Well yet again the best laid plans of mice and men! Illness means Richard can't go, so faced with 9 hours flying over unknown territory over two days, I opt to take the passenger seat in with Bob Steve and George in Charlie-Charlie. So the final roll call at North Weald on Friday morning reveals Rob (me) - camera duties, chronicler and map passer; Bob and Steve, flight systems operators; GRJCC the aeroplane; and George chief pilot: three Wallies, two Charlies and one George.

The plan is Thurrock, Mayfield, St. Catherine's Point and a stop in Alderney for change of flight systems operator and fuel. Then Granville, Redon, La Boule, down the coast to Les Sables d'Olonne and then straight in to La Rochelle. Steve and I have been looking at the TAF's and general forecasts... Alderney would be a result by the looks of it. Bob is Mr Enthusiasm though, nothing is going to spoil his day. So life raft loaded and the instructions read; the PLB tested; a mobile phone in a water proof bag; tea sloshing in our stomachs; and we're away.

Bob bathes CC in oil. Clear of cloud.

It's a really quiet day. Perhaps because it is Friday, perhaps because everyone else has more sense. We get across the Thames though with out too much problem, but then have to make a small descent to stay VFR. Come Mayfield though and the flight operator has to take over to go around some rain storms. However, George is back in control over Sussex and the view forward is much better than the one behind. We coast out at St Catherine's Point and stare at the blue sky over the blue ocean and make believe we can see an horizon.

Rain drops are falling on my strut. Shoreham approach.

I must be getting used to sea crossings. It used to be white knuckles and not a word spoken as we listened for any variation in the engine not. But now the crossing slips by and pretty soon we are talking to Jersey Zone and Alderney and France are in sight. Jersey pass us over to the next controller, but who is it, did he say "Guernsey Tower", or "Alderney"? We are on the frequency, but no-one is talking. Steve strikes out taking a guess at Alderney, but no it's Guernsey approach. Egg on face, but only us to know. Bob wrests the controls from George and takes onto a base and final for two-six. We touch down and park up with perfect timing, the fuel bowser is already out.

George, our guardian angel. Clouds and shadows.

So fuel in Two Charlies, the three amigos head for immigration leaving George in charge of the aeroplane. Twenty minutes waiting and filling in the form, this could be Heathrow! The formalities out the way and Bob files the plan for La Rochelle on his iPhone using RocketRoute. The iPhone however is insistent about spell checking the ICAO codes for the French airports. A bead of sweat appears on Bob's brow; the "technolodgy" is not going to get the better of him. Determined not to ask their IT expert, Bob and Steve check and re-check the plan and eventually it is swilling round the system. So, more tea in stomachs, and a some cheese burgers to float in it while we wait for the plan to reach Jersey ATC.

Full fuel, tea and cheese burgers. Thank heavens Sparky missed this.

Back in Two Charlies; line up on two-six and we are off to sunny (hopefully) France. We head towards Granville on the Cherbourg peninsula, partly to avoid Jersey and the inevitable inbound British Airways flight and partly because Bob wants some pictures of Mont St. Michel for his Ecclesiastical Architecture guide book. The "mont" looks like an acne eruption on an otherwise flat landscape. We buzz by and I take a dozen photos, hopefully something there Bob can use. Steve then lets George get us back on track. By now, of course we are talking to Rennes Information. In amongst the French chatter comes some English, invariably a traffic report for us. Northern France seems pretty flat, could be somewhere in Essex.

La Baie. Mont St. Michel.

We make the waypoint at Redon - Bains sur Oust airfield. I can see the airfield, a nice long tarmac runway and a large hanger all for a single GA aeroplane on the apron - seems like flying is not a sin in France. We cross the marshlands of Briere and skirt north of St. Nazaire's control zone to reach the next waypoint of La Baule - Escoublac, another pristine small airfield. We turn south south east and head off down the coast, bridges and l'hses (that's lighthouses to non Charlie-Charlie people) galore to photograph. Hundreds of dykes form regular patterns just inland from the coast. A bit of googling back at home leads me to believe these are Oyster beds; we guessed at mussels, but they apparently are cultivated on posts out in the sea.

Redons/Bains sur Oust. Chateau du Golf.

And then, we are at Les Sable d'Olonne (guess what, another pristine GA airfield), and George puts us on a south-east heading for La Rochelle. We can already see Ile de Re: what started as an unpromising day is glorious sunshine here on the Atlantic coast. It seems Bob's enthusiasm was wholly justified. We are thinking of the first beer, so Steve takes over from George and puts us on downwind for two seven. A slight circuit abnormality between some villages and then follow the motorway on to final. And touch down! Two Charlies has landed.

Bridge, St. Nazaire. Bridge, Noirmoutier.

Coast. Downwind.

Parking sorted the first challenge is working out how to get through immigration and customs. A mostly gesticulated conversation with a man with Surete on his back gets us through a security gate without the merest hint of any bureaucracy. So, next challenge is get a taxi. There are two commercials flights a day and they've been and gone, so no taxi's on the ground. We wait... and wait. Eventually I see an intercom in the foyer on which someone has scrawled 'TAXI'. Bob has to press the button for me because apparently I did not do it with enough conviction. Probably because I'd been elected to talk to the person on the other end... I failed French at school. I start off assembling just about every French word I know into one sentence (it wasn't very long) and the woman on the other end answers me in English. That's sorted then. The taxi comes and we get to the hotel and check in. "Beer?" says Bob. "Beer!" say Rob and Steve. Three beers later we go to our rooms, dump our bags and make our phone calls.

Fill in your own caption. George takes a photo.

So what restaurant? We're in a French coastal town, so it can't be anything but fish. The receptionists recommends Chez Andre and we set off, me with the map as George had elected to spend the night in Two-Charlies. I lead Bob & Steve up and down the quay side three times before I establish where I'm going. However they are distracted. Chez Andre turns out to be fantastic. The fish is marvelous, the wine is good and Steve doesn't have any matches (we made sure), so after the long flight across strange lands speaking in strange tongues, we are now relaxed. So relaxed that I fall asleep on a bar stool, time for bed.

The harbour. L'hse de La Rochelle.

First disaster avoided: forgot to put the alarm clock an hour forward, but I'm still on work time. An early morning stroll around the quay and medieval town clear the cobwebs. Breakfast ensues and then the weather watch. The forecast is the same as yesterday so we discard it. Well at least until we get back to the UK where it is supposed to be raining again. Check out and taxi to the airport. Time for the French again as we try to explain that we are leaving France for the Channel Islands, which are not part of the European Union and that we need to tell customs. My inspired "Iles de la Manche" does not get any recognition, drat!

Bored!. Big stuff.

Next task is fuel. But the fuel man has gone of in the bowser to fill up the two commercial jets. 40 minutes later we are ready; flight plan filed; maps sorted; George has his orders so let's go. "Where's Quebec" says Steve mulling over a tower transmission, "never mind Quebec, what's the QNH" answers Bob. Steve scans the map of the locale for a waypoint called Quebec. Bob reminds him about the QNH and he asks the tower who refer him to the ATIS frequency. By now we are lined up and cleared for take off, so we go. Hours later... on Alderney... Steve realises that Quebec was the current ATIS information. Better late than never!

Oyster beds?. Boats.

We retrace our footsteps from yesterday. Off to Les Sables, then Le Baule, then Redon. The weather is fine, the journey pleasant. George has everything under control. At the boundary for Jersey we announce our presence. Bob has got PPR clearance Foxtrot 15 to enter the zone, but they never ask for it. We fly up the western boundary and then head for Alderney as requested and are given a left base join. Bob has to fight the turbulence on the approach but we survive.

Ile de Noirmoutier. La Vilaine.

Cunning plan to avoid a wait like the previous day: Steve and I take yesterday's customs clearance form to the report point and copy it onto a new one, while Bob sorts out the fuel. Form filling done and Bob still sorting out the fuel we leave a message with the firemen for the loud noisy bald bloke jumping about in shorts, that we are in the cafe. More tea and cheeseburgers while we wait for the flight plan to reach Jersey ATC. A judicious wait and then we are ready to go. One day I will make it out of Alderney airport into town, one day. A quick pause on the apron to wave back to the children on the Aurigny Trislander, who are excited about being on a real aeroplane.

Noisy bloke in shorts. Trislander departs.

Line on two-six and off we go again. After all that chatter with French ATC, Bob is feeling good. Shame he forgets to change frequencies and calls London on Jersey zone. George wouldn't have made a mistake. Phone calls to the other halves at the airport had revealed the English weather had cleared up nicely. This also means that the fly-past for the Queen's birthday went ahead in the morning and we won't have to wait around to get past them during afternoon reserve slot.

Emergency Service. A small place in the country.

As we turn north at Mayfield, the Red Arrows are on Farnborough's frequency asking if their RAT is clear for a display at Lydd. Bad news from Farnborough, there are two aircraft in the RAT. Red leader is not happy. As time goes by it gets worse with one aircraft leaving and re-entering the RAT several times. The controller at Farnborough is desperately trying to locate what frequency the aircraft is on, and Red one is getting more and more furious. In the end he elects to chase them out himself (not his words, artistic license). Somebody won't be flying for a while... read the NOTAMs people!

Back north of the river. Electricity in the air.

And so back at North Weald. Four and a half hours in the back of a C172 with a dodgy knee don't make me nimble, but I managed to turn the fall from the aircraft into a sort of jump and I don't think George noticed. Bob is happy, two years of trying and he has made it to La Rochelle. Steve is in a good mood too, he gives me a lift home! I'm in a good mood and raring to fly across France myself. One day I'm going to get to Perpignon.

And there you have it, two unpromising weather days actually produced nine hours of flying mostly in glorious sunshine, with a gorgeous meal in a medieval port. Not to mention the 274 photographs to sort through. Thanks to my hosts Bob, Steve, George and Charlie-Charlie. When are we going again?

[Text: Rob] [Photos: Rob, click for more]