Voyage of the Southern Sun by Michael Smith

Author:Michael Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Schwartz Publishing Pty. Ltd

A dozen Sligo pilots and their friends gathered the next morning for the Sun’s departure. They helped me fuel up, polish the screens and top up the brake fluid. A minced beef bun from a nearby fair was provided as in-flight catering. Two local aircraft, John’s Searey and a perfectly restored Piper J-3 Cub, were waiting in the air to see me off, and took the only airborne photographs and video I have of the Sun in flight.

I was deeply touched by this farewell. The Irish flying community had shown me great support, boosting my confidence. Somehow it made the trip feel like more than just a personal mission. When I met some of the people following my journey, I felt a sense of connection that meant I did not want to let them down. In John, I suspected, I had made a lifelong friend.

My original plan had been to fly to Iceland via the Faroe Islands, a self-governing territory overseen by Denmark. After choosing that route a few weeks earlier, I looked up the island’s weather records. More often than not, cloud completely covered the Faroes down to 300 feet; trying to land in conditions like that would be like high-diving into a metre of water.

Plan B was to follow the west coast of Scotland until I ran out of land, and then head straight for Reykjavík, the capital of Iceland. Although that would involve a lot more time over the sea, the route would have two advantages: a healthy tailwind, which would increase my speed and reduce fuel usage, and two alternate landing sites if the weather turned bad, Stornoway, on the Isle of Lewis, the largest island in the Outer Hebrides, or, if I was really desperate, Vágar, the largest island in the Faroes.

The coastal flight was pleasant. But by the time I crossed into Scottish airspace, it was touch and go as to whether I could get to Reykjavík before its airport closed. As I was flying along the remote Scottish west coast, I had a phone signal coming in and out, which meant I could use the internet to check the weather at Vágar airport. The cloud there was between 300 and 800 feet, and it was raining so hard you couldn’t see anything. No thanks, I thought. Scotland it is.

The diversion was a great excuse to check out the Isle of Lewis. Like so much of Scotland, it is ruggedly beautiful and packed with physical history, including stone circles, old castles and prehistoric stone towers known as brochs. Stornoway, the main city, has a stunning castle that at the time I visited was being turned into a museum, and a very busy harbour which was home to a professional fishing fleet and many visiting yachts. There was even a yacht Anne and I had seen transiting the Caledonian Canal at Loch Ness two weeks earlier.

On our trip to Scotland a couple of weeks earlier, I had visited an innovative cinema I’d read about years before.

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