Flying is an old dream that I discovered at the bottom of a drawer where I
store my inaccessible objects. The circumstances had left it ajar. (Michel Pironet)

My first flight across the borders, in an ultralight aircraft.

Like a king

 The airfield closed at 19:00 and it was nearly 19:30 when I called the tower for landing.
- "Welcome to St Michaelisdonn, we were expecting you!"

Of course, it is a PPR airfield and I had called them by phone from Sweden. But stronger than expected head winds had delayed me over Denmark. After landing, the tower calls me and ask: - "Do you need refueling?"
- "Yes, please!"
- "Ok, taxi to the refueling point, fill her up, note the amount and come to the tower to pay."
Once up to the tower, the friendly guy asks me: "Are you hungry?" Yes, I was, indeed. But it was the first time a tower asked about such matters. Then he said: "The guy in the restaurant, here, has been waiting for you too. Just step in and he will prepare you some food. By the way, do you need a place to sleep?"
- "Er, I have a sleeping bag, if I can use it somewhere."
- "Nah, I can get you a room with bath, in a nearby farmhouse. Would you like that?"
I must admit that taking a shower sounded delightful and I answered: - "Yes, please!"

Half an hour later, I had eaten a nice meal and a lady came driving to take me to her farmhouse a few kilometers away. There I slept very well, followed by a large breakfast and was driven back to the airfield afterwards. It did cost me only 25 Euro!
Unfortunately it was raining and the ceiling was very low. No VFR conditions. At 8 AM, the airfield was still closed but the friendly restaurant owner hailed me in for a cup of coffee. Later, more pilots came and helped me to monitor the weather on the internet and one even wrote my flight plan for me! At 15:00, the sun made a shy appearance and the ceiling had lifted. I took off for my next destination, The Netherlands.

That's the world of general aviation, dear pilot friends: a very small world of helpful guys on trusted ground. If you ever plan a long trip, do not hesitate, you'll be helped and if you ever fly north Germany, stop at St Michaelisdonn, you'll be received as a king.
 

An old dream

I had only been flying for 120 hours in my Kitfox ultralight when I got the idea to fly to Belgium, the country where I was born and where my father flew in the air force. After installing a new Jabiru engine last winter, I felt confident I could do it. But the day of departure, when the morning fog delayed me one and half hour, I was wondering if I was not gone insane. An eleven hours flight in four legs would bring me Belgium. Could I do it? My longest trip, so far, had been two and half hours, from Jarlsberg to Sola in Norway. Northern Europe would be easier because it is very flat. But the airspace is quite complex.

As the fog lifted to a broken ceiling at 1,000 feet, I lined up on runway one eight and I became very calm. I was now a pilot doing what pilots do.

The first leg took me to Höganäs, near Malmö. I followed the Swedish coast, avoiding Göteborg CTR. Communication was easy. Malmö information told me when to change frequency and I simply followed the instructions.

Flying alone is not easy, we have to fly, navigate and communicate, in that order. I knew I had a good plane, a Kitfox with tailwheel and tundra main gear, that I could safely land just anywhere. The Jabiru had only 30 hours but was running like a Swiss clock. My third asset was PocketFMS, a nice PDA software that I ran on a Garmin M5 PDA+GPS.

At this point, I have to warn the reader that I asked Rob and Marcel, the creators of PocketFMS, five percent on the sale of any copy of the program they could sell from this article. But since it is free, on the internet, I still have to figure out how much five percent of nothing is. :-)
The European airspace is complex. Restricted military zones are numerous. Navigating around them is a piece of cake, using the moving map of PocketFMS. Navigation is merely to follow your flight plan track. While I had the Jeppesen paper maps as backup, navigation has never been as simple as this. The program has everything you need for VFR flight planning and navigation. And if you miss something, just ask Rob and Marcel on the PocketFMS forum, online.

Höganäs is a friendly grass airfield with two runways. Whatever the wind direction, you'll land safely, even with a taildragger and little experience of crosswind. Once landed and refueled, it was a new flight plan that I telephoned to Gardermoen FIS and off I went, across Denmark. First Copenhagen TMA under 1,500 feet, then over the Store Belt sound, to Fyn. But visibility was not the best. I could see the Store Belt bridge but not its end on the other side. After Fyn, it was the Lille Belt and over to Germany. Copenhagen handed me over to Bremen Information. Soon St Michaelisdonn came in sight, a nice asphalt runway situated on the top of a hill.

As the weather cleared, the day after, I left St Michaelisdonn in sunshine but head wind gusting 30 knots. In 5 minutes, the Elbe river was crossed and I flew toward The Netherlands. But, passing Bremerhaven, a new cloud belt came from the west and it became slightly turbulent.
I had arranged with Rob (the PocketFMS creator) to meet over the Dutch border. As Bremen handed me over to Dutch Mill, I could hear him talking with the controller. He asked him to be vectored toward me. Something Dutch Mill did, after asking me to squawk ident.

Rob was behind me, flying faster in his Cessna 170. But now the situation got worse and worse. The ceiling went down and down. Abreast of Groningen, I was as low as 500 ft AGL and a thin drizzle made ahead  visibility virtually nil. I had only my side view to keep my plane on a straight keel. I called then Dutch Mill and said: "Lima Lima Tango is down at 500 ft and no longer in VFR conditions, please advice."
Meanwhile, most of the other VFR pilots on the frequency were also down to that altitude and requested to return to their point of departure. This weather wasn't expected as the report was for improving weather westward. How could this be an improvement over the sunshine I had leaving St Michaelisdonn?
Being a novice in aviation, I wasn't sure what to do but, having sailed a lifetime, I knew I had to concentrate on a primary task. I switched PocketFMS from North Up to Head Up mode and said to myself: "Whatever happens, keep your track up, keep your track up!" My reasoning was that, if I lost completely sight of the ground, it is always better to meet it straight on, than in a spin. My second task was: Keep this altitude. Well, I should have been flying higher because The Netherlands is parsed with numerous wind power plants. While as an environmentalist, I love their sight, they are not nice to meet head on in an ultralight aircraft.
Soon Dutch Mill came back with the information that the weather was clearing at Lelystad, my destination, and that I could keep my heading, expecting soon an improvement. Meanwhile, my rendezvous with Rob was cancelled and we flew both to Lelystad where he arrived before me, flying his Cessna quite faster than my 70 knots Kitfox. As expected the ceiling increased and I was soon back at 1,000 feet, feeling much better.

The Netherlands is not very general-aviation friendly and certainly not ultralight. Very few airfields in a congested airspace. But Lelystad is definitively the place to be if you fly The Netherlands. It is a large airport with all kind of facilities and the Dutch aviation museum. On the side of the main runway, there is a much smaller grass landing strip for ultralights. Each runway has its own frequency and I called the ultralight one. From reporting point Victor, I was cleared to land on the grass strip while a Catalina was doing touch and go's on the main runway. Once on the ground, I didn't know where to park so they sent me the "follow-me" car that lead me to the hangar where Rob was pulling in his plane. After a formal presentation in the style of "Doctor Livingstone, I presume?" he offered me a place for the night in the hangar and off we went to the nearby restaurant to meet other friends, his mate Marcel, and two guys from the dESPair.

 

I have been flying for years. But only on a flight simulator. It was only two years ago I started flying for real. The dESPair is the virtual pilot club I belong to. Pedro and Fokke, two of its Dutch members, had come to meet me. We had a very pleasant evening, drinking Dutch beer and talking about PocketFMS and X-Plane, the simulator we use. While quite different we were united by the same love for aviation. Then Fokke offered me to stay at his home for the night.

The old country

The morning after he drove me to the airport where Rob was waiting to open the hangar. After a warm good-bye to my Dutch friends, it was a nice take-off, this time from the asphalt runway, and I headed south west, to my final destination, Belgium. After a while, after avoiding a CTR where they had an air show, I crossed the Belgian border.
- "Are you familiar with the Belgian airspace?" asked Brussels Information.
- "No Sir," I answered, although I was in my former country.
- "Then stay at 1,400 or below."

I had a moment of emotion when I crossed the Canal Albert because it was on a reconnaissance above it that my father was shot down by a Me-109, the 15th of May 1940. Distances in Belgium seem very short. They are, indeed, it is a very small country. Soon I entered the military Beauvechain CTR, closed since it was a Saturday morning, and Liernu appeared at the end of it.

Liernu is a rather short grass strip only for ultralights, or ULM, as they are called in French. There are many of those, especially in the south of the country. Liernu is probably one of the closest to Brussels and a very popular place for ultralight pilots and Sunday's plane watchers.
Once landed, I was received by my cousin Christian, his wife, my good friend Pierre, his wife and daughter. No red tape, brass band or the keys of the town delivered by the Mayor, as I had wished but a warm welcome just the same.
It was a hot day with temperature around 29 C and a lot of people were already there to fly or to watch the planes from the bar-restaurant along the grass stripe.

First, I went to fly a bit with Pierre who, apart from the X-Plane simulator, also flies, whenever possible the club's Storch ultralight. Our trip took us over Namur and the Meuse river valley. This was no longer the flat northern Europe but the beginning of the Ardennes.
After Pierre, Christian came with me for a short flight. On the way back, while on the downwind leg, I notice a small helicopter that had landed between the bar and the runway. I turned base then final. Since the runway was very short I concentrated on my landing with great intensity. I eyeballed the threshold and drove my plane to land exactly there.
Which I did. But suddenly I was airborne again. My mind couldn't make sense of what was happening and I should have given full throttle and go around. Instead, I tried to land the plane anyway but touched down off the runway. Luckily I knew that the runway ended in a field with very short growth and it was still safe, especially with my tundra tyres. Ten meters in the field I was slow enough to turn the plane in a cloud of dust and I saw Pierre running toward us. As I stopped my engine in front of the hangars, he said: "Stupid helicopter!" I just didn't get it at the time but what I thought was a landed helicopter was, in fact, one hovering a meter over the ground, between the bar and the runway. This explained my sudden uplift and poor landing. While my passenger Christian saw it on final, I had it only in my peripheral vision, while concentrating on the threshold. Lesson learnt: Beware of helicopters!

That evening, after a visit to the cemetery where my mother rests, I went to sleep at Christian, to meet his sister Sylvie.

 

Sunday was a hot day. As expected, Liernu was boiling with activities. Ultralights, trikes, paragliders and gyropters. Many came just to watch the strange birds circling above the Walloon plain. As it often happens after a heat wave, a thunderstorm front was announced for Thursday. Then I made a decision: I'll fly that evening to the Belgian coast and meet my niece, to fly northward again Monday morning. That afternoon gave me the chance to meet even more old Belgian friends and at 18:00 I left Liernu for the coast, this time without a flight plan.
Once airborne, I called Brussels Information and stated my intention to fly to Zuienkerke, a small ultralight stripe near the coast. I gave a wide berth to Brussels city and headed north west. Soon Brugge came in sight, the old Hanseatic town now sleeping in the Flemish polders.
Zuienkerke has a dream of a runway. A long, wide and smoothly cut grass strip at the edge of a bird sanctuary. As I taxied to the old farmhouse that makes the club's local, Patricia, my niece, was there with her husband and two children. Dimitri, their son, is now 18 years and is flying ultralights. His hope is to become a professional pilot. But right now he was in the middle of his examinations, something unfortunate because Dimitri would have loved to fly back with me to Norway. Maybe we will do that next year.
Together, we spent a very pleasant evening, dining in their garden while my Kitfox was given a place in the hangar by mijnheer Van Den Broucke, the airfield manager.

 The next morning was very hot. I had logged a flight plan, direct to Lelystad, over Zeeland and between Rotterdam and Amsterdam's TMA. At 9 AM, after a good-bye to Patricia, I was airborne. Because the day before, I noticed my oil temperature to go slightly over 100C, I had made a larger opening in my cowling. Done by hand, in the hangar, it wasn't very pretty. But my new cowling wasn't pretty anyway. The larger opening made the trick. As I noticed a OAT of 32C at 2,000 Ft over Zeeland, the oil temperature stayed under 100C and it felt right.

It was not without an emotion that I flew over Veere and the Veerse Meer, on which I have sailed so much as a young man. The weather was sunny and much clearer than on my way south. Soon Lelystad came in sight and, this time, I called Lelystad Radio, to land on the asphalt runway, like a big boy. I went directly for refueling and after, a nice lunch in the restaurant. At 15:00 I was ready for take-off, according to my flight plan, for St Michaelisdonn. I had a vague plan to fly to the Friesian island of Juist, instead, but I had so good memory of St Michaelisdonn that I opted for known terrain.

Comm trouble

As I flew past Groningen, on my reverse course, I couldn't help noticing the tall windmills that was on my way, a few days ago. Scary stuff!
Everything went well until Dutch Mill asked me to contact Bremen. Bremen couldn't hear me although they came in loud and clear. Strange.
Closing in St Michaelisdonn, I got worried. I called them by cell phone - not an easy task in a noisy cockpit - and told them I believed my radio was malfunctioning. I made a nice landing and, after refueling, went on to check my radio. I moved the plug from the rear contact, to the panel contact, tested with the tower, and everything was fine again! Probably a bad contact somewhere.
This time, I spent the night at the home of the parents of the lady. Both rent a room to passing pilots. Just as a pleasant stay. This time the restaurant was closed and my lodger took me to a local pub for a quick meal. Then a shower and in bed. I wanted to start early in order to stay ahead of the thunderstorms that were forecasted for the day after.
At 07:30 I was driven back to the airfield and at 08:00, I was airborne again, for Sweden. Bremen could hear me this time but, as I passed the border and flew to Fyn in Denmark, Copenhagen information couldn't hear me. Strange! Above Jylland, I hear Copenhagen asking another aircraft to communicate with me and to go over another frequency. Which it did and I complied. Copenhagen could hear me now. Probably that, at 1,500 ft, it was too low for the previous frequency.
In any case, the Sound appears, I say good-bye to Copenhagen and go for my landing at Höganäs.

Once landed, I went to the club house to check the weather. Alas, the TAF for Göteborg was for towering cumulus, thundery rain showers and low ceiling. Oslo was clear but my path was cut by the front that was moving from northern Sjelland toward Göteborg.
No problem, said the Swedish pilots, you can sleep here. By the way, we have a herring evening, tonight! Indeed, Höganäs aero club has one every Tuesday. Pilots are coming in, even from Denmark. But that evening, no one flew in, the weather was bad and by 18:00, as the herrings were grilled outside, the rain and the thunderstorm was over us. I stayed there for the night in one of the 17 beds of the club house. I shared the facilities with two other Swedish pilots from Stockholm who were there with their Piper Cherokee. A pleasant evening with much aviation talk. A chance for me, a rookie, to learn more.
Next morning, the weather was better but very windy. My Swedish friends were not flying. An instructor came in with his trainee but, after a while, they went home. Later, that afternoon, it started to get better. The Piper left at 17:30 and I left at 18:00, after having delayed my flight plan several times.
It was still windy, about 25 knots, as I took off from runway 32. But soon up at 2,000 ft, it was calm although my ground speed was only 65 MPH. Again, Malmö couldn't hear me. Then I tried Ängelholm, as I was crossing their TMA. No answer. What should I do? I was half way across the bay of Laholm. The next TMA was Halmstad. I call them, they answer! The controller asks me to fly first north west as I was in line with their runway and an airliner was about to land.
After a while, I resume my navigation and try to contact again Malmö when Halmstad signs me off. No answer, again. What to do? I kept on flying toward Göteborg. Once approaching their TMA, I try to call Göteborg. No answer. It was then time to make a decision. I could try to land at Säve. They certainly have facilities there to check my radio. But how to get to that controlled airport? Should I squawk 7600? Should I fly to a reporting point and hold there until they call me? I wanted to do what was correct but I wasn't sure.
Then I decided that, flying coastwise at 1,500 ft toward Norway, is normal VFR practice and that I didn't risk very much. After all, I had a flight plan, the squawk code Halmstad gave me, and the weather was nice. Even the wind went down as I progressed northward. Above Smögen, I went down to 600 ft and made a 360 over the place where my son and daughter-in-law were staying in a camping place. I saw them waving at me. Then it was up again, at 1,500 ft, and toward Norway.

Something had to be done before I crossed the border. I didn't wanted to be taken for someone who try to avoid to communicate because of smuggling, nor did I wanted to be met by two Norwegian F-16, one on each side.
So, I called Gardermoen FIS via my cell phone and asked them to warn Rygge and Torp of my coming, giving the estimated elapsed time to the border, saying that I could hear them but not answer.
Passing the border at Svinesund, I called Rygge but, as expected, no answer. Over Hankø, I crossed the Oslo fjord, as expected in my flight plan. Half way across the fjord, I tuned in Torp tower, just in time to hear: Lima November Yankee Lima Tango, if you hear this, squawk ident. Which I did immediately!
Then Torp came back saying: "Lima Lima Tango, radar contact. Proceed to Jarlsberg, there are no other traffic in the vicinity and call me by phone once landed!"
After a perfect landing in a very light westerly breeze, I taxied to the hangar and called Torp by phone to close my flight plan. The plane is now grounded until the comm failure is repaired.

All together, a pleasant flight with very few problems, to the country where I was born. Am I ready to do it again? You bet!

Michel Verheughe
June 2005