It was quite a cute little plane.

Gleaming in the sun on the tarmac, it looked quite harmless, and even rather pretty with its shiny coat of pale yellow and white paint. The metal bits were reassuringly rust-free, the two leather seats gleamed, and the windscreen sparkled in the sunlight. The pilot, Dan (a nice, solid name for a pilot) was asking for volunteers to take the plunge – though that was probably not the best choice of metaphor when talking to a group of small-plane virgins about their first flight in something that was not built by Boeing or Airbus.

(In fact, we later found out that the plane had been built by Dan. From a mail-order kit. This is apparently quite normal in the world of small-plane ownership but this was one case where ignorance was definitely bliss. Dan does have a doctorate in engineering from MIT, but I know enough people with doctorates in engineering from MIT to find this less than perfectly reassuring. In any case, he’s a computer engineer.)

Seeing as no one else looked like they were about to step up, I held up my hand, reasoning that if something untoward were to happen we would at least be well-prepared – aside from Dan, the rest of us were doctors, invited out to the countryside for a picnic-and-small plane sightseeing trip by Dan’s wife, our colleague Melinda.  During long nights at the hospital Melinda had regaled us with the joys that came with owning your own plane, jetting off to the wine country or the coast or the mountains at the drop of a hat. Dan was a qualified pilot, and she was taking lessons with the hope of obtaining her licence soon (though her hours at the hospital meant that logging enough flight time was a bit of a challenge). Given that many of us spent hours snarled in traffic just to get to and from work, such freedom was very alluring especially given that a small plane cost less than most cars.

I climbed into the cockpit ahead of Dan – small planes are one place where it helps to be a bit vertically challenged – and tried without success to work out the bondage harness that was passing for a safety belt. When I was finally strapped in, we put on our headphones (triggering a brief Top Gun flashback, though I didn’t really feel a need for speed at the moment). After pausing for a quick photo op (a good one for the obituary, I thought) Dan moved into action, flipping switches, twitching dials, pulling knobs, pushing levers, and chatting to the tower in pilot-speak while I tried to avoid touching anything that looked like it might be important. The controls in most small planes are still of the analogue variety, giving them a vintage feel. A surprisingly loud rumble signalled the start of the engine and the propeller started to move, and before I knew it we were heading at speed towards the end of the runway. Dan opened the throttle, tilted the nose up, and with a gentle push we were off.

My main concern about flying in a small plane had been about how high up we were going in such a tiny aircraft, but the main benefit of being in a small plane is that you don’t actually go that high. The cabin isn’t pressurised so you need to stay relatively low down, perfect for enjoying the vistas of postage-stamp farms, startled cows, and the picnic area where our friends stood peering skywards. We circled the area, enjoying the view. It was amazing, and the fear dropped away along with the birds we left in our wake.

Then Dan asked if I wanted to take the controls.

Like a learner’s car, both seats had a full set of instruments and a fully functional steering yoke, with override available from the main pilot’s seat. Dan kept control of the altitude and fuel mix and other technical things but handed the steering to me. The yoke had a feather touch, and all it took was a bit of pressure to turn the plane in slow circles and figure eights over the countryside. I could have stayed up there for hours, but all too soon we headed back to the airport so my friends could discover what it was like to fly.

I never did end up getting a small plane of my own, but since that inaugural flight with Dan I’ve spent a lot of time in them during my trips to Africa. Bush planes are essential for travel to the more remote parts of many countries, particularly Botswana where many camps in the Okavango Delta are inaccessible by any other method. The planes are actually quite large compared to Dan’s little two-seater, ranging from six to twelve seats, but the need to fly in them is scary enough to keep some people at home – my mum, who is a white-knuckle flyer even on commercial jets, is one of them, even though bush planes have a better overall safety record than commercial jets.

This is a shame, as flights by light aircraft can be one of the best parts of travelling in Africa. The need to stay low down means that rather than the featureless expanse of clouds you see on normal flights there are stunning views of the African landscape unrolling before you. While there is a decided lack of seat-back TVs and other in-flight entertainment, who needs them when you can look at the window and see elephants, hippos, buffalo, and giraffe? Admittedly the realisation that that dusty rectangle which looks about a block long is actually your landing strip can be a bit nerve-wracking the first couple of times around (especially if the pilot needs to buzz it to chase off the local wildlife before landing) but after a few short hops this wears off quickly. Seeing the landscape from the air after having spent a few days exploring it intimately on the ground provides a completely different perspective, and is the only way to get a real sense of places like the Skeleton Coast in Namibia. To me, the flights are an exciting part of my safari rather than just a way to get from point A to point B.

For those who want an even more exciting small aircraft experience, nothing can beat an excursion by helicopter. A heli flies much lower and slower than a small plane, so you can get extraordinary views of the wilderness and its inhabitants from the air. If you can arrange to take the doors off (this is not as scary as it sounds as you’re securely belted in) it’s unmatchable for aerial photography. I had the opportunity to do this when I was at Mombo Camp in Botswana, and the photos I took then remain the best aerial photos I’ve ever taken. Michael Poliza’s new book, Eyes Over Africa, shows the stunning results possible from a helicopter in the hands of a professional.

I shared the helicopter with two other guests, a father and son from the States. We arranged it so that both of the photographers (the father and myself) were on the same side of the helicopter so the pilot knew which way to turn for the best angle.  Photography is better from the back seats (in the front the windshield can get in the way, particularly if you have a long lens).  I suggested flipping for it, but it turned out that the father wanted to sit in front because of his interest in flying (he was a recreational pilot) so it was fine.  

Up close, a helicopter is amazingly loud – we all had to wear headsets with mics to communicate with each other.  Having the doors off was ideal for photography, but did introduce the potential for our gear (or us) to fall out on a quick turn, so the pilot made sure we were firmly strapped in before putting our camera bags in the boot.  I did have a momentary waking nightmare about watching one of my Canon dSLRs go spiralling into a watery grave in the Okavango, so I looped them securely across my chest, bandolier style.

As we took off we passed quite low over a herd of lechwe, who leapt away in a series of splashes.  The view from a small plane absolutely cannot compare to the view from the helicopter – we were down much lower, and with the doors off the view was crystal clear.  I got some wonderful shots of animals from above – lechwe, elephants, hippos, giraffes, and some enormous crocs – as well as some stunning shots of the Delta itself. I probably would have gotten even better shots without the lens hood – it did cut glare but had a tendency to catch the wind and vibrate at inopportune moments. 

So if you are thinking of travelling to the remote parts of Africa, don’t let the need to fly in small planes put you off.  This is one case where getting there really can be half the fun.