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At the end of the filming of The Wickerman, I set off south from Plockton in fine weather, climbed to 6000 feet to clear the highlands and duly leaned the fuel mixture for the higher altitude. Continuing blithely along for an hour or so, too late I became aware that I’d blundered into a typically ignorant and absolutely lethal situation. 

Everywhere beneath me had formed a blanket of cloud including behind. I was well above it but there were occasional peaks protruding ominously through it. In aviation circles they’re known as granite cumulus, and I had no means of safely descending, no artificial horizon or proper blind flying instruments. I called Glasgow ATC and the very kindly controller  asked me if I’d like a guided radar let-down, and I gladly agreed but I had to tell him I only had a gyro compass, no horizon, basic panel and no experience of this situation.

Passing the last ominous peak, he began to give descent instructions and for the next half hour all went well, solid white-out beyond the windshield, blind faith down and down through the murk. Below 1000ft he gave me the QFE, airfield altimeter setting, and finally, chillingly I saw we were approaching 200 feet and still in cloud! 

He told me, holding fatherly calm, there was zeero wind but also zeero ceiling! "Height is good, heading is good, steady as ye go" and then came the shock, nothing had prepared me. He called, "Ye’re on your own noo, we’re no’ permutted to guide ye closer than one mile oot."

At this point, I glanced down out the side window and mistily saw the houses of suburban Abbotsinch fleeting past as if mere feet below. I was holding the given heading, white grip on the stick, white-out all around,  when the engine started to cut out. Flat panic, nothing to hit but houses...