I am sitting here in the clubhouse of the Cairngorm Gliding Club on the highlands of Scotland. A very rugged and desolate place, inhabited during the weekends only when some of the 45 members share their joy of gliding. For the rest of the time it my own private strip, since no one is here. It is me who takes care of the handling, security, coffee, breakfast and all the other things.
It is early morning and the sky is clear after a few grey days with strong winds. The wild geese are flying low on their way to better pastures and the land is waking up. Spring is still delicate in the green colours of the birches.

Finally arrived at my destination for the moment. On one of my hiking tours, 30 years ago, into these mountains did I come across this little field with then still rather primitive side by side open cockpit gliders (T21). It was then that I had told myself that it would be great one day to land with a plane here. It was a moment of victory when the wheels touched ground on this strip.

My journey began last week at Lelystad (EHLE) via the channel and the white cliffs of Dover to Lydd in England. The first port of call, to report at her majesty customs. From then on via farmers fields up north. First haven was Muckleburgh (I think it was derived from Mecklenburg, aka weybourne).

A very windy old RAF field on the north coast of Norfolk. 2 runways and nobody there, a windsock and it is all yours. The owner doesn’t take any responsibility and hopes you are well insured! The UK has a few hundred of these strips, which you can find in the Pooley’s flight guide and the Lockyears Farm “strips” and private airfield flight guide. A new world opens itself for you. 400-meter grass strips with a note that STOL aircraft are advised.
After a turbulent approach over the beach did I land slightly uphill, parked near a caravan with a big notice that all pilots should report here? As it turned out did the last pilot call in a few weeks before. Only a guest book to fill in your details.

Also a “honesty box” to put in your landing fees or rather “mowing fees” as they say here. After securing the plane and assembling my mountain bike did I peddle a few miles for diner with a few friends of mine. Cycling through the gently sloping hills did I enjoy this way of travelling very much.

Next day was easy, packing up and checking the runway. The wind had changed direction and the runway of choice had become 370 meters instead of 610. Dry grass and strong headwind would do. It did, however the big potholes were taking a lot of attention to keep the nose wheel intact. Along the coast to Fishburn, a nice little strip nested next to some power lines and windmills. Filled up with fuel and on northward via the high grounds of the Yorkshire moors to Scotland.

Thunderstorms were dotting the horizon but allowing sufficient space to manoeuvre in between. The occasional rain shower did hit the plane and was my first experience to see how the ship was holding out. The 100 hp engine keeps up sufficient speed to keep the wings from collecting too much water. Along the whole length of the wing, just before flaps and ailerons begin, do I notice a rim of water that remains there, the place where the laminar flow lets loose. The increase in induced drag is noticeable and it is not symmetrical. I loose about 20 to 30 knots in speed and need a bit of aileron to keep the ship straight.
Final destination for the day Perth. A nice place on the foothills of the highlands. Tie down for the night and see what the next day may bring.
It was a brilliant morning and I decided to “carpe diem”. Fire up the engine and on to Feshiebridge airfield. No need for the man in the tower to arrive, you can depart when you like. Wow. The sun is rising and I am following the road and train track, slowly winding itself uphill into the valley and the hills. Great view and upwinds on the windward side of the mountains. There it came, glen feshie, our favourite camping place and Ben macdui, the highest peak in the area. Flying between the two peaks at top level a sudden jolt, head against the canopy, the edge of a rotor. Got away very quickly and descended a bit further into the valley for a long final on Feshiebridge. A safe landing and roll out and then complete silence after shutting down the engine. Nobody around. Great.

 

After having pitched up my tent next to an old hangar did I start to explore the area bit by bit. Never really flown into the mountains, however read a lot of books on the subject. I didn’t want to get too close to the slopes but the upwinds picked me up very quickly. It was the next evening flight were I unexpectedly caught the mountain wave.

A sudden rise of the airplane with about 4m/sec into clear air! At 6000 feet I decided to give it a try and switch off the engine. Silence, only the whisper of the air around the plane. Up I went and the temperature down.

 

The setting sun reminded me there was an end to this fun if I wanted to land at the airstrip before it would be dark. Down I went and with a big swoop landed with a “dead stick” on Feshiebridge. The engine was still at altitude of around minus 20 degrees I think and decided to push it to the side for the night.

Feshiebridge to Benbecula, Outer Hebrides

The wind was turning easterly over the field. A nice sunny day and the gliders on the filed were frowning. These winds were no good news. They create a rotor over the great cliff next to the field and make flying impossible. I decided to fuel up and go before the wind would pick up. Keep her low, pick speed and wind up the gear ASAP while turning away into the valley to stay clear of turbulence.

Feshie-Benbecula-Barra (on the beach)

 

This gear mechanism has just been serviced but I do not know how other manual gear owners are coping with this mechanism? I need often both hands, preferably just after take of and in turbulence, to get the doors closed. To more or less follow a climb gradient I mastered the technique to fly with the stick between my knees. Multi tasking, the same way women are knitting while driving on the highway!
Visibility in between the hills was not very great that day so decided to go VFR on top, with still big open patches to see the ground under me. Climbed out to FL100 and set direct course to Benbecula. It gave me a bit of a safe feeling to have sufficient time left to go somewhere sensible in case things became silent in the engine room while over very fresh atlantic waters with my Garuda life jacket on.
The ship was flying like an airliner up there, smooth and stable with a ground speed of 125 knots, not bad. Landed safely on a very windy desolate Nato base, the last outpost before Iceland and a lot more water.

It turned out that the tide was still in at Barra and I had to wait a few hours. The Canteen was closed, as was the field for the afternoon so it was a walk into the village for some fish and chips. 15;00 lift off, I could have used the width of the runway easily with that strong wind. Off to the beach. I didn’t really know what to think of it yet. Some pilots had assured me that it was a hard surface and no problem. Being a motor glider did I hop from one hill to the other, only to be shot high in the air with 4 to 5 m/sec up. The beaches looked like overflying the Caribbean islands and in the distance Barra. A De Havilland Hornet Moth was in front of me, the one I had met yesterday in Feshie. They came in low over the dunes and put the whole thing down at the edge of the beach with dry sand.

I applied the same procedure and landed with a soft touch on the beach. A very unusual thing to do but a lot of fun it was. It felt the way flying should be, to land somewhere when suitable and according to your liking!

I was told that according good “catholic” traditions the field was closed on Sunday, which made me decide to stay till monday. Where to park the plane? They offered me a place in between the caravans a bit further down the beach. Hmmm. Other option was to place the ship above the waterline on the beach in front of the tower. With the help of some hands did we pull and push the plane up the slope. There she was, cover over her canopy and three secure tiedowns. Weather was nice and waters receding. I did leave the plane behind in a slightly worried state, but the folks of the airfield assured me that nothing had happened to parked airplanes this way over the last 30 years.

Rented a car and found a delightful hotel in Castle bay, overlooking a 12th century castle with a real dungeon.

You were thrown down about 10 meters in a pit, which flooded at high tide.

Barra –Tiree-Glenforca (Mull)

 

Unpacking the plane early morning on the beach was great. Thinking that in a few minutes I would fly out over the horizon. Had a feel where the wind was coming from, fired up and waited for the engine to warm up, do all the test and off I went. It felt like a concrete runway, not a bump. My plan was to fly to the most southern tip and then cross over to Tiree. Great scenery. Idyllic beaches and desolate crofter houses.

 

Birds and the occasional lighthouse on a rocky outcrop.

(The crossing between the islands is a matter of faith in German Limbach technology. These are the times that I start wondering about their engineering skills. Have they done everything right? It would be a long swim!

Tiree, a small island with a very very big radar station. The regular beep when the beam hits you, is audible on the headset from a long distance. Lots of beaches, as it turns out, a haven for surfing Pro’s mastering the big rolling waves coming in from the Atlantic.
A short visit to the tower where I asked him about the basking sharks. He showed them through his binoculars in the bay. A bit later on I was circling over these open mouth giants, about 30 of them.

On to Iona with final destination Mull.

Glenforca-Oban-Feshie
Another brilliant day over Scotland. A high pressure doing its work, great visibility and high in the twenties. local people complaining about the heat. I can understand, since the kids walk around in secretly highly insulated single floppy cotton T-shirts, when it is around 10 degrees outside and very windy. Not much more to take off when it gets warmer!
First it was another grand tour of the island of Mull. Great sceneries and views, especially being pushed up the slopes with 4m/sec of Ben Moore, the highest peak on the island.

The occasional castle out on a rocky point, scenic little harbour and white beaches.
Last part across the water to Oban, to get some fuel and a chat. On a bench in the burning sun, two pilots in professional immersion suits. They turned out to be on their flying spree with a Maule tail dragger, a very STOL airplane with big tyres, which were just tested to their delight on different beaches on their way up to here. Both B777 pilots, we came to talk about neurotoxic fumes in cabins modern jetliners and the effects it has on the people living in these machines. They were impressed and a bit worried I think about my findings and stories.
On to the last bit of the days journey, start up ehhh. Not really, the bendix of the starter-motor didn’t engage. There are worst places to spend two hour taking this thing out, clean it and reassemble it in bright sunlight on a picnic table overlooking the mountains and sea. Problem solved and everything running again like a dream for the best part of the day. Route direct overhead Ben Nevis, highest peak of great Britain. Of course big upwinds pushing the plane up to 6000 feet in no time and a delightful view.

Time to lower the nose and head for my “private” airstrip Feshie.

The flight back to The Netherlands was heralded in by the arrival of a lot of grey clouds. Packed up and started on my way south via the coast.
It was a delight to have been back in Scotland with two weeks of brilliant weather and a good working Taifun.

Michel Mulder, D-KFIH

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