Fascinated with the Hebrides, Adriaan Pelzer makes it a reality
of a dream tour when, along with his wife and daughter, he explores the beauty of the islands, amid all weathers…
28 October 2020
Back in 2015, while staying in a cottage on Easdale Island, home of the World Stone Skimming Championships (yes, there actually is such a thing), the obsession of touring the Hebrides by aeroplane took a firm hold of me, Mareli (my wife) and Lulu (our 13-year-old daughter). Every one of the Islands seemed to have an airfield, meaning that an aeroplane is a very efficient way to tour the Islands, and is also the quickest way of getting there in the first place – not to mention that the sights from the air should be breathtaking…
In 2018 I bought into the G-AXCA group, which is a very friendly, easy going group of eight blokes who jointly own and fly a very well-maintained 1969 Piper Arrow out of North Weald. So, the pieces of the puzzle for my longed for trip were coming together…
Finally, this year, we pressed the ‘go’ button. I cross-checked our holiday plans with the other seven chaps and booked the aeroplane for an entire week at the end of the summer holidays. Believe me, the excitement was palpable.
Given Scottish weather in general – and Hebridean weather in particular – I knew it would be futile to try and book the entire trip in advance. Instead, we opted for making our minds up as we went, which meant we had to be prepared for a spot of wild camping should we not find accommodation on the day. I am very lucky that both Mareli and Lulu enjoy hiking and camping, and that they both bought into my spartan strategy…
So it was that the Sunday before our Monday morning departure saw us packing at least three times before we got it just right, and then saw me drawing very long lines that spanned all three of the UK VFR charts. Turns out the ‘chart folding puzzle’ that we pilots love so much increases exponentially in complexity with the number of charts involved!
Thanks to our minimalist packing strategy our luggage fitted very easily, and weight and balance was just a formality. After double-checking spare oil, PLB and life jackets, and removing everything from the aircraft that we wouldn’t need (ice-scrapers!), we were airborne for Leeds, our first and only fuel stop on the way to Stornoway on the Isle of Lewis and Harris, more than 500nm away.
It takes only about 15 minutes to clear the London TMA to the North routing through the gap between Luton and Stansted. Cloud cover, however, kept us pinned at around 3,000ft.
Since this first leg traverses the most featureless landscapes of the entire trip, I decided to brush up on my paper chart navigation skills. I was quite chuffed to still be able to get us to Leeds with only a chart and my pilot log. Mareli kept her eyes on SkyDemon, so we were on standby to correct any inadvertent strays.
In what felt like no time at all we entered the circuit at Leeds East and refuelled at the self-service pumps. The airfield was dead quiet – it was a Bank Holiday Monday – and we paid our landing fee with the really friendly and efficient Felicity in the tower, the only soul on the entire airfield.
After a quick picnic-style lunch on the grass in the shadow of the tower, we were off on the first Scottish leg, which would drop us right at the top of the Hebrides. It did not take very long for the flat Midlands to start giving way to undulating hills as we approached the Lake District, which of course coincided with the air gradually becoming more bumpy (a mere premonition of what was to come).
The Lake District from the air really does make the hiking itch flare up in full force. Not surprising really, when you see all that breathtaking beauty at once, with every square mile of moorland and valley criss-crossed by countless hiking trails. To top it all, as we followed the valley around Keswick and Bassenthwaite, we noticed the slopes of Skiddaw littered with paragliders, making the most of the slopes on a calm, but breezy enough, day. It was simply breathtaking.
As we coasted out over the Workington VRP, London Information handed us over to Scottish Information, and that was when it properly sank in – we’re in Scotland! And, right on cue, as we reached the southwestern tip of Dumfries and Galloway, the terrain became ominously rugged and mountainous.
The hills turned into mountains, the mountains into munros, building a dramatic crescendo up to the Isle of Skye with its waterfalls dropping straight into the ocean and its raw, jagged, ‘out of this world’ beauty.
One thing about Scottish Information and Scottish ATC in general, is that they are extremely efficient. Without fail, once we had given our flight details to the first controller, it got handed over from controller to controller, with every subsequent initial call greeted by a simple ‘Charlie Alpha, we have your details, basic service you have’ (if I could write in Glaswegian, I would have used it here…). They even notified our destination airfield of our rough ETA as we went along, and on our return, they also passed our details to London Information. Stellar service!
Gradually the mainland gave way to peninsula (such as Kintyre), and peninsula gave way to islands (Mull and Rum). The hills turned into mountains, the mountains into munros, building a dramatic crescendo up to the Isle of Skye with its waterfalls dropping straight into the ocean and its raw, jagged, ‘out of this world’ beauty. It was very reminiscent of parts of Iceland.
Beyond Skye we switched to Stornoway Approach, which thanks to Scottish Info, was not at all surprised to hear from us, and already had all our details. The controller only wanted to know whether we wanted a left or a right downwind join. I decided to be conventional and chose left. This turned out to be the correct choice, as it brought us in over Point, a peninsula off Stornoway which results in the most impressive huge, sandy beaches around the land bridge which connects the peninsula to the rest of the Island.
Final for runway 18 traverses one of these massive beaches, Traigh Mhealboist (Melbost beach), with the runway threshold starting right where the beach ends. This must be one of the most scenic approaches in the country.
Stornoway is the capital of the Isles of Lewis and Harris, which are actually just two regions on a single island with vastly different geographic characters. Lewis is flat and peaty. Harris, on the other hand, is dramatically mountainous.
The Isles are way too big to explore on foot or even by bike in just a couple of days, so I immediately went to the car hire booth in the airport terminal building in the hope that they would have a spare car for us, which they did.
That night we wild camped on a flat stretch of lawn-like grass just behind Cliff Beach, close to Kneep, one of the many pristine beaches that the West Coast has to offer. Of course, the west is where the weather is ‘made’, and that night the wind tested our small hiking tents to the absolute limit. We hardly slept at all, and poor Lulu, whose tent flapped the loudest, finally opted for sleeping on the front seat of the car at around 3am.
The next day brought new hope, fresh coffee, and a renewed realisation of just how pristine the island’s beaches are.
It looks like the Caribbean, with white sand beaches and aquamarine waters. We were, however, desperate not to suffer another sleepless night, and we booked into a very nice and cosy B&B in Stornoway, the Hebridean Guest House, run by Kevin and Linda. This was a much easier base to explore from while Storm Francis kept howling in from the West – and, by the way, Kevin makes arguably one of the best breakfasts that I’ve ever had. The Island of Harris is a truly amazing destination with its moon landscapes in the east, and mountains and beaches in the west.
Since the campsite near Broadford Airfield on The Isle of Skye was closed (like so many others in these times of Covid), we decided to venture further south to the Isle of Mull, where there was an open campsite only 20 minutes from Glenforsa Airfield by foot.
I’ve always wanted to have Glenforsa in my log book, having heard so many great things about it.
The wind was still roaring like a beast from the West (50kt by my reckoning afterwards based on recorded ground speeds in SkyDemon’s flight log), which was fine as long as I crabbed along the west coasts of land masses along the way.
This, combined with the low cloud cover of around 2,000ft, gave us the perfect excuse to go low and slow over the massive beaches on the west coast of Harris and North Uist (the next island to the south of Harris).
Most people know about Barra Airport, on the Isle of Barra, further south, which is the only airport in the world to receive scheduled traffic on a tidal beach. The entire airport is a tidal beach.
Fewer people, however, know that there is another tidal beach airfield on North Uist, called Sollas. Honestly, if you didn’t know it was there, you would not guess that people sometimes land there – it really just is a beach, albeit a beach with a Pooleys plate.
From North Uist we crossed the Little Minch (the sea between the mid-outer Hebrides and the Isle of Skye) eastwards. We took a last proper look at Skye… If anything the bad weather made it even more breathtakingly beautiful. At one point we noticed a small waterfall seemingly ‘falling’ straight upwards, being blown that way by the monstrous wind!
South of Skye I suddenly realised that while my attention had been held captive by the fierce nature below us, we had almost strayed into restricted area R610B. In my foolishness, tracking southward away from Skye, I squeezed in between R610B and the Isle of Rum, with Rum on our west, not keeping in mind that Rum, despite its small size, has a peak of more than 2,500ft high. No sooner did we enter the ‘shadow’ of Rum than we were being thrown about like a cork in a washing machine. At times it felt like we were freefalling for almost a second at a time before hitting solid air again. All in all, it was not much fun.
As soon as we had reached the southwestern edge of the restricted zone, I started tracking directly eastwards to get as far away from Rum as quickly as possible. That strategy eventually paid off, and the rest of the way to the Sound of Mull I tracked along the much stabler air around the west coast of the mainland.
As we entered the Sound I switched to Glenforsa’s frequency and made my first blind call. Glenforsa Hotel, being closed for the entire 2020 due to the lockdown, only received PPR via answering machine at the time, so I assumed that there would be no one on the radio. A minute later, however, Brendan Walsh, the hotel owner and airfield operator, answered me on the radio and gave me a full ground service all the way down.
I really appreciated this, as Glenforsa is a proper whirlpool, highlighted by the three windsocks in different places on the runway, all pointing in different directions!
Fortunately for us, Runway 25 ends in a bit of an uphill, which gave me the confidence to have slightly more speed on final than I normally would on a short field, and bleed it off in a prolonged flare and float. I really needed the extra 10kt, as the wind shear is really something to write home (or in FLYER) about.
Brendan came out to greet us, pointed me to the visitor’s book and landing fee box, and also having been based at North Weald in the past, there was a lot to chat about. I would really like to return when social distancing is a thing of the past, and the hotel is open. I got the feeling that an evening around a bottle of whisky with Brendan would be one very well spent – plus I’ve heard only great things about the hotel.
The Pennygown campsite is directly next to the airfield along the beach, albeit with a river in between, so the only way to get there is to walk out along the main road. This makes the trip 20 minutes instead of five, but still easy enough.
The campsite kindly allowed us to pitch our tiny hiking tents wherever we wanted to, so we pitched right against the hedge on the site border, to give us as much protection from the wind as possible. Definitely a case of, once bitten, twice shy!
The campsite amenities were second to none, and included the use of a microwave, kettle and washing amenities. It must be the cleanest shower block I have ever seen, in and outside of a campsite. I’m sure that the COVID-19 regulations helped it on its way to achieve such cleanliness.
The next day was spent hiking inland up the glen, along what must be the most Canadian-looking stream in existence outside of Canada, just screaming for the addition of an old geezer in waders with a fly fishing rod. It was a bit boggy in places, but an amazing walk.
Hiring a car on Islay was essential, as a tour of the distilleries was very high on our list. However, after phoning the two car hire companies on Islay things sounded less than promising. Due to the pandemic they didn’t operate inside the airport terminal, and only served scheduled flights directly in the parking lot. I eventually managed to convince one of them that we’d be able to arrive at the same time as the only scheduled flight for the day was 0830. This meant an early departure.
We got up at 0600, packed up the tents in the driving rain, walked to the airfield, and had the aeroplane unwrapped, packed and externally checked by 0730. All good going so far. As soon as I was about to start the internal checks, however, I noticed something odd. I could hear the fuel pump running, only neither the master switch nor the fuel pump switch were on… My heart sank. We could probably fly like this, but I would really have to look at it first, and especially take the time to understand all the possible second order failures. This could seriously thwart our finely timed plans.
I took a deep breath, made peace with the situation, and started unpacking. Upon removing the last backpack, however, I noticed that the sound came from the backpack! It turned out to be an electric toothbrush. Enveloped by clothes packed around it, it sounded exactly like the fuel pump, muffled by the surrounding airframe. What a relief!
In the end we arrived at Islay about 15 minutes before schedule and took the opportunity to bimble around the island for a bit, waiting for the airport to open. We touched down at exactly 0829, and were actually unpacked and parked two minutes before the car company arrived with the car. Mission accomplished.
We checked into a lovely, small wooden pod on a farm near Bowmore, overlooking Loch Indaal, the bay jutting into the middle of Islay from the west. This proved to be the perfect spot to visit all the open distilleries (some of them were unfortunately closed due to the… ), and do a few driving trips interspersed with short bouts of hiking. Islay is a lovely, varied island, and certainly worth properly exploring. We had a great meal at The Islay Hotel and taking a trip to the American Monument, where the waves crash on the cliffs, is certainly worth visiting.
All too soon the time was up, and we were heading home. Only, not so much…
On the Monday morning of our intended return we woke up to intense fog, right to the ground (despite a relatively clear forecast the night before). I phoned the airfield, and was told that the scheduled flights had also been cancelled for the time being, and that the fog was likely to last the entire day.
Fortunately both the car and the pod were available for another day, and we settled in for another day on Islay. More distilleries, more sightseeing. What’s not to like?
Islay is not a bad place to be stranded in heavy fog. Everything takes on a lovely atmosphere, and we opted for spending most of the extra time outdoors, drinking in the medievally tinged scenes as if we were lost characters who fell to current-day Earth from an old forgotten folk tale.
We also finally managed to visit the Kilchoman distillery during these borrowed days, which had been closed on our previous visits. This proved to be very fruitful, as we came back with a really exceptional distillery-exclusive 11-year-old bottle, the peatiness of which is so uniquely balanced with the strong wood taste imprinted on it by the cask, which could lead to it unseating Lagavulin 16 year old as my favourite single malt…
Eventually, by Wednesday, the morning produced a much better forecast, even though the view from the window did not quite correlate. Low cloud cover with the occasional bout of heavy fog seemed to be the reality out there. Nevertheless, we packed up (for the third time!), and headed for the airport.
As soon as we were done unwrapping, packing and checking the aeroplane, a weather window opened up. The problematic weather being very localised, we decided to go for it, jumped in and started up.
Islay Information then told us that they had the Air Ambulance inbound, and asked us to do our power checks right on the apron, as it would need to land on the active runway. I realised we had to try and depart before the Air Ambulance landed if we were to have any chance to grab the weather window. So I slightly rushed through the power checks, and announced our readiness for departure. A quick check back with the Air Ambulance, and we were given the thumbs up.
As soon as we cleared Islay, the roaming spots of fogginess gave way to varying levels of cloud cover. We first tried to stay below it, but eventually opted for VFR on top until we had cleared the Scottish islands.
The wind blew fiercely from behind, resulting in a ground speed which at times topped 180kt. We landed safely back at North Weald in a mere two hours and 20 minutes.
We unpacked, cleaned and wrapped ’CA, and gave her a pat on the cowling for yet another stellar performance. We sighed a special sigh, the kind that you only ‘let out’ on returning from a big adventure. One that is, simultaneously, an utterance of satisfaction, joy and relief.
No matter how often we do this, the realisation lingers, of how insanely lucky are we to be able to hurl ourselves into the sky at any given point in time, and wake up the next morning in someone else’s far away world…
