Jason - Norway was the scariest flying I've ever done. I had a burning smell from the engine on the way up there whilst skirting around Stavanger under a low ceiling of dense cloud, then busted their airspace whilst looking for somewhere to crash. The smell disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived, and I concluded it was from having just flown through a rain cloud. I then ended up doing so much weather-diversion that I ran low on fuel and had to call into a place up
in the mountains that only had Jet A1. That was all on one leg of the trip, and was the single worst piece of flying I've ever managed. Total shite, and too close for comfort.
Then on the way home I decided there was really no difference between routing down to Denmark or straight across to the Orkneys, via the Shetlands, since either way there were no engine-failure options other than to go
in some very cold water. So I opted to head direct for the Shetlands. It was 1.5 hours over the North Sea - too long
in a single-engine aircraft. I was out of my comfort zone by quite a margin, but I figured it was just psychological issue that I had to overcome. The engine has 700 hours on it - 700 hours without a failure, so why would it fail now?
About halfway across, I relaxed a lot and started to enjoy the solitude. There's something quite emotionally powerful about being up there alone, on the edge of nowhere, skirting around the edge of the planet like this. I was out of radio contact with Norway Control, and not close enough to the Shetlands to contact Sumburgh. I had about three minutes of calm and control, and then the engine spluttered. Just briefly, but a very definite splutter.
In retrospect I think it was carb ice (melting off the inlet / butterfly and slipping through the engine), but that single second of rough running shite me up good and proper, and I was convinced I was going into the sea. For the next 45 minutes I listed to every cycle of that engine, and it was the longest 45 minutes of my entire life. I coasted
in near Sumburgh, without another cough from the engine, so resisted making a pan call and carried onwards. For any non-pilots who have read this far, this isn't what you're supposed to do - I should have stopped to check the engine. But hey, I was nearly there. Then, as I arrived over the Orkney islands, the engine began spluttering again, and on approach into Kirkwall, as I pulled the throttle
back, it ran even worse. This is a classic carb-ice situation, but I was concentrating on my approach too much to make that assessment there and then. I did a very tight circuit, expecting my approach might be a deadstick one, but the power held and I made it all the way to the terminal. I went into the terminal
in my immersion suit and lifejacket, headed straight to the bogs, and did a very nervous shite.
The rest of the flight was equally as bad - got weathered-
in at Wick, then the engine started running rough again. Then it cleared. Some nice guys did a compression check for me. It was fine, and staying fine, so I headed south, got as far as Inverness, had to divert due to terrible weather, spent the night
in Tain, which was OK, but I wanted to be home. The next day I flew down the Great Glen as the Cairngorms were weathery, then past Oban. I tried to do the Low Level Corridor at Manchester, but the weather was bad again. Blackpool ATC told me I could get through over the coast, which is what I did, at which point Liverpool let me transit their airspace straight down the Mersey. That was pretty cool. Then a stop for fuel just south of Manchester with another wait for weather to blow through, then straight home into the sunny south. Total flight time - 9.5 hours each way. I should have taken an airliner.
Here's the Liver building from 800ft:
