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Sweden to Spamfield and back – in a DTA Voyageur 582 – by Anna Markey
Links> 1. Sweden to Spamfield | 2. Spamfield to Sweden | 3. Flight Summary
I was roused from my eventual doze at around 0530 by the sound of aircraft departing. I felt totally exhausted. I got up slowly, longing for strong coffee and a good fry-up, but that was wishful thinking. Making it to England had been wonderful, but now I was faced with the long trip back and I wished there was some way out.
Paul turned up on cue at 0730, looking like he’d had a better night than me. Just his kit to pack away and we’d be off. I taxied forlornly from our position near the windsock all the way down the taxiway to runway 23. I really didn’t want to go. Maybe I was dawdling, because when I lined up on the runway I noticed a long line of trikes in turn behind me. ‘Sorry’, whoever you were, for holding you all up.
We took off and headed northwest. The water temperature gauge rose quickly to over 100 degrees and I levelled out in alarm. It was the first time it had done that the entire trip. (We had covered up part of the radiator since the outward trip). The temperature settled back down and I breathed a sigh of relief.
We were on our way, and the nerves settled down. Our time to Shoreham was quicker than expected and my first radio call was met with ‘please call back after we have opened at 0830’. After landing we refuelled and filed a flight plan quickly for Calais. Then we continued eastwards, past Lydd and towards Dover, before coasting out into the gloom. Before we knew it the crossing was over and one of my biggest fears was behind me. Maybe I could now start to relax.
At Calais we stopped for a breather and enjoyed some jambon baguettes in the cafeteria. It looked like they were setting up for a big Sunday lunch for local families. People were arriving in their Sunday best, and I felt a bit scruffy in my flying gear. I filed the flight plan for Midden Zeeland, which was our intended stopping point for the day. I made a point of writing very clearly: Flexwing Microlight (Deltaplane) with Transponder Mode S. I did not want to risk the wrath of Ostende Tower, since I might not get away with being an unannounced ‘Deltaplane’ a second time.
The flight plan was accepted so I deemed it OK to depart. Paul was in the front seat. We passed the now familiar landmarks on the Belgian coast – the great ports and beaches – and made our way in the sunshine towards Holland. We called up Midden Zeeland and it was nice to go and land there again. But I was already thinking about Lelystad.
Although we had already reached our planned stopping point for the night it felt pointless to waste the good weather so I got hold of and meticulously studied the airfield procedures for Lelystad to ensure we would approach the correct microlight runway this time. It was a short, low approach onto a 400 meter strip, landing towards a row of high trees. A little bumpy, and the grass was rather rough. We taxied to refuel with the airport about to close and managed to get rooms in the airport hotel, run by a very friendly local pilot who took a close interest in our trip and made us very welcome.
In the morning, with weather still warm and sultry, we made our way to the microlight strip for takeoff. I lined up and didn’t like what I saw. The strip just didn’t look long enough as I recalled our struggle to climb on some previous departures. Paul is normally fairly laid back, but even he was expressing doubts. After some debate I called up the tower:
‘Lelystad Tower, may we use the main runway?’
Tower (abruptly): ‘S-FV, negative - you have to use the grass runway’.
I considered this answer for a few moments and tried again:
‘Lelystad, for safety reasons, may we use the main runway?’
Long pause. Then:
Tower: ‘S-FV, why can’t you use the grass?’
I thought for a moment. ‘It looks rather short and we are heavy’.
There was another pause as this information was digested. Then they came back to me:
‘S-FV, ok you may taxi to the tarmac runway.’
Phew! - huge relief all round. Paul thumped me on the back and I thanked them heartily and taxied the long way back to the tarmac.
Take off from here was a breeze of course. We were glad to be airborne and on our way back to Leer Papenberg. The wind and thermals were picking up and a tricky landing ensued. A quick stop here and onto the next leg to Rendsburg, a variation from our outward trip. It was home to friends of mine, two commercial pilots who are regular visitors to Orsa Tallhed in Sweden. Sinja and Reiner had pre-arranged to meet us and put us up for the night in case we couldn’t continue. Soon after landing and refuelling we noticed the aircraft rock around alarmingly as the sky filled with big cumulus. A friend in ATC was expressing concern for us. We put the DTA swiftly into a hangar with Reiner’s Lancair. I had a pretty good idea that would be it for the day.
We spent that evening at Sinja and Reiner’s house near Hamburg as a massive CB filled the area for miles around. Apparently, it was the same further north and in Denmark. I was glad we had stayed. I filed the flight plan by phone for our next leg in the morning: back to Roskilde, Denmark.
In the morning I noted the clouds shooting across the sky. Apart from that it was a nice sunny day. Windy and turbulent: just great. Some delays ensued and we got to the airfield around 0930. By the time the aircraft was prepared, the morning was getting on and the wind was picking up further. We took off and I noted the strongest winds of our trip so far, with clear white streaks on the local waterways. It was alarming but forecast to improve as we progressed north west. I was rather relying on it.
Visibility was poor, with patchy cloud as low as 200 feet in places. At the first Danish water crossing - the ‘Lillebaelt - we picked a hair-raising path through the mist. After that it improved dramatically to CAVOK before the ‘Storebaelt’ and the longest water crossing at the suspension bridge. With a merciful tailwind, the crossing time was noticeably shorter than on the outbound trip.
The wind speed had dropped to around 15 knots, but it was a bumpy ride the remaining way to Roskilde. I was glad when we arrived. After landing and refuelling, we secured the aircraft in the lee of the fuel office. I did not know how long we would be here, but I intended a longish stop with lunch while we waited for the wind to drop. However a succession of helicopter arrivals meant I was reluctant to leave the aircraft unattended, so one of us had to remain with the aircraft at all times. I let Paul go first and asked him to check out the café. He came back with double bad news: the café was closed today and the coffee/snack machine took only Danish kronor (which we didn’t have).
It was my turn to visit the terminal building and I wanted to start planning. The wind had increased since our arrival and was gusting hard. I figured we would be here for several hours, if not overnight. Just at that moment I encountered Chris Dawes in the pilot briefing room. It’s a small world. Chris was on his way to Stockholm in a twin engined light aircraft. He was also muttering about food and Danish currency. We exchanged some comments about the weather and then I went to relieve Paul of aircraft-sitting duty.
Chris departed shortly afterwards and thoughtfully poured some small change into my hands: enough Danish kronor to buy a couple of packets of crisps. That looked like being dinner. I had managed to beg a couple of coffees from the airfield staff. Finally there were signs of the wind abating and confidence increased that we would be leaving that evening.
I had decided to fly to Halmstad as our next leg, and first stop back in Sweden. The airfield was close to the town, so we should be able to get accommodation fairly easily despite our late arrival. Furthermore, the airfield was open until 2200.
We departed Roskilde at around 1900 and set off to the north west of Copenhagen. The air felt great: bouncy but no longer rough. It had been worth the wait. We made the crossing at Helsingor and the evening was golden and gorgeous as we flew over Swedish countryside again. It was mainly agricultural land here and we would not reach the forests and big lakes until another day. I was a bit concerned however about the wind strength which seemed to have picked up again on the coast.
We joined left base and the turbulence became extreme. As I flew along the runway the controller noticed my difficulty and called up: ‘if you are having trouble landing you can take the grass strip coming up on the right.’ I gratefully accepted, turned sharp right and landed on grass runway 24, more or less into the wind. Taxying pass the ‘Flygclub’ I noticed an open hangar and after fuelling asked if we could put the trike away for the night: I was not sure about the weather for tomorrow.
We were given the hangar and I counted my blessings at having this facility: it was going to save the day for longer than I suspected. The two local pilots who assisted us with this also found us a B&B for the night – an authentic Swedish converted farm building. This was another godsend at what was becoming a late hour. We found a takeaway and caught the end of the England-Sweden match. Everyone had been so charming I was glad it was a draw.
The following morning the forecast showed a succession of fronts were upon us, with more on the way. Potentially it was already too late but we got the trike ready hurriedly and took off. The cloud cover was low and the wind increasing. At the 5-minute mark - the start of a forested and hilly area - I judged the cloud base too low over the trees to risk it.
Reluctantly I called up the tower and we returned, which is when I fully appreciated the strength of the wind: it seemed like an age to get back. With the aircraft back in the hangar we went off to consult the weather charts again. The full use of the flying club facilities made our delay more bearable. I hoped there might be a gap in the weather fronts that we could sneak through, but whenever it was clear here, it was clagged in at our next stop, Jonkoping, and vice versa.
In the afternoon some local GA pilots turned up. They were trying to convince us that now would be a good time to try again, before things got even worse. Apparently cloudbase had risen to 2000 feet and it was clear at Jonkoping. I looked out doubtfully, but we had been hanging around for hours and I convinced myself to try again. Out came the aircraft for a second time and on went our kit. The wind was gusting up but I decided to tolerate the turbulence if the cloudbase was sufficient. Took off and instantly regretted it. Cloud base was indeed better but the turbulence was intense. I turned back for a second time. After landing straight across the grass strip we put the aircraft away again I resolved not to listen to any more ‘advice’. We were going nowhere today. And nor the next, as it turned out, with the winds declining to abate.
The third day in Halmstad was Friday 24th June and Swedish ‘Midsummer Eve’. Everyone would be out partying, and we were stuck in Halmstad and missing all the fun. I looked out of the window at 0700 and went straight back to bed. We wouldn’t go anywhere until at least late afternoon.
At the flying club later I studied the weather again, and a new concern dawned on me: Halmstad had closed for the midsummer weekend. How many other fields would be closed tomorrow and how would that affect our ability to get fuel? I started to ring up various airfields en route, and my worst fears were confirmed. Most had already closed for the weekend.
Eventually, I formed a plan around those fields which I could find open – mostly big commercial airports. Firstly, we had to fly to Jonkoping that evening and get fuelled up. They would be open until 0700 the next morning. We would have to depart before 07.00 am, or be stuck there for 24 hours without facilities. When the wind finally died down, late evening, we departed Halmstad. Approaching Jonkoping the wind was still strong, due to the airfield’s position on a high plateau of land, overlooking Lake Vatten.
After landing around 10.00 pm – still in bright sunlight - we fuelled up as usual and decided the trike would have to stay outside overnight. We found a sheltered spot with the help of some ground crew. The problem of overnight accommodation was now upon us: the nearest town was some miles away. I asked the ground crew if there was anywhere we could stay at the airport. I indicated the hangar floor, the refuelling shed and anywhere in fact that would save us the hike into town. I told them we would sleep upright in the trike if necessary. I think they actually believed me. There was some discussion, and then a ‘follow us’. We went to a building attached to the hangar. They told us there was a bed there we could have. Only one bed. I squeaked, ‘we need two beds’. It was not a demand, nor a request, just a statement of fact. More discussion in Swedish ensued. Then another ‘come with us’. They took us in their van a short drive to the fire headquarters, where there were 2 rooms and beds available. I could hardly believe it. Toilets and a kitchen were next door too. My hearty thanks felt completely inadequate.
We set the alarms for 0500 am and had a breakfast of strong coffee. The next leg was already planned for Nykoping, otherwise known as Stockholm Skavsta and the biggest airport of the trip. As we departed we watched a Skyways jet bound for Copenhagen taxying from the apron. We turned right as instructed and continued watching as the jet rolled down the tarmac and climbed, turning left away from us.
Approaching Skavsta I called them early, to banish the doubts in my mind that they really would accept us. We were offered the grass strip, but it was well out of wind, so I opted for the main runway – all 2 km of it. It was bumpy on short final and so focussed was I on the controls that I failed to respond to the initial tower call: ‘S-FV cleared to land’. However the second ‘S-FV cleared to land’ prompted me to gabble, ‘Cleared to land FV’, amidst grappling with the turbulence.
After fuelling we were given parking at Stand 6. A big jet was taxying in at the same time and I hoped we would not get swept away. No danger, we were kept well apart. We felt like midgets on the stand. Paul was escorted into the terminal building, whilst I fixed a few items on the trike. A police woman took an interest and asked to see my passport. It was the first time anyone had asked for this, except on arrival at Lydd. I explained we had already been in Sweden for 3 days at Halmstad. Then Paul turned up again, and there was much confusion as he tried to explain how he had flown from England to Sweden, to fly with me to England in the trike, and then we had flown back again, and that he would be flying back to England from Stockholm Vasteras. ‘Today?’ enquired the police woman, as though we were talking about a day trip. We tried to explain it all again. Thinking about it afterwards, it took some believing.
We had a lunch break at Skavsta to make up for missing dinner the night before and breakfast that morning. I guessed we looked a bit out of place in our Ozee suits and slightly dishevelled appearances, amidst the passengers awaiting their flights to London or Frankfurt.
Soon afterwards, we departed for the last but one leg, back to Borlange: our first stop on the outward trip. We had arranged for a friend to meet up there with fuel to get us back to Orsa. The wind had picked up again and was rolling off the hills across the grass runway. I landed at 90 degrees to the strip and was glad to be down. I spotted a hangar door open near the flying club and taxied over. We were going to have a rest.
At Borlange we found coffee, snacks and comfy sofas to relax on. I felt strangely lethargic and reluctant to make the last leg to Orsa. The wind looked evil. Later on, the clouds started to break up and the sun came out. Suddenly I remembered how often big CBs develop at Orsa in late afternoon.
With a sudden sense of urgency I woke up Paul: we should depart as soon as possible. The wind had swung round a little, and caused even more turbulence off the trees. I cursed as the trike became airborne but hardly seemed to climb. We were all the way down the length of the runway before I could even turn. We crossed the end of the Siljan Lake, our first big landmark near ‘home’. There was only one CB visible, on the western side of the lake. Soon we would be able to see Orsa airfield, a huge expanse of grass, shining in the distant sunlight amidst the forest. At last it came into view. As we progressed I noticed the cloud shadow from the CB was creeping closer to the airfield. In fact, it was not clear which of us would arrive first. I pulled some speed: this was a monster developing. I watched the cloud shadow gathering pace as the sunshine receded. Unprintable words came to mind: for once, I did not have a Plan B. The nearest alternate was Mora airfield and that was already engulfed in heavy rain.
Finally it looked like we would make it before the rain came. ‘Glad to be back’ would be an understatement. I wanted to put the aircraft away and not worry about early morning starts, planning, logistics, permissions, flight plans or where-to-buy-2-stroke-oil for quite some time. I was told there would be a reception party of various friends waiting at Orsa airfield, but when we flew over the clubhouse the car park was empty. I pulled off the best landing ever before realising there wasn’t a single witness, bar Paul. The grass had grown in the 2 weeks since we departed and the airfield resembled a meadow. We taxied among the harebells and daisies to the hangar. Stumbling out of the trike I looked at Paul and said ‘oh well’. I did not know what else to say. Seconds later the first drops of rain began to fall. I wondered what the hell I had done with the hangar key. My brain was a blank: it had gone into STBY mode. I managed to pull out my mobile and called a friend:
Me: ‘I’m back, where are you?’
Friend: ‘We’re in the bar’.
Me (gabbling): ‘It’s-starting-to-rain-and-we’re-going-to-get-soaked-and-I’ve-lost-the-hangar-key ……’
Friend: ‘Hang on, we’re coming’.
Minutes later a small entourage of friends arrived. We were hugged and congratulated, but all I wanted was to put my lovely machine away and for my responsibilities to be over. I had that anti-climatic feeling all over again, but I knew there was a cure: ‘where’s the bar?’ I asked. Amazingly, it was Midsummer’s Day in Sweden.
Links> 1. Sweden to Spamfield | 2. Spamfield to Sweden | 3. Flight Summary
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