Flying Articles

Microlighting the Pyrénées

Towering peaks, magnificent vistas, challenging landings. It’s not hard to see why people enjoy this sort of flying, says Alasdair Arthur.

Great mountains have always been an inspiration. They have an innate grandeur that puts everyday life in perspective, and their remoteness and inaccessibility stands as a challenge which many dream of meeting.

For years my love of the mountains was satisfied through skiing, but when I took up flying the thought of soaring among the high peaks became one of the fantasies that all pilots cherish when they are not in the air.

Beautiful as they are, mountains are dangerous. Compared with their size and solidity, aeroplanes start at something of a disadvantage. Confronting the risks is essential if you are to minimise your chances of coming to grief.

As with most things in flying, the best way to protect yourself is by preparation. In the case of mountain flying, this should include specific training on the techniques and conventions involved. There are many aspects of this type of flying which are not necessarily obvious or intuitive. Everything makes sense once it has been explained, but this is not a forgiving environment in which to just give things a try in the hope of learning from your mistakes.

Weather is a crucial factor, and can disrupt the best-laid plans at any time. In my case it had taken two years to get up into the Pyrénées. I was waiting for a combination of good visibility, no cloud below 11,000ft and calm wind conditions. That's a tall order in any mountain environment, and it took several attempts before one of my visits to southern France coincided with the right conditions.
I was touring France in my CT in the week leading up to the Blois microlight rally in late summer when the right conditions finally came together. I had been staying at the excellent ULM airfield known as the Base ULM Saint Exupéry at Montpezat, just south of Bergerac, and took the advice of the people there as to likely conditions and good places to visit. I had always wanted to go to the airfield at the spa town of Bagnères de Luchon, but Montpezat owner Philippe Boucherat pointed out the nearby altiport at Peyresourde as well. This is only seven miles from Luchon, but thousands of feet higher.

With a favourable forecast, I set off in the morning from Montpezat and headed due south. The rolling countryside and pretty towns of southern France unfolded beneath me as I flew, but my thoughts were focussed on the great line of mountains which were beginning to materialise in the distance, the morning haze giving them an ethereal quality.

Entering the Pyrénées

Half an hour later, as I passed the town of St Gaudens, the Pyrénées were looking very ‘real’ and it was time to make absolutely certain that I was about to enter the right valley. I was also paying very close attention to any signs of downdraughts or rotor. These mountains can easily generate air currents that light aircraft cannot out-climb, and then the only thing to do is to keep well away. Avoiding windy days was one of the reasons I had called off previous flights to Luchon, but today the forecast was right and calm conditions prevailed.

With the right valley confirmed by chart and GPS, I finally entered the Pyrénées. Bagnères de Luchon has strictly-defined approach procedures. It needs them, as it sits at the bottom of a deep valley that plays host to a wide variety of flying machines, including paragliders, microlights, gliders and light aircraft. The visual approach chart looks similar to an IFR one, and defines exactly where you should be as you fly up the valley, pass the glider descending area and then join the circuit for landing.
One of the requirements is to remain as close as is safe to the right-hand side of the valley, so as to provide the greatest possible separation from traffic coming the other way. As I flew up the valley, my little aircraft was utterly dwarfed by the great wall of mountains that my wingtip seemed almost to be touching.

Downwind Valley Flying

An important mountain flying technique is to hug the downwind side of valleys. It's a good example of something that on the surface seems counter-intuitive – after all, why not fly up the middle and stay as far away as possible from any nearby granite? Only when this is explained, does it seem obvious – if you should need to turn back, you maximise the space available by hugging the valley wall, and by flying on the downwind side you ensure that you are turning into the wind, reducing your groundspeed towards the opposite side and buying you more time to complete the turn. Try it the other way, or from the middle of the valley, and you have thrown away what might be critical seconds. It is one of many aspects of mountain flying that come under the heading ‘always think about your escape route’.

I followed the inbound procedure to Luchon, and came around the final bend in the valley to see the pretty spa town laid out in front of me. It was a beautiful day and it really did look like a chocolate box illustration. I flew through the overhead, and banked right and then right again to make my final approach over the centre of the town before touching down on the long, grass runway.
I stretched my legs, took some photos and just absorbed the wonderful scenery around me. The valley soared up steeply on every side, the peaks in the distance still dusted with snow even this late in the summer. It was beautiful down on the ground, but I was soon strapping in again, impatient to get up amongst the peaks while the weather held.

Into the Peaks

My destination was the ski-field altiport at Peyresourde. French altiports are generally only open to pilots with a specific mountain flying qualification. There is, however, a useful exemption to this in that the restriction does not always apply to ULMs.
Taking a straight line, Peyresourde is only seven miles from Luchon, but in that short distance I needed to climb to over 5,000ft — 3,000ft higher than the runway I'd just left. I followed Luchon's departure procedure, which took me back down the valley and clear of the glider area, before starting my climb, eventually turning to retrace my route, far above the town this time.

Peyresourde also has its own arrival procedures, with specific reporting points and altitudes. Everything has to be flown on QNH at these airfields — you simply can't adjust the altimeter enough give a QFE reading when you are landing thousands of feet above sea level. To somebody used to flying in England, the approach instructions were striking: “After passing reporting point N2 at 6,300ft, commence descent and follow the approach path shown on the chart.” Being at 6,300ft a mile-and-a-half from the runway threshold was a novel experience in itself!

The runway at Peyresourde is only 340m long. At first glance that seems a little on the short side for most aircraft, but there's a secret ingredient that changes the normal calculations — a 16% slope. That slope not only means that 340m is plenty, it also removes any uncertainty about which runway direction to use. Assuming the wind is within your limits in the first place, it doesn't matter which direction it's coming from — you land pointing up the hill and take off pointing down.

As instructed by the approach chart, I passed the reporting point at the prescribed altitude, and then started my descent towards the threshold 1,000ft below. Initially I was flying at 90º to the runway, parallel with the valley below and still several thousand feet above the ground immediately beneath me. This sort of thing can make it difficult to judge your true position relative to the runway and is one of the reasons for following the approach chart accurately. I found the procedural aspects of my IMC training to be useful here, even though this was, of course, an entirely visual approach.

At about a mile from the threshold, I turned onto the runway heading. The foreshortening effect caused by approaching a steeply sloping runway was very apparent – it certainly looked short. At many alpine airfields you have to commit absolutely to your landing since the terrain is so steep and the valleys so narrow that a go-around is impossible as aircraft cannot out-climb the terrain. Peyresourde was not quite in that ‘do-or-die’ class, especially in a machine with a healthy power-to-weight ratio, but even so the approach was one to concentrate the mind.

An Exhilarating Landing!

As I passed low over the threshold I flared more than usual and kept a significant amount of power on. The steeply sloping ground rose to meet my wheels and the touchdown was fine, followed immediately by an increase in power to keep my momentum up for the steep climb up the rest of the runway. I pulled the throttle back as I crested the top and rolled out onto the small flat parking area. An exhilarating landing!

This was another chance to drink in the whole experience of being high up in the mountains. The views had certainly changed since my previous stop only a handful of miles away. I was about halfway up towards the peaks and the vistas were magnificent, with steep valleys below me and sharp peaks above. By now it was late morning and some cumulus cloud was appearing from the Spanish side of the ridges, so after a short break I prepared to set off for the final stage of the climb.

As I prepared to taxi out I took a very good look around, since from what can only be described as the launch point you cannot see any of the runway beyond the edge of the flat area at the top. I was careful to make all my radio calls before lining up, and again before opening the throttle. From that moment I was totally committed. The take-off was like a roller-coaster ride. The CT wasn't quite flying by the time it went over the edge, so for a second or two we started down the steep slope of the runway itself. At that point the acceleration increased tremendously and within moments what had been a precipitous descent turned into a soaring climb which felt all the more sudden because of the speed with which the ground was falling away beneath the wings. It's not hard to see why people enjoy this sort of flying!

Exploring the Rocky Crags

Now began the flight that I had really come for. This was my chance to get as close as I ever will to the freedom of the birds. All around me rose the magnificent rocky crags, topped by the last remnants of the previous winter's snows, and with cloud beginning to boil up the valleys from Spain. I was free to explore it all.

I turned up a valley and followed it south towards the frontier. In the distance I could see a saddle leading onwards, but it was obvious that I wasn't climbing fast enough to be able to cross it. Even at maximum power the high density altitude of the warm day was making itself felt, so I banked around in the valley well before it began to narrow. I retraced my path and found myself looking down on the strip I'd just left, now 2,000ft below and looking smaller than ever, before turning again and heading back toward the saddle, which was beginning to look attainable.

As I approached it I found myself entering a magnificent bowl, encircled by sharp ridges of rock. I stuck close to the downwind side again, deliberately approaching the saddle at an angle so that I always had the option turn back if needed. As I neared my crossing point I had enough clearance to judge that the other side was unobstructed and that there were no dangerous downdraughts. Moments later I was across and into the next valley. From here I was looking straight down into Spain.

Above me I could see a snowfield nestled in the shade of the highest ridgeline, so I made that my target. I was at 8,000ft and the snow was about 2,000ft higher, so I flew a leisurely circuit around another peak and along the next valley as I gradually gained height. The scenery was just magnificent, with views now over most of the peaks and panoramas extending into both France and Spain, complemented by beautiful cloud formations in the distance. Having a healthy respect for clouds in mountainous areas, I knew I should not stay too long in this strange and beautiful place, so as I reached the level of the ice sheet at 10,000ft I realised that I would soon need to turn for home.

It was a highly unusual experience to be flying along at over 10,000ft with ice and scree slopes just beyond my port wing and the peaks towering higher still. For a lowland pilot it really was an unforgettable experience.
With the cloud still building, it was time to turn north and start the descent to the more familiar world that I could see in the distance. I flew back over Peyresourde, far below me now, and then covered the few miles to Luchon nestling in the valley floor 8,000ft beneath. Flying north, I was surprised at how abruptly the mountains ended. Quite suddenly I was over the plains again and heading back towards the Dordogne. I clung to my hard-won height for as long as the airspace allowed, but little by little I was forced back down to earth in every sense.

An hour later I touched down on the grass at Montpezat. I started to taxi back to park, but I wasn't quite ready to give up the gift of flight that day so instead of stopping I lined up and took off once more, simply for the joy of being in the air for another few minutes. Sometimes it takes a while to readjust to the ground.

Practical details

First of all, make sure that you have the current charts and airfield guides for the area you are visiting. The charts can be obtained from all the usual pilot shops, but the latest visual approach charts for French airfields are available on the Internet in the AIP section of the French Service de L'Information Aeronautique (SIA) site at www.sia.aviation-civile.gouv.fr

Printed flight guides are available from the French SIA, Bottlang, Delage and others. I used the new France VFR Guide 2004 which covers both GA and microlight airfields throughout France. An invaluable resource for any pilot visiting France is the excellent Navigeo site at www.navigeo.org