PERU: Sky Pilots

A flight of light planes hovered like hummingbirds over the green eastern jungle of Peru last week, dipping into tiny airstrips and steaming rivers to pick up waiting passengers, then heading back to a tin-roofed hangar by remote Lake Yarinacocha. They discharged their passengers, U.S. Protestant missionaries and their Indian assistants, darted back for more. One of the world's most gallant little airlines thus brought together the 300 missionaries and workers of the Summer Institute of Linguistics to S.I.L.'s yearly refresher course.

Flying missionaries is only one of the chores of the twelve U.S. pilots and six U.S. mechanics who operate the institute's airline. Between missionary jobs, the line operates for a profit. It takes oilmen into the interior on charter, serves as a jungle feeder line for the Peruvian army's air transport. Rates are moderate, but in a year the S.I.L. can gross some $35,000 from charters. It needs the money, for this airline consists mostly of planes it did not pay for, and of pilots it does not pay.

Over the Andes. A dozen years ago the Summer Institute of Linguistics got the idea of flying its missionaries into Peru's roadless interior, used a wartime Grumman Duck piloted by U.S. Missionary Pilot Betty Green. The case for taking to the air was overwhelmingly proved; five hours of flying covered as much space as eight weeks of canoeing in crocodile-infested rivers past hostile Indians. Now S.I.L. operates twelve planes, well worn but carefully maintained, ranging from a Piper Super Cub (one passenger) to a Catalina (19). Almost all were donated by individuals or religious groups.

The Lord's Business. The pilots and mechanics also came as gifts. S.I.L. had no money to pay them; so before joining the airline, each man had to get some church or individual to guarantee his salary ($100 monthly at the most). Pilot George Insley, 35, veteran of World War II bombing missions and five years in the Strategic Air Command (he left as a major), is supported by three churches and four private individuals. But S.I.L. pilots are not tempted by the fat rewards of business. "This is business, too," says California-born Chief Pilot Omer Bondurant. 35, a wartime night-fighter pilot, "the Lord's business. The Lord wants us to do this work for him."

Assisting the Lord is a thoroughly professional organization, superbly run on a shoestring by Bondurant and Maintenance Chief Lester Bancroft, 31, a veteran of Continental Airlines. Planes are constantly monitored over war-surplus radio equipment, must report every 15 minutes, are required to stay down after dark. Each man packs a mosquito net, air mattress and survival rations, is reminded in case he runs out of food to "eat what monkeys eat." "Fact is." says Maintenance Boss Bancroft, "we never had a serious accident. We feel the Lord is with us."