Flying to the world’s most dangerous airport. Lulka, Nepal
Planes hummed and buzzed at Nepal’s Tribhuvan International Airport on the morning of October 11th, 2019. A few sputtered and coughed up blue smoke that hung in the air like apparitions.
The sky was the color of a worn pair of khakis, thanks to a mix of dry, dusty weather and the fact that the Nepalese tend to burn the dearly departed on funeral pyres along the Bagmati River which made the forecast to fly to the most dangerous airport in the world quite abysmal. I waited patiently albeit nervously in a small, white airport shuttle bus just off the tarmac with ten or so fellow trekkers. There was a slight breeze, mere puffs a few times an hour, at best. And it did little to fight the rising heat.
After a series of texts, emails, phone calls and sharing of YouTube videos, my good friend and fellow adventurer Barry Lawson decided to trek to Everest Base Camp (EBC) with Himalayan Wonders, a local outfitter. While EBC does sit at 17,508 feet and is very challenging to get to, it is no way as dangerous as attempting the summit of the mountain itself.
But first we had to make it to Lukla’s Tenzing-Hillary Airport, aptly named after the two men who first successfully summited Everest and reigning champion as the world’s most treacherous airport in the world according to the likes of Forbes, Fodors and CNN Travel. Practically everyone heading to the Everest Region of northeastern Nepal starts their journey from Kathmandu where they hop on a 15-passenger prop plane for a 40-minute flight to Lukla, a village of roughly a thousand residents and THE starting point for trekkers for the region. There are other ways to get here but it involves a six-and-a-half-hour bumpy bus ride to not-no-nearby villages followed by a four-to-six-day hike.
Staying calm during our flight to the world’s most dangerous airport.
So, we opted for danger over inconvenience.
The things that make this airport so dangerous and sketchy are quite long. For starters, it’s runway is very short at just over 1,700 feet. According to Airport News, the average runway length is between 6,000 and 10,000 feet. Oh, it sits on the edge of a cliff with a 2,000 drop off on one side and a stone wall attached to a mountain on the other which means the pilot must fully commit on take offs and landings. The runway’s gradient is about 12% which helps slow down the plane while landing and helps increase speed on takeoff. The weather is unpredictable, so flights only operate in the morning. Last but surely not least, it has a history of deadly plane crashes.
Attempting to summit Everest might have been a better idea.
We’ve been sequestered in the shuttle bus for over an hour. It had the “release the western trekkers from the bus, and the Nepalese government will consider your other demands” feel to it. Finally, our bus grumbled to a start, and we made our way over to our Sika Airlines prop plane. The engines were off; pilots puffed away on cigarettes. It looked like we were boarding a white minivan with wings. We made our way to the cabin door, schlepping our trekking gear and stacking it in a small area behind the back row of seats.
Anyone over 4’6” had to walk Quasimodo-style to find a seat. We chose two seats directly behind pilots who looked like they just graduated from high school. They immediately started fumbling with dials and knobs, tapping colorful displays and evidently speaking to air traffic control in Nepalese. I think I saw the co-pilot bow his head in prayer. I prayed for cocktail service (didn’t happen) while Barry reviewed a placemat-sized pamphlet which outlined crash and evacuation procedures, I might add was in multiple languages.
Prop planes are invariably noisy. This one wasn’t quite noisy enough to drown out my thoughts of slamming nose first in the Himalayas. We accelerated down the runway and were airborne within seconds. Kathmandu’s chaotic crowdedness quickly gave way to lush, quiltlike landscapes. Snow covered mountains loomed in the distance. For every foot the plane rose in altitude, so did the landscape. Most of the time, it felt like we were never more than 500 feet above rocky outcroppings, bright blue tin roofs and grazing oxen.
Lukla, Nepal
We dodged and weaved around mountains, bumping our way towards Lukla. It reminded me of my son’s PlayStation flight simulator game where he had countless failed attempts at landing at Lukla. But, then again, he was only ten at the time. But then again, I remember vividly what it looked like to spiral hopelessly into this patch of the Himalayas video game style.
Because of our second-row seats, we got our first glimpse of the runway, a tiny asphalt scar on the side of a mountain. Unfortunately, as we got closer the runway didn’t get much bigger. Our pilots became more active. A lever pull here, a dial twist there. After a series of gentle adjustments of the yoke we landed softly, decelerated quickly and gave the pilots a much-deserved round of applause and cheers.
Time to hit the trail.