Post 11: Heraklion Crete and the story of a true British hero

Windy landing (or "sporty" as Peter the CFI at Bonus Aviation, Cranfield, would say) at Nikos Kazantzakis airport. Named after Greece's most celebrated 20th Century writer, author of Zorba the Greek and admirer of Lenin. Well, nobody's perfect are they? The TransAfrica team is all here now. William arrived today in his egg whisk from Paphos in Cyprus where he and Gruppenfuhrer Sam Rutherford had carefully positioned it before it became apparent that Egypt's admirable demonstrators meant business- as did Coolhand Steve and I from Corfu. Alpha Charlie has now brought us safely nearly 1800nm from the UK and we've covered around 25% of the southbound journey to South Africa.

You learn every day. Today's lesson was: Don't try and be too clever and land on the numbers on an airfield by the sea with a sheer drop just before the threshold in a gusting crosswind. We land on runway 27 with a 17kt wind from 340 degrees. Crab in then kick left rudder to straighten her over the centre-line. Keep the power on and, if the runway is long enough, use up as much as you need before touchdown. Then chop the power. Elementary I know but there we are. Steve saved the day. We make a good team. He's the more experienced pilot and I, erm, can speak a useful assortment of languages and have been around a few blocks.

I'm sorry about more pictures of mountains. But flying over the magnificent Taygetos range with their jagged snow-covered limestone and dolomite peaks, with Sparta in the plain below, warms the heart. Actually it's bloody marvellous. Airfield is LGPZ ( Greek military but also charter flights. That sounds like a sensible use of public resources. Instead of a 3rd runway at Heathrow - BAA can't even cope with 2 for Pete's sake- let's use Brize Norton or somesuch.

We flew over the Mani where Patrick Leigh-Fermor, the greatest travel writer since Herodotus the Greek (5th C BC) retired with his late wife Joan. At 18 he left home to walk the length of Europe; at 28 as an SOE agent in World War II ( pictured above in German uniform) he parachuted into Crete and kidnapped, General Kreipe, the German commander, (Film: based on the gripping book, Ill met by Moonlight,1957, starring Dirk Bogarde) and recounted in Leigh-Fermor's magnificent " A time of Gifts". The battle for Crete was brutal, neither Germans nor Cretans giving quarter. " Then Xekhasame" - we haven't forgotten- they still say in the mountains where the first wave of German airborne troops suffered appalling casualties from local resistance fighters and took terrible reprisals. Hitler forbade further large-scale paratroop drops after that. Leigh-Fermor, DSO, finally retired to the southern Peloponnese and his beloved Mani, subject of another great book. He was interviewed by William Dalrymple in the Telegraph in 2008. " You've got to bellow " Sir Patrick told Dalrymple, cupping his ear " He's become an economist you say? Well thank God for that..I thought you said he'd become a Communist". Victoria, my better half, and I drove round the winding coastal road to Kardamyli, Leigh-Fermor's village, which I could see from 7,500 feet, a few years ago. The Mani is a wild an uncluttered place, famous for (past) banditry and carpets of wild flowers in springtime. Fiercely resistant to occupiers Maniotis believe thenselves to be descendants of that greatest of all warrior races, guns for hire, the Spartans, and lived in their famous fortified towers from which wealthier villagers shot at each other( and intruders) to settle vendettas. More peaceful today. Beaches, village squares with whicker chairs, old men with handle-bar moustaches and widows in black, spit-roast lamb sizzling with rosemary and olive oil which  is liquid nectar. Happy days.

As we coasted out over The Mani, Athens Info was guiding Olympic40 south and said as an afterthought, in Greek, that there two " xenei" (foreigners) bimbling around. That was G-VAAC and the Bumble Bee which, irritatingly, is always 20 minutes ahead of us however much of a head-start we have. And it's kit-built in Chocolate Charly's shed in Toulouse.

Tomorrow is a rest day. Saturday Africa.

PS: William says there isn't enuff stuff about aeroplanes in these blogs so I willco in next.

Post 10: Corfu

I'll let the pics speak for themselves today. They include: the wild and wooly mountains of Albania; the sentinel GPS/display; crossing the border from Italy to Greece in superb visibility at 5500 feet; runway 17 at Corfu (LGKR); and Chocolate Charlie with the Greek flag in the background. Wonderfully helpful and relaxed flying. And Air Traffic Control and ground support in Greece couldn't be more helpful by the way. True, Avgas is limited and you have to fly special VFR routes or under airways but the sunny disposition of the Greeks makes it all very laid-back. Here's Greek AOPAs excellent FAQ:  http://www.aopa.gr/en/infosdetails.asp?NEWS_ID=1

Tomorrow 378nm to Heraklion in Crete. I'm off for a pizza and a glass of ouzo.

Post 9: The Chopper v The Iron Donna at Rome ATC

Some days, as a journalist, you just know what the splash is. Today has been such a day. Alastair (The Chopper) Moon in F-PSCB wrestling with The Iron Donna at Rome Air Traffic Control. She was determined to make the Bumble Bee (Visual Flight Rules only) fly at 1000ft through the Rome TMA - and beyond. Press the pause button now if you're not a pilot and find this a bit nerdy. Rome TMA ( airspace) extends an awfully long way out to sea, south and west of Fiumicino airport and the fact that this put Alastair and Chocolate Charly in the Bumble Bee smack in the middle of a cloud layer was neither here nor there. So 960ft it was for as long as it took. But not a nano-second longer if The Chopper (ex-RAF helicopter pilot and, like me, fully-paid up member of the Ackward Squad pictured below) had anything to do with it. Then up pops the Iron Donna to say that Naples ATC also wanted them to fly at 1000ft through their airspace. And if they didn't like it would they speak to Naples. No offer of a Special VFR clearance. Well they tried talking to Naples. But neither Approach nor Tower responded initially. " OK" says the Iron Donna" you stay on this frequency and report over Capri". Not a marriage made in heaven then. We got the same treatment and only after several tries did Steve patiently coax a response from Naples who seemed very busy dealing with EasyJet 425Foxtrot. Well The Chopper and Chocolate Charly were having none of it. Having consulted their chart they established that they were perfectly within their rights to fly over the cloud at 3,500 in that bit. " Naples we are within legal minima. Maintaining 3500 feet Foxtrot Charlie Bravo". No quarter asked for. No quarter given." Don't ever allow ATC to push you around" said The Chopper when we finally made into Salerno on the Amalfi coast. Quite.

Having said that flying from French into Italian airspace is a joy. Bonjour becomes Ciao for the locals, squawk turn into " squawcando" and " pass your message" into Avanti.  Just past Elba (where Napoleon was exiled after his abdication 1814) we saw a splendid black-hulled schooner at anchor. The Iron Donna informed a local helicopter that four Typhoon fighers were playing tag  at 2000ft at high speed" in the vicinity. Above, heavies, heading every which way, were tracing vapour trails across a crystalline blue sky. Capri lay below where Our Gracie (Fields) retired after World War II to open her hotel= Cansona del Mare (Song of the Sea). Bliss.

We didn't make it Corfu. Too late. Too much low cloud. The traffic in Salerno is as bad as London. But the people are lovely it's the Amalfi coast on the Tyrrenhian sea and 13 degrees centigrade in early February. Mustn't grumble.

Post 8: To Julian,my son.Happy Birthday Jules

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.

Post 7: Fogged in

Fogged in. A High is moving in across France but Gaillac is in a valley. Charly ( who's grandfather DID own a chocolate factory and so might Charly such is his disposition) and Alastair can't take off in the bumble-bee as it is strictly limited to flying VFR(visually) and since you get guillotined in France for walking on la pelouse they (and we) are stuck. To be fair we wandered up to the airfield mid-morning and couldn't see the end of the runway.Soupe.But of course by the time we'd had our,erm, 2nd glass of rose at lunch the sky was crystal clear. Hoping to get to Bastia in Corsica tomorrow. I shall wear my moon (survival) suit. Sam has pushed the plan B button. We shall enter Libya via Benghazi and not Tobruk. But there's a couple of 500nm legs over Gaddafi's back yard to the Sudanese border. So 5 litres of water each ( which for those kindly following this on the Flyermag website) will know nearly stuffs our Weight and Balance numbers. One litre=Ikg, 10 litres.......Stayed tuned

Post 6: Real flying

After our chaotic start yesterday we did a bit better today. We filed an IFR (instrument) flight plan and left Tours in light drizzle and low cloud slotted in between several pairs of fast French air force jets taking off in close formation. Probably instructors and pupils learning the magic art of precision flying, so close their wingtips seemed almost to overlap. Thrilling to watch. Le Top Gun. Them not me. The operations staff at Tours were welcoming, friendly efficient and helpful. They downloaded the weather for us at various airfields we might land at (Memo to MetOffice UK: get with the programme and check out some of the software the FrenchMet guys have. For starters try http://www.orbifly.com/member/metmap.php?lang=ENG ) found us a hotel, gave us a cup of coffee " Sorry,no tea. We are French.". They then sent us on our way with warm wishes for our onward journey through Africa " Vous allez OU?"..and promised to follow the blog. Merci les gars.

After an initial climb through cloud to 4000 feet we were cleared to 7000 feet (FL70) and emerged in blue skies between two layers, white and puffy underneath and thin stratus on top. Outside temperature was zero degrees Celsius but we hadly picked up any ice on the airframe. Alpha Charlie behaved impeccably. No battery tantrums today. Leaned the mixture and got less than 8.5  US gallons an hour most of the way. Very frugal. As we sped south at around 110 knots with a 35kt cross-wind, the skies above and ahead cleared and we caught sight of the Pyrenees about 150 miles ahead shimmering in a blue haze. It took my breath away.

Limoges had cloud down to 300ft. We could hear frustrated airline pilots chattering away at machine-gun speed in French to the tower. Definately not cricket. L'Anglais est obligatoire. I could tell you a story about a German pilot who went ballistic for being ordered to speak English at a German airfield but I won't. We might need their money.The French, bless their little croissants, just won't accept they've lost the battle for La Francophonie..no direspect to Voltaire et al.

Toulouse radar, anticipating our needs and reading our minds, quickly cleared us to our destination: Gaillac. Nice little wine attached to a town, tannic, fresh with a hint of herbs and spices. Grass runway. "Will you land VFR (visually). Cloud base maybe 1000ft, maybe.." he asked implying that we were bonkers. We did, John skillfully taking over just as we broke through over a green and damp landscape dotted with vineyards and woods, executing a perfect hard bank to the left to line up and brought her down on well-drained French soil.

Alastair ( ex-RAF chopper pilot and Captain Bird's Eye look alike) met us in his stately little Renault van with the push-pull gear-stick. Alastair and his friend Charly are joining us on the trip in Charly's kit-built dinky toy( compared to our Tonka). It's actually fast, has a range of 1000kms, sups Avgas in thimbelfulls, a parachute ( for the plane not them) and almost certainly a small wine cellar. Alastair used to own a vineyard. It's a brilliant little aircraft.

Steve arrives tonight from the UK. We head to Corsica on Sunday, then Corfu, Crete and almost certainly entering Africa at Tobruk in Libya, Rommel and Monty and all that. Sam the Man appears to have finally accepted the inevitable and canned the route through Egypt.

Post 5, Fog in channel but continent not cut off

After a number of false starts and the odd not wholly kosher promise Alpha Charlie finally set off to get through a narrow window of grim but not disastrous February weather in France on the first leg of her 18,000nm trip to Africa and back.
I got up feeling as close to suicidal as someone as obdurate as me can feel when the phone rang. Deus ex machina. John McGwynne, a ferry pilot and Cirrus instructor I'd never met who'd seen my distress flare sent the previous midnight called at 8:30 am to say he was free. Pilots are like that. Well, most pilots. Apart from the ones with Very Big Watches. John has 2300 hours in the bank, an instrument rating and a nice, open manner which suggested caution and experience and nothing to prove. Sometimes you just go with your gut. And mine was telling me this meeting was what Karl Jung called Synchronisity.or good karma. John is one of the good guys. Not, as some pilots can be, serial willie-wavers.
We meet an hour and a half later at Cranfield,  Then everything that could go wrong did. Flat battery; jump start; flat again; another jump start; avionics died one by one and the piece of paper we'd scribbled the flight plan on in haste (Rule One broken) was spun away by a nearby King Air starting up. We eventually took off half an hour late, IFR flight plan shot anyway, but with nice egg and cress sarnies from Cafe Pacific and some refreshing Cranberry juice on board.

Layers of stratus cloud over the channel, more muscular stuff over France but not quite CBs, moderately helpful French traffic controllers who seem to need to be spoon fed flight plans and are thrown if you want to divert. Mustn't grumble though. They produced the goods, warming us off Limoges and Poitiers and Toulouse (our hoped-for destination) which we would have reached after dark anyway which I didn't fancy. Weaving and dodging cloud at between 6-7000 feet, auto-pilot behaving itself. Engine leaned to around 8.5US gallons an hour. Purring along. I love Alpha Charlie. And I think she loves me. Shucks.

We eventually plumped for Tours, a semi-military airport. John took her into the Instrument Landing glideslope (one day I too shall be a grown-up pilot who can do that) and handed her over on finals. Greaser of alanding  if I say so myself. As we stepped onto the Apron 4 fast jets..Mystere or Raffale or somesuch, played about over the airfield like over-excited puppies chasing each other. No doubt a fly-past in our honour. Incredibly helpful airport staff. Handshake, fuel, hotel at air crew rates, taxi. I was wearing my gardening/flying suit so maybe that helped. ( Tomorrow Toulouse then Corsica and Corfu where Sam, our gruppenfuehrer, I suspect (and hope) will announce that flying a bunch of over excited penioners and some of their wives into the jaws of a revolution in Egypt while everyone else is headed for the exit may not be such a good idea not least for his business. ATC of the day is a joint award : Farnborough Lars and Paris Information. Man of the match is John. Thank you. Merci. And good night.