This feels real. Steve and I and Alpha Charlie are finally on our way. Gaillac to Corsica. A fine day at Gaillac, fully laden ( and some) AC manages wheelsup in under 600 metres off a soggy grass runway. She lifts gently with two stages of flap ( respect.. Steve) and climbs easily. We bank left, head east south east and level off at FL55 (5500 feet), the Lycoming engine giving off a solid, satisfied growl. She's saying " This is OK. No worries guys". We both feel a load starting to lift (pun intended).
Soon we see the Pyrenees off to the south. Toulouse air traffic hand us over to Montpellier (oldest university in Europe, gateway to the spectacular Cevennes). French ATC are (almost) invariably helpful. They say 'Sir' and, if it's a lady, it's good form to say 'Madame'. And Bonjour. It feels like travelling Business Class, one ATC handing you over seemlessly to the next. They know you're coming, provided you've filed a flight plan otherwise there's lots of silent Gallic shrugging. Chapeau. Hats off.
Over Nice ( shrouded in cloud) a minor drama is being played out. A French rescue helicopter is cleared to cut through restricted airspace to reach a fire blazing somewhere in the Rhone valley. As we overfly St Tropez Steve and I exchange views on Brigitte Bardot, the actress, French Aphrodite and now animal rights activist, who lives there. I tell him I had an uncle who used to provide her with antique furniture at her house, La Madrague, where I was once taken as a teenager. He asks me a pertinent question about her anatomy which I can't answer with any accuracy. Way to the north we see the Alps, craggy, snow-capped summits lit up by the sun, contrasting vividly with the green and brown valleys and lower peaks of Provence below us. I am speechless, humbled and thrilled all at once. Who says men can't multi-task? All I can do is take pictures, like a gawping tourist.
Our newly-fitted fuel-flow meter is coming in very handy and tells us we're burning a satisfying 7.5-8.5 gallons per hour so if we do have to turn back because of poor weather at Corsica we have plenty in the tank to return to the mainland. Highly recommended. I have a new Honywell Bendix King Sentinel OB3000 display (the first to be fitted to a fixed-wing in the UK) with traffic alert. It's essentially a VFR tool,with a crystal clear screen and some nice features. But the jury ( that's Steve and I) is still out on its overall effectiveness. I shall report back.
Then there is Corsica, home of the Union Corse, France's Mafia, lovely beaches and a terrific soccer team. You can see why its called The Mountain In The Sea, its wild and craggy heights rising majestically out of carpet of cloud. We join the circuit for a left hand onto runway 34. On the apron we are met by the Gendarmerie in their smart blue uniforms and side-arms who record our details virtually down to our inside leg measurements. Flight time: 3.5 hours. Tomorrow Corfu.
Soon we see the Pyrenees off to the south. Toulouse air traffic hand us over to Montpellier (oldest university in Europe, gateway to the spectacular Cevennes). French ATC are (almost) invariably helpful. They say 'Sir' and, if it's a lady, it's good form to say 'Madame'. And Bonjour. It feels like travelling Business Class, one ATC handing you over seemlessly to the next. They know you're coming, provided you've filed a flight plan otherwise there's lots of silent Gallic shrugging. Chapeau. Hats off.
Over Nice ( shrouded in cloud) a minor drama is being played out. A French rescue helicopter is cleared to cut through restricted airspace to reach a fire blazing somewhere in the Rhone valley. As we overfly St Tropez Steve and I exchange views on Brigitte Bardot, the actress, French Aphrodite and now animal rights activist, who lives there. I tell him I had an uncle who used to provide her with antique furniture at her house, La Madrague, where I was once taken as a teenager. He asks me a pertinent question about her anatomy which I can't answer with any accuracy. Way to the north we see the Alps, craggy, snow-capped summits lit up by the sun, contrasting vividly with the green and brown valleys and lower peaks of Provence below us. I am speechless, humbled and thrilled all at once. Who says men can't multi-task? All I can do is take pictures, like a gawping tourist.
Our newly-fitted fuel-flow meter is coming in very handy and tells us we're burning a satisfying 7.5-8.5 gallons per hour so if we do have to turn back because of poor weather at Corsica we have plenty in the tank to return to the mainland. Highly recommended. I have a new Honywell Bendix King Sentinel OB3000 display (the first to be fitted to a fixed-wing in the UK) with traffic alert. It's essentially a VFR tool,with a crystal clear screen and some nice features. But the jury ( that's Steve and I) is still out on its overall effectiveness. I shall report back.
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