Archives for July 2022

There is a phrase that was coined in Scandinavia, flyskamm, which means “flight shame.” It denotes the feeling of environmental sensitivity regarding carbon emissions for airline travel. Before I get into flyraseri, its alter ego, I ought to address a question that comes up regarding my glacier photography pursuits. Flying a Piper Cub or Super Cub is compared with jet aviation (invariably by someone who just returned from a 20-hour flight to New Zealand on holiday), and then I am asked: “How do you answer using aviation to photograph glaciers?” The answer has a thing or two to do with fuel consumption with each aircraft type and then we carry on.

I wonder which one uses less fuel….

Flyraseri, as I call it, known in English as “flight rage” is a thing. No, it is not unruly passengers on airliners, but rather the built-up tension that results from either not flying or, as I have come to understand, the tension around being in a new location and wanting to get up in the air as soon as possible. I first discovered it when I repositioned the Cub to Portugal some years ago. I returned to bring the car and other items some weeks later, tied to the formal arrival with our rental accommodation. The weather was not good, though I found myself in the air, wondering how I would get back down in a raging crosswind on a flooded coastal, downslope runway. I am still here, so that says something, though who knew that wet sand is that slick?

There was quite a problem that had concocted itself in Norway. While I could rejoice at bringing the Super Cub from almost Africa to Skien, Norway in May, the weather was not cooperating for my July arrival in Norway. We had the car ferry overnight from Denmark to Bergen, Norway planned, though forecasts indicated that the only day to make the 2-hour flight from Skien to Voss was on the day of arrival. I bought a ticket from Bergen to Sandefjord a week before, only to watch both the weather tighten and come to realize that I might have chosen a silly time. The ferry landed at 12:30, and the flight took off at 2:15. My refundable ticket proved to be useless, as a pilot strike meant other options were filled, so I either would get the plane or leave it….for a week. How ghastly to contemplate.

My wife questioned the merits of such a stressful endeavor. Can we get off the ferry and get to the airport in time? “You’re going to have me get to the house by myself? I have never been in Norway.” Ever the tender husband, I kindly suggested that she figure it out. “Would you have me leave the airplane for a week on the other side of the mountains?” Knowing the bull-in-heat tension that would bring, I found myself on a turboprop flight to Sandefjord at 2:15, then a bus, train, and car ride to Skien, where I took off into worsening weather to cross Europe’s largest above timberline plateau, the Hardangervidda.

The flight was a baptism in wind, lowering clouds, ice, rock, trees, and fjords. Norway is more impressive than I expected.

While I snuck in one hour before rain, that didn’t solve the tension that arose 4 days later. The rain has been quite bleak, to the point of Norwegians whining about it (who doesn’t love summer afternoons in the 40sF/9C?). A weather window materialized, so I set off into the hills, wedged down an utterly stunning fjord, over to the Sognefjord, the longest in Norway and second longest in the world. Perhaps it is even prettier when the weather looks like it is trying to kill you.

Norsjø.

Seljordsvatn.

Somewhere near Krossen. Doesn’t exactly look inhabited.

Hardangervidda Plateau. 

Røldajsvatnet.

Åkrafjorden.

Southern terminus of Folgefonna, a rather large glacier.

All of this is glacier ice covered under snowpack.

One outlet of the glacier. White smooth snow in the distance is still glacier.

The glacier is 25 miles long. Hardangerfjord to the right, Norway’s second longest. It goes around the glacier, out to the left (out of sight) and eventually to sea.

Hardangerfjord with Hardangerjøkulen glacier on the right horizon.

Vangsvatnet, approaching Voss.

Voss. The town was a hotspot for Nazi resistance, until the Luftwaffe bombed it April 1940. 

Four days later….near Oppheim, heading into the rainy hills.

…where I discovered Nærøyfjord, a UNESCO World Heritage site. I am flying at 2,700 feet above the water!

Over Sognefjord. An enlarged version of the image shows the longest electric span of wires in the world. I was at 2,700′, while wind reports at 3,806′ were 45kt. It was a tad like riding a bronco at times.

Time to turn around! The only way back is the way I came, which is the farthest water on the left, then down a long fjord to the right. On every flight after this, I have started wearing a lifejacket.

Nærøyfjord to the right. The only emergency landing option is the water. The fjord is up to 4,000 feet deep, depending on the location.

Heading up the Nærøyfjord. Two tiny emergency spots available. This fjord is one mile from the water to the top of the terrain.

While this field below looks suitable if need be, a boat tour through here revealed some different realities.

Approaching Voss from the north. Obviously ideal flying weather in the fjords and mountains…

Once I figured out that I was approaching 2,000 hours of flight experience, I developed an internal itch to do something daring. For some reason, I had not flown to Mont Blanc in over 7 months, despite adding a more powerful [and heated] aircraft to the fleet. I think I got distracted by the ability to fly 30 minutes after sunset, thus enjoying nearby sunset tones in the Bernese Alps. Anyhow, Mont Blanc was on the brain, so I decided to make a go for the summit in the PA-11.

I can probably count on one hand the number of times I have actually summited Mont Blanc. It takes 90-105 minutes to get there, of which 60-75 minutes are spent circling the mountain to gain altitude. The higher the airplane gets, the slower it climbs, requiring flirting with whatever ascending air can be found. That is probably the reason I keep things to 14,500’ and below most of the time, as the view is substantially good enough, and the workload is less. I suppose there could be some reticence wandering around in an ancient [unheated] taildragger more than halfway to Everest, but I digress.

I had one failed attempt due to weather. I thought it would be a chance to surmount some menacing clouds, only to turn the clock over at 2,000 hours while having to avoid some snow at the French border. This flight followed on the next reasonable day, which was augmented by the glory of towering cumulus and cumulonimbus in the background. Usually, the bad weather is hanging out over Mont Blanc itself, so it was nice this time to have it serve as a backdrop. It did seem to be on the march toward the summit, so after getting my jollies, it was out of the flight levels and back to earth.

French and Swiss borders at about 11,000 feet.

I am sure this is what Piper had in mind for the aircraft when they designed the PA-11.

Mont Blanc, from my common altitude.

Italiano side of the mountain at roughly 14,000 feet. 

Southeast face beneath the summit. The risk here is sudden wind doing something unfavorable, given the angled slope on the north side and massive vertical drop on the lee. I found a bit of lift ironically, so I ran with it.

While it looks like I am above the summit, I am about equal with it (15,771′). 

Now I am above it. 16,000 feet. Some lovely thunderstorms in the background accenting the image. Also note that the clouds on the west side of the summit have grown in just 5 minutes.

The summit clouded in as I was beginning my descent.

Plateau du Trient, Switzerland (ie, its a glacier). Clouds gently hugging on three sides.

Mont Blanc from the Bernese Alps. It is in the jumble of clouds on the center right horizon. Nothing sets one’s mind straight like a jaunt to an ice cap without a sufficient jacket. Life is good.

The original plan at Halmstad was to preventatively get ahead of an inspection and maintenance program for the Super Cub. I was quite relaxed at the idea of spending two nights in the same hotel room, where I could recharge before proceeding on for the last leg of the adventure.

The problem lay in the fact that the mechanic was 1000km away in northern Sweden.

Had we not discussed what was happening? Apparently, I was talking to a wall, or he took me for a fool. In any case, it is hard to do mechanical work (or at least to get mechanics to do paperwork) …. without a mechanic, so I gathered my things at 1:30PM, called a taxi, and returned to the aircraft.

Since Lolland Falster, Denmark, I had been retracing my steps in November when I ferried the plane south. The format continued, as I traced the exact path up the Swedish coast, over the border into Norway, over Oslofjord, and into Sandefjord/Torp to clear customs. This time, it was brilliantly sunny, which exposed what I was flying over last autumn, when I daringly went VFR on top for a ridiculous length of time: rocks and water, with little else. The entire landscape is a cheese grader when it comes to forced landings, though so be it. What one cannot see does not hurt him….

As expected, customs didn’t give a hoot about my entry into Norway and cleared me by phone for the final 20-minute flight to Skien. I could have been importing gold bars, unmarked bills, or crack, and nobody cared. Yet, as I wrote about on the original exodus from Scandinavia, I might as well have been engaging in human trafficking when customs found out that I dare leave Norway after having purchased an aircraft.

Skien is where the plane would be parked until my return for the summer later on, where it would get marshalled north into the fjord lands of Norway. More fun awaits, though in the meantime, my arse enjoyed the recovery period. 24 hours of flying should come with an automatic proctologist visit.

I can honestly say that flying from a stone’s throw to Africa direct to Scandinavia was not something that I had contemplated. Eight countries in one flight is a new personal record.

North of Halmstad. On the “road” again….

Southwest of Kungsbacka.

Källö Knipla.

Rönnäng. None of these names are familiar.

The cheese grater…rivjärn in Swedish…

Something of a needle in a Swedish haystack.

Approaching the border of Norway.

Oslofjord. Much less concerning when covered with clouds!

Holding east of Sandefjord for an incoming 737. I have had uglier places to hold…

No uranium on board…cleared by customs! Goksjø.

Base to final at Skien. Not ugly.