Alumnus flies solo from southern Saskatchewan to Sweden.

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Brian Goranson poses beside a cairn at Qikiqtarjuaq, Nunavut on the east coast of Baffin Island during his adventurous flight from Saskatchewan to Sweden and back.

My Journey of a Lifetime: How I Discovered my Viking roots         
By Brian Goranson with Eric Bell and Sharon Elliot

In 1995, I come across the publication: Flying the North Atlantic in a 172. This article leads me to the book, Ocean Flying, by Louise Sacchi. My appetite is whetted for the adventure of a lifetime. I plan to fly from Saskatchewan to Sweden, four thousand miles in a single engine Cessna 172...alone! My great grandfather, Johan August Goranson(1850-1927) left his homeland in Sweden in 1888 for the New World. He never returned. Like my great grandfather, my journey will take time, planning, nerve, confidence, determination, family support, and a bit of Viking spirit.

Flying the Atlantic is a complex undertaking: I upgrade my aircraft, C-GECQ, with a GPS moving map unit, and obtain IFR certification in 2005. I meet with Ed Carlson (a veteran of more than 200 Atlantic crossings), for training in 2006 and Bryan Webster for an Underwater Egress Course in 2007. After a lengthy search, I finally find a company in Germany willing to insure the trip. The Internet is my research tool.

I add a 189 litre ferry tank. Endurance will be 10 hours with over 1,000 nautical mile zero wind range at near normal gross weight. My longest flight will be 6 hours or 640 nautical miles leaving me with some flexibility to deal with the dreaded headwind or changing weather.

On July 30, 2008, I takeoff from Weyburn, Saskatchewan. I dedicate my flight to my great grandfather. My first overnight is Churchill, Manitoba, where I meet the friendly crew of a Swedish Hercules military transport. A good Viking omen! On two occasions, for about three hellishly long minutes, I lose the GPS signal flying into Cape Dorset on Baffin Island.

I have a pleasant two night weather wait at the rustic Kingnait Inn at Cape Dorset. I decide to bypass Iqaluit and fly over Pangnirtung and onto the east coast of Baffin Island. I climb to 11,000’ over Auyuittuq National Park. There are no places for a safe emergency landing, but the incredible scenery is worth it. I follow the Akshayuk Pass: an Inuit travel corridor for thousands of years. I land at Qikiqtarjuak, 100 kilometers north of the Arctic Circle, adjacent to the iceberg corridor, the Davis Strait. This is the farthest north I will travel. I wait three days for the weather to clear. Finally, on the fourth day I get a good weather report from North Bay FSS. My landing request call to Kangerlussuak in Greenland results in an unusual request.  Bring Coca-Cola and Mountain Dew! The price for 24 cans is $82! It is expensive to live above the Arctic Circle where there are many shortages. There is enough gas in my mains to make the trip to Greenland with the back tank three quarters full. My stomach starts to churn as I climb into my immersion suit.

A position report is due at N67° 31’ 60°W shortly after takeoff. Even though the Davis Strait below me is dotted with dazzling icebergs, I concentrate on the panel.  In my mind I go through ditching procedures a few times. A morbid thought, but I am prepared.

On the ramp at Kangerlussuak I meet fellow Atlantic aviators: Reto and Trudie from Switzerland. I am pleased to hear that we will be travelling nearly the same route eastbound.

My next challenge is the Greenland Ice Cap, the most critical segment of the whole
trip. The eastbound minimum altitude is 11,000 feet today. In the middle of the Cap, I see a small dot many miles ahead. Another plane? The weather is clear, yet there is no horizon. I am in IFR conditions in daytime, CAVU weather. Totally surreal. The dot grows. It turns out to be a ground weather station. An airliner passes overhead, at least 20,000 feet above me. I am not alone. My senses return. Two hours after leaving Kangerlussuak, the east coast mountain range appears then the airstrip at Kulusuk. I do a quick pit stop and file to Iceland. Later Reykjavik approach shows me a bit south of track. I was using the relief bottle, and flew a bit off course. An autopilot would be nice. It is good that someone is watching out for me.

The next morning it is 0°C at 5,000 feet over Iceland with 10 knot headwinds to the Faroe Islands. My concern is the dark clouds to the south east. Reto says I should be able to climb over the freezing levels of cloud. If not, I can turn over the water and stay below 5,000. I file for 7,000. After about thirty minutes, I pick up a trace of clear ice. Immediately I ask for 9,000. The climb is slow, but, I am again out of cloud. Reto and Trudie are ahead of me at 11,000, up on top of everything. With nearly full fuel, and a trace of clear ice on ECQ, climbing the last 200 to 11,000 takes about 20 minutes, but at last I am free of cloud. I breathe a bit easier. The ice slowly sublimates into the Atlantic slipstream. It is a nice marginal VFR approach between green hills into Vagar.

I file for 5,000 to Scotland. I am in clouds, above 0°C; I check carb heat. Yes, I am getting a bit of icing. I ask for 7,000. Not only is it a relief to climb out of the clouds, I stop sweating about being over the North Atlantic since I can no longer see it below me.
I get to Wick, Scotland, at sunset after almost seven hours of intense flying today.

In the morning I call my friends in Sweden from Wick airport. I’ll meet them in Ljungby this evening! I say farewell to Reto and Trudie. I am in and out of cloud flying over sea traffic on the North Sea. This is my most comfortable flight so far.  Finally, I see my great grandfather’s homeland. I touch down at Feringe -- 30 people are there at the airport to greet me! I feel a sense of homecoming. I celebrate with a glass of champagne. My great grandfather left this land 119 years earlier. In some way I feel he has returned. One half of my journey is over. I sleep well, for I have flown the Atlantic, and I rest in Smaland, heartland of the Vikings.

THE RETURN

After five wonderful days in Sweden, I am refreshed and ready to tackle the somewhat more difficult return trip as headwinds will be more frequent. During the smooth flight across the now familiar waters of the North Sea to Wick, I reflect that this may be more than just a trip for me. Wick, I later learn is a former Viking settlement. My ancestors have been here before. I consider doing some raiding and pillaging, but I need a good sleep for I must fly tomorrow.

The next day brings good weather and even a tail wind. I file for six hours to Reykjavik. I relax with a swim in a geyser-warmed beach and tour the Perlan Museum discovering more Viking history. I wait two days for weather before I head across the Denmark Strait to Kulusuk, Greenland. My Viking ancestors have perpetuated a fraud by naming this country Greenland to promote it as a place to settle. It has only about 50 miles of semi green mountainous terrain around the outside edge. Greenland is more than 80% ice.

The weather is cooler since my last visit; it feels more like fall. There is a blizzard on the ice cap. Two days later there is a bit of low cloud, but the Met office says it is good to Nuuk. Headwinds make it a slow five hour trip with, thankfully, no precipitation or icing. A quick gas, weather check, and file. The last two hours into Iqaluit are in the dark. I feel a thrill to be back in Canada! The end of my journey comes as I arrive at my home base, CJE3, on August 24, 2008. There are 26 special people to meet me in the dark.

EPILOGUE

Eighty-seven flying hours from Weyburn, Saskatchewan, to Ljungby, Sweden, and return. I’ve flown over the paths of my Viking ancestors and visited the fatherland. The North Atlantic is vincible, but only for those who are careful and well prepared to see her magnificent, desolate, northerly domain at low altitude. Flying the Atlantic has risks, but risk can be managed with training, planning, and discipline. The greater the task brings greater rewards. ECQ has given me a stellar performance. General aviation is a wonderful way to see our world, but patience is a virtue when dealing with the weather.

I feel privileged to have seen the sights of the historic North Atlantic and fabulous Nunavut. Story telling was important to the ancients; I now have many tales to tell about my voyage to the land of the Vikings.

There was no one else with me in the cockpit; however, I did not make this flight alone. My sincere thanks go to all who assisted.