One of the things I love about flying is the ability to find those tucked away little places that you would otherwise never get to. If you fly Taildraggers or microlights, you tend to operate away from the busier airports or the more usual GA airfields and over time, you get to hear about some really great strips ( or even beaches! ) to fly into, through word of mouth. It’s a different world, this, than that which you were used to learning to fly or operating from proper airfields. For me, it’s a world much closer to what flying is all about – freedom and exploration.

I had been told about one such strip in the Highlands of Scotland – it’s privately owned and not a place commonly visited so I won’t advertise its exact whereabouts, here. Suffice to say it’s not marked on the charts and lies amidst some truly beautiful scenery not far from a famous Highland Castle. I had been put in touch with the owner and had his permission to pop in, so I pulled the Auster out the hangar yesterday and we set off to find it.

It was the only forecast good day we’ve had since the beginning of June and the weather has turned again, today, so I’m glad I made use of the window. It had been raining a lot prior, but our home strip seemed in good enough condition, though there was some softer ground at the western end, as per usual and even a patch of standing water. I needed to take-off from this end as we had an easterly wind, but I managed to successfully negotiate the softer patches and get off ok, despite covering poor old JT in a spray of mud.

It was surprisingly grubby heading down through Angus, with cloud at 1500 ft and lower in places and a milky, muggy horizon; none of which was forecast. It began clearing nicely, however, as I neared the hills and the valley I was to route up to find the strip.

The scenery here was just stunning, with a gorgeous river valley winding its way through the hills to a backdrop of high peaks visible in the distance. The Auster’s slow cruise allows plenty of time to take in the view and I was drinking in the sights: twisting sandbanks on the river, below, the wooded hills and the high mountains and lochs appearing from behind each bend in the valley. It was probably one of the most scenic approaches I’ve made to find any landing ground – almost up there with Mull, Oban and that beach on Uist. It was a privilege to see and I felt genuinely lucky to be able to take it all in.

Round the final bend, the strip came into view. It had been recently mown and was standing out nicely against the darker green of the surrounding fields, right where the owner told me it would be. He said it was ‘about 400 yards’ so I was a little cautious about going in there with the Auster and was making sure, with the fuel load, that I would be nice and light for getting out again. It certainly looked long enough, but being pretty narrow; not much wider than the Auster’s wingspan, it’s apparent length would be deceptive.

I flew a high down-wind leg and then descended over the low lying hills, turning on to final in the low ground of the valley, trying not to get distracted by the wonderful scenery and concentrate on the approach! There was no drama, though and the strip was nicely in line with the prevailing south-easterly with hardly any cross wind – ideal. It had quite a few undulations and rounding out on a down-going portion, we arrived unexpectedly but gently as the ground below rose up again, before trundling to a stop. Being so narrow, there’s not much to see either side and tracking straight on the ground roll was done more by feel than sight. I wouldn’t have liked to have gone in there with a Pitts, though one well known local and long in the tooth aerobatic instructor does, but he has supernatural powers and is certainly slightly insane.

I parked up by the empty farm buildings to stretch my legs and once again, got that slightly giddy feeling of arriving somewhere deserted, by light aeroplane – just a narrow field in a stunning mountain and river valley with no one around. I chuckled to myself. I always do in these situations – I’m not sure why; it’s kind of like that feeling you have as a child, when your friend lets you in on a secret that you both keep from everyone else and it makes you snigger and giggle. Landing there, it was like I had found a secret place that the Auster had allowed me to find. Only the Auster and I were in on it, and it made me want to laugh.

I got the same feeling on the beach at Sollas – standing there on those wind-swept sands, I was the only one around for miles. Of all the billions of people on this planet, only I was seeing the view across that beautiful beach at that moment – just me. It was the same here – there was only I stood on that tucked away little grass strip at that moment, looking out to the valley beyond. I get that feeling in miniature every-time I go to our home strip at Whiterashes – it’s so tucked away, it feels a secret place, hidden behind trees and in the dips of the landscape. There’s usually nobody around and if there is, well, they’re just another happy soul in on the secret. With all the people in this world, it is amazing to me that you can still experience solitude in your own proverbial back yard and that’s one of the great things I love about the Auster – she has the ability to transport me to these places – to drink in eye melting beauty or just get that feeling of being alone amidst the vastness of a landscape. It’s good for the soul.

I paced out the strip before I got airborne, just to make sure – it was theoretically possible – I knew I could pluck JT into the air in 300 yards and I had about 100 yards spare to accelerate after that, with a clear climb out. The grass was longish, though and the early ground run up-hill, but we had a healthy breeze blowing. I climbed in and fired up the little continental and bumped and bounced my way back down to the other end of the strip. I opened the throttle and off we went – would she cope? Of course she would! We were off by my pre-determined ‘bin the take-off’ point and climbing healthily before we’d run out of strip. The valley opened up in front of me with its expansive beauty, as the river and its sand banks dropped away below the Auster’s still spinning wheels. I’m pretty sure I was smiling.

It’s the tucked away little places that I like the best and it’s our shabby old Auster that has brought them to me. It’s this aspect that is the hardest to articulate when I try to describe what it is I like about the machine, when dubious onlookers ask.  I like her because you can fuel her up, stick a load of camping gear in the back and head off to find the hidden gems of this land. I love her more, because she’s capable of so much more than she is often given credit for, or than her looks might suggest.

She has brought me the crystal clear waters of the Outer Hebrides, the snow capped peaks of the Highlands, the imposing cliffs and jagged ridges of Skye, the green flanks of Mull, the rounded, heather clad domes of the Cairngorms and the gentle dips and folds of the Aberdeenshire countryside. All this lies at my feet, because I’m lucky enough to have access to an old and shabby aeroplane that never fails to bring delight.