Copyright Alain Guillou . Pictures done withe a Leica camera

 

 

Kenya as seen from a motorised Paraglider

 

 

Kenya is a country I experienced from many angles 12 years ago, flying over it in a hang glider and making the first hang glider descent from the Mount Kenya. I also launched from a balloon piloted by an Englishman who was making a film, several thousand meters above the Masaã Mara Game Reserve. There in the reserve, to the great surprise of the Masaãs, I once took off from the roof of the Serena Lodge and very nearly landed on the back of a lioness emerging from a bush, unseen by me until the last minute.

 

It was during that trip that the idea of organizing "safaris in a balloon" first came to me .

 

The images and colours of an extraordinary country still clear in my memory's eyes, I return to Kenya today with a great deal of nostalgia.

 

The unmarked "Exit Tolls" at Mombasa Airport

 

I compare our uneventful flight via Vienna against our arrival in Mombasa where a customs agent "takes" me for a substantial bribe, which he extracts from me with a master's touch. (Topping it all when I inform him that I had to account for my expenses, he fills out and signs an "official" receipt, advising me not to mention it or show it to anyone. The explanation for the charge ? "Import duty" on my rolls of film even though I would take every one of them back with me to France).

 

Continuing on that them, the airport police notice us as we pass with our equipment en route to our small hired plane and stage a very involved and very African routine. Just a reminder to me that the "musungu" (the white man) is seen in Kenya as having very deep pockets.

 

Caught up in a long-winded discussion on the amount of the baksheesh, we pass through the security gates without being searched. An Eden for international terrorism ! (Inspired by my first experience, I requested a receipt, but decide not to press the issue when the "deal" threatens to turn sour).

 

By all indications, corruption has risen to exaggerated proportions and we are very far from the enchanted green prairies seen in "Out of Africa" (Incidentally, the producers of "Out of Africa" had to pay enormous sums in baksheesh to complete their filming. In return, the film broke all records as publicity for the promotion of tourism in Kenya, doubling the industry's revenues a few month after it first appeared in movie theatres).

 

There are no limits, legal or illegal, to the rampant greed. Corruption and racketeering are not new, but they used to be difficult to detect. Now practised openly and aggressively, they seems to be everywhere.

 

There are even serious talk recently of taxing the use of amateur video cameras. Alarmed tourism professionals successfully argued that a tax would kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. But, the issue is bound to be raised again and the sword of Damocles still hangs overhead.

 

The remaining descendants of settlers in Kenya live with the fear of one day seeing a gang of armed robbers break down their door and strip their house bare of possessions, killing at the slightest sign of protest. The number of people slain by machete in recent years is something to think about. (A well known bush pilot just barely escaped, his face and body gashed.) The streets of Nairobi, which used to be relatively safe, are now off-limits to pedestrians at night. Some Lufthansa flight crew members are not likely to forget their conspicuous check-in at the Serena Hotel--naked as the day they were born, but happy to be alive.

 

Runaway demographic growth does not make the situation any better. Kenya now stands face to face with her future. Her population is expected to double before the end of this century. Pope Jean-Paul II recently visited the country, condemning contraception and birth control. Someone visiting the poor sections of the larger cities like Mombasa or Nairobi, could find that difficult to understand...

 

But despite all of this, Kenya remains an endearing country, and stability of a sort prevails there.

 

European advisers are present at every level government and industry.

 

Tourism, one of Kenya's main industries, is very well organized thanks to its highly skilled professionals, and the country is well worth visiting.

 

Will it or won't it fly ?

 

After making our way through the obstacle course of Mombasa airport's "unmarked tolls", we find ourselves faced with the complex and challenging task of loading 250 kilograms (550 pounds) of equipment into the Cessna 206 I had rented as transportation for our expedition.

 

Wedged between two Boeing jets at the edge of the tarmac, the sweat running down on us, we wonder whether our plane can be thrusted to take off. Then the green light comes from the control tower and we begin our take-off roll. After a seemingly endless time and many ups and downs, our pilot finally manages to pull us away from the ground with an amazingly gentle tug at the controls. "Lift is the culmination of gathering speed". And by the laws of aerodynamics, excess baggages can be a harsh reality.

 

But this time, we are air-born, flying as well as could be expected. We continue to hug the terrain very closely for a long while, not daring to take altitude. The Mombasa runway eventually becomes a thin concrete ribbon lost somewhere in our wake. My calculations of the weight, volume and encumbrance of our baggage have turned out to be very close indeed .

 

And so we were on our way ! This was the beginning of an adventure several months in the making. I had already tried to organize this journey once before, but my plans collapsed in November 1988 when the chosen pilot, remarkably well-guided by his communication "adviser" could manage nothing better than to call me at 3 o'clock in the morning to inform me that the plane and the pilot would not be arriving for our 8 o'clock departure.

 

I lost quite a bit savings in the process, but being stubborn and persevering like any self respecting Breton, I re-scheduled the expedition with two new pilots. Looking at today's outcome, my impression is that my lucky star may have been keeping watch.

 

Amboseli

 

Life's unpredictable ways, my career as a photographer and my meeting with Philippe Laville, test-pilot for Soubeyrat Sailmakers, and Philippe Jeorgeaguet, builder of the Jet Pocket motor for paragliders, had brought us together in a plane now making its way, lurching and swaying, between potholes in the Amboseli runway.

 

The Kilimanjaro welcomes us, honouring us with the sight of its eternal snows.

 

Immediately on arriving, we meet Naftali Kio, acting warden of the reserve in the chief warden's absence. It has cost us a small fortune for authorization from Nairobi to make flights over the Amboseli and Nakuru Parks. (As for the Masaã Mara Game Reserve, the problem of a permit would be dealt on site).

 

Last November, in my first attempt at organizing this trip (aborted, thanks to the pilot), I had obtained a similar authorization from Nairobi. The Wildlife Department's fee at the time was reasonable.

 

This time, the fee was five time that amount, an increase having gone into effect the day before our departure. I was left with no other choice; I had to accept the extortion.

 

Filmmakers shooting television, advertising or feature-film footage are usually charged such fees, although their financial means tend to exceed those of a poor photographer. But this is Africa Bwana, and you have to be willing to pay up if you want to move ahead on a project. What is the difference, anyway, between a 35 mm or 70 mm cinematic camera and a Leica?

 

I told myself that the money would serve an honourable cause and I hoped that it would specifically be used to fight animal poaching.

 

Naftali was to become a delightful and devoted companion to us, letting us go about our work without any trouble when he was not actually helping us.

 

First flight

 

Unwittingly, we had chosen a launch site in the path of a herd of elephants. Approaching with their downwind side to us as we readied our flight gear away from our cars, they moved into our vicinity. Not one of us, engrossed in our work, saw them coming. Very organized, their vanguard and rear guard made certain that we knew not to make any rash movements. But these intelligent pachyderms, protecting their young in the middle of the pack, silently passed by us at a distance of a few meters, taking great care not to disturb us or violate our "territory".

 

On the savanna, there is an immediate connection between disregard for the concept of "territory" and life or death. In another place, in other circumstances, for example, the same elephants would not have allowed us to approach on foot upwind of them as near as we had been just now.

 

Their "caravan" passes, disappearing into wilderness. (Naftali had seen them coming but knew beyond any doubt that we were in no danger).

 

Philippe Laville had never flown with a Jet Pocket before. From having tried it myself, I knew that an advanced paraglider pilot would have no trouble operating the motorized mechanism. The proof would come with the trying: Philippe takes off without a problem and a few minutes later, is performing aerobatic maneuvers with remarkable precision. With the Kilimanjaro for a backdrop, it is a sight worth the journey. I was right in my final selection, I think to myself, imagining the scenes we would be able to capture on film.

 

"Stop Killing the Elephants"

 

I remember picnicking some 10 years ago in the Masaã Mara,  not far from the Tanzanian border, and hearing bursts of fire from the automatic weapons of poachers on a hunt.

 

The experience made me vow never to miss an opportunity to fight against the horrifying slaughter.

 

Today, thanks to these photos, I have the voice and the opportunity to further the message that many have already sent out, a message that should be kept alive until man understands that unless he can preserve the endangered species of animals, he will not be worthy of inhabiting this Earth.

 

Several months ago, the media around the world disseminated the report of elephants being massacred in Tsavo Park. But for every report of this kind, how many other slaughters have taken place in silence ?

 

According to a rumour circulating in Kenya--and it is the most likely factual--a lear jet from an Arab country one fay flew in non-stop, landing on the Keekorok runway in the Masaã Mara Game Reserve. Wealthy princes descended from the plane with weapons and bags and went on a hunting spree right in the middle of the reserve. Tour bus drivers, who came across the carcasses of the massacred animals, still talk about it with a sense of shock. The terror is pervasive; no one would be foolhardy enough to risk coming out with story on record.

 

The leaders of this world and the media must take forceful action to eradicate the ivory trade or trade in any other animal trophy to the endangerment of species.

 

The public should think before buying an object plundered from an animal. Not one of them is harmless. The purchase of an elephant-hair ring, like the purchase of an ivory ring, is another death warrant sign.

 

The death of a species is a death knell tolling for humanity.

 

My two next friends, who fully understood the meaning of the message, would do a remarkable job: Thanks to them, together we would be able to take these spectacular images which are now a means of conveying that message: "stop killing the elephants!"

 

We spent the better part of an intense hour inscribing the English words on our helmets.

 

One morning, Philippe and Philippe are to be found working their paraglider over a herd of elephants making straight for me.

 

The sight of the charging elephants with clouds of powdery minerals dust marking their stride, is magnificent. Very quickly, however it becomes unnerving. As Naftali and my assistant plead with me at the top of their lungs to start up the car, I fight my increasingly uncontrollable desire to do just that and manage to shoot several frames of the scene. Not letting another second elapse, I make sure the engine of our car can be trusted to do its job.

 

Apparently, the elephants are barely a few meters away from us, as I shift from the very audible top limit of first gear into second, and to third.

 

A short time later, applying a well known defense tactic, the elephants group themselves in a circle. Unable to see farther than the ends of their trunks, they raise their trunks into the air, trying to identify the noisy intruder by his scent.

 

As soon as I am sure of having taken a good picture, I give the signal to land and we let our friends recover from their ordeal in peace.

 

Our intrusion probably amounts to less than the intrusion of the cars numbering in the thousands that, year after year, erode the soil of the parks and reserves.

 

There are the lions who must try to eat their prey while subjected to exhaust fumes and camera flashes from a steady stream of tourists;

 

A great deal has yet to be told about the operation of the reserves for financial benefit and its detrimental effects on wildlife.

 

Some powerful economic interest groups are run by "predators" who block or delay repairs on access roads and main roads in a well-known reserve in order to sell more seats on their charters flights and hold back competition. As a result, tourists travelling by car, to avoid being stranded drive to the side of the impassable tracks. After years of traffic in the rainy season, new ruts appear and deepen. From above, the ground is a dense interlacing of tracks and furrows with disastrous consequences for the ecosystem.

 

The picture is not this grim everywhere and in some cases, the news is actually good. For example, where car traffic was once slowly turning Amboselli National Park into a desert of fine mineral salts, the authorities saw what was happening and have since banned off-road driving.

 

Even Among Elephants

 

On our way out of Serena Lodge one evening, with the wing blowing at a speed just safe enough for flying, we spot a herd of elephants taking a mud bath in a swamp of luminous, soft green grasses.

 

Although not totally convinced we would fly, we begin readying our equipment not far from there. Involved in our work, we fail to notice two elephants making their way towards us eating as they advance.

 

The sudden strange behaviour of one of them causes us to clear out of the area leaving a Jet Pocket behind. The elephant sniffs at the machine, but seems preoccupied by something else.

 

In fact, he is far from calm as he joins his companion in mock combat. A few seconds later, he curls his trunk around her hind leg and firmly pulls her toward him, at which point we become witnesses to an elephant mating scene under a cloud of white birds that has taken to the air to escape being trampled. An idyllic scene by the light of the setting sun...

 

Unknown to us, we had just seen a rare event : Naftali, the Game Warden, remarked that he had never seen nor herd of two male elephants mating! Imagine--it even occurs among elephants !

 

It was written somewhere that we would not fly that evening. We has to wait until nightfall for the two elephants to take their recreation elsewhere and finally retrieved our jet pocket.

 

The eagle's eye

 

On the last evening of our stay in Amboseli, I had a turbo-charged Cessna 210, flown in from Nairobi. Without a problem, this fabulous small plane took me over the crater of Kilimanjaro at an altitude of 8,5OO meters (27,887 feet). It was my way of settling and old score with this mountain of legend which, for 10 years, has resisted my attempts to photograph it. Every other time I had flown over only to find it covered by its cap of clouds.

 

This time, I discovered that its peak, when seen from directly above, is shaped like an eagle's head with the crater as it eye. 

 

There are some privileged moments in life and this evening is one of them.

 

Over an already darkening ground, we continue to fly by the light of the horizon set ablaze. Far below, through scattered clouds, the African plain teeming with life extends outward from the foot of Kilimanjaro. As I took out onto this rare spectacle, I feel that no other profession in the world would equal in beauty what I am lucky enough to be doing now.

 

A cloud of Pink Flamingoes

 

Once again, we fins ourselves wedged inside the cabin of our small rental plane.

 

In the Rift Valley below, some Masaãs are herding their cattle out of their "Manyatas" (village formed by a ring of huts made from cow dug). Ocher colors predominate and the fair, blue, morning sky is already starting to form "streets" of cottony cumulus clouds. Our plane offers little resistance to them as they gently gather energy according to the daily ritual of atmospheric convection that has taken place since the beginning of time.

 

The day promises to be a hot one and the air much rougher for flying by the afternoon.

 

The crater of the Longonot volcano passes by under our gaze. Several years ago, a plane crashed there. The pilot fell victim to the fatal trap of low-altitude flying by getting caught in the turbulent, churning convection currents that rule inside the bowl of the crater.

 

At the foot of the Longonot, Lake Naivaisha shimmers with a mercurial sheen. At the bottom of the Rift Valley, a bright flash of white from a satellite communications station marks the contrasts between the millennia-old lifestyle of the Masaã and the most sophisticated modern technology.

 

Nakuru is a salt lake to which thousands of flamingos periodically migrate providing that water is present and deep enough to nurture a sort of algae that these birds are very fond of.

 

The flamingos can be pale or dark pink in colour, depending on the time of the year.

 

Under the curious gaze of Mark, the chief warden on duty, Philippe Jeorgeaguet is the first of us to attempt a flight. Running furiously, he seems unable to tear himself away from the ground.

 

Due to the heat and altitude, the motors are producing barely enough power for flight. When that happens, the pilot has to run much farther and eventually lifts grudgingly off the ground, verging on a crash.

 

 

The two Philippes are in good athletic condition, but more importantly, their strong spirit enables them to overcome any obstacle we encounter. Thanks to their skill and ability, we would keep flying as well as could  be expected even in extreme conditions. They would take enormous risks, entrusting their lives to our equipment. I keep myself from thinking about the consequences of a mechanical failure.

 

On the subject of risks, back in Amboseli, one of Philippe Laville's attempts at take-off failed when the wind abruptly shifted at the last minute. I can still feel the horror of watching him crash with the sound of the propeller snapping and the motor suddenly falling silent. Then, a resonant "hmmmm" made itself heard from a dissipating cloud of dust. All was well: An apologetic Philippe emerged carrying a dusty object resembling a Leica camera. Its battery pack had been sent flying over some 10 meters.

 

After checking out the equipment and replacing the propeller, Philippe took off with another camera. Although still touch and go, the second take off was a success.

 

But the crash came on landing, with another shift in wind. We stopped flying for the day. There was no bodily harm done and Philippe Jeorgeaguet managed to work miracles as a mechanic.

 

Amboseli (which means "whirlwind") is famous for its small dustladen twisters which, resembling giant stalagmites inverting themselves, take hold in the ground and suddenly rise toward the sky, expanding as they spin, only to disappear as abruptly as they appeared.

 

I remembered the days when I would limit myself to MacDonald's fare to save up enough money to buy cameras. In the space of one day, we has battered two of them, after a thorough cleaning, they check out in perfect working order. By its incredible resilience, German technology makes up for its heaviness : no many other cameras could have taken such a beating. In fact, Philippe was about to take one of them along with him over Lake Nakuru.

 

A pink "tide" turns into a flock of flamingos fleeing in all directions from an approaching parachute. Hanging by the cords of his sail, a man flies in harmony with the birds. I shoot frame after frame of the scene, yet another breath-taking one. This was one of the moments we has in mind--meeting up with the Masaã Mara was the other--when we chose the colors of our canopies and flight suits.

 

The two PhilipPes would be no match for the flamingos in a contest to see which would have the shortest run-up to being air-borne. Their steps turning into a giant stride, they take to the air and return from a graceful glide to rest in the same spot. Their take-off and landing can be comical. They appear ill at ease as they go about it.

 

I nervously keep track of my remote-controlled cameras mounted on a support attached to the pilot's torso. The eye of the lens can alternately aimed straight ahead or at the pilot. I am using a wide-angle lens for its greater range of focus (depth of field) which extends from several centimeters to infinity. With the right choice of positioning, I manage to catch the flamingos and Philippe wearing his helmet inscribed with "Don't kill the elephants" in the foreground of a picture with the other parachute in the background. The trick is to press the remote shutter release at the right moment and since there is no one looking through the viewfinder to know if the moment is right, chance alone determines whether the picture will be a good one or not.

 

My lucky star still riding with me, we managed to reproduce on film nearly every sketch I had made in my notebook before leaving France to show the two Philipes the results I was looking for and how it would all be structured.

 

Roland, a friend who lives in Kenya has come with us to Lake Nakuru. He is a descendant of the English settlers who founded the country. He watches in admiration as the two Philippes fly 10 centimeters (4 inches) above the lake's surface.

 

Jokingly I ask him, "Roland, don't you think this is a tough lives ? I have the hardest job in the world and the two Philippes look very bored up there !"

 

"I have the impression you live a thousand times faster and more intensely than most of the people we come across in the lodges," he answers.

 

Indeed happiness is a single, small spark and very often, the feat is a matter of doing what you like best.

 

These thoughts in mind, I watch my friend Laville perform an aerobatic saraband worthy of the envy of the assembly of pink flamingos, as some of them abort their take- off with a splash, all in the purest of windsurfing style. If Philippe is not doing what he likes best, what possibly could that be ?

 

En route for the Masaã Mara

 

We has only one hour of flying time separating us from the Masaã Mara Game Reserve. I knew from experience what difficulties lay in store for us there.

 

As I mentioned earlier, I once lived in this magnificent setting where incidents abound. The contemporary history of the Masaã Mara is fraught with them.

 

Only several years ago, it was not a very rare occurrence to see an armed gang break into a lodge, shooting at anything that moved. One morning at day-break, a group of terrorized tourists returned to Governor's Camp after having walked bare foot for tens of kilometers transporting all their personal belongings for armed robbers threatening to kill them at the slightest sign of protest. Ignorant of the laws of the savannah, they managed the incredible feat of making it back alive in the darkness of night with wild animals roaming around them ! (their feet were covered in scratches from acacia thorns.)

 

Nowadays, since the camps and lodges have their own armed security units, the menace of such banditry is receding, although isolated incidents of aggression apparently still occur : One night during our stay, everything belonging to some tourists at Governor's Camp was brazenly stolen from their tent.

 

Still last October, near Keekorok Lodge, a young woman was found butchered not far from her car. No one had any idea of how it happened. There is a long list of this type of occurrence...

 

But in the Masaã Mara, life and death are brought together by the work of nature, like two good friends. They are notions of a different value here. Modern man is fascinated by the forces of nature at work which bring out his longing to return to simple ways, his voyeuristic side and a sort of nostalgia for this great celebration of untamed life.

 

And son "droves" of American tourists with dollars to spare descend on the Mara. The latter-day Karen Blixens make themselves seen sporting the khaki styles of the white hunter at the luxury lodges. They sip exotic cocktails at the corner of a bar, shuddering as they tell-their tales of coming eye-to-eye with the resident lion or an eerie-eyed buffalo.

 

To each his own tastes in fashion. For our part, our style tends toward the flashier, fluorescent colours... But I am getting ahead of the story of our journey...

 

We are still in the Cessna 206 when a startled eagle out ahead of us takes a quick dive, almost colliding with our plane. To our left, I recognize the road that runs from Narok to keekorok Lodge. In the distance lies the escarpment overlooking the green prairies of the Mara.

 

A live scoop

 

I radio ahead to Keekorok Lodge. The Chief Game Warden should be there and we are given confirmation that he is.

 

But he is not found when we land. With another radio call, we find out that he is at Serena Lodge. And--why not?-- we take off for Serena Lodge, a 15-minute flight away. 

 

The Chief Game warden, who is new in his job, is waiting for us on the airstrip with his deputy.

 

I show them a few sketches clearly outlining our intention to take pictures of the animals from very low altitude.

 

The air is thick with innuendo. It would be interesting to know what thoughts were running through each of our minds at the time.

 

I am told to apply for a flight authorization at the central office in Nairobi. That had already been done, but nothing I say can convince them. We all know very well that the Masaã Mara reserve does not fall within the jurisdiction of the National Parks central office.

 

Eventually, having gotten nowhere in our dialogue of the deaf, we leave in our plane and settle in at one od the most prestigious camps in Kenya, Kichwa Tembo Camp, at the base of Ololo Escarpment.

 

Over the radio-- a friend assisting with communications-- the wildlife Department in Nairobi confirms that the local chief game warden  is the authority for the Masaã Game Reserve.

 

I go back to Serena Lodge that evening to see his deputy and explain that I am ready to pay the small fortune recommended by the central office in Nairobi, but not about to wait until the end of my stay to pay and then leave without being able to fly.

 

I finally obtain the authorization. Realizing that there is no time to waste, I work out the schedule we would have to follow: First, the lions; then photos with the Masaãs; and I resolve not to fly until I am certain of getting those shots.

 

My spirits revive at the thought of returning for a look at the "Balloon Safaris" which make daily ascents with full loads of passengers not far from there.

 

When they find out that I am the founder of the business, the salaried English pilots who keep the safaris flying invite me to take a ride with them.

 

The "balloon Safari" has become one of the most lucrative tourist attraction in Kenya, earning several million dollars in profits every year. About 20 balloons fly over the Masaã Mara daily carrying a dozen passengers on each ascent. (Those interested are advised to make advance reservations.)

 

After struggling for four years to keep the business going, I lost control over it just as a new technique was about to transform my dream into one of the most fantastic "flying" gold mines of our time.

 

Some not very scrupulous associates decided it would be more profitable if I were to leave the business, so that they could mount a drug trafficking operation taking advantage of the tourists passing through the Masaã Mara. They sent drugs back to France inside cartridges of film "to be developed" asking unwitting tourists to mail the packages directly to their steady consumers. Fortunately, the trafficking ended in the Narok County Council's prison cells, with the entire crew being ordered out the country then fleeing.

 

At the time, I was in France grappling with the problems of basic survival, while at the same time trying to make a new life for myself, determined to transform a life-long passion into a career as a photographer.

 

But, back to making our photographic report on paragliders. Now that we had the go-ahead from the local authorities, we got up very early the next morning. Practically 500 meters (546 yard) from the camp, two lions were savouring the remains of a wart hog.

 

The light is superb and the wing direction ideal for staging flights from the right vantage point.

 

As Philippe and Philippe gear up, I advise them again not to descend below the trees to avoid disturbing the lions finishing their meal and above all, to avoid becoming and alternative meal.

 

I drive the car into position. Ideally, I should be shooting from a good distance using a telephoto lens. But a screen of tall grasses blocks the lions from view. I decide to settle for a close-up of the lions with the paragliders appearing as small distant objects.

 

A few tourists' cars linger behind, then finally disappear at breakfast time. We seize the opportunity and the two Jet Pockets take off. 

 

I check my Leicas which I had fitted with wide-angle lenses for this particular scene. (Not planning to use the telephoto lens, I did not check the camera it is mounted on, still in its carrying case.)

 

The paraglider approach, but nothing goes as planned. To start with, the puzzled lions interrupt their feast and saunter off toward an area where the grasses are shorter.

 

It suddenly occurs to me that I might be luckier than I though: I nervously start up the car and quickly drive around the two lions in a wide swath to position myself 200 or 300 meters (650 to 1000 feet) ahead of them in line with their apparent path.

 

I have to keep one eye on the terrain, the other eye on the lions; I remember to close the window against the dust that would fly up when I put on the brakes; catch a camera flying out of its case; steer with my knees; shift gears; work out the projected path of the parachutes and the direction the lions would take  given the wind, the terrain and the refuge of the nearby forest.  In one go I grab up the box with the 280 mm telephoto lens, open it, and apply the breaks, steering with my knees all the while. I open the window; the lions are approaching. Engine off, I brace myself against the car door. To the ranger accompanying me, "Please don't move". (Any brusque movement rocking the car would result in blurred images.) With one eye, I focus my lens on the lions, with the other I check the direction of the parachute to find it nearly converging with the path of the lions.

 

I try to calm that infernal flutter of an image hunter about to photograph an important scene.

 

Force of habit and something in my subconscious mind tell me to check my camera. To my horror, there is no film showing in the frame counter! I rush to change cameras, aim again--finding almost the same composition--and begin shooting one frame after another just as the first parachute comes into view.

 

 

Through the viewfinder I recognize Philippe Laville by his smile. Against all my advice, he is flying only a few centimeters above the lion's head !

 

In an instant that feels like an eternity, the lion turns to look Philippe square in the eyes, hesitates, slows, then resumes his run.

 

His eyes where Beautiful

 

"It was fantastic ! When I got close of the lion, he turned around and we came eye-to eye with each other. I will never forget it for as long as I live. He has magnificent eyes with yellow flecks. Anyway, there was perfect understanding between us ...."

 

As we return to camp, the ranger accompanying is tugs at my sleeve and points in the direction of the carcass--the two lions are quietly finishing their feast. Their close encounter with another species does not seem to have dampened their appetite, he remarks, adding that our flying machines are, after all, an interesting way of visiting the reserves.

 

We were elated with the knowledge that the success of our project rested safely in those frames.

 

I did not have the heart to criticize Philippe for taking so many risks and remembered being guilty of pulling almost the same stunts at one time. Youth must be allowed run its course....

 

We have had outrageously good luck, particularly for this time of the year. The rainy season set in Amboseli the day after we left and we were told that it was also raining at Nakuru. Yet, the weather here was still perfect.

 

The next day--our lucky star still with us--we took the last important photographs of the project, with the Masaãs.

 

After that, the sky could come down around our heads; the subject, as we say in the jargon of the trade, is "dans la boåte" (on film).

 

The Gods Must Be crazy

 

It was written somewhere that I would not fly over the Masaã Mara. That same evening, the secretary of the Narok County Council (I do not know his name because he did not even have the courtesy to introduce himself), accompanied by the Game Warden (whom I know only by his first name, incidentally) came to inform us that we would not be allowed to fly and are asked to appear in his office at Keekorok Lodge. Having flown for only two days and having paid large sums of money for the right to fly and take photos for a minimum of eight days, I demanded--without deluding myself and to no avail--that I be reimbursed. The situation was complex and difficult to follow.

 

The next morning, the ranger on duty at the camp latches on to us, tailing us everywhere and asking us where we are going at every turn.

 

There is a bad feel to it. We have the very strong impression of being held prisoner. We work out three possible explanations for the actions we are witnessing.

 

The first is that for reasons unknown to us, these people want to trap us and are trying to draw us onto their turf where the tourists--potential eyewitnesses--could not see us. If that is the case, we will need to send for our plane right away and make our way back to some semblance of civilization in Nairobi or Mombasa.

 

The second theory is that a "business" arrangement is in the making in which we would have to pay more money to keep flying or even to leave in time to catch our flight from Mombasa back to Europe.

 

The third explanation is a very old story. Rumour has it that we happened into the middle of a settling of scores. We are therefore the awaited pretext for a local "house-cleaning". Time will tell. If the wide-scale poaching intensifies in the area, it will mean that the Rumour was true.

 

With the key photos already secure in our cameras, we opt for the safety of a quick escape. At dawn, we leave the camp on the quiet.

 

As if to confirm our decision, the rain begins to tap against the windshield of our plane as we lift off the ground in Mara en route for Mombasa.

 

I let go with a sigh of relief. Still, I think to myself, the Kenyan authorities should wake up to the fact that the Masaã Mara is something of a showcase for tourism in Kenya and that many suspicious things are going on there.

 

Tourism in Kenya, now in vogue, is riding the crest of a wave of international success. It could take a brutal fall if nothing is done to put competent and responsible people in positions as important as those are. If, by some misfortune, the crash were to happen, the consequences could be disastrous for the economy and the stability of the country.

 

Once again we are presented with the sight of the Rift Valley's volcanic decor. Lake Magadi to our left and Lake Natron to our right, at its far edge the Ol Donio Lengaã volcano (a sacred mountain to the Masaã), fall away behind us.

 

A short while later, Kilimanjaro bares its summit as we pass, momentarily doffing its cap of clouds as though to bid us good-bye.

 

Our day in Mombasa passes without incident and after making a feast of langoustine and crab at the famous "Tamarind" restaurant, we abruptly find ourselves in an antechamber to the modern world, 11 000 meters (36 000 feet) above the ground, flying at 900 km/hour (560 mph), with the stewardesses of Lauda Air to dote us. They are intrigued by the complicitous air of our group and very soon begin asking questions ...

 

To think that for one of my new friends, this was his first venture outside of our gentle homeland, France!

 

Just as the thought was crossing my mind, he said with a laugh "Vive le tourisme!"

 

***************

 

Article by Alain Guillou (Author's name must be mentioned.)

 

Important : This expedition was sponsored by Alain Guillou , with assistance from :

 

- Leica, Germany (manufacturer of the camera used)

- Parapentes Soubeyrat, sailmakers

- Etablissement Jeorgeaguet, for use of the Jet Pocket

- Kichwa Tembo Camp for lodging at the Masaã Mara.

 

We would be grateful to you if you could mention them in the published version. (Their adresses are given at the end of this document.)

 

The crew :

 

Philippe Jeorgeaguet, pilot and designer of the Jet Pocket

 

Philippe Laville, test pilot for the Federation de Parapente (paragliding Federation) and for the Voilerie Soubeyrat, makers of paragliders

 

Alain Guillou, organizer, photographer and occasional pilot.

 

General informations

 

The Jet Pocket is the lightest means of powered flight in existence at the present time. The motor attached like a back pack on the pilot's back and the combined weight of the motor and the paragliding canopy is about 30 kilograms (66 pounds)

 

The only difficult aspect of operating the equipment is the inflation of the canopy on the ground before take-off. Beyond that stage, manoeuvring the Jet Pocket is instinctive. The piloting techniques involved are by far the simplest ever invented. To make a turn, the pilot pulls on one of the two suspension cords (or brakes) : the right-hand cord turn right; the left-hand cord to turn left. To gain altitude, he throttles up; to descend, he throttles back. Directional stability is remarkable and the Jet Pocket is probably the easiest of all existing motorized equipment to fly.

 

Ease of use, however, does not mean there is no danger involved. Beginners should acquire a solid understanding of atmospheric forces and their effects and must obtain an ultra-light aircraft operator's certificate. (See practical details below)

 

Operating the equipment

 

The pilot spreads the canopy of his paraglider out over the ground and attaches the suspension cords to the motor unit. The parachute is laid out in such a way as to cause the canopy to fill with air and rise into position above the pilot's head during the first phase of take-off when the pilot is running into the wind. Glancing over his shoulder, he check the array as he runs.

 

At this point, the pilot simply throttles up and will quickly cease to feel the weight of the motor as it becomes borne by the canopy. Lift-off occurs a few meters further, depending on how much wind there is.

 

Landing is probably the trickiest part of the flight: The weight of the motor leaves no room for error. The motor is switched off on final approach. (Under no circumstances should the pilot attempt a landing with the propeller still turning at his back.) The pilot maintains his speed, accelerating if necessary, until he reaches the right height above the ground at which point he pulls firmly on both "brakes". The assembly pulls up, slowing as it "arches" and contact with the ground occurs at practically no speed whatsoever. (A good landing has the impact of jumping from the seat of a chair onto the floor.

 

Technical profile of the Jet Pocket

 

 

Motor                :   2-cylinders 2-stroke 425 cc (16.4 cubic inches)

Horsepower           :      22 cv (21.7 hp)

Starting mechanism   :      Manual pull-start (by means of a cord)

Fuel tank capacity   :      10 liters (2.6 gallons)

Weight of motor unit :   3 models weighting 17, 19 and 24 kg (37.5, 41.9 and 52.9 pounds

Dimensions           :      1.10 meters in height (43.3 inches), 1.10 meters in width (43.3 inches), 40 centimeters in depth (15.7 inches)

Assembly             : Instantaneous

Speed                : 45 km/hour (27.9 mph)

Rate of climb        :      Variable from 2 to 3 meters per second (6.5 to 9.8 feet per second), depending on the weight of the pilot and the paraglider used.

Take-off distance    : 5 to 20 meters (16.4 to 65.6 feet) varying with the speed of the wind.

Landing              : Vertical descent

Paraglider canopy    : Glide ratio of 5:1

Used                 : Surface area of 26 square meters (280 square feet)

Weight of paraglider : 4 kg (8.8 pounds)

Price of motor unit  :      26,600 Francs, inclusive of tax (as of February 1989) (about $4,046 at exchange rate in effect on 9/22/89

Price of paraglider  : 10,500 Francs (as of February 1989) (about $1,597

and seat                 at exchange rate in effect on 9/22/89

 

 

To purchase a Jet Pocket, contact :

 

Philippe Jeorgeaguet

Route de Chantelle

03140 Chantelle , France.

Telephone : 70 56 66 09