(Click on the small photos to view them enlarged, and then use your browser's Back button.)
 

Some time ago, when the dollar had run out of lift and the Deutschmark was buzzing around happily at FL 310, I began looking with regret at the ever-growing chapter 'GERMANY' in my Bottlang Airfield Manual. All those pretty airfields depicted on the VFR landing charts, surrounded with green forests or blue seas, were never going to be explored by my Rallye Commodore. Wherever we went from now on, we'd give Germany a miss.

And then one day I heard there was to be a rally of vintage gliders at an historic site called the Wasserkuppe, a mountain located well inside the ADIZ, practically on the East German border, and I knew I had to go. As if the above wasn't enough incentive, a letter arrived from an old friend in the US to say he was lecturing in Prague at about that same time and why didn't I drop in for a visit. Although I could find no nav chart with either the Wasserkuppe or Prague on it, my pocket atlas indicated that they lay at longitudes and latitudes tantalizingly near each other.

So into the plane went tent and cooking stuff and cheese and wine and de-taxed booze and instant coffee, along with umbrella, rain boots, etc, since I figured that the Wasserkuppe (water hill) hadn't gotten its name for nothing.

The trip began unpromisingly with a messy flight over the lower Alps during which cloud, wind and turbulence caused me to change course at least twice, then climb to 10,000 feet in 35-knot headwinds, and I squeaked into Lyon/Bron to take 203 litres into my 220-litre fuel tanks. It is folly to do this, folly to fly leaning over sideways to read the fuel gauges from their most optimistic angle, straight on. Needless to say, I was alone in the airplane and very familiar with its fuel gauges or I'd never have done it, the prospect of de-taxed fuel notwithstanding.

At Lyon I filed a flight plan for Egelsbach, but upon reaching the German border was overcome by curiosity of the unknown and decided to try and land first at Freiburg, the old university town. Perhaps it was Bottlang's description that intrigued me. The approach plate gave dire warnings of heavy glider traffic, winch launches, flashing yellow warning lights, parachute jumping, pilot's school traffic, intense French helicopter activity on weekends, heavy turbulence on finals, high tension wires on railroad line, limited braking action due to grass on 530-meter PSP runway, lousy taxiways, and a 50-50 chance of being shot down if found infringing on the Bremgarten CTR. What pilot worth his salt could resist such a challenge?

As I would require customs, that was part of my request to land. "No problem," came the curt answer. It being Saturday afternoon, I inquired whether Bremgarten was active. "Negative". I requested next that my flight plan to Egelsbach be closed. There was a mumbling and I caught the word "Stuttgart". Stuttgart, I knew from past bitter experience, is the centre of flight plan co-ordination and the place where decisions about search and rescue operations originate, so I figured the chap knew what I'd meant.

A few minutes later I landed on the PSP runway in a startling absence of gliders, helicopters, turbulence, etc. Rather disappointed, I taxied over the lousy taxiway (which was ten times better than the one at Ashford) and parked. As I walked toward the control shed they were already totting up what I owed them. I was just thinking that for this price they could have supplied flashing yellow lights and an Alouette III, when the extremely unpleasant CFI informed me that I was lucky he hadn't called the customs man for this would have set me back another 20 DM. I thanked him, regained my Flugzeug, and fled. [Looking back: Could he have been blaming moi for the saturation bombing the US gave Freiburg in WW II?]

Having been unable to obtain an ICAO chart of this part of Germany before leaving France, I decided to follow the Rhine north. Numerous non-German pilot friends had told me it was OK to fly directly above the Rhine since it lay between France and Germany and no MIL zones crossed it and thus French and German MIL aircraft did not cross it either. There was a certain sinister logic in this, and since the weather was quite poor and the ceiling and viz low, it seemed by far the most agreeable way to navigate. However I opted for flying slightly to the right of the Rhine rather than directly over it, in case I encountered one of my numerous non-German pilot friends on his way south to France.

Logic or no, I had just passed Baden-Baden, when something huge, charcoal-grey and incredibly fast crossed my flight path at right-angles in ascending flight, about 300 feet in front of my nose; possibly this Franco-German respect of the Rhine border doesn't extend to North Americans in Phantoms.

While skirting the city of Mannheim, I contacted Egelsbach and was told to report over Darmstadt. My Bottlang with the approach plates having fallen down between the flight case and the tent, I decided to listen extra carefully to all directions. At Darmstadt I was told to follow the Autobahn north and report right-hand downwind for runway 27. The second part of this command was repeated twice and needed this to sink in. I was buzzing happily along the Autobahn, congratulating myself on my acumen and knowledge of the compass and all other pilot lore, when I realised the road I was following was heading north-west. Good God! I made a quick 60° to the right at the Darmstadt cloverleaf, and soon had Egelsbach in sight.

Egelsbach is the general aviation airport near Frankfurt. It is open from 8 am to sunset, has constant customs during operating hours, and offers most conveniences for pilots except a mole-free parking area. Charts can be purchased there. A fast commuter train an easy walk (about one km) from the airport takes you into the centre of Frankfurt in a few minutes. If you intend to spend the night because of adverse weather, the fellow in Control will ring up a hotel and you can be sure it will be relatively distant and expensive, requiring a long taxi ride.

However, I discovered that there is a small, informal hotel called Zum Bimbes right on the very airfield. It is reasonably priced and one can walk there, though it is a long walk, for although it is literally a stone's throw from the tarmac, you have to go through a forest and half-way around the airport to reach its entrance. It contains a restaurant which overlooks the airfield.

The night at Bimbes will long be remembered by me. Fortunately someone had pointed out at supper that mosquitoes were lurking about, so I kept the windows of my room closed. Even so, about two am I awoke, bitten. It took several slaps with a shoe against the wall before I got the situation under control and went back to bed. I don't know whether it was because of my blows or because the mosquitoes begin biting at that hour, but by now the rest of the hotel was awake and from all directions the night was filled with the sound of shoes whacking cement as the other guests settled their accounts; it was difficult getting back to sleep, as I was laughing so hard.

Looking back through the incredible pile of pink, white and blue Quittungen that I paid at Control the next morning, including nearly 25 DM for telephone calls, most having to do with getting weather, filing a flight plan, getting QPR clearances, finding a hotel, etc. There would have been a charge for customs, but I'd done that at Freiburg.

As for fuel prices, the Germans do not de-tax fuel for international flights, but their normal price is fairly reasonable, about halfway between taxed and de-taxed in England.

The reason I had to stay overnight at Frankfurt rather than continue on immediately to my destination, was that the Wasserkuppe was "nul nul" as the weatherman informed me.

[A story that was not in the original Pilot article: While waiting around at Egelsbach the Saturday afternoon of my arrival, I was taking a photo of an interesting vintage aircraft when I realized the battery in my camera was dead. This freaked me out. I needed the camera to do a Wasserkuppe article, but this was Germany and mine was a Japanese camera needing a Japanese battery, something not easily found in Germany. There would certainly be no way to buy such a battery on the Wasserkuppe. [Übermensch to the rescue!]

A quick consultation with some local pilots informed me that all stores in Germany closed at two o’clock on Saturdays, and it was now after five. Then someone remembered that on the third Saturday of the month they were open till six, and this was a third Saturday. They all knew a store in Darmstadt that would have Japanese batteries, so we piled into one of their cars and were soon whistling south along the Autobahn. We arrived at the main square of the city at two minutes to six, ran across the large plaza, burst into the startled store, and sure enough they had the battery. But my troubles were not over….]

I already knew I’d need a landing clearance for a PPO airport, but the next day learned that there are two kinds of PPO airfields in Germany requiring different kinds of landing clearances. A Wasserkuppe landing requires permission from the local government, and this takes a week to get, if indeed they grant it at all. I'd known I'd need advance clearance from the American military to enter the ADIZ, requiring about a half-hour, but hadn't known about the landing clearance; there was no way I was going to get in with my plane until after the long Pentecote weekend, if then.

After a moment of despair, I recalled that friends from Lasham were bringing a Minimoa to the Wasserkuppe rally and a phone call confirmed they'd arrived. They agreed to drive down and pick up me and tent (and booze – my high card) at the airfield of Fulda-Jossa which was not far away. Fulda-Jossa is a small grass strip with an old public transport bus remodeled into a control tower. I was happy to leave my plane in their spacious hangar for a few days.

And so on to the Wasserkuppe. I live near the gliding field of Fayence which is a sort of terrestrial paradise, but have never seen any gliding field more beautifully situated than that on the Wasserkuppe. The Wasserkuppe is the highest mountain (950m) in the Rhön range and from this grassy plateau gliders for over six decades have been launched or towed into the air to sail back and forth along the western ridge or eke their way from cumulus to cumulus across the sky. The first flight using thermals was made from the Wasserkuppe. This is not an article about that place or the vintage glider rally, but any pilot would stand transfixed at the sight of a graceful Minimoa floating to rest on a field of warm grass and wildflowers on the slopes of "The Flyers' Mountain".

Another spot to visit when in that area is the Alexander Schleicher glider factory at Poppenhausen. Here one is able to tour the premises and see these lovely gliders – ASW 17, K-6, etc. – in various stages of construction. Another short drive in the other direction takes the avid tourist to the border with the DDR. There he will see the grim bunkers, the barbed wire and the minefields which cut a swathe through the lush green countryside.

Although the weather had been pretty good, the day of my intended departure for Nürnberg and Prague the Rhön was nul nul. The next day I was driven back to my plane at Fulda-Jossa and flew to Nürnberg, careful to skirt the ADIZ. Nürnberg Airport caters to airliners as well as lightplanes. It’s rather a nuisance that arriving pilots are given a red paper and then sent out of the airport into the potato fields to arrive finally on foot through the main airport passenger entrance. Security is much in evidence at the airport with several soldiers bearing automatic weapons at the door. The red paper is stamped by various officials as you pass through the formalities, and finally you walk out of the airport again, across the car park, the fields, and back through a guarded gate to your airplane. All this wouldn't have been so bad had the weather been better and my flight not delayed a few hours.

Speaking of the weather, it was the Pentecote weekend when I entered Germany and over that weekend five German lightplanes were lost with several persons killed and injured, all blamed on the weather. I asked my hosts how come and they pointed out that that weekend was for many the first time they'd taken to the air that year. Off they went on voyages, into poor weather, and . . . Much better to sit in the Nürnberg Airport snack room munching hotdogs and drinking pots of tea, or even to walk back and forth in the rain to your airplane, than take off and get yourself killed.

In Nürnberg, as everywhere I went in Germany with the exception of Freiburg, the people I dealt with at airports were helpful, friendly, well-equipped, English-speaking and professional. English is always good on the Info frequencies and in general a radar eye is kept on you and is there to help when needed. At small fields and on some Luftaufsicht frequencies a knowledge of German is helpful. As far as I saw, if the incidentals and weather don't get you down, flying in Germany is an orderly affair.