Intimations of mortality: looking over the edge from 35,000 feet

Flight path Perth to Darwin, 2,650 km, most of which is over no-man’s land.

There is nothing like the death of a dear friend, or a real or imagined brush with disaster, to remind you of how narrow is that path we tread along the razor-back ridge of life. On either side the chasm yawns. One false step, a momentary lapse of judgement or a stroke of misfortune, and you will be granted an immediate passport to that "undiscovered country", as Hamlet called it, "from whose bourn no traveller returns".

I have had such a reminder. It was about ten years ago now, but the memory remains vivid and unsettling. I was on my way to review a sandalwood plantation in the Northern Territory, travelling on a Boeing 737 from Perth to Darwin. This is one of those 4-hour flights in which the first half an hour (crossing the Perth hills and the north-eastern agricultural country) is interesting, and the last half hour (over the spectacular ranges of the east Kimberley and the gulf country around Darwin) is fascinating. But in between, it is basically nothing. A no-man’s land, thousands of square kilometres of the Gibson and Great Sandy Deserts, an empty wilderness of parallel sand dunes and spinifex plains stretching to the four horizons. This is "GABA country" as one of my mates once called it: the Great Australian Bugger-All. You glance out of the aeroplane window and there is nothing to see, so you go back to your book. Half an hour later you glance out again and the outlook is unchanged.

The Australian interior: a land of parallel sand dunes (photo by Jack Bradshaw)

I had been into the depths of the Gibson Desert twice before, back in the days when I had been involved in conservation and land management, but on those expeditions I was always in the company of colleagues who were not just good bushfire scientists and wildlife biologists, but also tough and competent bushmen. I was never apprehensive in their company; but I would not have liked to survive there without them. On these trips I discovered that the Australian (so-called) “deserts” are not devoid of life, and have a rare and special beauty – but they are unforgiving to an ill-prepared traveller or someone accidentally deposited in their midst.

The Great Sandy – a wilderness of sand dunes, spinifex and scrub, basically devoid of surface water (photo by Andrew Burbidge)

On the current occasion, overflying this relentlessly featureless landscape, I had been happily engrossed in Peter Fleming's Forgotten Journey, his wonderful account of a 1934 odyssey from Moscow, through the Caucasus to the Caspian Sea, on to Samarkand and Tashkent, through Outer Mongolia to Vladivostok and thence to Peking. Fleming is witty and observant, and I loved his travel writing.

But having checked the Qantas magazine, I plugged in to 'Radio Q' and located the classical music channel. The program guide promised me a rendition of Mozart's Horn Quintet, one of my favourites. While waiting for this to come on I was amused by a short skit in which Guy Noble imagined how difficult it would have been for Johann Sebastian Bach to have composed had he lived today. In the skit, Bach is busy scratching on a manuscript with his quill and tinkling an idea for a Prelude and Fugue on the harpsichord, when suddenly his telephone rings. It is a salesman from Telstra, asking "Jo Batch" if he is satisfied with his internet supplier and blinding the old musician with incomprehensible IT technology and jargon. Bach has no idea what the salesman is talking about and loses the thread of his composition .... OK, it's not all that funny, but it was diverting, and I was smiling gently to myself.

Then, suddenly:

A huge voice broke in!

It echoed around the aircraft cabin! "EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY!" it bellowed in stern and stentorian tones. "RETURN TO YOUR SEATS IMMEDIATELY, FASTEN YOUR SEATBELTS! PREPARE TO ADOPT THE BRACE POSITION! EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! THE PLANE IS ABOUT TO GO INTO A RAPID DESCENT! FASTEN YOUR OXYGEN MASK! EMERGENCY!

All of this was repeated over and again.

As the message sank in, my heart gave a lurch, and my stomach and buttocks clenched. I looked out the window and could see nothing but countless miles of parallel sand dunes, spinifex, ironstone ridges and scrubby gulleys - Biggles himself could not have landed a Cessna 150 there, let alone a giant airliner with hundreds of people on board. And even if by a miracle we got down safely how would all these innocents survive in this unforgiving and hostile environment?

I looked up for my oxygen mask, grateful for all those times I had half-paid attention to the demonstration by a stewardess. No oxygen mask appeared. "Jeepers creepers, I am in real trouble now" I thought, "starved of oxygen as well as being about to plunge into a remote desert from 35,000 feet!" Luckily we were not over water so I would not have to find, and then fit, my life jacket, something I have always found hard to imagine doing as the waves closed over the plane.

The cabin crew were scuttling about, clearly not knowing what was going on. I had an empty seat next to me and could not confer with anyone. The elderly couple across the aisle were frozen - staring straight ahead sightlessly. I imagined their whole lives were flashing before their eyes. There was no panic that I could see or hear. Perhaps the screaming starts when the plane actually begins to plummet to the earth, I thought.

All this time the massive and fearsome voice was continuing, repeating the same message: "EMERGENCY, EMERGENCY! THE AIRCRAFT IS ABOUT TO MAKE A SUDDEN DESCENT. ADOPT THE BRACE POSTION etc"

The funny thing was that I did not feel fear, just a growing sense of dismay. "What a bugger" I actually said out loud to myself. I never did write a novel, score a century, learn to play the piano, map the stone walls at Karonie, teach my grandchildren to play a topspin backhand down the line, or visit New Zealand in the company of my ever-loving .... and speaking of the ever-loving, how cross she was going to be when she heard of my demise!

Just then, after maybe half a minute of all this, during which time the plane continued to drone unwaveringly on its way, another voice broke in, over-riding the emergency message, very calm and matter-of-a-fact. "The Captain here, folks. Disregard all that. There is no emergency. Everything is completely normal and under control. It appears that there has been a computer malfunction in the Public Address System, and this triggered the recorded emergency warning message. Sorry about that. I repeat, no emergency, everything is fully under control".

Phew! Nothing to worry about, eh? Thanks Skipper. But, by the Jesus! you better get that PA system and its computer looked at, and while you are making a note to that effect, how about a complimentary brandy or two, just to settle the heartbeat?

There was no brandy, and five minutes later it was as if nothing had happened. Guy Noble was in my earphones again introducing the Horn Quintet, and once again I marvelled at its vitality, humour and harmonies, especially that playful little fugue at the end. Mozart makes me feel better at the best of times, but here he was, right on the job, applying balm to a troubled spirit at precisely the moment it was most needed.

The whole affair gave me pause. As we flew on I reflected on the pointlessness of regrets, re-lived memorable times of love and laughter, and marvelled afresh at the world around me ... even the outstanding beauty and intense interest of the Great Sandy Desert below.

All of this reminded me of the poet William Wordsworth, the "old sheep of the Lake District" as Horace Rumpole always referred to him.

William Wordsworth, reflecting on his youth

In one of his poems, Wordsworth once recalled the world of his youth and the way it had then appeared to him:

There was a time when meadow, grove and stream,

The earth, and every common sight

To me did seem

Apparell'd in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream ...

This, it seems to me, is the great advantage of a near-death experience, even a phoney one as I had just experienced. Things are put into perspective, and "every common sight" is indeed refreshed.

It is surely not a bad thing to be reminded, from time to time, of our mortality, and of all there is to enjoy on solid earth.

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Postscript:

Speaking of enjoyment, I looked up Mozart’s Horn Quintet on You Tube yesterday and found this superb performance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dFw4YWJ-pIc

If your laptop or phone produces only a cheap, tinny sound like mine, I recommend listening with earphones.