Beach Landing
As I believe I said once before, the black beaches of Iceland can make danger seem imminent. The black boulders are capable of having a sullen expression about them. Yet in sunshine the scene is a sparkling delight and even the boulders smile.
Jack Oakley and I were there on a photoshoot for the Kodak Calendar. Having landed at Reykjavik and rescued our gear and personal luggage from an entirely unrelated tour bus (another story) I decided it would be wise to do an aerial survey of the scene. We climbed aboard a delicate little Piper aircraft, possibly rubbing our hands in gleeful anticipation. All was right in this best of possible worlds.
But I found you should never count your chickens before you know where you’re going to land. We told the pilot we wanted to land near a beach. Near a beach, mind you. Just to get the feel of the place. He gave us an understanding smile and we took off. Five minutes later he pointed down to a long, thin, black beach edged by a cliff. He said he would land there.
It looked just about wide enough for a lawnmower. We thought he was winding us up. He was not. He went down. And of course the width of the beach increased considerably. But just as the wheels were about to hit the wet sand he seemed to entertain second thoughts and banged open the throttle. We surged and curved sickeningly away over the sea.
‘I’ll try that again,’ said the pilot.
Jack leaned forward and tapped his shoulder. ‘It really isn’t that important,’ he said. The pilot shrugged and said he often landed there as an air ambulance and although it was tricky it was possible. I joined Jack and said no, no, really, it didn’t really matter, really. I tried to swallow and failed. We were circling and lining up for the beach. We went lower. We cringed in our seats. Then we hit. We bounced from what felt like an explosion. We were about ten feet up.
Having bounced, the plane came down again gently and rolled to a stop.
A happy group of children ran from nowhere and watched us unstick ourselves from our seats and climb down. My knees were in shock. The children pestered the pilot to let them get in and sit in his seat. I think the only reason he let them do it was to give him something to do and steady his nerves. When the demonstration ended he walked back to the tail and, rather too carefully for my liking, crouched and examined the tailwheel.
Jack and I walked the length of the beach twice, pretending to make detailed observations of the surroundings. What we were actually doing was delaying the take-off for as long as possible.
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Text and illustration ©Paul Wigmore 2010