UniformCharlie
Final leg back to Germany - or just about (still Saturday, 18 June 2005)
So we took off from Shoreham. I was quite sad. It wasn't the way we had planned it. How does LP call it? The "get-home-atitis" or something like that ... when you MUST get back. And that was something we had sworn we would not do. And we were right in the middle of it!
Outbound Shoreham we cut inland. The last exciting bit was flying over Battle before hitting Lydd Aerodrome. I am ever so glad we did not make it our customs entry point. It looks such a forbidden place from the air. Although the people on the phone were very friendly when I had made enquiries during our prep. I then felt my mouth go dry. Looking ahead was a thick thick haze. We both went very quiet. Very unusual for us ... both of us. We were in a position neither of us wanted to be in. Pushing to get back, flying into weather conditions that we would normally avoid, because it's just no fun! Look at this:
Visibility was fine, miles and miles, as long as you had something to refer to on the ground. Once the ground was swept from under you it was a different kettle of fish:
I remember LP saying something like "fishing in deep water". We both kept our eyes glued to the instruments, but there aren't that many in GT. Silently we kept pointing out boats to each other as references for altitude, attitude and our "general well-being" as to what was "top" and what was "bottom".
What made us really aware of the situation was a website we had read about pilots on the south coast who frequently crossed the Channel. One of them wrote that it became iffy once you could no longer define the difference between sky and water.
All the time though I was never afraid, I did not panic. LP decided to cross at an altitude much much lower we had initially intended. So we always saw the sea below us. Interesting how comforting that could be. Also, I trusted LP and knew that he would turn around would I express only the slightest doubt about it all. We would then have thought out something different, either shorter crossing or sit back and wait.
Anyway, it was over relatively quickly. And as soon as we were over land again, the haze disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared on the other side. By now we had had a friendly "bon jour" from the French FIS guys. Very quiet on their frequencies compared to the UK.
Usual thing now. We used our old pencil line from the Monday before and followed it past St. Omer, Merville Calonne, Lille, to Charleroi.
If you look closely at the photo you can see GT's shadow at the bottom right with a big Ryanair taxing towards RWY 07:
So it was a bit like coming home. We knew where the fuel was. Where the toilets were. Where we had to pay out landing fees. But we did not know that we both had to show our passports. And that was cruicial for the rest of our day's plan.
Ok. So we refuelled. I chatted up the fuel station guy and he took me up to C to sign for the landing fees. Luckily I took my naff see-through plastic zipper bag with me - which LP despises so much! It held all sorts of things. Money, credit cards, chewing gums, extra pens, pencils, receipts collected over the days, driving license and passport. I signed for the landing fees, GT was already in their computer! Like one of the big ones! I was proud of her! 
LP had sent me with the friendly fuel guy because my French was better than his and because it was a pick-up and only had one passenger seat 
. Now my French was put to the test. I was escorted in a very friendly way across the hall, up some stairs, down some stairs ... into a big bare room with THREE policemen who all stared at me. I grinned sheepishly and did not know what to say apart from "Bon jour". They kept staring! Then one of them shot off some French which - once it had run it past my brain a second time - was something like: "You have just arrived from the UK. That is a non-Schengen-country. You must show your passport." Ok, out comes my naff plastic bag with the passport. With two policeman still staring at me, I handed over my passport which he scrutinized to the last page and then he popped it under a scanner. "Votre pilot aussi doit presenter son passeport!" Aaaaahhhhhh, ohhhhhhh, how gooooooood thaaaaaaaat sounds! MON pilote! MY pilot! 
LP is going to like that. So back down the apron with the friendly fuel guy to get MY pilot. He wasn't happy, MY pilot! Not sure whether it was because we would lose another 20 mins on our time plan, whether he felt abandoned without his French-speaking support or whether he had acquired the title of "MY pilot" . When MY pilot came back, we hopped in and took off like there was no tomorrow.
We were now under real pressure to get back. We had to get to Mannheim. Our home field was closed due to a cart race. I called WW from Charleroi to see whether he could pick us up in Mannheim that night, I would be in touch later to tell him how we were getting on.
Half way across the Ardennes realisation set in: We weren't gonna make it! No way, Jose! Out came the charts, the books and any reference material we had. We considered Luxemburg. No! Any of the small German fields on the Luxemburg border. No! EDFH - Frankfurt-Hahn! Yes! Funnily enough we never have any arguments about these decisions. From then on the flight was a dream. No hassle, no pressure, we knew where we were going and that was it. Nothing we could do about. And we were awarded with a beautiful sunset, flying low and slow towards Hahn:
Shortly after, another motorglider passed over us. I would have liked to know who they were, where they were going to ....
Eventually we called Hahn TWR and slid onto the runway between two Ryanairs - after TWR ATC wanted us to confirm whether we were really a Delta -KILO ..... KILO being the denominator for motorgliders. Oh, yes, we were!
A sight that you don't get everyday. Full runway lights ... and .... the PAPI spot-on: two red, two white! "Ober-affen-geil" or rather a bit more sedate "cool" .
What a day!