu’s Mount Yasur. It lies in the interior of Tanna island and is rather remote – our journey from the airport takes three hours, riding in the back of a pick-up truck in torrential rain along washed-out tracks.
The pilots face a common challenge as we reach Ipota – the runway is not clear. Instead, it’s occupied by locals and freeroaming animals.
Speaking the Language
Previously known as the New Hebrides, Vanuatu is a former British-French condominium that gained independence in 1980. All its islands are volcanic in origin, and their high mountain ridges and impassable rain forests mean many of the communities were, for a long time, isolated, even from others on the same land mass let alone elsewhere in the archipelago.
This led to Vanuatu, which has a population of just 265,000, having 100-plus indigenous languages – more than anywhere else in the world. Many remain in use today, though the national language is the pidgin Bislama, which combines Melanesian grammar with mostly English vocabulary. French and English are also officially recognised, a hangover from Vanuatu’s former rulers.
Once at the foot of the mountain, we locate the small tree-hut that will be our base for the next few days and then fall asleep to the deep rumbling and mighty explosions of the volcano.
Our encounter with Mount Yasur brings us into contact with another of Vanuatu’s peculiarities – its ‘cargo cults’.
The so-called John Frum Movement is a Melanesian tribe that worships an imaginary American soldier. The exact story behind its formation is disputed, but the religion itself is believed to date back to the 1930s when a man dressed in Western attire appeared in the village of Suphur Bay and told the islanders to reject the European ways of their British and French rulers – including money, Christianity and Western education – in return for houses, clothes, food and transport.
The movement snowballed during World War Two when 300,000 US troops descended on the New Hebrides (now Vanuatu), bringing with them vast quantities of cargo. The cult culminated in locals building symbolic airfields to encourage the overflying transport aircraft – believed to have been sent by the mysterious ‘John Frum’ – to land or at least drop their precious freight.
Today, the movement still performs ritual ceremonies each week and a military- style parade is held on February 15 – John Frum Day.
An Airport Island
Having sampled the many delights of Tanna, it was time to head back to Whitegrass airport and another Air Vanuatu service – to Mystery Island, or Aneityum as it’s known locally.
Our ride for the short hop south is once again Harbin YJ-AV6, which is being refuelled as we arrive at the airfield. Tanna is one of the bigger islands in the archipelago and the airport is a local hub complete with a paved runway and a terminal building.
But even here there are no fuel trucks. Refuelling is instead carried out by hand pump from barrels transported from Port Vila by boat, and then carried overland to the airfield.
The boarding process is swift, as expected, and we’re soon in the air bound for our next stop. The approach to the tiny Mystery Island is spectacular, despite less than favourable weather, with coral reefs and turquoise lagoons proving a stark contrast to the deep blue ocean.
… we locate the small tree-hut that will be our base for the next few days and then fall asleep to the deep rumbling and mighty explosions of the volcano.
Turning finals, it’s immediately obvious the island contains little more than a tiny village complete with a pictureperfect beach, and rudimentary airfield; the runway covers the entire span of the landmass. The wheels of our Harbin touch down gently on the short grass airstrip before the crew select full reverse thrust to bring the Chinesebuilt turboprop to a stop.
As in Ipota, our arrival sparks a frenzy of activity as colourful boxes and bags are quickly unloaded and loaded. A few more people embark and we’re on our way again.
First up is Fortuna, one of the more challenging airfields on Air Vanuatu’s network. The small island offers little in the way of suitable terrain so the runway is built on the only relatively flat spot. It is, however, bordered by steep volcanic ridges while the overrun at each end plunges off cliffs into the sea.
It bears more than a passing resemblance to Juancho E Yrausquin Airport on the Dutch Caribbean island of Saba, famed for having one of the shortest runways in commercial aviation. Here, however, the airstrip is built from a rather unusual material – crushed coral. From a pilot’s perspective, it has similar properties to gravel, but it’s a little harder on aircraft tyres.
The airfield on nearby Aniwa, the next stop on our trip, is decidedly different, relatively flat and lying a little above sea level. The only challenge for crews here is the soft ground and the very long grass that covers the strip.
Onward to the Northern islands
Faced with a variety of runway types, challenging terrain and highly changeable weather conditions, boredom is rarely a problem for Air Vanuatu’s pilots, and they can take in the remarkable views.
Flying in and around the islands affords an opportunity to see the country’s stunning landscape, from unspoilt jungles to the bubbling sulphurous crater lake atop Ambae, and from the spectacular Siri waterfall on Gaua to the lava eruptions of Mount Yasur. It’s also possible to spot turtles and, on occasions, elusive dugongs, swimming in the azure waters that surround the islands.
We continue our way north to Luganville on Espiritu Santo. With a population of 13,000, it’s Vanuatu’s second- largest city, but landing here is more akin to arriving in a large village. Though the road network is limited, we decide to hire a car (which turns out to be a micro-sized Chinese pickup) and spend the next day with it essentially serving as a taxi. Many locals don’t own vehicles and hitchhiking is commonplace – so much of our driving around the stunning island of Espiritu Santo, which is awash with breathtaking, palm tree-lined beaches, is done with strangers sitting in the back of our tiny rental van.
No Turning Back
Ambae is 25 minutes’ flying time away from Luganville, a trip that gives us the chance to sample Air Vanuatu’s sole DHC-6 Twin Otter 300, YJ-RV10 (c/n 679). It also enables us to take in a visit to Walaha airstrip, considered by many to be the country’s most challenging.
With mountainous terrain and tall trees hemming in one end of the runway, landings and take-offs can only be made over the sea – up or down a rather steep incline.
And the enforced layout of the airfield means winds are often unfavourable and prone to disrupt the carrier’s schedule. Strong tailwinds can mean weight-restricted departures, or in some instances long delays until conditions are calm enough to permit take-offs. Despite this, Ambae is one of the ‘busier’ points on Air Vanuatu’s network, with thrice-weekly links to Luganville and the surrounding islands. From an enthusiast’s perspective, the multi-stop services mean visiting several different airfields in a single trip.
After Ambae, the DHC-6 flies on to Maewo. Its grass strip is built on a relatively flat plateau but lies on wet, impermeable ground, making it soft and prone to waterlogging. This is where the Twin Otter comes into its own as the only type in Air Vanuatu’s fleet equipped with large, low-pressure tyres suited to an airfield that’s off-limits to the carrier’s other aircraft.
… much of our driving around the stunning island of Espiritu Santo is done with strangers sitting in the back of our tiny rental van.
Homeward bound, the scenic way
Returning from Luganville to Port Vila, we had two options: a non-stop, hour-long flight on Air Vanuatu’s ATR 72-500 or back on the Twin Otter for the multi-stop ‘milk run’. With the end of our trip rapidly looming, the prospect of sampling some more bush flying was too good to turn down, so we found ourselves once again boarding the Canadian turboprop.
The aircraft routed along the beautiful island of Malekula, providing some of the most scenic flying of our whole visit. On one side of the DHC-6, countless small islands and white sandy beaches set among the greens and blues of the sea offered a stark contrast to the lush green rain forest on the other. Remarkably, much of this region remains completely untouched.
Another two stops, at the tiny settlements of Norsup and Lamap (population 88 and 49 respectively), complete our bush flying experience. The next day we catch an Aircalin Airbus A320 to New Caledonia and then travel on to Seoul and eventually home.
For those looking to head off the beaten track, I would certainly recommend Vanuatu. As remote as the nation is, it’s worth visiting for its stunning scenery alone. And then there’s its rich culture, with many rituals and ceremonies still very much alive and well.
Accommodation on many of the outer islands is very basic, as is the infrastructure: most roads are unpaved pathways and can be washed out and impassable after heavy rains, which occur frequently. But these are more than offset by the hospitality of the locals and the kind of experiences hard to find elsewhere.
