Essex Microlight Club

Our next club meeting is Monday 14th April, at 7pm for 7-30 at Stewarts Bar, Western Road, Billericay.

Wingspan (Headcorn to Abbeville) 23-4 Aug 2003

By Pete Croney

My planning for this trip was not up to my normal standards as I had been on holiday to Spain and didn’t get back until two days before. So on Friday 22nd, I was tearing around, trying to get some last minute jobs done at work and then collect life jackets, fuel and generally get ready. By 11:30 I had collected Alex Luketa, my passenger for the trip and we headed off to the airfield. Fortunately everything went well and after doing the daily inspection, fuelling up and warming up, we were ready in plenty of time. Another frequent passenger friend turned up to wave us off and at 12:30 we left Little Baddow for my biggest flying adventure yet.

Before leaving my airfield, Alex got the the first of many text messages from his girlfriend. She was reminding him that he “didn’t have to do this if he didn’t want to”. Plenty more would follow.

Our plan was to call into Stoke, on our way South, where we could do some flight planning and draw on the extensive knowledge of Alan the Hat, who has done lots of French flying. Alan helped with maps and frequencies and a bit of advice about what to expect from French ATC. On the way to Stoke, a problem surfaced. I had charged the battery that runs the comms and radio but it showed low charge as soon as it was plugged in. By the time we got to Stoke, we had lost all comms. We arrived just before Mick was locking up the factory and borrowed Chris Draper’s 12v car battery charger. An hour later we had a fully charged battery. Alex got another text.

From Stoke we would leave with my instructor, Chris “Slippery” Childs and we would then fly to Headcorn with Steve Elsbury, Chris Hasell, Mike Hurn and Laurie and Jane Bassett at approx 17:00. Steve and the guys were right on time and we had plenty of fun flying over Kent into Headcorn. Headcorn is a lovely airport. I say airport because on a sunny weekend, it can be very busy and is a main staging post for pilots flying to and from France. Jamie, the airfield manager is not only a very nice bloke, but a very helpful one too and had reserved a large area for us to all park up, ready for Saturday’s trip.

When we got to Headcorn’s circuit, I let a Cessna go before us, for which he very politely thanked us. Steve, Chris and Mike, having landed only 2 minutes before us, still had time to hand us beers the second we switched Charlie Mike’s engine off. And that was pretty much how the night carried on. Headcorn had laid on a bar and Karaoke in a massive sheep shed/hangar so when the aircraft carried beers ran low, we moved into the hangar for beers, food and a sing song.

The sky at Headcorn, that night, was inspiring. The air was cloudless and so clear that it seemed every star was visible. So many stars, in fact, that it made it difficult to pick out the constellations from the carpet of shimmering dots behind them. My thoughts were of the early adventurers and explorers, whose only means of navigation was these same stars. I wondered if they had the same eve of departure butterflies as our little adventure was giving me now. Alex got two texts.

The Karaoke team eventually chucked us out of the hangar at about 1:30am so it was back to the aircraft parking area for yet more beers. Out in the cool crisp air, my can of lager tasted strangely different. It was only when opening my second one that I realised I was drinking Boddingtons! The craic was very good all night with old friends being re-acquainted and new ones made. At about 3am, we made for the tent, with Slippery joining us for some beer induced sleep.

The noise that woke me at 7am sounded like the end of the world. A quick check revealed that it was a hot air balloon on full burners getting ready for an early morning flight over this lovely part of Kent. When he’d gone, we all went back for a few hours more kip. As I was drifting off, Alex got a text. Breakfast was in the big hangar again but most of us sat close to the massive doors as the smell of sheep shit was far more over powering with a hangover!!

Our take off was scheduled for 15:00 so this gave plenty of time for a briefing, the filing of flight plans and the exchanging of GPS co-ords and frequencies. We also agreed to use a buddy system with someone in a similar aircraft. My Buddy Dave, had a Q the same as mine, but was one up. We also decided that we would form groups of 10 for each flight plan. Our group was lead by Mark Jones and Jeremy Harris, two very experienced pilots. Chris Hasell was our tail aircraft, making sure everyone was OK. Well, that was the plan anyway.

As 14:30 arrived, it was time for a final smoke and even Alex had one to calm his nerves. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him smoke!! At 14:45 we were engines running and taxiing to the numbers. Jamie had closed the airfield so that we could depart in one “flock” and after the Air Cadets realised what we wanted to do, this is what happened. The slowest aircraft went off first and the hot ships were last. The effect of this was that once we got to the mast at Plough Hill, Dover, we had become one loose formation of around 70 microlights. Simply everywhere you looked, there were microlights and as we banked right to clear the cliffs it became a sight that I will remember as long as I live. The Buddy system didn’t quite work out with many people losing sight of their partner. As Jamie had asked that we stay on his frequency the airwaves were full of people checking that their buddy was OK. By mid channel, the waypoint calls were coming back to Headcorn thick and fast. With a good tailwind blowing us across, Cap Griz Nez was soon below us and “feet dry” was called with much jubilation in Charlie Mike.

Mark and Jeremy had developed a problem mid channel so made a precautionary landing below us, as we orbited watching them safely in. They had chosen a ploughed field and we saw the stream of dust get smaller as they came to a safe halt. The choice of field was interesting as when coming to a halt, they saw a windsock. Their field of choice was next to a microlight owning hotelier, who had his own freshly mown strip. They got a suitable amount of stick for this, that evening!!

We decided to fly down the coast to Abbeville, which involved letting Lille ATC know that we would be transiting their airspace. Lille were helpful and welcoming so I went back onto the microlight frequency to let everyone know the ease with which we had secured passage. Some bright spark said that we needed Le Torquet’s permission too, even though we would be 1000ft above their space, which is below Lille. Le Torquet referred us to Paris Air Traffic Control, who again were helpful and welcoming. By this time, many had elected to fly inland and around the back of Lille’s space. This was a shame as the flight down the beach was superb. We descended from a chilly 4800ft to a warm and silken smooth 2500. The whole way from Plough Hill to Berck Sur Mer was without one thermal or even ripple in the air. Turning inland at Berck was also good as the ground was covered in a broken carpet of stratus and cumulus. We did some great cloud bashing, ripping the bigger ones apart and looking back to see our tip vortices strung out in long lines.

As Abbeville loomed, the early arrivers let us know the QFE and runway in use. The wind was fairly cross and that was when we saw it. A very new light blue Cessna with a G registration looked at first like it was parked waiting for take off. As we descended, it became clear that it had lost its under carriage on landing and was probably a write off with a bent wing. This sharpened both the mind and the sphincter, giving us a lovely smooth landing!!

Steve and Mike were already refueling as they planned to head further down into France before stopping for the night. Alex and I went straight to the bar. Abbeville has a great hotel, bar and restaurant and it was already filling up when we ordered our French pints. Oh how good they tasted!!!

Alex got a text.

Seeing the restaurant get steadily booked, we booked a table for 4 so that Mark and Jeremy could tell us of their escapades. The food was excellent. Well, the Bouef was excellent, because I didn’t see anyone else eating anything but this. 100 beer glasses and 160 thirsty pilots was always going to be a problem. A couple of bottles of house red were called for and our problem was sorted.

After a few post dinner pints on the veranda, we headed for our tent with an incredible sense of achievement, but that nagging thought that our adventure wasn’t over yet.

The morning was beautiful and breakfast with Steve Sebastian and Chris consisted of 1 coffee, 1 croissant and 4 Marlboro. Neither Steve nor I had actually filled in a blank flight plan as most of the work had been done for us at Headcorn. I did have a pre-filled in return one, but this had been left in the hangar at Headcorn. Steve had the right idea. We rummaged through the French controller’s cupboard until we found one that we could copy. “C’est Bonne” he said after casting his eye over our details, leaving us to pay for our fuel and get suited up. On doing my checks I noticed a broken exhaust spring so walked over to the Abbeville ULM school. The owner refused payment for one and shook my hand saying how good it was that we had come. After fitting the spring, all smoked more pre flight fags and away we went, heading into the northern sky.

Steve flies a Quik, which could not be more unsuitable for a buddy flight. The headwind meant that we were down to 30mph ground speed and lower at times. After 30 minutes, we told Steve to press on without us. I must admit it was a bit lonely being a sole aircraft, especially after our crossing the previous day. This thought was soon dispelled by some fearsome thermals and rotor over the French coast. From 5 miles South of Le Torquet, all the way up to Boulogne we were getting chucked around, even when a couple of miles off shore. Below us, windsurfers streaked across the sea at incredible speeds, enjoying the same wind that was attempting to keep us in France. At Boulogne I decided we would cut the corner and head straight for Dover. Unlike our outward-bound flight, our return trip was with stunningly clear visibility and we could clearly see the South Kent coast from over 35 miles away. Cutting across at Boulogne saved us 9 miles of painfully slow progress into wind but meant we were in for a 30 mile sea crossing, again with reduced ground speed. Being a North easterly wind meant that we would quickly be beyond a safe glide back and a long way from the safety of Dover’s white cliffs. We radio’d Headcorn to let them know our position and stayed on their frequency as instructed. The call for “mid channel” seemed to take forever and our chosen height of 5500ft, whilst offering the maximum safety, was also freezing our nuts off. We later found out that 5000ft was –3.5degC.

5 miles out, I began a gentle descent and this really made those big white cliffs loom large. We shook hands and punched the air as we once again called “feet dry”. The sense of achievement was immense.

Our plan was to fly to Stoke for some of Suzzie’s famous bacon sandwiches and plenty of coffee. The flight over Kent was as thermal as it gets, but I barely noticed it. The thermal effect on Charlie Mike certainly helped get the blood going again, but having just spent 50 minutes flying the channel a couple of little ripples in the air were nothing to us. If anything this tussle with nature was truly enjoyable. We were now seasoned aviators.

Arrival at Stoke concluded a 2 hour 45 minute flight, my longest single flight yet. It wasn’t until we sat down that I realised how draining it had been. The only time it wasn’t thermal was when it was bitterly cold. After an hour of recovering and recounting our tales and ringing our loved ones, we fuelled up and set off North for Chelmsford. This 20 mile flight took us nearly an hour and the thermals had not abated but somehow it all seemed smooth and relaxed.

A couple of celebratory beers at Alex’s house, followed by a shower and I was being whisked back to Stoke, by car, for Home to Roost. I probably could have done without a 2am finish, again full of beer, but I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Nor would many others as it turned out. Not only did a lot of Wingspanners attend, but also most of my club chums from Stoke and some friends from the KMAC too.

What a weekend!

Major thanks must go to Frank Spiniello for coming up with the idea, Chris Hasell and Mike Hurn for making it happen, Steve Elsbury for making sure that we were kept up to date, Pooleys and Medway Microlights for sponsoring the event and most importantly Jamie and all of his team at Headcorn, without whose help and sacrifice none of it would have been possible.