Once the bags were in the luggage compartments and we were on the air-conditioned coach it was over apart from a last few birds for the day list: 3 Piapiacs, Laughing Doves, Vinaceous Dove and 10+ Little Swifts went into the notebook on our way to the airport, and a Northern Grey-headed Sparrow claimed the place of last in the list actually there.
The new terminal wasn't finished and we had to go through the old un-air-conditioned big shed to clear immigration with another pointless form, go through security and then trot across to the new terminal to lounge around waiting for our flight. At least the bar was open and Maz could go shopping for a few bits she hadn't already got while I watched the bags and coats. The systems really weren't up to scratch yet, fair enough in an unfinished building, and finding out where and when our flight was actually going to happen proved a bit of a challenge that ended up with a scuttle across the crowded floor (remember crowds?) to the opposite end from where we thought it was supposed to be. Not just us - pretty much the whole of our aircraft's passenger cohort!
We queued not quite under the blazing sun, there was a canopy, but the wind blowing across the concrete and baked airport earth was hot and dry. We were glad to get onto the aircraft and settled into our seats for the six-hour flight back. Captain Speaking was upbeat about the flight, saying there was a good tailwind and we should be able to knock a load of time off the schedule. Good. Home early. Just the job. (I'd let my colleagues know I was reserving the right to not come in on the Monday depending how our return went, hoping to save a day's leave.)
We took off without hitting any wildlife and headed straight North across Senegal and the fringes of the Sahel/Sahara. There was occasional turbulence but given that the pilot was trying to make the best of the tailwind that was no great surprise. I'd kept a camera body and all my used cards handy so I could pass the time editing down the number of photos to something manageable. It also came in handy for photographing the sunset high over the edge of Africa.
We had kept in touch with the weather back in Britain and we were aware that a storm was due in sometime on the day of our return. Much of Europe was under cloud as we returned, which meant I couldn't easily work out where we were from town lights and so on. As we reached the UK and began to descend we were quickly into the clag and turbulence returned, rather worse than earlier. Captain Speaking had warned us the weather was going to be a bit bad but it quickly deteriorated into more than a bit, with the A320 dropping, lurching, wing rocking substantially and generally lacking stability.
The passengers, or some of them, also began to lack stability. As our descent continued and the flaps and undercarriage came down but the lurching about if anything got worse, a certain amount of screaming began from the distaff side and indeed some shouting from the Gambian men on the flight, who accused the crew of playing games with their lives, and that they only had one life! Personally my view is always that the crew are in the same boat and will hit whatever we hit first, but fear is fear and people deal with it in different ways.
My way generally involves wanting to see what is going on, even though I have no control of it, so I was looking out of the window at the cloud swirling by, lit at regular intervals by the red and white anti-collision strobe lights on wings and fuselage. It did give the situation a slight Gotterdammerung feel... As we dropped out of the bottom of the cloud I began narrating what I could see, ostensibly to Maz though she was engaged in keeping Clare from hyperventilating with a stream of breathing instructions, but loud enough for others nearby in the cabin to hear, and my best calm voice. I was anything but calm, this was really unpleasant and worrying.
"I can see the ground... we're crossing the M23, nearly there, airfield boundary ahead" and the aircraft lurched nose down, wings rocked far more than an airliner on finals should, and it was stick back, throttles forward, clunk of gear up and we climbed back into the clag, accelerating. S*** and d*** and b*****.
Even though we were at climbing power and cleaned up the aircraft was still bouncing and dropping and lurching and rocking really quite a lot. Noise level in the cabin went up a LOT. Much screaming and shouting and a sense of very considerable panic. I began to worry we'd have someone unstrap and go a bit mad, but nobody did. Of course Gatwick in Southern England is a different airspace from Banjul and the crew needed to talk to not only Gatwick Tower but whichever bit of the National Air Traffic Service covers controlled airspace there to take care of our immediate future in this normally crowded area, so it was a few minutes before we were addressed. The news was not hugely reassuring. "Sorry about that, we decided to abort the approach - " Noticed that. " - we're going round now, we'll have another go at getting in, and if that doesn't work we're going to Stansted."
This is getting better by the minute. We've got a taxi waiting for us at Gatwick and no arrangements at Stansted - obviously. On the other hand if we can't land, we can't.
By now a number of passengers were indicating that given the choice they'd just as soon skip another go at Gatwick and just go straight to Stansted. One of the Gambians was holding forth again on the subject of his one life and the crew playing games with it, and he too would prefer to go to Stansted. Well all in all, I wouldn't, and the crew have already made their decision so sit back and enjoy the ride, I didn't say. I very nearly laughed out loud when a voice that must have been attached to Miss Essex 2019 declaimed loudly that we should have been allowed to vote on it and she would have voted for straight to Stansted. Airliners are not democracies and are not run by referenda!
So we went round again. It seemed to take forever, but eventually we were lined up and descending, and though the air was by no means still and I was - like everyone else - waiting for the big lurches to start again, it seemed to me that this wasn't as bad as the first approach. I began to hope we'd make it (not in an absolute sense, just that we'd get on the ground here). Flaps down. Gear down. The aircraft seems pretty stable, just a few minor tremors in the flightpath.
Out of the clag again. Lovely lights of Surrey below us. I resumed my commentary, a bit louder than last time. "Here comes the M23... over that now, still descending.... airfield boundary.... 500 feet or less... still descending... we're going to make this..."
Readers of my Western Sahara report may recall I felt that in optimum conditions the pilots managed less than optimum impacts with the runway, and I use the word impact quite deliberately. Not this boy. Having brought the aircraft down through a named storm he greased it onto the runway so gently that the difference between flying and being on the ground was only perceptible by looking out of the window or listening to the roar as the thrust reversers added their weight to the aircraft braking. Possibly the best landing I've ever been on or ever will.
There was spontaneous applause.
I need hardly say that it was raining: Gatwick Airport's surfaces gleamed in its own lights as we taxied in.
Disembarking, I paused to thank the pilot and crew, and commented on how smooth the landing was. He grinned and responded "When it's hard, you try harder!"
By now the airport had been shut: I understand we were the last arrival that night. The entrance to the South terminal had also been shut, by the police, so we had to take the shuttle to the North Terminal to meet our taxi driver. Minor nause, but it was by now later than we had been scheduled to arrive despite the catching up during the flight (mind you, without that we might have been straight to Stansted or even Schiphol, which accepted some Gatwick refugees!)
No way was I going into work on Monday.
John
Last couple of pictures:
Julia Skimmer on the golf course (as far as I can work out: there's a very similar congener but this seems to fit best.)
Sunset at cruising altitude: you gotta finish with a sunset!