Flying Home and back

It was a rainy December day when we bussed to the Beirut airport. Although I was a California native, Dhahran was now my home and I could hardly wait to get back to my favorite haunts. I was seated over the wing on the right side; there were two seats to a side on the ARAMCO Convair. My seat companion was an young woman. She leaned into the window and had a clear view of the engine. I peered over her shoulder as the propeller began to turn. It stopped and then began again. It whirled slowly and with a jerky cadence and stopped once more. After a minute or so it began again but there was no aaarhummm! and the familar galloping of the cylinders as they fired and came to life. Again the blades came to a halt. Another delay and the blades started again. This time the fuel from the flooded system ignited and a huge fireball enveloped our side of the plane. It was orange and we snapped back from shock. In a split second my seat companion was unbuckled and standing at the back door asking to be let off. She had stepped over me and moved away from danger faster than I could think.

With both engines turning and my ex-companion seated in the rear somewhere, we trundled to the run-up area. We turned 45 degrees to the active runway and I was able to see arriving flights as our aircraft was put through its run-up. I had a clear view of a big KLM Stratocruiser (double decker) making its approach. It was quite blustery and the KLM pilots were fighting a nasty crosswind. The illusion to me was the beast was going to set down right on top of us. But as it reached the threshold, the pilot dipped a wing into the wind, cross-controlled, and the slanted letters of Flying Dutchman zipped by without incident. We taxied into position and roared off toward the Tapline.

Six weeks later I was roaring down the same runway but this time I was in an MEA DC-3. I came back from vacation feeling odd and within a few days I was in the Tapline hospital with pneumonia. After a two week recovery I was sent back to Dhahran to gain some weight and strength back. I slept most of the way; I do not remember landing at the pumping stations.

After a month's rest I was on an ARAMCO DC-3, the milk run, headed up the coast to Ras Al Mishab. We flew over the Qatif gardens, Ras Tanura, Safaniyah, and into Mishab. We traded cargoes there and headed west to intercept the Tapline. Three bedouins and a goat got on at one station. They squatted in the back and held the goat by the ears when we took off. We stopped at Rafhah, Badanah, and finally Turayf. The families assigned to the pumping stations have some stories to tell, I'm sure. The thing that impressed me the most was the portable homes in at least one camp did not have kitchens. The dining portable fed 24 hours a day. I thought that very cool. It was a storybook life back then.

Rolf Christophersen