Tue Apr 26, 2011 4:03 pm
#957671
The Camembert Run
The English Jodel pilots enjoyed splendid hospitality, but a return Channel crossing in worsening weather wasn’t the best end to Le Weekend. By Peter Grant
Pilots X and Y both had 100 hours and had recently completed IMC ratings. Working together, they often mulled over the idea of a syndicate. When the chance came to join an existing Jodel group, they jumped at it. The Jodel was VFR of course, but with a new artificial horizon as an aid for bad weather. The radio, however, had seen better days.
Soon, they were enjoying the pleasures of bimbling around the countryside, visiting new and exciting small strips. Along with better weather came the ambition to go European. A rally at a delightful sandy grass airfield by the Brittany coast was the perfect opportunity. The aircraft was based in the East Midlands, so the safest route for Continental neophytes was obviously down to Lydd (these were the days of limited Customs/Immigration airports), across by the shortest route to Calais and then overland to Brittany.
The next weeks saw much poring over maps, and advice from as many aviators as possible, about the strange ways of the French, particularly their ATC system. There were life-jackets to be arranged and maybe a raft to be found. The general opinion seemed to be that there was little to worry about. The weather was religiously checked, up to the point of departure – yes, there was a frontal system hanging around the South-West, but it looked to be slow moving.
A fantastic trip
The trip down on Friday was fantastic, with nice weather and the French controllers not particularly interested once they realised this was a low-level VFR flight. The welcome at the rally was amazing, with locals pulling out all the stops to make the pilots welcome. The evening meal at the clubhouse and a comfortable room at Hotel Central all added to the warm glow of achievement.
The fun continued on Saturday morning, with spirited displays of French airmanship. But, soon after lunch, the weather took a turn for the worse, with a lowering cloudbase and increased winds. This did not dampen the local French spirits in the slightest, with the local aviators flying into the lowering cloudbase and increasingly gusty conditions. There was a fair amount of, “Ah, it is the coastal effects and it will soon clear,” from the locals.
The original plan had been to return home on Saturday afternoon, complete with the obligatory wine and Camembert. But, soon after lunch, the rain started and the local forecast was suddenly for torrential downpours. Pilot X remarked, “Perhaps we should have called for a forecast rather than relying on the locals.”
They both realised they now had a problem. They were clearly not going to get home on Saturday, however late, yet they had to be in the office first thing Monday. With the change in the weather, there were no rooms to be had; the mood changed rapidly from elation to desperation. Gallantly, the Aero Club arranged rooms for all visiting English aviators at a local chateau. The food was fantastic and the wine flowed copiously, culminating with Le Patron going to bed, leaving a bottle of Armagnac on the table. Pilots X and Y enjoyed the hospitality, making the best of a bad situation.
They were dragged from their sleep by frantic knocking at six in the morning. “Messieurs, the sun is shining, you can fly, you can fly!”
Blurry-eyed, breakfast was a hurried affair and nine o’clock Sunday saw them launched off in the general direction of Cherbourg, without time for anything but drawing a line on the map. Yes, it was a longer crossing, but they both needed to be back in the office on the Monday morning.
The hour’s flight to Cherbourg was horrendous – high winds and very gusty conditions meant a high workload for X. Meanwhile, Y was increasingly alarmed by radio reports of bad weather approaching their destination. X pushed the little Jodel harder, but it seemed to make little difference. When Cherbourg eventually came into sight it was obvious that a black wall was about to cross the airfield.
X poured on all the coals and the airfield edged closer, as a mast shot by to their right.
“What was that,” asked Y. “What’s our height?”
Belatedly, X realised that going from sea level to a 500ft airfield and not correcting for a considerable overnight pressure change had put them dangerously low. Chastened and more than a bit shaken, he forced the aeroplane onto the ground and fought it all the way to the terminal.
X had never been so relieved to stagger into the café and join the other Brits gathered against the now raging storm. Over several hours and endless coffees, X and Y wondered how they would explain the obvious delay to bosses and wives. Spirits sank even lower in a terminal deserted except for abandoned British airmen.
A touch of magic
Then, seemingly by magic, a Robin appeared and landed. The pilot was happy to explain that he had flown in from Jersey and that the sky was perfectly clear only 10 miles off the coast.
In a rush normally only seen at the start of a Le Mans rally, the assembled Brits made for their shiny metal machines and duly headed north for Bournemouth. It was lunchtime and the Meteo office was closed, but with the arriving pilot’s comments in mind, the little Jodel followed.
The weather was still very marginal and Y soon found himself seeing little ahead and with less than 1,000ft cloudbase. “But,” said X, “it’s sure to get better in a couple of miles from what the Jersey pilot said.”
Contact with Cherbourg petered out after 15 minutes or so and London Information couldn’t be raised. X and Y were beginning to feel very alone. The weather didn’t improve, in fact Y found himself driven lower and lower. By mid-Channel, he was down to 200ft and scared as he pushed lower still. X had gone very quiet.
It’s unlikely that either of them saw the masts of the container ship. n
Questions
1 What had the pilots got wrong?
2 What should they have done better?
The English Jodel pilots enjoyed splendid hospitality, but a return Channel crossing in worsening weather wasn’t the best end to Le Weekend. By Peter Grant
Pilots X and Y both had 100 hours and had recently completed IMC ratings. Working together, they often mulled over the idea of a syndicate. When the chance came to join an existing Jodel group, they jumped at it. The Jodel was VFR of course, but with a new artificial horizon as an aid for bad weather. The radio, however, had seen better days.
Soon, they were enjoying the pleasures of bimbling around the countryside, visiting new and exciting small strips. Along with better weather came the ambition to go European. A rally at a delightful sandy grass airfield by the Brittany coast was the perfect opportunity. The aircraft was based in the East Midlands, so the safest route for Continental neophytes was obviously down to Lydd (these were the days of limited Customs/Immigration airports), across by the shortest route to Calais and then overland to Brittany.
The next weeks saw much poring over maps, and advice from as many aviators as possible, about the strange ways of the French, particularly their ATC system. There were life-jackets to be arranged and maybe a raft to be found. The general opinion seemed to be that there was little to worry about. The weather was religiously checked, up to the point of departure – yes, there was a frontal system hanging around the South-West, but it looked to be slow moving.
A fantastic trip
The trip down on Friday was fantastic, with nice weather and the French controllers not particularly interested once they realised this was a low-level VFR flight. The welcome at the rally was amazing, with locals pulling out all the stops to make the pilots welcome. The evening meal at the clubhouse and a comfortable room at Hotel Central all added to the warm glow of achievement.
The fun continued on Saturday morning, with spirited displays of French airmanship. But, soon after lunch, the weather took a turn for the worse, with a lowering cloudbase and increased winds. This did not dampen the local French spirits in the slightest, with the local aviators flying into the lowering cloudbase and increasingly gusty conditions. There was a fair amount of, “Ah, it is the coastal effects and it will soon clear,” from the locals.
The original plan had been to return home on Saturday afternoon, complete with the obligatory wine and Camembert. But, soon after lunch, the rain started and the local forecast was suddenly for torrential downpours. Pilot X remarked, “Perhaps we should have called for a forecast rather than relying on the locals.”
They both realised they now had a problem. They were clearly not going to get home on Saturday, however late, yet they had to be in the office first thing Monday. With the change in the weather, there were no rooms to be had; the mood changed rapidly from elation to desperation. Gallantly, the Aero Club arranged rooms for all visiting English aviators at a local chateau. The food was fantastic and the wine flowed copiously, culminating with Le Patron going to bed, leaving a bottle of Armagnac on the table. Pilots X and Y enjoyed the hospitality, making the best of a bad situation.
They were dragged from their sleep by frantic knocking at six in the morning. “Messieurs, the sun is shining, you can fly, you can fly!”
Blurry-eyed, breakfast was a hurried affair and nine o’clock Sunday saw them launched off in the general direction of Cherbourg, without time for anything but drawing a line on the map. Yes, it was a longer crossing, but they both needed to be back in the office on the Monday morning.
The hour’s flight to Cherbourg was horrendous – high winds and very gusty conditions meant a high workload for X. Meanwhile, Y was increasingly alarmed by radio reports of bad weather approaching their destination. X pushed the little Jodel harder, but it seemed to make little difference. When Cherbourg eventually came into sight it was obvious that a black wall was about to cross the airfield.
X poured on all the coals and the airfield edged closer, as a mast shot by to their right.
“What was that,” asked Y. “What’s our height?”
Belatedly, X realised that going from sea level to a 500ft airfield and not correcting for a considerable overnight pressure change had put them dangerously low. Chastened and more than a bit shaken, he forced the aeroplane onto the ground and fought it all the way to the terminal.
X had never been so relieved to stagger into the café and join the other Brits gathered against the now raging storm. Over several hours and endless coffees, X and Y wondered how they would explain the obvious delay to bosses and wives. Spirits sank even lower in a terminal deserted except for abandoned British airmen.
A touch of magic
Then, seemingly by magic, a Robin appeared and landed. The pilot was happy to explain that he had flown in from Jersey and that the sky was perfectly clear only 10 miles off the coast.
In a rush normally only seen at the start of a Le Mans rally, the assembled Brits made for their shiny metal machines and duly headed north for Bournemouth. It was lunchtime and the Meteo office was closed, but with the arriving pilot’s comments in mind, the little Jodel followed.
The weather was still very marginal and Y soon found himself seeing little ahead and with less than 1,000ft cloudbase. “But,” said X, “it’s sure to get better in a couple of miles from what the Jersey pilot said.”
Contact with Cherbourg petered out after 15 minutes or so and London Information couldn’t be raised. X and Y were beginning to feel very alone. The weather didn’t improve, in fact Y found himself driven lower and lower. By mid-Channel, he was down to 200ft and scared as he pushed lower still. X had gone very quiet.
It’s unlikely that either of them saw the masts of the container ship. n
Questions
1 What had the pilots got wrong?
2 What should they have done better?
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