SX to AK

Shipley – Perth – Egilsstadir

I set off on the 21st June, at the very beginning of the UK summer heatwave. After a small leaving party it was time to get going and SX was noticeably sluggish on departure with the warm air and heavy weight.

Final farewell from my mum & my dog

With my extended fuel range I had no need to stop at Wick to refuel so I opted instead for Perth. There’s space in the club house to have some food and prepare for the first crossing.

Enroute after stopping at Perth

Survival gear strategies vary from full flight suit with helmet and parachute to a bottle of whisky and a 9mm. Myself, not having a total death wish, opted for what I thought to be sensible with a dry suit, single person raft and a PLB plus Garmin Inreach. I was loaned a Mustang suit – the same as US military helicopter pilots wear. It’s very different to the windsurfing style suits or survival suits, being designed so that you can fly in it comfortably for hours. Flares/dye/emergency water and a few other items were kept in the pockets and the raft would be clipped to my life jacket harness in case of ditching. Anything not attached to me would likely not be accessible after a ditching, so all I’d have to do is get out of the aircraft. Sounds easy…

The 5 hour flight to Egilsstadir went quite quickly. The first hour was spent across the Scottish Highlands and then I was out over the sea. Scottish gave me some enroute frequencies and asked for position reports every hour, this being standard oceanic protocol. Then it was less than an hour until I was in sight of the Faroe Islands.

The Faroes rise dramatically from the sea: sheer cliff faces, topped with bright contrasting green. Inviting as it looked, I was happy with my decision to skip the Faroes on this trip. Despite clear conditions everywhere else, Vagar was characteristically covered in low cloud. It’s easy to get stuck here and I decided a long time ago that it wasn’t worth the risk.

Another two hours of open water and Iceland appeared. The coastline was enveloped with various thin layers of stratus with enough clear patches to get a grand view. These parts of the world put on a show better than any film in the cinema.

Enjoying the freedom of VFR, I took a detour along the coastline which took me around the northeastern tip of Iceland and toward the Lagarfljót river estuary, along which the town of Egilsstadir is found.

Turning final into Egilsstadir after 5 hours airborne

Through a mixture of nervousness and excitement I found myself deprived of sleep in the days leading up to the trip so full concentration was needed on landing. My RV is a taildragger so you need to be awake when landing, though the handling is so sweet and predictable that it’s never a chore. However, Iceland is notorious for being windy, and I was pleased to be arriving in relatively benign conditions.

After parking, a police officer appeared to stamp my passport and that was it. SX and I were on our own in a windswept corner of Iceland and I let the feeling sink in. Elation was followed by the exhaustion of a day’s flying. I needed to get to the hotel and find a beer, but first the airport workers helped me push SX into a corner where the airport vehicles provided shelter from the wind.

SX safely parked and ready for more.

On the topic of wind – another crossing attempt just before me ended here after what looked like a pretty serious ground loop. This pilot was far braver than me to attempt crossing in a Cessna 120.

Egilsstadir – Hella – Reykjavik

The next morning, I switched on the shower and wondered why the water smelled of sulfur. It turns out that the water comes directly from geothermal hot springs! As I walked to the airport a local flagged me down and gave me a lift – Iceland must be a high trust society. With the airport bill paid I climbed aboard SX and set off to the south for a day of Icelandic aerial sightseeing. I meandered toward the Vatnajökull ice cap which covers a large area of the island. Weather along the coast kept me inland and I routed via the Kverfjöll volcano. The pictures can explain the topography here.

Kverfjöll volcano (I think)

Once away from the ice cap, dark black volcanic rock and sand take over and the sparse vegetation provides a stunning contrast.

I made a stop at Hella, a grass strip in the south of the island. No one was there, but the flying club emailed me the code for the clubhouse. I felt no need to venture into Reykjavik city – I’ll save that for another trip – so I spent a couple hours here reading and relaxing.

After that it was a hop into Reykjavik. The airport is right in the city and it’s a special place to land. As you can see, my time in Iceland was short and I barely scratched the surface. It deserves its own separate trip one day.

Reykjavik to Kulusuk

Having refuelled the previous evening, I only had to get into my dry suit and go flying. I was really excited for this next leg to Greenland, more so than the one to Iceland. I think it’s because I’ve long been fascinated by Greenland and my initial nervousness was dampened by the success of the first legs.

Ready to go from the RV parking area at Reykjavik

There was a tail wind forecast and I was soon moving along at a decent rate. The usual chores included pumping down the ferry tank and making position reports to Iceland Radio.

Once Iceland left my view, a blanket of stratus appeared ahead with the tops at my level. With the OAT being -3C, I climbed and sat above the flat cloud layer for an hour or so. I lost VHF contact with Iceland Radio and I only had to get one message relayed by a bizjet before I was within Nuuk radio VHF coverage.

The cloud fell away revealing a unique shade of deep blue below me and, on the horizon, a white speck. The speck became an iceberg – a lonely one that had wandered far from its birthplace. And then the silence of the ocean was broken by the mountainous and dramatic coastline of Greenland.

About 45 degrees off my track to the right was a glacier that piqued my curiosity. With 100nm to go until Kulusuk I opted to divert north for a closer look. I updated my routing with Nuuk Radio and set the heading.

I had never seen a glacier meeting the sea before. Greenland’s land mass is partly around or below sea level with mountain ranges on the periphery, forming a huge bowl which contains the world’s largest store of ice. The ice cap is 10,300ft high in the middle and it creeps through fjords on the edge of the land, eventually spilling into the water. There it creates a shelf onto the ocean and eventually breaks up, birthing icebergs in the process.

The temptation to see the icebergs close up could not be ignored. Some of them are enormous and each is unique. Those recently released from a glacier are rough and jagged, whereas older ones have been sculpted by the air and water into fascinating shapes.

After climbing back to a more sensible level I proceeded down the coast towards Kulusuk. I felt lucky to witness this show. The mountains protrude rudely from the sea, rugged and desolate. They are skirted by ice floes and smaller bergs.

Strange looking clouds

Soon the coastline moderated and I turned inland to fly along the fjords. Up ahead was Bluie East Two. In World War II, the Americans set up various stations in Greenland with the code name “Bluie”. The most famous is Bluie West One, now known as Narsarsuaq. Bluie East Two is a gravel strip on the east coast and unlike Narsarsuaq it has been abandoned since the war. Today you can still see the remains of the hangar, various vehicles and a few thousand fuel barrels rusting away. Much of this has been cleaned up although some is being left to preserve the historic site. One day I’d like to land there.

Kulusuk is subject to rapidly forming sea fog and may be unusable even when conditions are good just a few miles away, so I was happy to make radio contact with them and receive news of clear conditions. After touching down on the gravel strip, I parked up and was greeted with a drum of avgas on a forklift. As I was airborne for 3.5 hours from Iceland (it would have been less than 3hrs without the sightseeing detour) I’d only used the contents of my Turtle Pac and had full fuel in the wings. This was plenty to continue onwards and so I declined the drum.

I checked into Hotel Kulusuk, then spent a few hours strolling around. Apparently no polar bears had been spotted recently so I walked into town. The town itself is nothing to write home about and it’s only locals who live there. The tourism seems confined to the hotel with guests taking daily excursions by boat, 4×4 or helicopter.

Perfect place for a stroll

After dinner, the waitress said there was a bonfire down the road and with social opportunities being limited in Kulusk, I went along. This turned out to be a gathering with the airport employees and these guys really love aviation. The airport manager was a retired airline pilot and there were a few temporary workers from Denmark. We had a memorable evening drinking beers and roasting marshmallows under the midnight sun.

Kulusuk to Kangerlussuaq to Ilulissat

Of all the legs on the trip, I was most apprehensive about flying over the ice cap. My aircraft has no deicing and an encounter with IMC over the ice cap could be problematic, with the MSA around 12,000ft at some points on my route. With the zero degree isotherm far below ground level, the option to descend out of icing would not be available. That being said, weather over the ice cap is often fine since the large cold mass causes subsidence. The resulting high pressure region is typically extremely clear. Due to the terrain, pressure systems and cold temperatures, altimetry is unreliable here so I was advised to play it safe at a high level.

Kulusuk was murky in the morning with thin altostratus hanging around my cruising level of 14,000ft. I departed as planned and SX launched eagerly into the cold air. Cruising at OAT of -18C there was no airframe icing and soon my view of the thin cloud was replaced with the brilliant white ice cap and the clear conditions prevailed for the rest of the crossing.

There’s a story in Fate is the Hunter where a PBY Catalina crew were flying over the ice cap and became confused as their airspeed started dropping, eventually reaching zero. They were flying lower than expected and had landed on the ice cap without realising. If that’s true, I can see how. There is no perception of height over the ice. Besides the smooth snow topping all you can see is thin patches of stratus at low-ish level over the ice – where the terrain meets the sky is indeterminate.

A uniquely desolate view

Time then for another history lesson. During the height of Cold War paranoia, the Americans built an extension of the DEW line consisting of four radar sites across Greenland: one on each coastline and two on the ice cap. The coastal sites, DYE-1 and DYE-4, are long gone but DYE-2 and DYE-3 have been left on the ice cap to slowly sink into the abyss. DYE-2 was close to my route so I had added it to my flight plan.

With my face glued to the canopy I banked the aeroplane to try and get a sighting. It took a while but its appearance only further warped my sense of perspective because DYE-2 is not a natural object, nor have I seen it before, so I had no idea of its size. It was bright and clear and right there though without looking at the altimeter I couldn’t tell you if there was 100 feet or 10,000 feet below. This may sound hyperbolic but the perspective was as I describe it.

I headed downhill towards the western side of Greenland and the terrain was calmer than the east coast. The ice cap tapers more gradually and the surface is pockmarked by miles of crevasses. A forced landing here would be undesirable.

Kangerlussuaq is found just after the glacier dissolves onto the land, right at the end of a 100 mile long fjord and far enough from the coast that the weather is usually good. It was originally called Bluie West Eight. After landing I refuelled the mains and the bladder tank, not yet sure where I was going to end up for the night.

My final destination that day was Ilulissat and on my way into Kangerlussuaq I heard Ilulissat-bound Dash 8 airliners diverting. The METAR explained why with broken cloud at 700 feet. The Ilulissat instrument approach has an OCA of 1100ft; this resulted in the diversions.

Upon reaching the desk in the Kangerlussuaq terminal, the handling agent asked if I’d seen the METAR for Ilulissat and said perhaps he should book me a hotel? I looked around and decided I’d rather not get stuck in Kangerlussuaq, so I told him to hang fire while I waited for the latest weather report. A few minutes later the new METAR showed broken clouds and the webcam confirmed that the low cloud was clearing up. As it was early afternoon, I decided it would be safe to make the one hour leg north. Diversion to Sisimiut or even back to Kangerlussuaq would have been possible. Without delay I scuttled down the jetway in front of some confused inbound commercial passengers and back to SX which was waiting patiently on the tarmac.

Probably my favourite photo from the trip

The short flight north to Ilulissat took me inland of the convective weather bubbling up along the coast. Terrain on the west coast is moderate compared to the eastern and southern parts of Greenland, though still amazing. On my right was the ice cap and on my left the seemingly infinite fjords.

Approaching Ilulissat took me across the Icefjord, often called the iceberg factory. Ahead was the 800m runway of Ilulissat and, just beyond, the new gargantuan runway which dwarfs the existing one. Given the small size of the original Ilulissat airport, airline operations are limited to small Dash 8-100 types (and formerly the mighty Dash 7) which carry 30-40 passengers at a time. Despite this limitation, Ilulissat is already full of tourists and the new airport will be bringing in an A330 load of people at a time. It was good to see the place before it gets completely overrun.

The terminal was full of passengers awaiting news on their cancelled flights. I got some odd looks when I showed up in my little RV.

Ilulissat is popular for a reason. It is stunning. I’d booked my hotel whilst airborne using my Starlink and the only vacancy was Hotel Icefiord which was not cheap, though worth it for a couple of nights. I sat on the terrace and ate dinner to the soundtrack of popping and gargling icebergs. Over the next couple of days I managed some hiking, a kayak tour and spent another night in a guesthouse with some Poles who had been stuck for nearly a week due to cancelled flights. They were good company and slightly puzzled as to how I was able to depart as and when I pleased, yet their airline flights were unavailable.

Dinner with a view

Ilulissat to Iqaluit

The final leg of the Atlantic crossing. The route took me across the Davis Strait, a relatively short 200nm water crossing, then over Baffin Island. I’d hoped to see Mount Thor and Mount Odin, though cloud cover was forecast over much of Baffin Island. Once again, Windy’s forecast was on point and the cloud was as expected. Mostly below the freezing level, with tops only around 6000-7000ft, so I was happy to continue VFR at 13,500ft for this leg. After Disko Island, I saw nothing of the ground until approaching Iqaluit except for the odd glimpse of sea ice. Despite this, I was grateful to have otherwise benign conditions for the last leg.

Enroute with the compass showing gobbledygook

After landing the customs officer gave me a warm welcome into Canada. This was also my first time in the country and I felt huge satisfaction to have made it there under my own steam. It took me a while to get hold of the refueller, a really friendly and helpful guy who then took me to my hotel and made sure I avoided the FBO fees.

SX overnighted next to a Kenn Borek turbine DC3, a far cry from her usual home at a grass strip in England.

And just like that, I’d completed the Atlantic crossing. By chance, a friend was ferrying a Caravan through Iqaluit so we met up at the hotel for celebratory beers.

The next instalment will be flying through northern Canada to Alaska, then down to the lower 48.