Halfway around the World in 40 Days E-Book

Kathrin Kaiser

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 741

Beschreibung

With meticulous preparation spanning 20 months, I embarked on my journey with a hundred items packed, ready to traverse from Germany to the West Coast of America. My quest was to explore the world, immerse myself in diverse cultures, uncover the mysteries of Eskimo cuisine, and confront the legendary and feared Faroe Islands. Although faced with numerous dangers, genuine fear gripped me only once. Yet, the thought of surrender never crossed my mind. During long, perilous flights over icy expanses, unexpected encounters with whales reassured me that my choices were right. My little red plane startled seals on ice floes, touched down on closed runways, approached erupting volcanoes, and soared over the residences of American ex-presidents. The physical and mental strain led to significant weight loss, but each challenge was met with unwavering determination. A timely intervention by a policeman rescued me from an awkward situation and narrowly avoiding an illegal parking charge for an airplane added to the adventure. A windfall in Las Vegas provided enough funds for a barrel of AvGas in Canada, yet I squandered fees at an FBO for a simple hug after a particularly taxing flight. In Iceland, aggressive birds and a night in a dubious hostel were I narrowly escaped. From flying over the polar ice in the Arctic to crossing the Nevada desert, I navigated through icy clouds, turbulent Rocky Mountains, persistent headwinds, inclement weather, phone malfunctions, and technical breakdowns. Scarcity of aviation fuel, unavailable hotel rooms, and the absence of internet were commonplace challenges. A surreal encounter with a fata morgana added to the unpredictable journey. Landings consistently led to new friendships and unexpected assistance. Flying, I realized, is a skill, but the decisions made during such a journey transform a person. This expedition made me feel more alive than ever before, a personal and self-discovery odyssey where I learned invaluable lessons that theory alone could never teach. It was a genuine adventure, perhaps one of the last of its kind, and I would embark on it again without hesitation.

Leseprobe

From my daring solo flight in a small propeller plane over the Atlantic, the pack ice and the desert

In the end, it's the magic of risking everything for a dream you only know yourself. My summer brought me ice floes and rattlesnakes, and it smelled like gasoline. I flew halfway around the world, was alone with angels and demons over the Atlantic, and when I survived that, the first thing I did after arriving was to kiss the ground in relief....

Now that you know how this story ends, you could close the book and put it aside. But then you would never know all the exciting, frightening and wonderful things that happened to me on the way between the pack ice and the desert, as I experienced the true adventure of a summer.

Come on, I'll take you for a ride and tell you about it. But be warned, it's like a roller coaster ride so you had better buckle up.

For Silas und Maxim

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Prologue

Just look at this sea of dense fog below me. Isn't it frightening and beautiful? I can't get enough of this sight. As far as the eye can see, everything is white. The sun is reflected so strongly that I have to put on my aviator glasses. If you block out the worry of whether the way down is really free of clouds at the end of the flight, then you can enjoy it in all of its glory. Above me, the sky is brilliant blue and I'm flying at an altitude of 2.5km above this closed cloud cover, which in turn is stuck motionless above the North Sea almost directly on the surface of the water. The last time I saw land was an hour ago, when I was climbing over Baltrum, the smallest of the German North Sea islands. Half an hour ago I also saw the sea before the fog swallowed everything. For the next two hours, I expect nothing but this image, which presents itself to me right now. As if an oversized blanket was spread out on the sea, hiding everything underneath, like the offshore islands and the wind farms, where not a single wind blade was turning that day.

But the ships have also disappeared under the blanket of fog. How it must feel to be on the deck of one of these ships, in the cool, gray, damp fog, and have to do the work? If their engines are off, the sailors might hear me right now and wonder what's flying overhead, and they look up but can't see anything except a murky soup. And I don't see them either, but I imagine they're down there. Otherwise, it would feel like I'm all alone in the world. At least I'm all alone in my plane. But there is the voice of the controller in my headset, handing me over to the next frequency, because I have just left German territory and am now in the airspace of the Kingdom of Denmark. From now on, I radio in English and I need a moment to prepare myself. Inside, I go over the introductory phrase again before pressing the button and saying, "Copenhagen Information, Delta Echo Echo Hotel Alpha, Grumman Alpha Alpha five, one PoB, VFR Flight from Echo Delta Wiskey Fox to Echo November Zulu Victor, with flight plan, Position DOROR in flight level eight five with Squak seven thousand." It is still an unusual feeling to hear myself talking like this, after all, the English language was completely foreign to me until three years ago, as I had only learned Russian at school.

It was only through flying that I was inevitably confronted with it, and because it was already clear to me at that time that I would definitely like to fly beyond the borders. I was highly motivated from the beginning to achieve the English voice radio certificate. Of course, the standardized phrases are only one thing. But I quickly realized what a great asset it is to be able to communicate in English, because it opens up a whole new set of doors and makes it much easier to connect with people all over the world. The lady from the Danish Air Traffic Control only gives me a new squawk, which I immediately turn in and confirm to her and she otherwise leaves me alone. How should she know about my inner restlessness and anticipation? For her I was just an abstract rhombus on her screen, which she now has assigned a number, and was probably satisfied with the knowledge that she had to spend little time working with me. So far out over the sea no other visual air traffic would fly around in my way.

Most likely, the cloud layer would break up only shortly before my destination, at least that was the last status of the weather forecast before I started. I had to trust it. I had no other choice. There was no wind. It was quiet, although the engine of my plane was of course humming monotonously. But the high beat rate of radio messages, yes almost a continuous sprinkling in radio traffic was cut off. While the German flight information service was still full of airmen with their messages, somehow nothing happened in Denmark. Nobody asked whether a certain airspace was active. No one said that they were on a training flight. No one is on a round trip flight from A to A. No one reported visual contact with named traffic, which they were warned about. No frequencies, squawks or QNH were transmitted. Nothing at all, absolute silence. There was simply no one else flying in the area at that moment.

I didn’t waste a thought on all the concerns that were given to me about what terrible things could happen to me, and that I have to be there for my boys. It was certified to me from several sides that I would make my children half orphans with this enterprise. But I have freed myself from that. As a single mom, I am there for my sons without interruption. They've seen exactly how much I've studied, trained, and really fought for this over the past twenty months. They love me enough to allow me to fulfill this wish, and are more than well taken care of during their time at summer camp. Children still see the world in such a carefree way, at least until society eventually re-educates them. But they still understand the desire that drives me longingly into the distance. They are still curious enough themselves to keep asking questions. I hope they keep their childlike nature as long as possible and think that only when they stop being interested should we worry.

Of course, I understand the arguments of those who have reservations about what could happen to me on the way, but I also see this in two ways. On the one hand, they come from people who assume their own insufficient or limited abilities, who are still at the point where I myself stood before my decision to make this trip. At that moment, when I decided to go through with it, I almost wet my pants out of respect for this Herculean task that lay ahead of me. Of course, I try to explain to these people that by preparing as well as possible, one can acquire a more realistic view of it. On the other hand, really quite a few comments come from (actually exclusively) men who simply have a problem with their ego and apparently perceive my private matter as a personal insult. Of course, something can happen anytime and anywhere, it doesn't even have to have anything to do with flying.

Fear would be a dangerous driver in any situation. It distracts from thinking. But now I let my thoughts fly without interference, because being able to let my gaze wander into this infinite expanse is like a deep breath for the brain, during which it can also finally expand again. The simulator could not give me this feeling. There are some things you just don't learn in the lab. Also my ergonomic sitting position behind the control horn in the real flight, almost immobile for many hours, differs significantly from the comfortable leather chair in front of the simulator with a swiveling backrest, where you can quickly press the stop button to disappear to the toilet. I'm over six feet tall and actually too tall for this machine. My knees almost always bump into the ventilation box that is mounted under the panel. Fifty years ago, average people were just a lot shorter.

I'm more afraid of stumbling down a flight of stairs somewhere out of sheer folly, than I am that my Lycoming O320, one of the most reliable engines ever built, will fail. For example, that morning when I was removing the back seat before loading my 100 things in order to have a larger cargo area, and more importantly, to make it easier to access my luggage, I actually broke off a tiny corner of my incisor. Out of sheer excitement I was too impetuous in a movement and bang, there it was. After a brief but fervent curse, I continued working. It didn't help, I had to finish. I could not change it then also no more. However, since then I have been constantly feeling the sharp-edged corner with my tongue. I'm sure I won't get it treated in the next 40 days. 40 days, that's how long my trip is supposed to last. Halfway around the world in 40 days.

Chapter 1

The Journey started

Thursday, 23rd June 2022

When the alarm clock rang, I had already been up for half an hour. I had hardly slept anyway because of the excitement. Too many thoughts were still whirling through my head in the middle of the night, after I had decided yesterday to bring forward the departure.

Flashback Wednesday: I make the decision from one moment to the next. The day after tomorrow is certificate day and the start of summer break at school. Originally, I had planned to start this Friday. But the weather throws a spanner in the works. A huge low pressure area over central and northern Germany won't even let me start, and would immediately delay my trip by a few days. In chess I have learned: attack is the best defense. In equestrian sports my trainer always said: only the winner takes it all! And in kickboxing, too, my master constantly tells me: Never hesitate! Of course, these sports have nothing at all in common with flying. But my inner attitude is very solution-oriented anyway, so the only thing that comes into question is the spontaneous decision to take off sooner rather than later. And again, I have to convince people I depend on for some things to help me - especially the childcare. It's always difficult when my environment can't keep up with my pace, which unfortunately isn't that rare.

But this time I can sort everything out in a few hours. My mother comes to take care of the kids. My boss agrees to start my vacation one day earlier. A few friends can spontaneously come to the airport to say goodbye. My favorite controller in Leer-Papenburg is even on duty, so I plan a stopover there instead of flying all the way to Norway. And of course in Norway itself, reorganization is necessary. But fortunately the flying club is flexible enough for my new arrival plans. So I have gained a whole day, but thereby also less time for my last minute to-dos, which means that I can't do one or the other. So tomorrow it will start.

Have I really packed everything? I went through the lists for the umpteenth time and still found things that I had marked for later. Now was the last chance for later. What didn't go into the bags now, didn't come along on the trip.

But first I wanted to have breakfast with the kids one last time. It wasn't supposed to seem like a farewell party. But when they each gave me a lucky charm for my trip, I had to swallow hard. My two boys are usually total bullies who only have nonsense in their heads. But then they surprise me in between again and again, like here, with unexpected proofs of love, where I just melt away and forgive them everything.

From my 8-year-old Maxim I got a homemade candle, a small tea light. Oh boy, how sweet it was when he dramatically said to it, "It's to give you light and warmth!" And from my 14-year-old Silas, I got his sacred paracord bracelet made from braided parachute cord, which can be converted into a tear-proof three-meter rope in an emergency. I love these guys to the moon and back.

After I had kissed them on the way to school, well, not exactly to death, but already so much kissed off, until all at once came: "Mom, you're embarrassing!", I hurried back home. I only wanted to concentrate on the essentials. I really had a mammoth task ahead of me if I wanted to get everything done by early afternoon so that I could fly off safely.

A weather briefing and flight planning followed at record speed. However, I had also already prepared this, as incidentally for almost all, or even for all possible routes on my complete route. Even though I had to go through the route again before each flight, if only because of current NOTAMs, it made the preparation much easier if the basic structure with all waypoints was already there and I didn't have to worry about it again. To adapt there is of course always something, also this time. Since I flew during the week, some military zones were still active. Otherwise it is usually true: There is no war on weekends! So I had to make some adjustments before I sent the flight plans to the German air traffic control - two plans for two flights. Although it was not mandatory to file a plan within Germany if you were flying according to visual flight rules during the day, I wanted to document my entire trip in a uniform manner. And the flight from Bonn-Hangelar to Leer-Papenburg was part of it.

At the final weigh-in, I had to decide what I could still do without. I was still overloaded with almost 20 kg, although I had already felt totally spartan packed. What sounds like a trifle, can have quite fatal consequences. For this day alone up to 34° C were predicted and my departure time would be exactly in the hottest time of the day, when the runway was glowing. A weaker airplane with a full load would have a hard time climbing, because the air above such a shimmering heat simply doesn't carry any more. On the other hand, my canisters, which I had with me for particularly AvGas-poor areas, would still be empty in Bonn, which in turn saved me weight and I didn't have to pretend now that I needed the curvature of the earth to take off. AvGas stands for Aviation Gasoline and is the aviation fuel that my propeller plane with a piston engine needs.

But that really made a huge difference. Even though most of the runways are long enough, they are not endless. Unfortunately, the first thing to leave behind was the sensational rescue parachute. During one of the test flights I thought it was almost unbearable to carry the unusual backpack together with the complete survival equipment. Of course, I was consciously doing without a lifesaver in an absolute emergency, and had I had spare capacity, I would have had to carry it with me. And yet I was almost relieved when I now crossed the 8kg from the packing list.

The same fate met in the end a pair of boots, my rubber hammer for the tent pegs (I would regret it later so much), part of the tools, two of four books, the six-pack of water bottles, one of the two spare tires including inner tube for the main landing gear and half of the 20 pieces of 300g bars Milka chocolate special edition. I also wanted to leave my 50 protein bars at home with a heavy heart, but when I recalculated, the problem was solved. And a few days later I would be very happy that I had them with me.

Satisfied as always, when I had cleaned out anything, I looked at my luggage mountain, which was now still left. Visually, it had not really become much smaller, but at least 23 kg lighter. After I had stuffed everything into the car, I was drenched in sweat.

A last shower at home and then it was off to the airport. The way there is very familiar to me. Hundreds of times I have driven over the Rhine bridge, past the Siebengebirge and into the tranquil village of Hangelar, at the northern end of which the airfield is located. The trips there are always accompanied by the anticipation of the coming flight. No matter if it was during training or during later sightseeing flights with passengers.

But this time there was something very special in the air. This time the excitement was different, because it wasn't just about a sightseeing flight to Cologne Cathedral or the Eifel or a flight to Koblenz to the shipyard. I wanted to fly to America. Me, a secretary, a single mother. I, who not long ago knew nothing about any airplanes, who until then thought horses were the "non plus ultra" hobby. I, who now kept records, had a budget to know exactly when I could afford to fly for fun and when it was better not to. I, who almost two years ago had set my mind on flying across the Atlantic and no one could ever talk me out of it. From the first step of preparations, it was like pregnancy and now was the delivery date.

Arrived. I parked the car next to my plane and unloaded everything. It didn't stop at all and somehow it felt like way too much. How on earth was I going to get it all on the plane? Okay, calm down, first the checklist had to be worked off before the plane was moved.

Since I can't afford a hangar space and the plane is always parked outside, the exterior preflight check is even more important, especially with regard to water in the tank, which can come not only from rain, but also from condensation. But the wings were fully fueled, so that was less likely anyway, and the fuel caps were very tight. It hadn't rained either since my last flight - two days before. I had brought her home from the 100 hour inspection. This check-up would not have been necessary at all. I could have flown still nearly 40 hours. But so I was well prepared for the trip and for the next 100 hours (even plus 10% overdraft margin), I could refer to it and was legal on the whole journey.

My plane, unfortunately, doesn't have a luggage door on the side like most others in its class. But that, in turn, keeps me fit as I crawl through the interior like a contortionist to get to the rearmost bag. Literally air sports.

Using Tetris tactics and still keeping to the maximum weight load of the individual loading points, I did manage to stow my luggage sensibly. After all, it wouldn't do any good if, for example, my life raft wasn't within reach. Whereas the survival equipment for the case of an emergency landing on the eternal ice, tools and spare tires, could be quietly in the very back.

I had needed just one hour for loading and was thus very well on schedule, but already totally sweaty again. It was really unbearably hot. But I had expected that and fetched the spare clothes from the car. The sweaty T-shirt landed with momentum on the now empty back seat of the car and then I slammed the driver's door one last time. If anything should happen to me, the person who took care of my car would probably not be very pleased to find a used and then maybe even smelly piece of clothing.

But while I was walking to the plane and thinking about it, I decided that it would be reasonable under the circumstances. I certainly wouldn't run back now and put an apology next to it. Although, briefly I hesitated, but no, then I remained steadfast.

Anyway at that moment, Jürgen, the former flight director and a good friend, came around the corner with another good luck charm for my trip, which should remind me of my home place all the time. He gave me a small figurine, a Donald Duck in pilot's uniform, which usually was on his desk, and I had to promise that he would get it back intact. Scout's honor! Last hugs followed, also from my colleague and friend Petra, who had come especially to wave and take a farewell picture. And then I got on, just like that, and flew away ...

The arguments about what I could die of all fall away from me now. When I took off from Bonn-Hangelar, my home airfield, I let go. This is my summer, for which I prepared for twenty months. In the run-up, I attended various survival courses, acquired new licenses, completed a vast amount of bureaucratic paperwork, made a thousand phone calls and wrote as many e-mails again, watched hundreds of films about landings at the airfields on my route and flew them in the simulator, procured the necessary emergency equipment and prepared my body and mind for situations that would hopefully never occur. I am fulfilling my dream.

Barely an hour and a half later, I already touched down in northern Germany at EDWF Leer-Papenburg and was warmly greeted by Copi. Everybody knows him, everybody likes him. We talked for a while over coffee, to which he invited me. I declined the obligatory cheesecake however, since I have completely given up sugar since I started flying. Flying is more important to me than a piece of cake. In addition, the sugar-free life has the excellent side effect that I am hardly ever tired. That, in turn, gives me the energy I need to get through the workload I have imposed on myself.

He told me how he currently has to fight to keep the AvGas price below €3 per Liter. Leer-Papenburg was known for always being one of the top five cheapest gas stations in Germany. But here, too, the effects of the Ukraine war had arrived in the meantime. I was curious to see how prices would continue to develop over the next few weeks until I returned.

We chatted for so long that I had to push the flight schedule back a bit after all. The unspoken rule of thumb says, if you do not start the flight up to 15 minutes late, you should postpone. After 30 minutes at the latest, it expires anyway. Of course, I didn't want it to come to that. So I looked at the weather one last time and updated my flight programs with the new departure time.

My cell phone was running a flight navigation program, with which I, since the beginning of my flying, have always navigated sufficiently and well. Only in Kosovo in the year before, certain airspaces were not displayed and I had some trouble because of it. However, since this software provider offers Canada and America only as experimental and does not guarantee the correctness in these countries, I had to look for an alternative and came to ForeFlight. At the beginning it was a huge change and I resisted for a long time, but once you get the hang of it, you quickly realize many advantages that could prove their usefulness later. This program ran on my iPad mini, which I had attached to the control horn.

As a further and last back-up, I actually still had paper maps with me, which feels very antique, but electronics can fail. Now, of course, you could argue what you can do over the Atlantic with this kind of navigation, without any terrestrial features as a guide. Well, of course only the chronometer and my pen helped to calculate my position. I had taken the trouble to train with it during the simulations and had missed my target frighteningly often in the beginning. Incidentally, I never made it one hundred percent. But when you reach land, you can then orient yourself to the coastal landscape again. What my airplane lacked in instruments, I had to make up for in other ways. This is the difference to IFR, flying according to instrument rules, where you can sit back and relax because the autopilot simply flies the programmed route. I have to do the math all the time, besides looking out and steering, but it's worth it to me.

"Goodbye, dear Copi! I'll be in touch in the meantime, with where I am at the moment on my half-world trip."

I feel the silence, which is only external. An inner loud rock concert is taking place in my head, because my feelings are overflowing, mainly with joy, but also with worry. After all, I have some secrets on board, not all of which I know myself. Like, for example, a letter that I wasn't ready to open yet. And yet, finally, finally, my adventure has begun. There is nothing I can change now. I set off on the flight of my life and for me there is no going back, the price was too high for that.

All my heart and soul goes into this trip, which for me revolves almost exclusively around my beloved airplane. It's a 50-year-old Grumman, a four-seat small single-engine propeller-driven touring plane with just 150 horsepower. It's mine, and it is my pride and joy. There's no autopilot, no retractable landing gear, no built-in navigation gauges or any electrical aids. But on the other hand, I figure out a nonexistent item cannot break and that will save me a lot of money. I owe so much newfound quality of life, freedom, and moments of happiness to my plane. I am so grateful. Just what interesting people have I met during this time! Many of them have become real friends. I couldn't imagine being without them anymore either. What kind of torture would it be to have tasted this fruit and to know about all the joy that comes with flying, especially in your own plane, if you suddenly had to do without it? No, absolutely not! I would not even consider not flying anymore. I would sacrifice a lot just to get into the air. And preferably in her, my PEGASUS, which has become so familiar to me. I have already flown hundreds of hours with her. In such a short time, I have already traveled to so many countries with her, and that builds a bond and gives me confidence. Enough confidence to take this trip. Probably no other person in the world would ever think of flying across the Atlantic and back again in an airplane with this sparse equipment and low performance. And not as a ferry pilot to earn money, but all for fun. The adventure I am looking for is too much for most people. Too much effort, too much time, but most of all too much danger. Few other places are as unforgiving as the Atlantic. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of opportunities to make a mistake that could bring the adventure to an abrupt end. But I'm armed as best I can be, not only with a Plan B, but also C, D, E and F, and if all else fails, I'll shake another G out of my sleeve. Alone in the hot phase shortly before departure, I had to reorganize so many things that some would have thrown in the towel.

An alarm snapped me out of my thoughts. In addition to the rhythmic beep, the words "Switch the fuel tank" appeared on the cell phone display. That's right, another 30 minutes had passed. I wiped away the alarm, pressed the switch of the electric fuel pump, pushed the fuel tap to the other side, waited for three seconds, smelled the familiar AvGas scent for a brief moment, and almost unconsciously took note of the fact that nothing had changed in terms of performance. I then turned off the pump, made notes on past consumption, and set myself a new alarm. Done, checked off.

I set alarms or reminders for all sorts of things so that I don't forget anything. Because what good is a checklist if I forget to look at it. So I actually have an alarm for that as well. In addition, to take meals, to write a message with my tracker supported by satellite, to check my cameras, to recalculate the "point of no return" with the actual wind and not with the one from the forecast, to schedule the phone call with the satellite phone accordingly and there should be some more.

I was now in the middle of the North Sea and still had an hour's flight to Sola - Starvanger, the airport in the southwest of Norway. From Copenhagen Information I was handed over to the care of Polaris Control and I had the air traffic controller announce the current weather data from my destination airfield.

By now I was getting a little nervous because I still couldn't see an end to the clouds below me, but that was probably obvious given the distance I still had to cover. I wasn't nervous that I wouldn't be able to land, there were several alternatives to choose from where I could have flown to. No, I was worried that I could not land in Sola, since everything was planned for there.

Why didn't I fly over Scotland, I was asked later. Quite simply because I didn't want to be driven like the Ferry pilots, so under time pressure, as if on the run. Rather, as an adventurer, I longed to blaze new trails and discover beautiful spots in the world. But the main reason was that I wanted to meet as many other Grumman friends as possible during this trip. Especially those who were not able to come to my annual event. I wanted to visit and meet them in person.

There aren't as many Grumman’s as there are Cessna’s or Pipers, for example. But that's what makes this smaller community so familiar. Each of the owners is interested in keeping the few remaining aircraft of this type in the air, i.e., surviving, and therefore the mutual support is great.

I got in touch with Erlend half a year earlier through various channels. He is a board member in a flying club in the southwest of Norway, at Sola-Stavanger airport. This club until recently had a Grumman, even a Traveler, like the one I have, as a training aircraft. A nice pen-pal relationship had developed from this, which then led to me being invited to make my first overnight stop at his flying club. The anticipation of meeting him and his people was so great that I would have been sorely disappointed if it didn't work out.

The controller was, in contrast to me, not very confident that I would get through to Sola, because it would soon be under a cloud there too. Well, I wanted to have a look at that first, since I had refueled in Leer-Papenburg, I could afford a detour and did not have to fly to the alternate airport now. Forty nautical miles, about twenty minutes from Sola, I was handed over to Sola Approach. And the latter assured me that the airport itself was currently still 100% cloud-free. But he also confirmed that something was coming in from the south. Should I not be able to fly at the specified altitudes due to poor visibility, he would give me special permits and direct me to the airport. However, as long as I continued to have VMC, meaning visual meteorological conditions, I was allowed to continue on my way according to the official approach procedure. However, if I did not make it in time and the airport suddenly became inaccessible to me, I would have to choose an airport further north, for example Bergen. I wanted to avoid that as much as possible, because in my earlier searches I found out that overnight accommodations are very costly. I was still able to fly under the first airspace at 3,500ft, but a short time later I would have had to descend below 2,500ft and that was no longer possible. So I was allowed to enter airspace C, but then I had to strictly adhere to the controller's instructions, since IFR traffic was permanently flying in and out and thus I should not disturb the flow of the larger passenger aircrafts.

Suddenly I crossed the cloud’s border. I had been flying over hilly terrain for a long time, but now I could see it too. And I saw it quite clearly, because I wasn't that high above it. Then the charming harbor of the town of Sandnes appeared. There was a mandatory reporting point with the same name. Far too soon I would be over this nice scenery, so I almost contorted my head to soak it all up. After the hours of monotony, impressions poured down on me in rapid succession. I quickly took a photo before I was suddenly at the next mandatory point, above a horse racing track, where I made another report. I was then assigned the frequency of the tower, which then gave me clearance to land on runway 18.

I had just flown north and had always had a tailwind at the end. Nevertheless, I had been faster than the wind, of course, so I could overtake the cloud cover. Because one always lands against the wind, I now had to swing out and fly two left turns. So I was not only slowed down in the final approach, but now also saw the cloud edge coming towards me like a wall.

That last mile before the threshold, the earliest possible touchdown point on the runway, felt spectacular. I was descending over water, which was separated from the runway only by an expressway. I flew directly over this still pulsating expressway. At the same time, this fog monster was coming at me right in front of me, and, it seemed, it would reach the end of the runway sooner than I would reach its threshold.

But it was an optical illusion that I became aware of while still above the water, just before the road. The wall was not moving rapidly toward me, but was rather static. The lower limit of this cloud layer was about 600ft. Therefore nothing would absorb me, nor would I be caught in a dangerous situation. There was good visibility below the clouds and I landed safely under blue skies, exited the runway and taxied parallel to the runway to the flying club.

Erlend was already waiting for me and next to him was his best friend Knut. After a warm welcome and a short summary of the flight, the two helped me to refuel. It was a self-service pump and I had the required BP card, but it was actually all written in Norwegian, and I did not understand a single word. Without help I would have been lost. I could not even have guessed the right keys. Everything had gone well, and the two still had a great surprise for me.

A training aircraft was currently traveling so I was able to get the hangar space. I was very happy about that. After all, winds were forecast to get stronger. This brought back unpleasant memories of the Norwegian flight two years ago, when, after a stormy night in Bodø, my plane looked like it had been sandpapered. In places, the paint had been sanded off over a large area.

This way I could rest easy and worry about more unimportant things like where I would get something to eat. When the Pegasus was finally maneuvered into place in the hangar and I had cleared out all the things I thought I would need for the next two days, we closed the sliding door. She got one last kiss from me on her nose, the spinner, which is the tip in front of her propeller, because it's a cherished habit. I then squeezed past her neighbor, a fancy YAK, turned out the lights and slipped through the little door built into the gate.

In the meantime it had become late, but it was still very bright. It was after all, just two days after midsummer, the longest day of the year. So there would be no real dark night anyway, just twilight for just two and a half hours. At the flying club, the guys showed me to the guest room, which I was allowed to use. It was a simple little room with a double bunk bed, an armchair with a footstool, a closet and a flat sideboard with a TV on it. But the most important thing for me was the electrical outlet; fortunately, there was even a power strip connected. So the room was perfect for me. This was followed by a short tour of the rest of the building. During the tour I met a couple of other club members who were going through a debriefing of a training flight. After the last much too short night, the excitement of the day and my two flights, I wanted to call it a day.

But then I lay awake for a while, not only because the strange bed was unfamiliar, but also the situation of being without the children. I was even more preoccupied with the weather over the next few days. Again and again I calculated my next route and played through the forecasts for different times, with different weather models and with several providers. It didn't help, there was no way I would be able to continue flying for the next two days, and the forecast was still too vague for after that. Then I tried to fall asleep, but only when I came up with the glorious idea of pulling down the light-blocking blinds, it finally worked out with drifting away into dreamland.

Chapter 2

Tesla and Viking

Friday, 24th June 2022

Through the slightly tilted window I could smell a very light sea breeze, even in bed under the blanket, which I had pulled up to my head. Before I opened my eyes, I realized again that I was on an adventure trip. I felt the excitement that gripped me and it took me exactly two seconds to wake up.

When I got dressed, I also smelled coffee. So there were already students or members in the flying club. Very good, there was certainly a cup for me.

It was Friday and therefore still a normal working day, but Erlend took the day off for me. He drove with me in the late morning in his modern Tesla to the city of Stavanger. I noticed that there was an incredible number of Teslas here, and Erlend confirmed to me that every second new car registration in Norway was an electric car and showed me how to recognize that from the license plates.

We parked next to the Norwegian Petroleum Museum, an impressive building in the shape of an oil rig. The museum was open daily from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. and the ticket cost 150 Norwegian Kroner for an adult, or about 15 Euros. Oil made this west coast town great, as the center of the petroleum business. I learned about the discovery of oil in the North Sea a good 50 years ago, and the further development until today. We then strolled through the streets while he showed me many sights.

On the one hand, there was the Skagen Bridge, which could be seen in the distance. It borders the bay towards the open water. We walked past some huge excursion ships moored at the quay in Vagen harbor basin while waiting for their passengers, towards the fish market and sat down in one of the many restaurants. From there we had a beautiful view over the marina and the grain silos behind it. The conversations with Erlend became more and more familiar and friendly. He told me about the flying club and about the beautiful flights he had already made; many of them together with Knut, whom I had met the night before. And I, in turn, told him about my further plans for my trip, including the fact that my departure could still drag on for a while. Spontaneously we agreed to use the next day for an excursion. But today we had other plans.

His girlfriend Solveig worked not far from the fish market and we met with her. So that I could see more of beautiful Stavanger, we took a different route back to the car through small alleys and side streets. These were lined with countless 18th and 19th century white wooden cottages, many with lush rose bushes in tiny front gardens. Solveig was quite a charming person and it felt like we had known each other forever. Erlend didn't even get a chance to speak, as the two of us talked non-stop about everything under the sun.

We did not go directly back to the airport. They still had to go shopping. To my surprise, we shopped at one of Norway's best butcher shops. Albert Idsøe's delicatessen had been the winner of a delicatessen competition in the country the previous year. And I was really amazed at how delicious it tasted when I almost shamelessly tried everything that was held out for me to try. Everything looked really very appetizing.

For the evening, the two had planned a barbecue with friends on the occasion of my arrival. I was very touched by this and inwardly rejoiced like a queen over the moon. With so many different options for a first stopover on this trip, I had chosen absolutely the right place.

Once again we interrupted the ride when we passed Sola Beach, a two km long sandy beach. Never would I have expected this sight in Norway. Barefoot we walked, between the sun worshippers on their blankets, through soft light sand to the sea. Our feet were washed by shallow waves with small whitecaps. The water was not as cold as I would have expected. In fact, some brave ones were even frolicking further out in the water. What you couldn't see from here, if you didn't know it, was that not 50 meters behind the beach, runway 10 began. Sola has two runways almost at right angles to each other. The beach in front of the threshold reminds me of pictures I know from St. Maarten and Maho Beach. There, where the beachgoers almost make a sport out of taking up a steadfast position as close as possible to the jets flying in and out. And if they are not even blown away themselves by the strong airstream of the jet turbine engines under the cheers of the other people, then they would at least like to have their clothes ripped off their bodies. Fortunately, like the day before, there was a southerly wind and I was not tempted to do this nonsense either. After all, I know myself.

Later, when I was picked up by Erlend and Knut for the barbecue, we passed three martial swords as tall as houses on the Hafrsfjord. We stopped so that I could have a close look at them.

I am fascinated by the Vikings and their history. This is where Harald Schoenhaar had defeated his rivals in 872 and thus united the kingdom. This monument by Fritz Roed, which was inaugurated in 1983, is an unmistakable reminder of this. Standing right in front of it, touching it and then leaning against it, I got goosebumps at the thought of such a battle, the origin of which was, as so often is, due to an unreciprocated love. These three swords symbolize peace, unity and freedom.

The evening was super nice. The conversations were relaxed and the food was first class. After dessert, Solveig and I walked to the sea. In the last hours it had already flashed and thundered in the distance, and the front came closer and closer. We both wanted to watch from the box seat how the huge thunderclouds rolled past us. We had to put up with a little rain, but basically we got away unscathed, as spectators.

Rain belongs to Stavanger like oil, they say. Its residents know this very well, so therefore their roofs have large overhangs. Many simply defy the drizzly gray with colorful house facades.

It got very late, which the experts of course perceived by the barely existing twilight. On the way home - I felt comfortable calling it home since this was my second night in the same accommodation - I even saw stars that night. The thunderstorm had cleared the sky and the air was crystal clear. Since it was clear to me that I would not take off to the west on the following day, I had no pressure to take care of anything, so I fell asleep in no time this night

Chapter 3

Sightseeing flight over Norway

Saturday, 25th June 2022

Today was a flying day. That was clear right from the start; even if not in my Grumman and also not towards America.

At breakfast time, the flying club was full of people, as I was pleased to discover when I came out of my room. For one thing, there was so much going on because, of course, most pilots didn't have to work on the weekend. Even those working in their home offices were probably glad to be among people for a change. In addition, there was simply a gigantically great weather situation on this day, as is so often the case after a low-pressure area has passed through. On the other hand, there was also a lot of activity because two members of the club were flying in a competition that was being broadcast live on the sports channel. It was the Norwegian Precession Flying Championship. The rules were clear. Without electronic navigation equipment, using only paper maps and previously printed aerial photographs, one had to fly over certain waypoints and was not allowed to deviate from a kind of corridor.

I was thrilled, that was exactly my thing. Inescapably, I was now watching the others with great excitement while I sipped my coffee, which again some good fairy had secretly cooked. When my friends arrived, they were greeted warmly by everyone and immediately everyone was talking wildly in Norwegian. I could only guess what it was all about, but apparently the newcomers were being briefed on the current status of the competitors. That was nice to see how such a flying club life connects.

Since I was sitting in a different place in the room today than on the last two days - the most comfortable seat didn't remain free for long - I now noticed that the club's premises were built like a gallery directly above a hangar. If the side of the entrance was almost at ground level, the terrain sloped sharply to the rear. The windows to this side did not go outside at all, but gave a view into a sort of basement where one of two identical-looking airplanes named Tomahawk was just being pulled out. It was incredible that I had slept so close to airmen, even two nights, and only now realized it. And I found this huge hangar really nice, clean and full of fancy airplanes.

I told Erlend with astonishment about my discovery. He said he could show me some other hangars here at the airport with really interesting aircraft in them. We still had some time before our excursion. Solveig and Knut accompanied us and to my surprise we walked to the parking lot. The airport was so big, it would have taken us forever to walk to the other end. But that was exactly where we wanted to go.

So we drove once completely around the site and passed a gate at the northern end, to which the resident aircraft owners had a key. Then I got my very own tour of various hangars. The highlight was a hangar with some even airworthy warbirds. There was a Mustang, a Spitfire and even a Fieseler Storch, which with its original historic painting on the rudder by the way, would not be allowed to fly in Germany.

Probably it was forbidden to me as a German even to look there. But, because I would never like to be sure intentionally, I made fast a proof photo. The inward smirk was thus not the motive, but my naughtiness.

These were real treasures that were parked here. Finally we went into Erlend's hangar and pulled out his Piper Arrow together. It was much heavier than mine, so teamwork was required. A great powerful airplane he had there, with 200hp, retractable gear and fully IFR equipped. But I wondered if I would ever be independent enough to travel alone with such a difficult-to-handle plane. What if I had to maneuver it somewhere and couldn't get it moved at all? But I didn't have to worry about this hypothetical thought right now. I was just happy that the two of them wanted to take me on a sightseeing flight. In the meantime, Knut had returned to the club.

Interestingly enough, life jackets and also some dry suits were lying around everywhere here in the hangar and also in the flying club. It is simply a matter of certainty, from the first flight lesson, to always consider ditching, because here you simply always fly over water, no matter in which direction you are heading. So, in Sola pilots would look pretty stupid getting into the cockpit without a vest, even though you just want to stay in the pattern.

We picked out a suitable vest for me that didn't need much adjusting and, when the outside check was done, it was finally boarding time! Solveig climbed in and selflessly sat on the back seat. She generously left the co-pilot seat to me. Since a Piper has only one door, through which everyone who wanted to get in or out had to pass, and which was located above the wing on the right-hand side, this meant that I was the last to board.

We flew over the city of Stavanger first and I recognized all the places we had walked the day before. It is a beautiful harbor city. The colorful houses by the marina with restaurants were clearly visible. The oil museum caught one's eye right away with its abstract design. I saw the fish market and even found the house where the butcher sold the delicious stuff.

We left the big bridge on the right and flew northeast towards the mainland. Below us, motorboats cruised in the same direction, but certainly not with the same goal.

Erlend showed me an island called Sør-hidle, which was known for its special botany. We circled around the northern part and he gave me the time to let me soak in the sight. It was a paradise of water features, palm gardens, parks with incredible structure, lined with flowers of all different colors, white sandy beaches and huge greenhouses that were probably just as beautifully filled.

So again, I was surprised by a sight that I would never have expected here. I unconsciously associated Norway with the rugged and barren views, so completely without plants, which I still remembered from the trip to the North Cape.

This garden is called "Flor og Fjᴂre", which means "plants and fairies" or "plants and animals" or even "high tide and low tide.” Probably in each case it is in the eye of the beholder.

Solveig told me that there was an excellent and almost always fully booked restaurant, which would be a very popular destination also by boat, especially for couples. I could imagine that very well.

But shortly after all this romance, I focused again on our actual excursion destination, the famous Preikestolen. This is a flat rock platform completely different from the surroundings, with the area size of a gymnasium, but in a square shape. The pulpit - the literal translation is “the preacher's chair” - was formed naturally about 10,000 years ago by a blast, when the edges of the glaciers reached above the rock.

Water had penetrated and frozen in deep cracks at that time. Then actually the same effect occurred as with some failed experiments in my childhood, when at the age of eight or nine, in a bitterly cold winter, I put filled and sealed bottles on the balcony overnight to prove that it was not true what my arch-rival had told in class. At that time, besides a slap in the face, there was only broken glass. Here, however, the glacier had done a great job, blasting off blocks of rock and taking them with it. What remained was this "pulpit", which is super popular with hiking tourists. Its unique shape was impressive. From there, one had an indescribable view of the 40km long fjord and the other mountains. Who dared to go to the front edge, could look over 600m into the depth to the water surface. Of course, only if the weather allowed it. A few crazy people came there even in fog, probably for spectacular photos.

Not only were tourists attracted here; filmmakers had taken notice of this unique motif. Whether it was Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible or Ragnar Lothbrok in Vikings, this backdrop provided them with the dramatic icing on the cake. If you wanted to visit the rock on foot, you could only get there via a not so harmless two-hour hiking trail, because the next parking lot is so far away. Over partly steep sections, created plank paths through marshy swamp, then through a boulder field, past lakes and finally over stairs, one reached the unsecured platform. From the airport it was 50km by car to the said parking lot, but by plane just 14nm as the crow flies.

And there we were. Closer and closer we came, more and more clearly one could recognize the people who bustled on the Preikestolen, which looked like a helipad, only without the H. After we had flown some rounds and I extensively admired everything around me, we flew south to the North Sea. At the height of Egersund we turned right and followed the coast home. This was the same route as I had flown two days before. But this time I had the pleasure of enjoying the landscape below me, completely free of clouds. What a great trip, I couldn't have asked for a nicer way to end my stay in Norway, the first stop on my trip. Back at the flying club, I wrote in the guestbook how comfortable I had felt here and that I definitely wanted to come here again, and I meant it from the bottom of my heart.

We pulled my Grumman out of the small hangar and pushed her in front of the flying club. This night she would stay outside. There was hardly any wind and it would save me a lot of time the next morning. I checked the oil level and topped it off with another bottle. After that, there was more than usual in it, but it was still below the mark for maximum fill. Maybe there wasn't time for that at the next stopover, and she'd rather have a little too much at the beginning than too little at the end of the day.

One of the prospective pilots offered to wash her thoroughly again. Great, now I was a little ashamed. That was one of the things that had been crossed off my list without replacement for lack of time due to the earlier departure, also in the hope that perhaps a rain shower on the way would take care of the matter and the problem would be solved all by itself.

Now I felt caught, especially since Erlend and Knut were standing next to me. But so be it, there I had a fan in front of me - not of me, but of my plane and an admirer of the journey. He insisted that it would be a pleasure for him if he could somehow get involved. Normally I was very particular about that and didn't like it at all when someone got too close to her. However, later in the trip I had to get used to the fact that her days of privacy were numbered. But we weren't there yet. So how could I deny the student pilot this wish? I remembered the beginnings of my horse riding. At that time, I literally begged to be allowed to do menial services for the show riders, and that as an adult. Even if the riders were happy to save the money for stable boys at that time, they did me a favor so I could be close to what I longed for so much, the horses. Later, when I participated in shows myself, I specifically chose such girls to accompany me when I knew they felt the same way. So, I sent the boy to fetch a bucket and sponge and looked forward to a clean flying horse.

And now the last night was ahead of me, until the first of many flights that were to put their stamp on my journey. From here on, the Atlantic crossing began! This project was a dream for many pilots, and for most of them it remained so. The price was too high, and that didn't just mean the money.

But also because, after all, this whole undertaking costs more than the plane itself, which I haven't even paid off yet. Which, of course, was another argument for those who tried to talk me out of my project even after I had taken off. And last but not least, for these reasons I had had about a hundred conversations with potential sponsors.

I can count my supporters on exactly one hand. This low yield forced me to finance everything with a loan. Except for these few supporters, nobody had enough confidence in my project. Again and again, besides the concerns of "single engine", "old crate" and "alone in the cockpit", the reasoning that I am a woman had a subliminal effect, which frustrated me very much. It was therefore difficult for me to summon up the strength, after each further devastating rejection, to still believe in myself, as well as in my aircraft, and not to give up.