Eyes wide open: the west from above
After a terrifying sightseeing flight in Peru, the prospect of viewing the Cliffs of Moher and Aran Islands from above is daunting
An aerial view of the Cliffs of Moher, Co Clare, during an Aer Arann sightseeing flight. Photograph: Andrew Downes
Aer Arann pilot Des Collins, who has been flying out of Connemara Airport in Inverin, Co Galway, for 12 years. Photograph: Andrew Downes
The last time I was on a sightseeing flight, it was in Peru, and my eyes were closed in expensive terror most of the time. I am privately hoping this will not be the case again, as I await the ritual weigh-in at the tiny Connemara Airport in Inverin.
At noon each day, weather permitting, one of Aer Arann’s three Britten-Norman BN-2 Islanders departs Inverin for a sightseeing flight. They can’t fly in fog or drizzle but on days when the ferries can’t run due to wind, they’re usually still flying.
They depict extraordinary, gigantic images of monkeys, lizards, birds, spiders and geometric shapes etched into the desert and extending over an area of 500sq km. For obvious reasons, they are best seen from the air, which is how they were discovered last century.
I duly paid up and strapped myself into one of the four passenger seats in the aircraft. What followed was one of the most frustrating half-hours of my life.
I was longing to see the Nazca Lines from the air; you can’t see them from the vantage point of standing on the flat desert floor. I just hadn’t expected to see them from the vantage point of upside down.
For some inexplicable reason – frankly, I wasn’t up to questioning the pilot – he flew sideways, constantly banking, and almost upside down for the entire half-hour.
For all that time, my brain was sending itself conflicting messages. Open your eyes! You’ll never be here at Nazca again and this is your only chance to see these astonishing, mysterious man-made shapes that Unesco designated a World Heritage site in 1994. Close your eyes! You’re falling out of the sky, face-first to the ground, and those lines you were so keen to see for years until this minute are coming up to meet you faster than you can blink. I spent the greater part of the flight with my eyes clamped shamefully shut.
He tells us these aircraft are made in the Isle of Wight, and are specifically designed for short runways. (The three Aran Islands have runways of 500m, all located close to the sea.)
The aircraft lines up behind a white line, whinnying like an aeronautical Connemara pony practising for the Galway Races, and then it gallops down the runway and takes off with a leap. My eyes remain open as we soar over the blue-grey Atlantic. We don’t fly sideways, or upside down. Not so far, anyway.
This daily flight tracks a path in the air over the Cliffs of Moher to Hag’s Head at the end of the cliffs, then back alongside them again and over the three islands.
I grew up in Co Clare and, before I boarded an aircraft of any size, spent many hours of my early life atop these cliffs, staring mesmerised at the seemingly endless horizons that fell away so dramatically beneath my feet.