Day 2: Mogadouro to ... Mogadouro
The next morning was clearly not going to be a flying day, so we walked the 7km into town getting drizzled on occasionally, hung out in a bar with wifi for a while, and then had a hearty lunch in a big eatery with an impressive indoor cooking fire. After getting our fuel canisters filled we took a taxi back out to the airfield. We updated my radio with a later software version to hopefully put an end to the intermittent dual channel monitoring problems I had been experiencing, read a couple of chapters and walked up and down the deserted runway. And dreamed of the good flying weather and adventures to come - if nothing else, the previous day had whetted my appetite for soaring from cloud to cloud, and achieving the apparently impossible by keeping up with my father and flying partner in his high-performance sailplane. Fighting talk I would soon live to regret.
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As it turns out, deciding not to do our trip to France was a good call. "Air Ventus" took a full 2 weeks for the journey from Southern Germany to my home field north of Madrid. Fortunately my father's 6 decades of gliding experience have imbued him with with saint-like patience, and he calmly endures endless days of being stuck on some rain-soaked airfield deep in the countryside. |
Pilot's woe ... "Air Ventus" waiting out the weather at Buno airfield south of Paris - one of many lengthy unscheduled stops on the way down to Spain.
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In the end, my family and work commitments meant we couldn't depart on our "circumnavigation" together, so the Ventus headed off first - destination Portugal. Four days later I finally loaded up the Motorfalke, "loading up" being used fairly loosely. Having an empty passenger seat makes packing quite uncritical and I can travel in relative comfort, just strapping all my junk onto the seat. I finally got airborne at 2pm. I would meet my dad at the small strip of Seia, right in the centre of Portugal. Some old friends from South Africa have set up a paragliding lodge in the area and I was hoping to spend a night with them.
Portugal, here I come!
There were afternoon thunderstorms forecast in Portugal, so I pushed on as fast as I could. A light tail wind helped me on my way. Crossing into Portugal the landscape changes rapidly, from the open fields on the Spanish side to small, uneven hills covered in lots of trees.
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Arnold had promised to fetch me at the airfield if I notified him in time, so I did a few turns over what I thought was his house in the small village I remember from 5 years ago. Turns out I had picked the wrong house, but it was close enough for them see me and head out to the airfield. |
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The promised thunderstorms were closing in. Time to get on the ground. I ended up landing within a minute of the intrepid "Air Ventus", who had spent the preceding days exploring southern Portugal. Seia is town at the foot of the Serra Estrela mountain range. The airfield is mostly used by firefighters who are contracted in from Spain during the summer. |
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And by a retired Belgian aeromodeller driving a pristine vintage Renault 4... |
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True to his word, Arnold arrived a few minutes later. I was looking forward to spending some time with him and Marie again. They have spent the last 5 years making a completely new start in rural Portugal, Arnold building a large, comfortable guest house with his own hands. Their efforts a beginning to pay off and the lodge is booked with paragliders all summer long. In fact a Paragliding World Cup competition was in full swing while we were there and several of the competitors were staying at the lodge. We spent the evening talking flying with some of the top PG pilots in the world, including some very good old friends from South Africa.
Day 2: Seia to Mogadouro
I would love to say the next day dawned bright and sunny, but that would be stretching the truth. In fact, it hardly dawned at all, it just gradually stopped being quite so dark, while intermittent showers continued unabated. And it was cold - so cold that I ended up borrowing a jacket from Arnold. Nice start to a week's midsummer flying.
The paragliding competition was cancelled for the day. But we thought there might just be a weather window long enough for a relatively short leg to the north, so around mid-morning a big posse of pilots with a day off and looking for entertainment accompanied us out to the airfield.
The paragliding competition was cancelled for the day. But we thought there might just be a weather window long enough for a relatively short leg to the north, so around mid-morning a big posse of pilots with a day off and looking for entertainment accompanied us out to the airfield.
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First we wanted to check out the water bombers, of course. |
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Fire season hadn't really started yet and there was little to do for the crews, so the pilot in attendance was kind enough to let a lot of enthusiastic "wuffos" climb on board and play the fool. |
These are pretty impressive machines: big, heavy, sturdy and apparently indestructible. They all started out with radials in the 60s but most of them have been converted to turboprops. They are the backbone of the Iberian firefighting effort, and sorely needed - hot, dry summers and a shocking lack of awareness by the public leads to a string of forest fires every year.
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Slowly, the sky showed signs of clearing and we got ready to take our gap. Our rather modest goal for the day would be Mogadouro, only about 130km to the north. It didn't seem likely we would get much further in these conditions.
We took off within a couple of minutes of each other. Up ahead the sky showed some promise, although the cloudbase was still very low. |
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I decided to keep my motor running for the time being. There was no other way to keep up with the Ventus. Plus base continued to be very low and the terrain didn't really encourage the thought of landing out.
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Further north, the climbs got better and the clouds were higher. After a while I felt confident enough to switch off the engine. Slowly we worked our way northwards over the rugged valleys, my dad generally going on ahead and then waiting for me in some thermal.
But all good things come to an end. Closer to Mogadouro, new storms were building in the moist, unstable air. Time was running out, and despite my best efforts I had to restart the motor to cover the last 10 or 15km while big, dark clouds were approaching from the east. After skirting around the town, I finally touched down on Mogadouro's huge but completely deserted tar runway just under 3 hours after leaving Seia - not bad for a day that didn't start out with much promise. 15 minutes after landing the sky turned ominous and the first drops of rain began to fall. I had just enough time to fit my special custom-made rain cover from the 2009 Frankfurt-Madrid trip ...
We tied down the planes and huddled under a wing. After the worst of the storm had passed, we set up camp properly and decided that the day's accomplishments should be celebrated with a glass of something in a bar we would hopefully find in the tiny hamlet close to the airfield.
We're in luck! The travelling supermarket rolls into town just as we arrive. Shopping time! Knowing that the forecast for the next day is less than optimal, it's better to be prepared to sit out the weather with some basic provisions at hand.
Now all that remains is waiting in the town square for the one and only bar to open in order to sample some of that famous Portuguese red. It's a tough life ...
We don't know what tomorrow will bring.
But today was good.
