Five Airports One Flight

For those of us dreaming of flying the London Airports, this video of Five Airports One Flight is astounding to watch. If you are wondering how they managed it, there’s a comment by the original poster stating that “It’s not what you know, but who you know…” in terms of getting permission from air traffic control. There is also a comment that:

Unfortunately the opportunity to do this only happens a few days either side of the longest day. Outside that it is too dark to get over Heathrow before the first inbounds arrive.

Airline Empires

For a quiet moment of nostalgia, take a look at the flash slide show of airline empires with some wonderful old photographs of the airfields of the past.

Ask a CFI

I’ve only recently started reading ask a CFI.com but I’ve added it to my favourites for future reading. Paul answers questions and discusses issues he’s run into, including this very honest personal story about a lack of preparation when he was asked to pick up a Piper Aztec.

It was obviously bought at a real bargain and the new owner was putting in A LOT of money to restore it. I took a quick glance at the airplane, fuel on board (not much), required paperwork (ARROW) and hopped in. Some pilots refer to this kind of aircraft inspection as, “kicking the tires and lighting the fires.” I don’t remember kicking the tires.

Going Around

Cranky Flier calls out Associated Press for a terribly misleading video implying that go-arounds are unsafe.

Oh good, so a passenger with no flying experience knows that it’s a horribly unsafe maneuver? Please. As tempting as it may be, I can’t say I fault this guy for thinking that. A go-around can be a scary thing if you don’t know what’s happening. So who can I fault? The AP for putting this garbage on the air.

With a headline “The TSA blog: I read it so you don’t have to” Gadling’s Aaron Hotfelder writes about the American Transportation Security Administration blog with a Q&A post regarding the new ID requirement for airline passengers in the US. Be sure to read the full post with comments in what Aaron calls “the best comment thread ever”.

Note to the TSA: there’s a reason why community managers don’t come cheap.

People Like Us

And thanks to Prrrune for the link to the BBC comedy series People Like Us - Pilots on Youtube:

• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3

Plastic Pilot has been planning a trip to Guernsey and I couldn’t help but remember my first flight there. This was also Anne’s first time flying with me. Here is the description I wrote at the time:

It seemed such a good idea. My pilot’s licence was burning a hole in my pocket and I was desperate for chances to use it. My boyfriend’s mother is becoming wheelchair bound and her ability to travel was becoming limited: not because of the flights but because of all the hassle and waiting around. So I came up with a plan: take Anne and her wheelchair for a trip around the Channel Islands. Cliff and I could travel to London the night before and then meet her at Elstree Aerodrome in the morning for the hop across the channel. It’d be a blast.

I knew I was in trouble when the British Airways staff who checked me in for the flight to Heathrow marked my luggage as “heavy”. I compounded this by deciding to leave the case at Elstree Airfield that night, which led to my waking up in a motel with nothing but my flight bag: no shampoo, no hairbrush, no toothbrush, nothing. Just me and the Pooleys UK Flight Guide and a chart. I had planned to call the airfields and check the weather but I’m not a morning person at the best of times; I just couldn’t face it. The Channel Islands CTR is Class A airspace and has 3 pages of instructions in the flight guide. Part of me still suspected they might somehow sense my newness to flying and ban me from coming. I looked out the window instead. The sun was shining. A taxi waited patiently. It was time to go.

That was how I ended up on the apron, sitting in the shadow of the Piper Saratoga, applying mascara without a mirror and wondering if it was too late to cancel. It was. I watched another taxi deposit Cliff’s mother, Anne. She arrived along with her motorised wheelchair and a tiny carry-on bag with everything she needed for the week. I blushed and hid my Samsonite out of the way and made a big show of how heavy her bag was. It weighed slightly more than my make-up bag.

The sky was clear, a church bell chimed in the distance. It felt peaceful. This was in no small amount owing to the fact that the airfield was closed. No coffee, nobody manning the radio, no means of filing a flight plan: we were an hour early.

I eventually called Guernsey out of boredom. A friendly gentleman informed me that the airfield was not accepting flights owing to scattered cloud at 400 feet but that they would be opening soon, once the clouds rose above 600 feet. I paced as I thought about flying at 600 feet over the Channel, searching for an island. Better to wait for the weather to clear a bit more. Anne was pleased to hear she had time for a cup of tea.

An hour later, we were finally organised and at the holding point. “Elstree, November 666 Echo X-ray is ready.”

The radio was strangely quiet. Why wasn’t he letting me proceed?

“Ready for departure,” he prompted me.

“Erm, yes. Sorry. Ready for departure. Echo X-ray.”

I was relieved to see that the weather was fine once we cleared the Isle of Wight. Anne’s crisp voice came through loud and clear on my headset as the English coast retreated from view.

“Does anyone want a biscuit?”

Cliff responded for the both of us. “Not now, Mum. It’s only a short flight.” He shook the map at her, as if she could see it from the rear seat.

I flew straight across the Channel, above the tiny boats motionless on frozen white crests of waves. We’d only been in the air for half an hour when I held up my hand to request quiet as I called Jersey ATC. Despite my fears, I received Special-VFR clearance to enter the Channel Islands zone and was told to fly to the Casquets. I snatched at my map but the spot is clearly marked, a visual reference point to the west to keep planes from overflying Alderney and cluttering up the local traffic lane between Alderney and Guernsey.

“Or some cheese? I have cheese too.” Born in 1924, Anne doesn’t suffer from the traditional war-child malaise of worrying where her next meal comes from. She carries it in her purse.

I gave her a vague wave. I didn’t have time for nibbling. I needed to find the Casquets, My sigh of relief was audible in the cockpit when the three towers perched upon straggly rocks came into view. After changing frequency to Guernsey, I slowed right down so we could get a good look.

Just as we were enjoying the birds’ eye perspective of the sandstone reef, the next call came in: report Guernsey in sight.

I panicked. We were still 15 miles away from the coast. There was a haze of grey land in front of me but did they really believe I could see the runway from this distance?

“I’ve got a bit of chocolate as well,” Anne continued. “As we didn’t have time for breakfast.”

The runway is a mile long; how hard could it be to find? I rubbed my eyes and stared at the rapidly approaching island. I drew out a quick sketch on my clipboard to verify what angle the runway would have from this direction. I looked out at the island and then down at my map and back to the island again. I couldn’t see it.

The radio hissed into life.

“November Echo X-ray, do you have it in sight?”

“I have the island in sight but not the runway.” I look down, as if to confirm the island was definitely there.

As I did I realised, cheeks aglow, that he had meant the island from the start, not the runway. There was a pause before he responded, politely refraining from laughing while the microphone was on.

“November Echo X-ray, we are at your two o’clock. Report airfield in sight.”

I looked to my right, convinced that I was about to run out of island and head straight into France, when I saw it: a beautiful long strip of grey perfectly positioned for me to do a gentle turn towards it and land.

We had arrived. My passengers seemed a lot less surprised by this than I was.

I’ve since taken Anne to the Isle of Wight, the Scilly Isles and most recently, the Isle of Mull. We’re currently discussing which island she’d most like to see next.

One of the common routes that we fly is between South-east England, where we both have friends and family to Málaga, near our home here on the South Coast of Spain. We have it down to a fine art as we’ve done the run so often, the planning almost takes care of itself. We generally stop for a layover in Bordeaux: fast refuel and on our way if it is just the two of us, an overnight stop with dinner in St Emilion if we have guests (those people in the back, traditionally referred to as passengers).

Málaga is not the most VFR friendly airfield - VFR is banned at night and on weekends - so it’s the leg between England and France that I tend to draw the straw for. This has the additional benefit of getting us straight across the channel at the point of my choosing, rather than having to follow the airways.

I’m not sure why I feel quite so insecure about flying in France - the main issue, I think, is not understanding what the other conversations are about, so I feel cut off and isolated. And sometimes, well honestly, I just do not understand what a controller is saying and I haven’t a clue how to deal with it if “Say again” doesn’t cut it. So while I’m home and not flying, I thought I’d actually focus on France and what knowledge I can collect to help myself. I find it so exciting to see the amount of websites, aimed at people just like me, sitting at a desk, hoping to be in the air soon.

A clear starting point is checking for NOTAMs for the date of my flight which I can now conveniently do online at the UK AIS Website (free but requires registration). The narrow route brief has a handy form where you can fill in your route and flight date and receive details of potentially relevant NOTAMS.

Then a brief refresher for the water crossing: a PDF created by the Royal Navy: How to fly across the English Channel - Safely with some background information about the danger areas.

Before crossing over to France, it’s a good idea to review the French Air Traffic Rules and Services (PDF in both French and English) or at least read Francoflyer’s brief explanation of French VFR Rules for UK pilots. One thing we do to make life easier is to mark 50N on the GPS as that is edge of British airspace.

Although I have no intention of speaking French on the radio, the Francoflyers list of French Radio calls looks useful for getting a better understanding of what’s happening around me. Meanwhile, I have a list of FIS contacts en route so that I can always get an English speaker for help, in case I end up in trouble.

We’ll need Olivia for the second leg of our flight. I wish we could file the incoming flight using Olivia, a great example of using technology to make things simpler instead of more complicated. The French AIPs are not quite so conveniently found online but most airfields have their own website and you can look up airfield plates at French Aeronautical Information Service (enter the airfield or code at the bottom of the page).

With that, I’m ready to go. What can possibly go wrong now?

After landing on Jersey, my attention was immediately taken by a plane parked near the flying school, half a wing missing. A laminated sheet was attached. Ever the voyeur for accident reports, I couldn’t resist.

The pilot had noticed a slight thump shortly after taking off. He checked for anything visibly wrong inside the cockpit and noticed no issue. A passenger thought he’d seen something black on the left side of the plane. The pilot decided it was likely a bird strike, no damage appeared to have been done, so he continued his planned flight across the English Channel (from Ireland to Portugal). As they carried on, he noticed that the port-side fuel gauge showed as empty. The starboard fuel showed as full. I’m guessing he tapped on the gauge a few times and cursed before informing his passengers that it was likely just a display error, nevertheless they were going divert to Jersey in order to check the issue on the ground. It was an uneventful landing until he climbed out of the cockpit and saw the ripped remains of his wing.

He’d knocked off the entire wingtip tank and a large portion of his port wing and aileron. Pine needles were found within the fuselage.

The preliminary accident investigation found a 50 foot pine tree near the starting airfield with 6 foot severed off the top and fragments of wing in the branches. The fuel tank was found around 75 yards farther along the route.

I put my fingers to the jagged edges of the wing remains and stood there for a while. I’m constantly amazed at the resilience that small planes show, how they are able to keep flying in the direst of circumstances. I learned enough physics and aerodynamics to pass my aviation exams but deep down I still believe it’s magic that holds the things up in the air. If I’m honest, I suspect that (like Tinkerbell) if I stop believing in the plane’s ability to fly, it will crash with a thunk into the reality of gravity.

I continued to the terminal with a final backwards glance at the Cessna Centurion, grounded.