• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content

Great Christian Adventure

Paul & Clare Woodington

  • About
  • Blog
  • Photos
  • Videos
  • Newsletter
  • Donate
  • Contact
  • Show Search
Hide Search

PNG

God’s Escape Plan

Paul and Clare · Mar 24, 2020 · Leave a Comment

I was wearing my Pilot’s uniform, epaulettes, boots, peak cap, reflecting that when I get back to Wewak, I will be lonely. What I am going to do? I pretend I can cook yet I cannot remember the last time I ate protein. Clare in Australia, I in northern PNG, never have we been separated this long. It’s our 30th wedding anniversary this year. I know I am lonely living a charade without her. I pretend I am OK.

I start the stairs to my trusty plane. “I hope you don’t mind if I get on your plane? Is there space?” I turn to find with the wife of a frequent flyer to these parts of the jungle begging to get onboard. “Of course,” I say.

This surreal situation pulls at my innermost thoughts. This lady who has spent years in this isolated place now wants to escape to Australia, and I help her. Will I be the last man standing? I think of Robinson Crusoe. Him and me. One kind. I am close to the coast like him, and my phone picks up a signal. Clare has texted. “Come home now!”

God purchased a house for us last December. It’s remote there. Not many people want that level of isolation. Still, after living in the jungle for so many years, it seems like paradise to us. “Shops are closing, flights are being cancelled. You won’t get another chance.” More texts. Oh, I think.

The Coronavirus is taking its toll. It seems my generation, the first in a long time not to experience a world war, is finally experiencing the global act. “All MAF flights grounded.” This is not the news I expected on landing in Wewak. This is getting serious.

I cannot sleep. The film I just watched of the late Eric Liddell who ran for God, also failed to escape China before the Japanese invaded. It did not end well. It is three in the morning, and I am surprised my wife is awake, sending me another text, “Come home!” Another plea. I cannot abandon my post. That’s not what I do. I have what it takes to be the last man standing. Maybe though, I should find out what a higher authority wants me to do. I pray, which inspires me to send an email to my boss. “Tell me what to do?” I press Send. I sleep well.

Go home. Be with your wife. Here is your ticket. That was clear. But, what happened to me being the last man standing. I realise now that my worth as an effective missionary is founded on both of us, not just me. On my own God probably thinks I am not good enough. He is right, of course. I am fast becoming part of the problem.

I feel a great relief, we are to be reunited as one again, but the plane is late. One hour has been eroded from the two-hour stopover at Port Moresby. This is going to be tight. The lady from the jungle is with me. We are both escaping now. So too are a couple of American pilots when she found out that number two is on its way. A young American missionary from the border is also fleeing to his wife in California expecting number three.

The plane is half empty, and the baggage collection runs smoothly with very few passengers as the airport shuts down. Grounded planes litter the tarmac. Customs is empty. Two more MAF pilots from Hagen make three of us seeking refuge in Australia. The American pilots are turned away at the gate, Australia borders closed to non-residents. The flight is full.

I have been on the plane thirty minutes now, and still, people are getting on. I am hoping to see a MAF family from Hagen make it, but nothing yet. I text Clare, “I have boarded. I am coming home, God willing!” The plane’s doors close and I see the Hagen family shuffle up the aisle. Two kids and dad sit right behind me. The last row. The last tickets for all of us. Mum sits with baby far down the plane.

Food is a sticky bun in a bag. Another restriction. “Would you like a drink, sir?” “Yes please, what have you got?” “Soda water, Tonic water, and water.” “Oh, I best have water then.” Good job I ate yesterday.

“Please fill in this form, sir.” “And this one.”, “And this one.” “Have you filled in this form yet?” It keeps the boarders safe, I guess. The dog seems to latch on to my backpack. It’s handler stares at me. I shrug. She does not smile. I am not sure I would like a job where non-smiling is a part of it.

News pours in; PNG bans all internal travel, PNG closes its borders to everyone, Australia closes its borders to everyone. Last PNG flight today; the US to close its borders, Australia states close its borders. All borders closed. Stay put. Stay at home.

Home now. How wonderful. I am looking forward to fourteen days of isolation, to spending fourteen great days with my wife. God is good, He has provided, and I am pleased to follow His commands.

I hope she managed to find toilet paper!

Marlin, big catch at Yuo Island, Wewak, PNG

Paul and Clare · Nov 27, 2018 · Leave a Comment

It does not get much better than catching Marlin on a hand line.

But, here we are, bringing to the shore a first class fish. Apparently, one of the fastest fish in the sea.

Clare and I had been dangling our line over the side of the boat, trolling for our dinner, when the Lord blessed us with a feast for a whole island.

We were quite excited at already catching a decent sized Spanish Mackerel, and were thinking of heading back to the small island of Yuo, just off the shore of Wewak in PNG, where we had been spending a much-needed break when a massive pull on my line nearly sent me overboard.

Tony, the Captain, the son of the Big Man Robert on the Island, and a long time friend of ours shouted, “Do you need help?” I could not speak. I was fighting with my whole body to stay in the boat which despite a 40 HP motor, had changed course and was now heading backwards.

Clare yelled, “Quick, Paul needs Help!” A lot of help as it happened. Tony grabbed hold of the line alongside me with huge hands. I could see his young muscular body tense, his sinews tighten, blood vessels covered his muscles, as the pull of the monster’s load took its toll on us. Fight or flight? This was time for a flight.

Suddenly, what seems like a serpent lunged of out the water and a great sail inflated along its back. What a sight. “Marlin, Marlin!” shouted Tony.

Shocked, I had other things on my mind like staying in the boat and wondering what a Marlin would do to me if I joined her in the sea. I felt a wooden paddle break under my foot which I had been using as a foothold. I lost all feeling in both my hands as the line bit my fingers.

After what seemed like an age we fought the Marlin to the side of the boat. I held onto the line, my body almost horizontal, taking just a small part of the strain. Tony grabbed for the considerable sword on Marlin’s snout, pulling it over the side as much as he dared, and shouting, “Spear. Get the spear!” Haha, I thought. In your dreams. Do you know how old I am? But, somehow I inched towards the front of the boat and with a numb finger fumbled with the spear and somehow passed it to Tony.

Tony thrust the spear at the Marlin with enormous might. It was if the spear was a small plastic spoon. The eight metal prongs bounced off Marlin’s leathery skin like water off a duck’s back. He tried again, but with no joy

After another age and with me still pulling with all my might, we got the head halfway up the boat’s side. Using Marlin’s own spear nose, we levered the head over the side of the vessel. Marlin struggled, thrashed wildly and in doing so became airborne, and with one enormous last effort from Tony and I, we took advantage of Marlin out of the water, and she landed in the hull. Clare screamed.

Marlin was frantic. Me too. Clare was beside herself thinking her future with her children was becoming less certain. Tony was shouting. Marlin thrashed, fighting for dear life, and not taking prisoners. This boat was too small for all of us. Tony with the spear in hand tried to secure the head, the hot end. I made for the tail with a foot and two hands holding onto the boat. I soon found out the tailfin was as hot as the head.

Needless to say, we overcame the Marlin to win the day. Tony and I held the fish for a considerable amount of time without either of us moving an inch until we felt safe again. On arriving back at Yuo, the island people were ecstatic. This is the first Marlin catch anyone can remember being caught on the island. Robert, Tony’s father and local preacher, interrupted his midday sleep at hearing a Marlin had been caught.

They hung the Marlin from a tree and spent all afternoon cutting and preparing the fish for a great feast to come.

What a blessing so many could enjoy one of God’s most magnificent provisions.

Is my life worth it?

Paul and Clare · Jul 24, 2018 · 1 Comment

Saving a life is a big part of being a MAF pilot. Delivering food for the hungry or airlifting the sick and dying from a jungle airstrip; the MAF pilot who takes the opportunity can make a real difference. But, these opportunities include tough decisions. Medical Evacuation (Medevac) calls are vague at best. Details about the rescue often sketchy, and when the financial cost is high, the decision to cancel a day’s flying program to divert to a place far away with no certainty of a good outcome is a heavy burden.

A recent decision caused me significant anxiety. I fly for MAF in the jungle of Papua New Guinea. This day I was flying my favourite bush plane, a Cessna Caravan. The program for the day was full. Due to recent severe weather, many people needed my help. I had departed Lumi, a remote airstrip in PNG’s coastal highlands bordering the Sepik with nine patients on-board flying to Vanimo hospital when I received a call over the radio. A teenage boy had burnt himself at Busilmin. His condition was critical. Could I help?

I asked for more information. Is the boy ready at the airstrip? How bad is he? Is his condition life threatening? What is the weather like at Busilmin? All I received back was, “Critical in Busilmin. Cannot get through on the radio. Telefomin weather is dark.”

Busilmin is near the West Papua border of PNG in the Central Highlands. Located at an altitude of 5,100ft, Busilmin has a very steep airstrip with an 11% incline. The airstrip, hidden in a cul-de-sac at the end of a blind-end valley is only visible from directly above. In bad weather, Busilmin is a strip to avoid.

Busilmin is an hour’s flight into the highlands. If I was to go ahead with this rescue, I needed more fuel. I would have to cancel the rest of the day’s flying program and make the round trip with no passengers onboard. Ideally, the plane would be full all the time, but not this flight. The problem with a medevac is that it cannot be pre-planned.

And then there was the weather. It is one thing to reach Busilmin and rescue the boy, but I would need to deliver him to Telefomin hospital where the weather was reportedly unstable. I would be heading off with no reassuring weather report and no certainty of rescuing him… or even landing. I didn’t know if the patient was prepared. I didn’t know how long I could wait when I got there. I wasn’t sure if I would get home. The stakes were high.

The first thing I did was to pray, asking God for wisdom and assurance. With God’s help, I decided to go ahead with the plan. I landed at Vanimo, offloaded my patients, filled up the fuel tanks, and set off to save this boy. I had concerns it might all be for nothing. A lot of ducks would need to line up for this trip to succeed.

And then it got worse. Thirty minutes into the flight I got the call telling me Telefomin was in heavy rain. More rain was coming in fast from the East and moving towards Busilmin. The hospital at Telefomin was not my only option; there are other hospitals. Wewak hospital, for instance, where I am based. But, Telefomin is close to Busilmin, and the weather at Telefomin gives me a good idea of what the weather is like there. Horrible was the conclusion. But, this is the tropics. The climate in the tropics can often change very quickly. So, I continued with that hope.

I approached the Highlands and saw the picture was terrible. A significant amount of cloud had built up in front of me. To the far left, I could see the vast rain clouds pouring down over Telefomin. I could not see much else, just a few breaks in the clouds below. Slowly, I descended through those breaks into the mountain passes.

The GPS system on the plane is near useless in the mountains. Flying in a straight line is not possible. I needed to navigate visually along the valleys. All around me cloud hindered my path. The clouds covered the mountaintops. But, along with the valley, I continued, descending lower and lower. I needed to find the Sepik Gorge River. Seeing this would lead me to Munbil airstrip, and from there I could navigate up the valley to Busilmin. But where was it?

I almost gave up searching for the river. Time for a quick prayer. And, as is usually the case after a quick talk with God, He shows me the way. I was so relieved when the river appeared through a small opening in the cloud below. Now, all I needed to do was follow the river and find Munbil. I continued to fly between layers of cumulous, spotting small glimpses of the river as I went. At where I thought Munbil would be I crossed over the ridge and there it was Munbil airstrip.

Munbil was my marker; I was close to Busilmin now. Busilmin airstrip is at 5,100ft. But, already I was flying below this height. I would need to climb up before landing. The Busilmin Valley looked dark as I approached it. I snuck in under the cloud at the entrance to the valley taking me even lower. I hugged the left-hand side of the valley wall keeping enough space to turn around. The canyon opened up a bit, and I was able to climb back up to just below circuit height.

Taking a step back, the flying of this valley is spectacular. It was dark, quiet, with tendrils of cloud hanging down. The purr of the gas turbine engine was hardly noticeable. The tight circuit meant I would fly close to the terrain all the way down to land on the airstrip, no room for error. Busilmin is a class D strip. The more difficult kind MAF operates. And then I saw it.

Rain. It was raining over the airstrip. Landing in the rain on a mountain strip is the worst formula for disaster. I had already decided I would not advance in heavy rain. I continued flying overhead the touchdown point and saw the airstrip was wet with a wind blowing. I stayed with the circuit and continued my approach.

I didn’t need to decide about landing until half way along final – my approach committal point. Until then, I can choose to fly away. So, the jury was still out. I had options; I was doing fine; I could tick all MAF’s safety boxes. I did not need to land if I was not completely satisfied. Safety is number one.

On the base leg, the one just before turning on final, I broke out of the rain. I was in a small shower, but the visibility through the propeller was acceptable. In the back of my mind, I was thinking about how to get out of here if I landed. The top of the airstrip is a cul-de-sac into the valley wall. If I continued, I would not be able to see up and out of the valley. But, I decided that I should try and help this boy even if it meant spending the night at his place. So, I landed right through the shower.

The landing was bumpy. There was no getting away from it. I touched down on the side of the mountain where grass hides the rock underneath. And then there’s the dog’s leg – a left-hand bend. As I landed, I had to steer the plane around the curve, and uphill. The Caravan is a four-ton plane touching down at 86 miles per hour. Busilmin strip is just 500 meters long. This plane made it look easy. It is fantastic.

I was thankful to arrive. The airstrip is so steep it is not possible to see the bottom from the top. I call this a “Disney Strip”. No need to go to California for a thrill ride. I looked down in the direction I knew the village should be, but there was no one waiting for me. My heart sank. Where was everyone? I was on an empty airstrip, a lone plane on the side of a mountain, and nothing but the sound of a massive waterfall.

Jesus answered my prayers. I heard them before I saw them. Small children began to emerge from the crest of the hill below.

The village is at the bottom of the strip. I could now see reams of people, the whole community, making their way up the steep incline. The first man to greet me was the school teacher. He was sweating profusely from the climb. Surrounding him were his students of all ages, from five to twenty.

“Please wait,” he said desperately in Tok Pisin. “He will come. He will come.”

The next person over the hill was the village leader. He was barking loudly at me in Tok Pisin. His arms waved around, and his tone was piercing and angry. At first, I thought he was going to give me a hard time. Then he said, “I thank you for coming. You have saved this boy’s life. He has a bright future ahead of him. Bless you.”

He went on to say the young boy was 18 years old. He had fallen into a fire two days ago. The boy had put his hands out to break his fall. His hands landed on the flames and hot coals. To get out of the fire he had to put his leg in, and that too was perilously burnt. Without immediate help, all wounds could lean to the point of disfigurement or even death, and as always in the jungle, open wounds were in constant danger of infection. The boy was from a nearby village. They had to carry him through the wilderness first before raising the alarm.

Confident his message was understood; the leader disappeared back over the edge of the airstrip below.

I waited for a further half-hour. By now, at the top of the hill, a great crowd had assembled. Everyone wanted to play a part in seeing the MAF plane rescue this boy. They would talk about this day for a long time to come.

And so it was; I eventually got sight of the boy. Four healthy young men carried him in a bush stretcher up the hill. They had constructed the stretcher from vines and sticks. The swathes of people parted to make a clear path to the plane. The men did not break pace; utterly focused on their mission, sweat running down their half-naked bodies which sparkled in the sun’s rays. The boy was in much physical pain. We negotiated the stretcher into the main cabin of the plane. I tried to make sure the boy was as comfortable as possible before making preparations for departure. From the corner of my eye, I could see the four stretcher-bearers laid out on the grass, chests heaving, collapsed from the sheer physical exertion of their task.

I worried about the deteriorating weather. On landing, one set of problems had gone away; I had arrived safely in spite of the clouds, rain, and high mountains. Now, I had another set of issues to work through.

I needed to fly in a way that I can immediately land should the conditions be dangerous. I could not see along the valley from the top of the strip; I didn’t know what weather was waiting for me around the corner.

I planned to take off and immediately start the landing procedure. If I could see along the valley towards Munbil, I could depart. Otherwise, an immediate landing would be necessary. A flight of one big circle called a dumbbell.

I also planned to fly along the Sepik Gorge at a low level. For this, I would need a break in the weather. The last I’d heard of Telefomin was that the rain was torrential. The storm would need to have rained-out, or I needed an exit from the highlands to Wewak. Again, another opportunity for a quick prayer.

With one last glance towards the moody mountains ahead of me, I flew the big dumbbell circle in the Busilmin valley. And there, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. I was reminded of the opening words in John’s gospel, “The light shines through the darkness…”. I descended below the Busilmin airstrip then under the cloud at the exit of the valley. I was soon over Munbil. Then, a shimmer of silver snaking through the jungle, I’d found the river. The river could lead me to Wewak or my emergency exit route, but better than that, I’d worked out a way to Telefomin. And there it was, clear as day… Telefomin hospital was visible below me enjoying a brief spot of sunshine. We made it. The Lord had answered my prayers.

The MAF ground staff at Telefomin were quick to unload the patient and get him on his way to the hospital. The strip had been wet and boggy, the landing sending sprays of dirt and mud from beneath the tyres. Storms were building again around the mountains. We all knew I needed to get out of there if I was to make it home that night. The weather would not hold much longer.

I found the exit route through the clouds to Wewak I had spotted earlier. I blasted out of the dark, rainy, and gloomy highlands into the bright plains of the Sepik River. On my way home I stopped in Edwaki, a mission station on the Yellow River. Here, I got out my box of Bibles and sold several to the local tribes-people. These much-needed Bibles are in the Tok Pisin language. I charge just a few Kina each, a fraction of their cost. I sat on the tyre of the plane contemplating the afternoon’s events.

I thought of that initial decision to make an effort to save a life. It seemed like an age ago. I was amazed at the way God lined up all those problems for me to solve in faith. The pain I saw on that boy’s face as he came up the hill. The leader’s plea to save his bright future. His mother’s face as she watched her son loaded into the back of an aircraft. I remembered the boy’s father worrying about how to pay for the plane ride to Telefomin. And then of his great relief as I told him not to worry, “MAF’s supporters are paying for you today,” I said.

PNG people can sometimes show a great outpouring of generosity to MAF’s pilots. They name my plane, “Balus Bilong Mipela,” my plane, and the pilot, “Pilot Bilong Mipela,” my pilot. This day was a special day. For no particular reason other than their need to show grand appreciation, the tribes folk of Edwaki gave me a present of a Bilum (bag) for my wife. The bilum can take up to a month to weave from materials found in the jungle. It is intricately laced. They also presented me with very precious ceremonial headdress feathers, something I have never received before.

As I took off from Edwaki, I realised that I had the best job in the world. I work for God, and today I saved a life, a young life with a bright future, a life worth saving. My reward is knowing that I make a difference in people’s lives. I know my life is worth it.

-Paul Woodington

Subscribe to Receive Updates

  • Flickr
  • LinkedIn
  • YouTube

Copyright © 2023 Great Christian Adventure · Site by Design by Insight

  • About
  • Blog
  • Photos
  • Videos
  • Newsletter
  • Donate
  • Contact