There'll be bluebirds over...

The White Cliffs of Dover...

Well, that or a white and blue PA28...
There's something deeply moving and poignant about being able to fly over the White Cliffs of Dover, especially seeing the wonderful Battle of Britain Memorial as you coast out. It's the privilege that we live in a part of the world where we have the freedom to see that sight and know that it has seen some tragic dogfights that ultimately won us the Second World War. Knowing that I'm looking at a view that would have been seen by both German and English pilots during the Second World War and wondering what emotions were experienced by both and what thoughts were going through the minds of each pilot I encounter something bittersweet. From where I am looking in this photo we are flying away from the coast of England towards Boulogne and the coast of France. In fact our destination - Abbeville - was a key airfield during the German occupation of France where the infamous Messerschmit 109s were based. As a British pilot this view could have been the last glimpse they had of their home country before perishing over the continental soil. As a German pilot this sight could have been met with great relief as though on the home run, having completed their mission and now heading for home. So many mixed emotions - fear and anxiety to relief and exuberance.

Of course, today we were enjoying the novelty of being able to take a light aircraft to visit another airfield in the continent, have lunch there and soak up the experience; a huge contrast to the scenario 67 years ago. We enjoy peace and merriment - but this came at a price, and I feel it is only right to honour and appreciate the liberties we have today. It was such a wonderful experience though. I've flown across to France in a light aircraft before, visiting Le Touquet in a Cessna 172. The adventure never diminishes. And as for the cuisine - well that's worth the trip in itself. I would like to return by car some day and explore the area at greater length. You can't beat flying in, but we were in a huge crowd of British aviators and it almost didn't feel like France once on the ground, aside from the french menus, waiting staff and the occasional french aviator. But what a day... Abbeville itself is some km's away so the airfield was kind of remote, but it was a very peaceful, quaint little place with much gliding activity and a lot of campers. We entered what must've been the clubhouse first and tried to communicate with the locals. They didn't speak English but assured us (in French) that they spoke wonderful French, which I thought was hilarious. I wished I could've communicated in French to demonstrate that we aren't complete xenophobic philistines...

But we found the appropriate building shortly afterwards only to discover that the official was away for lunch. I love the French. So laissez faire... It seemed almost pointless to have brought our passports. No-one was remotely interested in seeing them. So we headed off to the restaurant for lunch and bypassed the office on our return to the aircraft. They also didn't talk to us on the radio. It's funny because it's not unwelcoming but more a sort of "do as you please".

On our return flight we were routing back to Boulogne again and I noticed that every time my pilot reached across to the right to adjust the transponder he allowed the aircraft to turn right. He corrected this the first time, but failed to the second time. He then wondered why the radio aids seem to indicate that we needed to turn left in order to be pointing in the right direction for Boulogne. I also wondered why he hadn't noticed that the compass was indicating that we were heading Northeast. My instincts were telling me that we needed to be heading North if not North-northwest. So it was no surprise when the kindly french air traffic controller (one that finally decided to talk to us) informed us that if we were routing to Boulogne this was at our 9 o'clock position (i.e. to our left). After correcting our heading the pilot mentioned that the wind must've been stronger up here than he'd anticipated. True enough. Admittedly he was doing his PLOG while airborne which would account for most of the errors. But we coasted out in the vicinity of Boulogne and the rest was pretty basic visual reference points. Once over the British coast we needed to descend from 5500ft to 2000ft so we pulled the engine back to idle and just floated down, warming the engine from time to time, occasionally sideslipping to kill more altitude faster (well that's one way of doing it). Everyone I fly with seems to enjoy putting the aircraft into a sideslip... Romey did it on final approach last Monday (which was hilarious!) and Aiden did it to descend today. It can be a dangerous manoeuvre but both seemed to know what they were doing, and it's also pretty exciting so I didn't mind.

Seeing Ashford then Headcorn and hearing the airfield over the radio was so welcoming. I loved the journey but always in the back of my mind there is a little fear of the unknown, and of the potential risks involved. Being on the home-run felt somewhat akin to what the wartime pilots must have felt, only probably more relieved having been a little more rattled. Knowing that Headcorn (or Lashenden) is a wartime airfield also adds to the novelty.

Such a great day, such a beautiful flight.

"Flight Operations - Here to Massage your Ego"

vs.

I've gotta say that today has been a "tread carefully - ego's present" kinda day. Testosterone was a-flowing. One very senior instructor wanted to book the 150 Aerobat for some aerobatics training. I was aware of an Airworthiness Directive on all 150s and 152s preventing spinning (and possibly other aerobatic activity) but wasn't sure if the problem had been fixed so I questioned whether we were okay with aero's in general. This senior instructor somehow interpreted this query as me questioning his authority and/or legitimacy to perform the aerobatic detail. Like I would dare to question such a highly decorated, well-seasoned instructor... Poor Ego. Let me massage you a bit. All those long hours of having people listen to you and heed your highly experienced wisdom must be taking its toll.

Generally known as Sky God to all (including most instructors) I cannot imagine how he could possibly perceive that I would be questioning his authority. All he has to do is look at me and I feel thoroughly inadequate for the job I perform. Luckily for me a senior mechanic was on hand to advise on the specifics of the AD. It strikes me as greatly peculiar how someone with nearly two decades of providing flying instruction and ground school tuition, not to mention the authority to sign people off for their Pilot's License could be so amazingly poor at communication. I am aghast. This is also not the first time his gross misconceptions have almost landed me in deep water and I have no doubt that in the one week I have remaining in this job it will not be the last. It's one thing to have a very male-dominated environment. It's another thing completely to have dominating pragmatist male environment. Three cheers for aviation!
Come on girls!! - get your instructor ticket ASAP!!

I wonder if mission aviation has the same trouble... I work in a highly secular environment, but there must be similarities. If so, I think I shall create a list of "things you'll never see on the official prayer letter but still need praying for". We are all human after all :)

Weary pondering

I probably shouldn't write when I'm tired but certain inhibitions are not present at such times and perhaps some truth will come out amid the weary pondering. Pondering. Sounds like something to do with a garden water feature. Say it lots of times and it becomes a new word entirely. Ponder ponder ponder. A person fascinated with ponds. A person who creates water features. A person who cleans out said water features. I'm not even going to bother looking up the real meaning. Let's stick with the false interpretation and go with that since it makes for light entertainment. Rather like contemporary news programmes, she says, cynically. Now that's taken things down a completely different track that I won't continue to pursue :)

Weary musings. It's all about Canada right now, and indeed has been for the last 4 years. If I track my serious motivations towards this country it all began in 2004 when I was bored of going nowhere at work, having to fly a desk instead of a plane or balloon and wanted some kind of release. I'd always put my life on hold in pursuit of aviation related activities and after many years of no success in that area I decided to see what else the world could offer. Thanks to a colleague who ran a travel consultancy and training establishment (alongside her day job in HR with me) the prospect of travelling became more accessible and I began to look for ways to escape the UK. I looked at Cyprus, France, Germany, Italy, Greece before remembering that my family had great friends in Canada who could potentially be willing hosts. I looked up flights to Calgary and they were relatively inexpensive to what I was anticipating. I wrote to my friends and thus began the re-ignition of a long term friendship and connection with Canada. Within a couple of months I had booked the flights, and later booked a rental car and a month before departure on the first 2 week holiday I had booked the hostels for our mountain escapade. I say "our" because 2 of my cousins came with me and became the best travel companions anyone could ask for.

Barely a week into the trip I realised that this was not the end of my Canadian adventure and a deeper calling beckoned me to return for a longer stay, perhaps get a job and experience living and working in Canada. The prospect was thrilling and also a little terrifying; I recall feeling sick to my stomach with excited apprehension. This was a big step. Would I be able to cope so far from home, away from familiarity, taking my first steps of true independence in one giant leap across the Atlantic? Being dropped off at the airport for our return back to the UK I felt a deep sadness that I would be leaving this stunning country and these wonderful people who I'd only just got to know. It brought a lump into my throat and on that flight I vowed I would return. Canada became my motivation, energising me, seeing me through the bad times at work, giving me hope beyond the crises of my failure at becoming a balloon pilot and allowing me to focus on something other than aviation for the first time in my life.

I did achieve that independence that had scared me on first acknowledging its possibility. I returned to Canada less than a year later and begun a whole new life working in retail, making new friends, discovering more about myself and about God. It was the release I needed. It was more than just a gap year. It was a turning point. For once in my life I could discover who I really was beyond the confines of the aviation-crazy girl everyone had come to know back in England. Few people actually knew about my aviation exploits prior to coming to Canada. In fact few people ever bothered to ask what I did before Canada. It was as if my life had only just begun and I embraced this new outlook and embarked on my new pioneering life. Here was where I could identify with Laura Ingalls Wilder in her pursuit of adventure, going into the unknown West, the new frontier.

But this came at a price. The more I was there, the more I forgot about my life before Canada. I began to take it for granted what a privilege it was to be there. The challenges of daily life took over. I never wanted to think of life back in England in case I discovered how homesick I could really be. So I buried myself in work to avoid it. I became increasingly workaholic. My relationships became too co-dependent. My life before Canada didn't seem to matter to my new friends and so it became irrelevant to me. But in severing this part of my life I lost a huge part of who I was. I became Mim the Youth Worker, the Assistant Manager, the Brit at Christian Publications (the bookstore I worked at). I forgot that I was Mim the Adventurer, the pilgrim, the one whom God loves, the one with roots back home and a wonderful 26 years of history prior to Canada. I feared losing Canada because this had made me who I thought I was. I had begun to dig roots there and was fearful of losing them - and yet it was always going to be a temporary thing; a season. I had convinced myself that somehow I could stay - that all the wonderful things I had contributed to life there would entitle me to be a part of its future. I had invested so much there after all. But it was a false reality and soon the true reality sunk in. I would have to go home. Canada, while wonderful, enchanting, hospitable, and homey was not my home.

Flattered by people's desire to keep me there, and their grief at my anticipated departure I convinced myself that I would not leave them for long, that I would return soon. Canada had become so much a part of me that I could not bear to think that I did not belong. Again - a false reality. Sure, a part of me belongs there but it is not all and everything to me. I did not realise it then, and indeed in the months to follow after my return home I still felt as though I had lost a huge part of me and grieved for it bitterly. It wasn't until I had got to a point of total surrender at the feet of God where I felt stripped bare of everything I had ever done - all the achievements, the ministries, the things I held so dear, the times of glory and of struggle all laid at the feet of the One who has been with me - that I realised what it was that really mattered and how far off track I had gotten. It didn't matter where I went or who I met or who believed or didn't believe in me. What mattered was who I am in Christ, that I belonged to Him and that in this knowledge I need not strive for anything - for status, for independence, for happiness, for satisfaction. In Him I have my being, my belonging, my identity, my focus and my life.

Suddenly Canada shrank before my eyes. Aviation shrank. All the things I held dear diminished. And yet I grew. The Spirit took over and peace reigned in my heart once more.

And then a world of opportunities opened up before me, as though I had the choice of anything - anything at all - and it could be done. I could go to Ethiopia to visit my brother and his family (something I should've done some time ago), I could visit my sister in Northern Ireland, I could even travel across the world to Australia if this was where I should be. But first Canada. The pendulum seems to have swung the other way now to the point that I sometimes resent it - or at least resent the hold it had on me for so long to the point of self denial. I know I must return and put some closure on it, resolve to go back with an open mind and a stronger will to resist the dissolving effect it has on my personality. I am not there to assimilate. I am not Canadian. I am British. I am Me. I do what I do and I think what I think. It seems sad that the pendulum had to swing so far in the opposite direction. Perhaps this visit will settle it in the middle somewhere.

I regret allowing the false reality of a permanent existence in Canada to take hold and for so long. I listened to people who did not know the true reality of my nomadic existence and allowed their attachment to me to influence my judgment of reality. I resented anyone who reminded me of the fact that at some point I had to go home to England, that I was really an outsider (something so painful to me!). I returned home and remained an outsider because I could not let go of my Canadian existence. That was the hardest part. Being an outsider in your own home and country. But this time will be different. I am aware of my boundaries and sense that the journey is a short one, and even if it isn't and I return once more to the life I became so fond of in Canada I enter with an open mind, my eyes open and my feet firmly on Solid Ground.

Musings over :)

East Cliff: My haven, my refuge...

There's nothing like spending a morning walking along the coast as the fishermen bring in their latest catch and follow them as the fish is prepared and made ready for selling in the local market stands...

I love this part of the world. Mum came with me and sat in the car as I made my way down the steps onto the seafront. She investigated her latest toy - a new camera - and sat there counting the ships along the horizon in one of the busiest shipping corridors in the world - the Dover Strait.

It had been raining overnight and so the beach was pretty much deserted apart from a few kids and an elderly couple. I made my way to the harbour where the seafood stands are set up and bought half a pint of whelks, then waited to see if any of the fishermen would entertain a conversation. Not feeling all that confident I chose to hover around the harbour looking out to sea and hoping to overhear some conversation. The stand began to get a little busier with people coming to partake of the fresh catch, so I watched them as they made their selection. On display were many different fish - skate wings, skate nobs, herring, lemon sole, turbot, cod, coley, huss, bass, mackerel, and I think I even saw a squid or two. I felt drawn inside to investigate further and eventually I walked away with a pound of huss. Feeling very pleased with myself that I had ventured beyond the confines of my usual order of shrimp, I marched back along the seafront and up the cliff (no mean feat) toward the car to announce that I had bought dinner for today.

Mum was pleased with my selection, although not so sure about the whelks. She took one look at them and confessed that she'd never tried one before and wasn't too keen on starting this morning. Shellfish don't look all that appetising whatever they are and whelks are possibly the least aesthetically appealing but Mum suddenly had a bold streak and decided to try one. They are more substantial than your average mussel and considerably chewier, but meatier as well which is a nice surprise. I imagine they're a bit more solid because they had to be boiled a lot longer. We're always a bit wary of locally caught shellfish because of potential pollution, but I prefer not to think about it and throw caution to the wind. Mim the Adventurer returns once more...

It seems hard to imagine that in a fortnight I'll be on an entirely different continent once more and will be significantly further inland, so it's all the more reason to make the most of the coastal visits while I'm still within 400 miles of one... And make the most of it I will. I can't get enough of this part of the world. People seem to write off places like Folkestone and Dover but there really are some fantastically beautiful views and East Cliff boasts of this a lot. Even the sounds give character to this place. The sea was quite calm and in the background you can hear a slight hum of the harbour docks echoing across the water. There was little or no wind and so sound carried for a great distance. The recent rain seemed to have soothed the tide and within 20 minutes the clouds had broken up and revealed the coast of France. I returned to the car but rather than peering outward from within I retrieved my deck chair and sat alongside the car where it was parked (and next to the passenger's side with Mum and her open window) and absorbed the panorama, munching on whelks and talking of life and the universe, all the while the ships continued to drift across the horizon, small fishing boats set out from the harbour and life quietly hummed along this little part of the world.

This is my haven. This is my refuge.

Into the blue empirion...

Mike Lima :) My bus for the morning flight. We took off around 11:30 and headed south towards the coast via Bodiam Castle, Hastings then Eastbourne. We then flew over the sea parallel with Beachy Head and then skirted the coast till Hastings then headed inland again. After buzzing Rob Davies at Woodchurch we headed west and rejoined dead-side then did an awesome sideslip approach before landing back at Lashenden. Absolutely stunning!! The viz turned pants on route back to the field so there were some hairy bits but it all cleared up within an hour to reveal a stinking hot sun and a super muggy day (which subsequently triggered some thunderstorms). I always seem to fly just before thunderstorms... Flying is such a drug though!! I find myself longing to be up there again, to feel the thrill of the flight and the luxury of such a great aircraft. So smooth and such great visibility from the cockpit! The blue empirion beckons me.........

Check out my second home - Headcorn Aerodrome:
www.headcornaerodrome.co.uk

Pic de Jour

French Riviera? Costa Del Sol? Lanzarotte? Noooo:

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present the Leas, Folkestone, Kent!

Love this part of the world.

And on this particular morning I'd just messed up a teacher training interview and needed nature to inspire me once more. It did me proud.

Pic of the day - A Pilatus PC12

This PC12 is operated by Mission Aviation Fellowship in Tanzania.

I'm posting this today because I've spent most of the day finishing off creating resources and activities for air cadets and non-church youth groups about the work of MAF. Above and Beyond is the youth section of MAF and we're trying to boost awareness of the work of MAF in more young people. It's quite an exciting time with air cadet squadrons opening their doors to MAF reps to talk about the work of this awesome organisation.

Who knows, maybe in a couple of years' time we'll be having mission aviation camps and sending groups of young people on field trips to Uganda... It's early days yet but I'm pretty excited about what's ahead. A potential link with the Air Cadet Organisation could be a great way for Air Cadets to fulfill the Residential requirement for their Gold Duke of Edinburgh's Award. Primarily, though, it is a great way to raise awareness and maybe get some fundraising underway. Here's to the way forward.

Pic of the day..

'Cos sometimes words are unnecessary

The Adventures continue

In just over three weeks I shall be returning to Canada after an 8 month sojourn home...

This is a bold adventure in some ways but also a trip to familiar pastures in others. It is familiar in that I will be staying with some of the wonderful friends I've made out there, attending church as normal, supporting youth activities, and helping out at day and residential camps (pretty much your average summer in Alberta). I will also be house-sitting for friends who will be going away for their annual vacations and so I will have a certain amount of independence too.

The boldness can be seen in that, while I am well provided for in terms of activities and accommodation, I have very little finance to support me while I'm out there. In fact I have yet to purchase my homeward flight! The past 8 months have been a time of wilderness for me as I struggled to come to terms with life back in the UK, the sudden change in environment, the loss of independence, the huge struggle with obtaining employment (and subsequent issues arising from that) and a sense of displacement. Spiritually I must confess to have been angry with God for this change and while I returned in obedience to what I sensed was His will, it was with a certain amount of reluctance and impatient anticipation for the "next step". I wrestled rather than rested and have come to realise that I needed this time to restore my strength, my faith and my focus. I have always searched for a place to belong in places and people rather than God. It was during a week-long conference with a group called International Christian Youthworks a couple of weeks ago that I finally crashed out and gave it all to God in humble submission. Ironically I was there to see if I could potentially join them. It turned out to be more about what they could do for me. They were a great bunch of people with a big heart for God, for youth and for each other and they really poured into me as though I was already part of their "family".

Since then I have found a greater peace and a deeper understanding about what these past 8 months have been about. I have confessed where I went astray, received forgiveness and restored hope in my heart. I have realised that I need to return to Canada to, if anything, put closure on it. Or if a new season is to unfold out there to embark on it with a fresh heart and a groundedness that I lacked during the final months last time. I am still passionate about working with the youth and church out there but this comes second to seeking God. This probably sounds all very "Christian-ese" but it's the only way I can communicate what's been going on in my life and it feels right to share it with you.

I cannot begin to describe what the past 8 months have been like. Desert. Wilderness. I've been present but not really here like it's been one hazy kind of dream. Does this sound crazy? Every time I've reached out to try and shake it off in my own strength I've not succeeded. I've battled with things from my past that were not dealt with, I've battled with my own sense of identity and now, finally, peace is restored, God is back in the Pilot's seat and I'm happy to let Him take control.

And now ahead of me lies another adventure. It's pretty much sorted but still my heart is anxious. The practical human side of me thinks this is crazy to return: I haven't exactly been in a position to earn a great deal over here and have some but not much money in reserve over there. Yet I feel God is telling me to go in faith. And there was me thinking that I was crazy the last time I went back after the 2 week break in 2007... At least I had the prospect of a work permit and income. This time is much different because there is no job, no work permit and while I only expect to be there for up to 3 months max, no flight home at the other end as yet. Go in faith, go in faith. How do people do this?? Don't get me wrong, I have some times of serenity and peace when I leave it all in God's hands but then the human side takes over and wonders if I'm missing something - a job offer over here maybe, or a chance to get settled, or an opportunity that falls in the middle of when I'm supposed to be away. This is uncharted territory here requiring much faith...