Gibraltar   LXGB

Date of Visit = July 1998

Pilot: = Chris Belton

e-mail = chris@yarboo.freeserve.co.uk

Field Report = Quite expensive and a lot of hassle, but oh what an experience!

The Spanish threw their teddies in the corner when the British refused to give up The Rock, and banned all direct flights between Gibraltar and Spain, so the best way in is Tanger or Portugal. It has to be a customs airfield.

There's a big Spanish Prohibited Area on two sides. Avoid! Don't give them the satisfaction! If you are talking to Gib. Approach as you should be, they will steer you round it. The Surveillance Radar Approach is compulsory, and that makes doubly sure you don't stray into it. Don't expect to see the runway ahead of you at the end of it though.... but I won't spoil the surprise. And never mind the Danger Area to the east: it's a target bombing area for Shackletons. Hmm!

(The main road throught Gibraltar crosses the runway. Photo: John Hardy)

Then there's the weather. That big lump of rock is responsible for some interesting weather phenomena. If you haven't seen a cloud for days, its probably because they're all attending a convention over Gibraltar, or if the wind's from the east (the "levanter"), they'll all be clustered round and over the eastern side of the rock, along with a solid wall of fog.

The windshear is famous (or infamous) and the Bottland Airfield Manual contains a wind-effects diagram, showing what to expect in different wind conditions. Apparently one day when no-one else dared land, a motor glider, of all things, decided to give it a go. Everyone clustered in the tower to watch the fun. It flew above the height of the the rock until half way down the runway, then descended nearly vertically to make a trouble-free landing on the calm end.

Photo: John Hardy

You have a captive audience when you land: they're on the main road, patiently waiting to cross the runway after you've passed. People point you out to each other in town: you're famous - for a day.

The worst thing for us was that there was no camping - there's no spare land, so the campsite was requisitioned for other purposes. Hotel prices are about the same as the UK, starting at about £40. Food is cheapish and good.

If you like history you'll be hooked. I can't even begin to describe the treats in store. Many of these are in or on the rock itself. After a lazy day sitting in your aeroplane, the 1,400 foot climb will do you good. You can then come back down in the cable car, which you obviously didn't discover earlier! Incidentally, the monkeys are fairly docile, thanks either to all the food they get or to the occasional clip round the ear from the guides.

Photo: John Hardy

You'd think all the fortifications were to stop people getting in, but Gibraltar airport seems to be intent on preventing your escape. There was £50-worth of bills to be paid, in three different places and a flight plan to file, and every time we needed to get through security for the next stage, there was no-one to let us through. The refuelling was the last straw. Thinking to save some time, I sent John to do this. No chance: not until all the receipts for everything else could be produced could fuel even be considered. Having paid about £20 to the handling company, we asked for their help, but were refused since we had apparently paid only for Apron Services: handling would have cost over £100. Finally, after several more excuses, the refueller reluctantly trundled off to fetch the bowser. It took him four tries to remember how to work it (they sell mostly Avtur) then he turned it on full power and gazed at the dial, oblivious to the tidal wave of fuel pouring over the wing! By the time the aeroplane had been washed down by the fire department, it was too late to set off, so it was another night in Gib, courtesy of the fuel company.

The next day we started over again, and I asked for the second tank to be filled. An invoice was waved under my nose: not until I had paid for the first lot! After a heated exchange, it was agreed that we would not pay, but neither would we get any more fuel.

Gibraltar is the only airport ever to reduce me to tears! The air traffic controllers had seen it all before, and helped where they could.

Even then, the Rock had one last card to play: exactly half of the runway was now immersed in fog. Nobody was going anywhere, and the hapless inbound tourists were being dumped at Malaga. Fortunately it's a long runway, so not to be beaten, we took off at the clear end, and climbed out over the fog. I think there was also enough runway clear to take off downwind if we had wanted.