ROMANCING THE NORTH ATLANTIC WITH ROMEO¶

By Pat Thomas

It was cold and damp as I climbed into the cockpit of Romeo, my 1976 Grumman Tiger, N31RB, to start the long trek from Goose Bay, Labrador to Reykjavik, Iceland. The date was 7 October 1993, and this was to be the longest leg of my trip that had started in Albuquerque, New Mexico on 24 September. I hoped it would end in Cambridge, England within the next few days. I tried to make myself as comfortable as possible being wedged-in with the enormous 102 gallon ferry tank taking up the space where my copilot normally resides.

I was ready. My immersion suit was on up to my waist with the top half draped over the seat back. Behind me were the emergency life raft, a survival kit, and a portable ELT. The disassembled seats, extra oil, my personal survival kit, and odds and ends, were stowed in the baggage compartment and any other nook and cranny I could find. Positioned on top and strapped to the ferry tank was the HF radio (making visibility out the right window very difficult). My charts and food were secure under the straps holding the ferry tank to the cockpit floor. “This is it.” I thought, “Last chance to change my mind and let a professional ferry pilot fly Romeo over to England.”

We had been living in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where my wife, Jo, worked with the US Air Force as Director of the Family Support Center at Kirtland AFB. In June, Jo was offered and accepted a similar job at RAF Lakenheath, about a two hour drive northeast of London. I had been working as a flight instructor at Sandia Airpark; a small airstrip located about twenty miles east of Albuquerque. I also did part time instruction at the Kirtland Aero Club. What a decision for us! We had been living in the states for only four years, and before that, many years in Germany. This would be a three to five year stint, and we were getting tired of moving. But the lure of the British Isles was too much to turn down. We hoped to explore our histories, visit new places, see old friends and meet new ones. We wanted the plane with us to tour Europe, and let’s face it; I had just bought Romeo, my first plane, in October 1992.

As my first step, I contacted the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association (AOPA). I received about two inches of reading material including tips on preparing myself and the airplane, and articles from other pilots who had made the crossing. Also included was a copy of the Canadian regulations (they control all North Atlantic crossings). This was all free.

I purchased a current Atlantic Crossing Trip Kit from Sanderson Jepesson that included all the en route charts and approach plates I would need. Next I purchased a Trimble Flightmate Pro GPS, an invaluable navigation aid! I also contacted Aerofusion in Bangor, Maine, for the ferry tank and the required emergency equipment needed: an immersion suit, an HF radio, a four person life raft with canopy and attached survival kit, and an ELT that floats. The wire antenna for the HF radio ran from the right wing tip to just forward of the vertical stabilizer and then to the left wing tip. These items rent weekly and should be returned immediately after use to avoid additional rental costs. The ferry tank must be purchased. The 102-gallon tank I bought cost around $800 including installation and getting both US and Canadian ferry permits. Installation required removal of the right yoke, the copilot’s and the rear seats.

Insurance for the crossing can be difficult to obtain. I purchased mine, to include one year in Europe, through a very reliable insurance broker in Kansas. His name and number and other contacts are included at the end of this article.

On 24 September, Jo and I departed Albuquerque with a sad farewell to all our friends we were leaving behind. Two days later, after flying through some heavy IMC, we were in Michigan to visit with relatives. Then on 3 October I flew to Bangor.

Jo, meanwhile, stayed in Michigan for two more days, and then flew commercially to Baltimore to visit with our new grandson, who I’ve yet to see. A few days later, she flew commercially to England, arriving on 9 October.

It took almost three days getting Romeo and myself outfitted at Aerofusion. While there, I met Bill Bell; a professional ferry pilot who was having a Piper Arrow outfitted for a delivery flight to Germany. We agreed to meet at Goose Bay on 6 October, and make the Atlantic crossing together. With Bill was Eamon Reyaz, a resident of London, who had flown commercially to Bangor just so he could gain the valuable experience of flying the Atlantic with Bill.

On the morning of 6 October, I taxied on to the runway at Bangor with over 150 gallons of fuel on board and trepidation in my heart. I needn’t have worried. Romeo lifted off the runway as smooth as silk. Two hours later I landed at Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada, for customs and inspection for the crossing by the Canadian Aviation authorities. The inspection was thorough and lasted about an hour covering the condition of the airplane, navigation and survival equipment, and flight planning. They don’t like to see an engine with over 1,000 hours on it, and luckily, Romeo had only 110 hours SMOH. Only one ADF and a GPS is required for navigation, although next time I think I would feel safer with two GPS systems - one to use as backup. Then it was off to Goose Bay, Labrador; a four and a half-hour flight using GPS to fly direct, dodging more and more snow showers the closer I got to “The Goose”.

That evening after meeting up with Bill and Eamon, we planned our route of flight for the next day. I had originally planned to fly to Sondrestrom, Greenland, via Iqaluit and then on to Reykjavik. However, Bill had already received a detailed weather briefing that showed that a low front, with a heavy cloud layer from ground zero to about 14,000 feet, was stagnated over the southern-half of Greenland. It was forecasted to last for about three days. So much for my northerly route! The freezing level was forecasted to go no lower than 4,000 feet. So we decided that we would fly direct to Reykjavik - roughly a nine and a half hour flight covering over 1300 nautical miles. We reasoned that with the two aircraft flying together and with an autopilot in Romeo, it shouldn’t be too difficult. At least we would have the comfort of communicating with one another throughout the flight. I plugged the required reporting points into my GPS and had a restless night thinking of all that water I would be flying over.

A careful check with weather early next morning showed no change. We filed our flight plans and went out to our airplanes that were parked side-by-side on the ramp - only to find them completely iced over! It took an hour for the de-icing truck to arrive and then another half-hour to remove all the ice.

We took off with Bill and Eamon flying in the lead, albeit later than we wanted, to avoid as much night flying as possible. It was sunny, the air was smooth, and soon we were leaving land behind us as we headed out to sea. Initially I was having a difficult time keeping up with the Arrow, so we changed places so that I was in the lead, where I stayed for the remainder of the trip. It was interesting to note that after a while, I had to slow down somewhat so that the Arrow could keep up with me!

About an hour and a half out to the beacon, Prins Christian Sund, on the southern tip of Greenland, the expected clouds appeared. We dodged around and under them for some time, and then the freezing level began to drop, and drop again. Soon we were flying at 900 feet in the clouds to avoid the now 1,000 foot freezing level. So much for forecasting Mother Nature! We finally went down to 500 feet to see under the clouds (barely) and stayed at this level for about an hour. At one point, the turbulence was very bad. I felt that I was holding on for dear life - or so it seemed with my imagination-running wild flying so close off the deck! We diverted thirty miles south of the beacon to avoid any abrupt contact with landmass. However, I think I was more worried about hitting icebergs than anything else! We also experienced strong head winds, again not forecasted. At one point, my ground speed was 97 knots.

After passing Greenland, the air temperature began to rise, undoubtedly due to the influence of the Gulf Stream, and so did we. Now we saw icebergs through gaps in the clouds below us. We settled at 9,000 feet above a solid layer of clouds. After that, it was smooth sailing to Iceland with only tiredness and fatigue to fight. Night settled in and I used the rising quarter moon to help me navigate.

About a half-hour from Reykjavik, the engine suddenly died! I immediately switched over to the right main tank and the engine caught as quickly. As my heart rate started getting back to normal, I pondered over why the ferry tank had run dry. I’d flown roughly ten hours and used up 100 gallons; ten gallons an hour is a lot! I figured that with all the low-level flying we’d done and that at almost full throttle accounted for most of it. I had been experiencing about seven and a half gallons per hour fuel burn, but that was mainly in the Southwest where altitudes rarely got below 5,000 feet. I had used eight gallons per hour for my flight planning, calculating that I had at least twelve hours on the ferry tank plus six on the mains. It taught me a lesson in fuel management I will not soon forget!

We were soon in sight of Reykjavik. What a sight to behold! My first approach to the runway was too high, I guess due to my fatigue. So I let Bill and Eamon land while I made a go around and finally greased Romeo in on terra firma!

This leg took about ten and half-hours, an hour longer than planned. It sure felt good to be on land again! After checking into a very nice and reasonable Bed and Breakfast, recommended by Bill, we strolled downtown and had a late dinner. It was a pleasure to walk again, in spite of my sea legs. Sleep didn’t come easy though, reliving the flight and feeling as though I was still flying.

The next day, I parted company with Bill and Eamon, who flew on to Germany to deliver the Arrow, while I took the day to rest up and tour Reykjavik by bus. It’s definitely worth the stop! I hope someday to revisit this clean and picturesque city with Jo.

On Saturday, 9 October, after gassing up at only $2.08 per gallon at Reykjavik, I continued my trip, flying four hours to Vagar in the Faro Islands. What a beautiful surprise as I dropped below the clouds to 1,000 feet and saw mountains on both sides of me with their tops hidden in the clouds. I flew up the fjord and landed for lunch. Then it was off to Prestwick, Scotland. About an hour from Prestwick, night fell and I found myself flying through snow at 9,000 feet with the temperature at minus three degrees Celsius. Thank goodness, no icing. As I descended, the snow turned to rain and the temperature rapidly rose to above freezing. Still I experienced no icing. I landed in pouring rain. Here was this huge airport and my little aircraft was the only one in sight. What an eerie feeling! After taxiing to the ramp, I slid open the canopy and got soaked to the skin - a definite disadvantage of a sliding canopy. (It took over a week to get the inside of the cockpit dry.)

The next day, 10 October, I flew the short two and a half-hour flight to Cambridge. There I met Jo who had only just arrived in England the previous day. A week later, I flew Romeo to Shipdham airfield, where I hangared it until moving it to RAF Lakenheath in 1994.

In summary, the trip from Bangor to Prestwick took 28 flight hours and covered almost 3,100 nautical miles. The flight was definitely well worth it and I would do it again. However, I’d fly during the summer months. And I’d take a different route to avoid flying any one leg over five hours; ten and a half hours is a bit long for any flight! I enjoyed the trip with, I feel, a great sense of accomplishment knowing that only a very small group of pilots have undertaken such a flight.