Show Me The Way To Go Home... (Part One)
by ANN Correspondent Kevin "Hognose" O'Brien
Flying the Atlantic, huh?
Me?
Well… in my
dreams. I have always thought a transatlantic flight was a matter
of great preparation and professionalism. Thanks to Captain Ed
Carlson and Sporty's, I might not be ready to emulate Lindbergh,
but I know that it's a matter of great preparation and
professionalism. Carlson is the star of one of the most interesting
and unusual videos Sporty's offers, Flying the North
Atlantic… SAFELY! I came back from AOPA Expo with this
DVD and watched it even before finishing my other write-ups. Who
among us didn't teethe on Lindbergh, Earhart, Corrigan, Alcock and
Brown? Who hasn't dreamed of crossing oceans in a light plane?
Ed Carlson has flown the Atlantic in light planes. Yeah, you
could say that… at the time he made the video he had done it
230 times (his count is now over 240). One of the reasons pilots
are smart people is that we like to learn from someone else's
experience when we can… and it would take years and years to
amass the kind of experience that Carlson imparts in this video
(after all, that's how long it took Ed). Ed boasts that 400 pilots
have attended his course… and he is quite proud that all 400
of them have not had an accident trying to fly the pond.
I have always wanted to
know more about lightplane intercontinental flights, and so when I
encounter a pilot who has just done it, like the Briton who ferried
a Wilga to the USA, or Steven Death (pronounced "Deeth" please) who
flew the Gippsland GA-8 across the Pacific for US certification
flight tests, I can never get enough of their stories. I didn't
know that a course existed, let alone ran near my home and was also
available on video and DVD, until Sporty's brought it to my
attention.
Ed's course is $295 now, with $39.95 for the workbook. So to get
the experience of sitting in Ed's classroom for the $89.95 (minus
5% AOPA discount) cost of a Sporty's video is a good deal all
around.
He looks at the basic parts of planning a flight, just like any
flight you'd plan responsibly: Preparation (of both Pilot and
Plane), Weather, Routes, Communications, and Emergency Procedures.
But every one of these things is qualitatively different from a
trip around the patch. The complexity and risks attendant on a
transatlantic flight put it in a whole new league.
Preparation of the Pilot
Preparation of the pilot is important. "You must be current,
know the numbers, know the airspeeds and know the fuel
consumption." Ed tells us that the people who have accidents tend
to be experienced, not first-time, pilots. "Most people realize how
much they don't know. Of course, if they're really brilliant, they
take my course!" A pilot flying the Atlantic must have a minimum of
a pilot license with an instrument rating. No instrument rating?
There is still a way you can still fly the Atlantic, even if your
rating is not complete. Get it all done but your cross-country, and
fly the cross-country across the Atlantic… of course, then
you have to hire Ed… but he's a current CFII/MEII and so you
can get your signoff in Europe. (Watch the eyes of your DE bug out
when he reviews your logbook!)
Apart from regulatory preparation, you need to think about
skills preparation (Ed recommends using flight simulator software
like Microsoft Flight Simulator [it's great, but I prefer X-Plane,
myself] to practice all the approaches to the airports on your
routes) and you need to think about comfort in the cockpit.
Ed also spends a bunch of time on safety and personal survival
gear… just in case. He even tells you how to dress (he
recommends wool, which of course insulates even if wet).
Preparation of the Plane
I thought there would be a great deal of information on ferry
tankage and fuel management. Nope. Ed seems to believe that pilots
should pilot and mechanics should do the mechanical stuff. "I
depend on the installer [of the ferry tank, for 337s and field
approvals] - there are two good ones." And yeah, he tells you
which one he uses. But he does describe in detail what the plane
needs. Almost any GA machine needs added fuel tankage, because, you
see, while normal IFR and VFR reserves are a matter of minutes,
Atlantic standards require three hours of reserve fuel on arrival
at your flight-planned destination. This large padding is there to
protect you from the North Atlantic's gnarly and fickle
weather.
Ed recommends a compression check before this flight (who could
argue with that?) Ed is also a dyed-in-the-wool believer in engine
oil analysis. "That's gonna take about two weeks…. But have
the oil analysis done to see what's going on inside the airplane.
That'll cost you another ten or fifteen dollars, but… that's
your insurance policy." I don't blame him for drumming on
this. When I was a kid my father had this done so routinely that I
was astonished to learn that it wasn't required, and that some
operators didn't do it. Even if you don't fly over open water, it's
a dirt-cheap way to keep your fingers on the pulse of your engine
(and you can even run an engine being used in Part 91 not-for-hire
well past factory TBO - although I'm personally leery of this. I
want to get glider rated some day but I wanna do it in a factory
glider).
He also recommends a couple more inexpensive measures: a new
fuel cap and oil dipstick gaskets. "A big investment of three or
four dollars - might save your life…. Get the oil changed in
New England. And take along with you, three or four oil
filters."
Weather
Ed's caution is welcome, and it's sobering to learn that this
man with literally thousands of hours of single-engine
transatlantic time still sets and maintains ironclad personal
limits. He wants VFR at his destination field, and a forecast
of VFR for days. "Severe VFR," he says, and repeats at every
appropriate moment. Some of the enroute fields are notorious for
going to zero-zero, and Ed's a bit skeptical of Jepp weather and
weather faxes. "The information from Greenland goes to Denmark,
then to Brussels, then to Jeppesen. By the time it gets faxed to
you it's five hours old." Ed says that like five hours is a matter
of life or death. Of course, in this instance, it is. He gets his
Jepp weather but doesn't put complete faith in it.
What he does believe in is the telephone. "Don't go unless you
call… and unless it's severe VFR." "Check the weather.
Then check it again. Did I tell you to check the weather? Well,
check it a third time. Then call ahead and make sure it's going to
be severe VFR." When Ed's voice puts on its Captain hat like this,
I sit up straighter in my chair and pay close attention. "I've
turned around…" he thought for a minute - "three
times… if in doubt, and I was in doubt, I made a 180 and
went back to Goose Bay and landed. I went out the next day. Did
that prove anything? Not really - well, in one sense I have,
because I'm still here!"
Ed also looks into the intricacies of European weather
reporting, and uses this as another drum to beat out his message of
safety: don't go if the weather can go bad on you. He tells the
tale of a very experienced ATP who perished in a Baron because he
launched with Greenland in IMC and arrived with Greenland not only
IFR, but zero-zero. If he says it once he says it a dozen times,
fly when the weather is VFR and expected to stay that way.
Routes
And this brings us to routes. The machine you are flying will
narrow your choices of route you take. In navigation textbooks,
there are more routes, but Ed recommends three transatlantic
routes. The three routes are:
The southern route
This goes from St. John's, Newfoundland, to Santa Maria, Azores,
to Portugal. It has only two legs. This route is not for the faint
of heart (or short of leg) because the first leg runs 1500 nm and
the second just under 1000, all over water. Examples of machines
traveling on this leg might be a Citation, Conquest or similar
long-legged, multiengine machines. "This is for the big
iron…. Not for your diesel J3 Cub on a single float," Ed
quips.
The middle route
This goes from Goose Bay, Labrador, to Narsarsuaq at the tip of
Greenland( 676 nm), to Reykjavik, Iceland (657 nm) to Wick,
Scotland (674 nm). I can personally recommend Reykjavik for
its "tree zoo." You see, because trees are not native to Iceland,
there is an arboretum in town where you can pay to see them. Come
to think of it, I can also recommend Reykjavik for more beautiful
women per square foot than anywhere else I've been - but then, I
was always partial to blondes anyhow). This is not only the middle
route in latitude, but in the planes that will travel it. The three
legs of the trip are about equal in length, and machines on this
route might include 210s, 310s, Aztecs, Barons, etc.
The northern route
This one goes from Sept Îles, Quebec, north to Kujiak (489
nm), to Iqaluit (née Frobisher, 355 nm), to Sondrestrom in
Greenland (477 nm) to Kulusuk (342 nm), to Reykjavik (385 nm) to
Wick in northern Scotland (674 nm). This route is best for
small single-engine planes; Even a Cessna 150 or a Husky can be
flown on this route (although you will need a ferry tank to meet
the three-hours reserve requirement). On the Northern route you
also don't need an HF radio; you'll be able to make position
reports in the normal aircraft UHF band.
I have flown on all the atlantic routes he describes as a
passenger in military aircraft, and they do bring you to some
exotic airfields (although I think I always went into Keflavik, not
Reykjavik). In some seasons, you get some pretty exotic weather,
too. Funny, but at the time I never thought of the trip as being
part of the adventure.
To Be Continued....
ANN's Daily Aero-Linx (04.13.24)
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