Hey, how about you tell me a tale of the day you really learnt to fly, you know - not when you got your licence, but an occasion, when you really learnt to fly, come on, I’ve got some, I’ll tell you if you tell me. :) And don’t tell me you don’t have one, cos every PPL does - promise not to tell!

I immediately remembered my screw-up the first time I flew in IMC. As I started to write it down, Sylvia said, “That’s a great story for Fear of Landing” and insisted I share my failures with the world.

Many years ago when VFR on top was legal and I had about 10 hours post qualification, I hired a C182 from Leicester to fly my new girlfriend to Paris for the weekend. In those days, you had to land at a customs airport on the way out, so I planned Southend.

Weather at Southend was clear, at Leicester was overcast at 1000′. We sat at Leicester for hours waiting for a break in the clouds; Brigitte was not known as the most patient of people. Finally a break appeared and I rushed off, without checking Southend again.

Arriving at Southend, it’s totally overcast between 700′ and 1200′, also for miles around. “What are your intentions?”

“Request half-mile radar to final,” I reply, fully confident after my four hours’ “Instrument Appreciation” that was part of my PPL. No autopilot so I’m about to hand-fly in IMC.

ATC are unfazed and give me headings and descent. I’m trying out that scan I was taught and all seems to be going well. “Fly 260 degrees and descend to 700′.”

A few moments later, I get a call, “Please confirm current heading.”

I look. It’s drifted to 250 degrees but I respond, “260 degrees” and adjust my heading.

ATC assume my DI is 10 degrees out and come back immediately with “Turn right, heading 270 degrees”. Now it’s too late to come clean and tell them that, actually, it was I who was 10 degrees off, not the instrument.

So I’m flying in IMC, trying to keep the scan up and having to add 10 degrees to all further headings. Or is it subtract? My work-load just doubled!

Breaking through at 700′ and seeing the runway ahead was an exhilaration I remember nearly 25 years later. If that didn’t teach me anything else, I learnt not to lie to ATC!

First I watched this great clip on YouTube. The 526th Fighter Interceptor Squadron made this video in Germany in the 1950s:

Then I found myself on the Royal Air Force site, looking at an astounding collection of photographs in the RAF Timeline starting from the 1st of April 1918 when the Royal Air Force and Women’s Royal Air Force were formed. How can I resist bits of trivia like this:

6 Sep 1939 - South Africa declares war on Germany. Also on this day is the Battle of Barking Creek, when a error in identification in the Chain Home Radar system led to RAF aircraft engaging each other over the Thames Estuary. Blenheims, Hurricanes and Spitfires, not physically unlike the German Ju 88 and Bf 109, reported seeing enemy aircraft and several claims were made.

And photographs like this:

I might have managed to get something done but a so-called “friend” chose that moment to send me a link to a recent Popular Mechanics special: The 6 Most Lethal Aircraft in History

The article includes photographs and descriptions of amazing fighter planes: Fokker Eindecker, A6M Zero, B-29 Superfortress, AC-130 Spectre, A-10 Thunderbolt, and the AH-64 Apache. And another half an hour was gone.

In an attempt to get back on track, I scanned through the Professional Pilots Rumour Network and found a thread in their private flying forum entitled Don’t call mayday over the radio…! with some responses that had me laughing out loud:

Actually I have long thought that the mayday call would be much more pithy as:

“F**K, F**K, F**K”!! Summarises the situation when the donk has quit at 100 feet quite nicely I think.

The Pan call could similarly be replaced by:

“Bugg*r, Bugg*r, Bugg*r”, as it carries a degree of irritation without quite as much immediate concern as the former.

On my first night circuit in a Wessex 5 helicopter some 30 years ago, we suffered a hydraulic failure, a “land asap, running landing” emergency.

I called “(Callsign) Wessex, PAN PAN PAN, hydraulic failure downwind, request priority running landing on the runway” (rather than a hover landing on the normal helicopter T night landing spots inside the runway) .

ATC said: “Stand by - I have a simulated engine failure joining shortly”.

My instructor said on the radio: “He didn’t say “Practice PAN…..it’s a real one”.

ATC: Oh, er…Ooops sorry, clear land on the runway.

And this informative post from a marine point of view:

I was taught by the RNLI that:-
Mayday (3times) should be used to declare an emergency which endangers the vessel and/or its passengers/crew.
Pan Pan (3 times) should be used to indicate an urgent transmission, taking precedence over everything except Mayday calls to report a threat to life or major problem short of a threat to the entire hull. (Note it is NOT a Pan call - it is a Pan-Pan call)
ie,One of 2 engines out in flight is a threat to the hull therefore a Mayday (even if you can continue on one engine since loss of the remaining engine could be a bad thing! just ask Ryanair) a heart attack passenger is regretable but no threat to the hull therefore a Pan Pan call if you want to off load them at the nearest airport.

Of passing interest - until about the mid 80s a man overboard (marine style) was just a Pan Pan and not a Mayday since there was no threat to the hull!!

The next thing I knew, it was dinner time and I had forgotten to put the roast in the oven! Luckily, I live with an understanding man who is happy to take me out for a quick Chinese meal … I hope!

I’ll be more organised next week…

I know the airfield well because Oxford is where I did my conversion to complex, soon after completing my PPL. At the time, every circuit was a struggle as I tried to comprehend the speed and weight of the Saratoga after learning in Cessna 172s. But it was back on the ground where I had the most trouble.

After a few hours in the air, my instructor said he was happy for me to take the Saratoga up on my own after a break. Circuits still felt a rush, much like when I started flying, but I was starting to feel like it might be just about under control.

We stopped at the pumps to fill her up. The instructor had another student waiting, so was in a rush. “You can taxi it back OK, right?”

Having just agreed to take the beast out solo I could hardly claim that I needed help moving it from the fuel tanks to my parking spot. I gave him a brave grin. “I’ll be fine, you go!”

He bounded away while I glared at the plane, daring it to embarrass me in public. I went through the complete start-up checks, as if I were about to take it to Japan. Then I took a deep breath and started the engine. So far, so good. My transit across the airfield was approved and I drove at a slow speed, feeling in control for the first time that day.

Except that someone had parked next to my parking space. Not in it but next to it, in such a way that I had to navigate behind it, between the other plane’s tail and a large fence, to get to my spot.

I looked around hopefully: maybe that somebody was about to leave. No such luck, no pilot near. I had just about decided to swing around and park over by the flying school planes, when I noticed three young guys looking at my plane. Watching me, as I vacillated and blocked up the taxi way trying to work out what to do, no doubt wondering what such a little girl was doing in so much Saratoga.

I looked at my parking space again. It was totally accessible if I slipped in between the plane and the fence and then did a hard right; I couldn’t fault the pilot’s parking. I looked at the young guys again and felt an irrational surge of pride. I’ll swing it right in, park it perfectly, that’ll show them!

That’ll show them, indeed. I pulled around, keeping extra far from the other plane, worried about my low wing clipping his tail. Then I realised that I had overcompensated: the left wing was dangerously close to the corner of the fence. I pondered for a moment, should I just go for it and hope? Even I wasn’t that fool-hardy: I cut the engine and got out to look.

I couldn’t carry on: my left wing was clearly going to clip the fence. I needed to push back but I knew there was no chance I could budge it on my own: I’d taken the engine to over 2000 RPM just to get it to roll forward on the grass.

I glanced at the guys but they were now deep in conversation. Did they really not notice my problem? Or were they sniggering quietly? I looked around again in desperation. At that moment, a good looking, dark-haired man came towards me.

He called out. “Need me to move my plane?”

I waited until he reached me to shake my head, no. “That’s not going to help at this stage.”

He grinned. “No, it won’t. What are you going to do?”

Various pitiful answers went through my head but I simply said, “I’m going to have to push it back,” like this were within the realms of possibility.

He nodded; I felt like I’d passed some sort of test.

“I’ll help you,” he told me. We positioned ourselves either side of the propeller and I was about to push for all I was worth when he shouted at the young guys still standing in the car park.

“Hey, give us a hand here.”

They dashed over. “Anything for a damsel in distress,” said my new friend with a wink. With a single heave the plane rolled back. I was clear for another go.

“I’ll marshal you in,” he said as I climbed into the cockpit. The three guys smiled and waved and retreated back to the parking lot. I started up and he guided me straight through the gap and into my spot.

“Nice parking,” said my instructor as I walked into the school. He’d watched it all through the picture window.

“One word about women drivers and I’ll kill you,” I snapped, making a bee-line for the coffee machine. “I said I could do circuits solo, I never said a word about taxiing.”

An hour later, the guys were still in the car park, chatting away. Not a snigger in sight.

I climbed into the plane and wondered why I was so quick to sabotage myself. If I’d asked one of them to guide me in when I saw them glancing at the plane, it would have looked professional and competent - as opposed to having to push the plane by brute force.

I considered that maybe I was my own worst enemy and taxied away.

Of course these days, I don’t have that problem. I simply make a point of hanging out at airfields with bigger parking spaces:

Meanwhile, Plastic Pilot is celebrating his 500th blog post with a contest! He’s looking for aviation-related photographs which will be put up to a vote by his readers next month and some fun prizes (and fame and fortune of course!) to the winners. But today’s the LAST DAY so make sure to get your entries in quick:

Enter the Plastic Pilot photo contest right now!

As I play catch-up with the rest of my life, I leave you with this view of London from Wednesday’s flight to get you into the mood. Although considering how cold it was, I thought I’d be in for clear skies, I was very disappointed as we flew past London and I found it was covered in murk!

The Lower Moors Nature Trail leads through a wetland consisting of a mixture of Sallow Thicket, Reed bed and wet pasture. There is a small pool in the middle of the moor overlooked by two hides. The raised path gives views across the largest Reed bed on St Mary’s and there is a circular board walk through the reeds on the western side of the main path.

A nature trail in the middle of an island with a pond in the middle - how perfect! On our second evening in the Isles of Scilly, everyone seemed content to do their own thing. That suited me just fine: I wanted to go exploring the Moors but it was unlikely to be suited to Anne’s wheelchair. I grabbed my camera, hoping for pretty photographs of exciting birds, and made my way to the trail.

I walked for about a minute and a half when I came to a junction. I shrugged and turned right … and arrived at another junction. I began to curse at myself for not looking at the map on the sign but slowly the tranquillity of the moors began to comfort me. I could still hear the seagulls from the coast but the lack of human noises was noticeable: no engines nor voices here. The scent had shifted from the salt and seaweed of Hugh Town to something completely different. Deep and green and sweet. Primal.

I kept going and the next right turn delivered me to one of the hides. It was a wooden shack, windows covered with hinged shutters that opened up and down like a letter flap on a door. I pushed one up and looked out. The pond was incredibly calm: if I breathed out too quickly, it might cause a ripple.

A man came in behind me with a pair of binoculars. Paranoia overtook me: what is the etiquette for sharing a hide? Should I say hello? Saying nothing seemed rude but if I made a noise I might scare the birds away. I nodded at him. He sat down at a window on the other side without a word. I took care to keep my breathing shallow and waited.

A grey heron flew slowly over the pond and then landed at the edge, looking statuesque. I stole a glance at my companion from the corner of my eye. I had no idea if I should tell him the heron was there, perhaps even tap his shoulder to gain his attention. Clearly he was here to see birds, is it not horrible of me not to tell him that there is a perfect specimen on my side? Or would that be the ultimate in rudeness?

In the end I said nothing and hoped the man might notice for himself. He stayed for a few minutes longer and then muttered something and left. I felt guilty for hogging the heron. By the time I looked back, it was gone.

But I was also relieved to be on my own again, relieved of the fear of doing something wrong. I relaxed and looked out my window. As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, the sound increased. I heard birds all around me, chirping and hoarse cries and one loud caw. They were everywhere: I just couldn’t see them.

Another heron, or perhaps the same one again, flew over the pond, skimming the water. I was quicker to react this time: I grabbed my camera and snapped a shot. A shocking blitz of light filled the area: I had forgotten to disable my flash. I look at the other hide: if anyone was there they must have seen my faux pas. I had frightened everything away for miles, no doubt. I moved away from the window, just in case someone in the other hide had a slingshot, and changed the settings on my camera to manual.

The clouds reflected light pink against the bright green algae of the pond. I didn’t dare move in case I scared everything away again. I could hear the occasional rustle of a bird in the reeds. A group of three young men stormed into the hide, lugging backpacks and high-powered binoculars. They looked out the windows and commented loudly on the utter lack of wildlife before thumping their way out again.

I rested my head against the side of the window. The wood began to vibrate, the thumpathumpathumpa of a helicopter’s pulse filling the hide as it drew closer, followed by the roar of the engine as it flew directly over my pond, as if to make absolutely sure there would be no birds within a five-mile radius of my spot.

I glared at the helicopter and then looked at the time: 20 minutes until sunset. I knew I should get moving but it was finally quiet again and I continued to hope that the heron might reappear and pose for me.

The door opened up carefully, a friendly-faced woman with ponytail of grey hair peeked in. She smiled at me and tiptoed to a seat, pulling a pair of binoculars out of an oversized handbag. I looked back out the window to see the heron standing at the far corner of the pond.

I started to lift my camera carefully and then changed my mind and turning towards the woman, whispered about the heron. She moved swiftly and soundlessly to my side and watched, rewarding me with another smile. The heron shifted its weight and then took off. I snatched at my camera, glancing at her before rushing to take the photograph in the failing light. She didn’t seem the least bit bothered and I breathed a sigh of relief. I had my heron photograph!

After I put the camera back down she began to whisper to me, pointing carefully out the window.

“There, a redshank, do you see it?”

I looked but saw nothing. I nodded. A black duck-type thing landed over on my side. I pointed to it and she whispered “Moorhen,” to me.

Meanwhile, the sun was setting. It occurred to me that this woman almost certainly had a torch in her bag but I hadn’t thought of anything that clever. Trying to follow that path back in the dark was not something I wanted to experience as part of my exploring. Nor did I want to admit to this friendly woman that I had come out quite so badly prepared.

A bird landed on the grass directly in front of us and hopped around. “Snipe,” she whispered. I didn’t dare stay but I didn’t want to move and frighten away the birds from her. The light was fading fast. It suddenly occurred to me that Cliff was probably starting to wonder where I was and he would probably - oh my god - ring my mobile phone. The thought of filling the hide with my Nokia ring tone finally got me to my feet. She gave me a tight smile as I nodded and made my way out as quickly and quietly as I could.

I followed the path in the fading grey light and quickly arrived back at the main road with the reassuring rumble and headlights of island traffic. I took one last photo of the night claiming the harbour before returning to the lights of Hugh Town to tell the others of my adventure.

Cliff and I fly between Málaga and the south-east of England regularly. For quite a while, I argued that it was more sensible to fly commercial rather than to lose the day doing the flight ourselves in the Saratoga. Standard flight time in a commercial jet is two hours and forty minutes. In the Saratoga, the flight is done in two legs and takes up to six hours plus an hour to refuel. Seems like a no-brainer.

But I’ve changed my mind. Part of it is simply the hassle that mass-transit air travel has become: the crush of the airport queues, the constant issues, the tiny seats. This summer, I’ve had two delayed flights and been bumped entirely from a third. Easyjet substituted a smaller plane and, rather than calling for volunteers, simply dumped the last 24 passengers to check in and informed us of a flight departing 5 hours later.

In frustration, I looked at the two options objectively, strictly from a point of view of time spent. I realised that there isn’t much difference any more. In fact, a one hour delay is all that is needed to make the two flights near as dammit the same travel time. Add in the convenience of being able to choose your airfield and departure time and there’s no contest.

A one hour delay is now enough to make the Saratoga worthwhile when travelling from London to Málaga. Here’s my figures based on a recent flight from Gatwick:

[All times in UTC]

Commercial
09:00 leave for London Gatwick Airport - long drive with traffic
10:00 arrive airport, find check-in counter, queue
10:40 check in, queue for security
11:00 take shoes off, unpack laptop
11:30 expected board time
12:00 expected take-off
13:00 take-off (an hour’s delay)
15:40 arrive Málaga, queue up to exit plane
16:00 queue for immigration
16:30 wait for luggage
17:15 depart airfield

Saratoga
09:00 fax flight plans and leave for airfield - whichever is closest. Easy access, lots of choice depending on start point.
09:30 arrive airfield, get fuel, check flight plan
10:00 take off
13:00 arrive Bordeaux, France. Clear immigration whilst refuelling
14:00 depart Bordeaux with a few bottles of wine
17:00 arrive Málaga, exit aircraft
17:30 depart airfield

Now there are other things to take into account: fuel cost is a big one - two of us in the Saratoga is more expensive than two seats on a low-cost airline (although at least we fit without fighting over shoulder space). Jets are much less likely to be affected by weather. I can’t sip gin and tonic in the Saratoga - even when I’m in the right seat. But over all, what used to be a passion is starting to look like a convenience.

Strasbourg has two airfields serving the city: Entzheim (LFST) and Neuhof (LFGC).

Neuhof (LFGC) is much more convenient for the city but has a number of restrictions. It is not a customs airfield. There is no air traffic control and the radio is in French. The runway is 819 metres of grass.

I didn’t get a chance to worry about the radio or the runway length; we were flying in directly from England and so needed to go to a customs airfield. This made LFST a no brainer.

For general details, see the links in my Flying in France post.

Note: Do not rely on other people to gather information for you - and for the love of safety don’t rely on my notes being correct for your flight! Always verify all details yourself.

LFST Strasbourg Entzheim

Phone Number: +33 3 88 64 67 67
Hours: 24 hours

Frequencies

ATIS: 126.92
Ground: 121.80
Approach: based on entry direction:
119.45 (East)
120.70 (West)
119.57
FIS Reims Information: 124.10

Online Information

Website (no general aviation information)
VFR Plates

The weather was not very good and the cloud was low. In the end Cliff flew us into Strasbourg IFR (another good reason for LFST) but as you can see it was a lovely landing!

If you are lucky enough to have time to spend in this beautiful city, then I can highly recommend skipping lunch and having one of the Sauerkraut dinners at Maison des Tanneurs in Petite France. And for personal friends who read this site: Tony says could you please take him with you when you go.

For those of you who may not be familiar with a Head Up Display used in the F-16, the pilot essentially views the information while still being able to look out the cockpit. The airspeed is the tape along the left side in hundreds of knots, while the altitude unwinds on the right side tape.

24 Hour Air Traffic Around the World Blows Minds, Eyeballs
Not surprising that the US and Europe are the hotspots but it’s interesting to actually see the big circle:

Here’s a video displaying all commercial air traffic in the world during a 24-hour period. Seriously, I’m moving to New York City tomorrow and seeing the flight density in this computer simulation scares me a bit. Thankfully, it’s a big planet with plenty of space to fly. But then, pilot friends tell me that sometimes they get close enough to wave at each other, so maybe it’s not as big as to accommodate the 7.4 billion passengers that will travel by air in 2020.

The Pitch/Power Debate: It’s the Trim, Stupid
The House of Rapp pitches in rather powerfully on a popular discussion:

I’ve never understood the dogmatic attitudes you’ll find among some pilots on this issue, although I’ve definitely seen those vociferous arguments out in the real world.

You can’t say it’s JUST power which determines altitude, because let’s face it, some aircraft don’t even have engines. And those aircraft happen to fly higher than aircraft which do have engines.

Good Captain / Bad Captain Revisited
Sam from Blogging at FL250 wrote Good Captain Bad Captain from the right seat. A few years later, he considers his point of view now that he’s in the left seat:

Having been in the left seat for about 300 hours, I can say that it’s a quite different experience than I thought it’d be when I was an FO.

BBC News: Pilot completes jetpack challenge
Fusionman crosses the English Channel with a jetpack:

The 49-year-old flew on a plane to more than 8,200ft (2,500m), ignited jets on a wing on his back, and jumped out.

Mr Rossy had hoped to reach speeds of 125mph. It felt “great, really great.”

Cockpit Chronicles: Flying around Hanna and Ike
Meanwhile, Kent Wien of Gadling is routing around hurricanes:

I couldn’t believe my timing. A four-day trip to the Caribbean with Hurricanes Hanna and Ike scheduled to be right in our way for almost every leg.

Monstrous Aviation: World’s Biggest Airplanes
I’m not sure monstrous is the word I’d use but it’s an interesting round-up nevertheless:

Talking about big planes is very much like talking about who should get the credit for man’s first flight - it all depends on who you talk to. As the brilliant James Burke has pointed out, inventors rarely create something from nothing - their successes are often the result of combining the partial successes, or learning from the downright failures, of other inventors. In some cases, it’s just pure dumb luck.

“I’ll get out in a moment,” Cliff said. “I just want to put our route into the GPS first.”

“No problem.”

I walked over to the tiny booth behind the pumps and tapped at the door. A pale round face peered out at me.

“Hi,” I grinned. “We radio’d to say we needed some fuel?”

He chewed his bottom lip and then nodded. “How are you going to pay?”

I paused for a quarter second and he started listing the payment methods they would accept.

“Credit card,” I interjected quickly.

“We only take VISA and Mastercard,” he said with a frown.

“VISA is fine.”

“OK,” he said and finally came out of the hut. “We don’t take American Express though.”

I presumed he’d had a bad experience with a previous client. I nodded in what I hoped was a reassuring manner.

He put on a large pair of goggles and walked over to the tanks. Then he stopped and stared at the plane. I scuttled over to him.

He nodded at Cliff. “The pilot will need to disembark,” he said, distaste dripping from every word. “I can not start until he exits the plane.”

I nodded and walked to the plane to tap in the window. Cliff climbed out of the plane and then watched as the man reset the pumps. He glanced around to make sure no one was near the plane and then hooked the earth wire to the front before wandering back to the pumps to pulling the hose out.

“Could have finished by now,” muttered Cliff.

One last look around to make sure everyone was in position and finally he was ready to offer us fuel.

He filled one side and called Cliff over. He handed him the cap to screw in and watched Cliff close the tank. “You should have checked it,” he said.

Cliff looked at him blankly.

“The fuel. You didn’t check the level before closing the tank.”

“I did,” growled Cliff. The man shrugged and moved over to the other wing. He then smiled at Cliff and held up the cap.

“Check the level and then close it!”

I sniggered as Cliff stalked over and closed the tank under the man’s watchful eyes. Once he was happy that Cliff had done his job correctly, he rolled up the hose, took off his goggles and asked us to follow him to the hut.

He smiled as the credit card transaction went through without a hitch. Another potential crisis averted through proper planning. Cliff signed and we turned to go back to the plane when the man put his hand on Cliff’s shoulder.

“Your safety stickers,” he said, shaking his head. “They are old.”

Surprised, we walked out to the plane to look at our decals. They seem fine: big print stating AVGAS ONLY, a picture of a pump and Grade 100LL written underneath. Everyone you need to know to to ensure someone doesn’t fill the tanks full of jet fuel.

The man waved a sheet at us with two bright red squares saying AVGAS. “It says AVGAS on our stickers already,” complained Cliff.

“Yes, but they are getting dirty around the edges. These are new.” He pressed the stickers into my hand. “You can put them next to yours if you want but I think replacing them would be better.”

I searched for a response that would get us out of here. “I will,” I told him. “But the wings are so dirty now. I will go wash the wings and put the stickers on once they are clean.”

His chest swelled with satisfaction. He patted me on the arm. “That’s a good idea,” he said and retreated back to his hut.

Here’s my quick-pick favourite photographs from the flying:

Taking off from Málaga airport. It’s rare that the sky is so crystal clear, usually everything is in a dull haze and you consider yourself lucky if you can see where the sea ends and the sky begins. I wish I could have taken more photographs while it was so clear.

The weather was variable - Cliff did all the flights IFR. The streaky clouds and hazy skies made for some interesting views.

Cliff’s perfect landing at Strasbourg. I held the camera up and snapped, hoping that I had the angle right. I was surprised to find out it worked!

The view flying over the Alps at 10,000 feet. We flew over Lake Geneva but it is always odd to me to be that high and still see mountains higher than us.

Angouleme Tower last night, while Cliff was radioing for clearance. The initial hour of the flight passed quickly as we watched the sun set into dark red clouds. Then we ran into 30 knot headwinds which lasted most of the way home. We finally arrived at Málaga at midnight.