🚁 High Hopes & Low Battery Warnings: The Semi-Professional Drone Saga of John Nickolls

A true story of sky-bound ambition, flying contraptions, and more near-misses than a Wetherspoons fire exit

Let me take you back to 2017. A year when “Game of Thrones” still made sense, iPhones still had home buttons, and my eyes were fixed firmly on the sky—not out of wonder, but because something up there needed photographing. I’d already been snapping away with a Canon EOS 70D, but I wanted more. I didn’t just want to look at a hill. I wanted to glide over it like a techno-eagle.

So I bought my first drone.

Chapter 1: Phantom Beginnings

Enter the DJI Phantom 4—a glorious hunk of plastic that looked like a Stormtrooper and sounded like a beehive having a nervous breakdown. It didn’t fold. It didn’t whisper. It roared. But it flew—and that was enough. The moment it lifted off and hovered, obedient and godlike above Staffordshire, I knew I’d found my new obsession.

I flew it everywhere: the Chase, fields, random bits of Midlands countryside that were mostly sheep and mud. The footage was wobbly. My heart rate was high. But that sweet sound of rotors? Music to my ears.

Chapter 2: Mavic Magic

My second drone was the DJI Mavic Pro—a folding, sleek, GPS-clinging beauty that felt like going from a Land Rover to a Tesla. It had range, class, and most importantly, it didn’t need its own suitcase. I could sling it in a rucksack and look effortlessly cool (or at least less ridiculous than lugging the Phantom in a shopping bag).

With the Mavic, I learned the joy of smooth pans, orbit shots, and those glorious cinematic flyovers that made even a muddy car park look like a National Geographic documentary—almost.

Chapter 3: Spark of Madness

The DJI Spark came next. Tiny. Nippy. As twitchy as a toddler on Haribo. This was the drone equivalent of a Jack Russell: cute, noisy, slightly deranged. It had gesture controls, which meant you could wave at it to take a selfie—though it often interpreted my casual wave as “fly directly into the nearest fence.”

Still, it was plucky. It had spirit. And for a few golden months, it was my go-to drone for spontaneous flights and testy GPS lock-ins.

Chapter 4: Mini Drones, Big Ambitions

Then came the DJI Mini 2, and suddenly everything changed. Lighter than a digestive biscuit and smarter than half the people on Facebook, it was a marvel. Under 250g, packed with punch, and almost insultingly good for its size.

I’d pack it in a small bag and fly wherever I fancied—Staffordshire hills, secret laybys, and drone-legal coastlines where you could launch without being chased by angry dog walkers wielding flasks.

I didn’t even have a campervan yet (that came in 2024, when Vanilla rolled into my life like the ice cream van of freedom). But back in Mini 2 days, it was just me, the drone, and a hatchback full of hope.

Chapter 5: The Glorious Disaster

The DJI Mini 3 Pro was a revelation. The gimbal was smoother than a Barry White remix, and the camera was sharper than my sarcasm. I was in love.

But love, dear reader, is fleeting.

One day, mid-flight near Milford, while attempting a sexy cinematic reveal over a grassy ridge, it clipped a twig. Not a branch. Not a log. A twig. The kind of twig you could snap with a flirty glance.

It spun. It tumbled. It faceplanted the earth with a crunch that haunts my dreams. I sprinted over like a dad rescuing a toddler from a puddle. Bent propeller. Dislocated gimbal. Pride, in tatters.

A moment of silence, please. Gone too soon.

Chapter 6: Long Live the Mavic 2 Pro

Now, my main wingman is the DJI Mavic 2 Pro. With its Hasselblad camera and fortress-like stability, it’s the flying equivalent of a Volvo estate: built to last, classy in a quiet way, and utterly dependable.

It’s been my loyal companion on walks, road trips, sunrises, and yes, even since getting Vanilla in 2024. There’s nothing like opening up the back of the van, setting up the drone on a quiet clifftop, and sending it into the golden morning light with a warm flask of coffee and the theme from Top Gun in your head.

It doesn’t complain. It doesn’t ask questions. It just flies, films, and makes me look far more professional than I actually am.

Next Up: The Mini 4 Pro?

My eyes are on the horizon—and by that, I mean the DJI Mini 4 Pro. From all accounts, it’s lighter, brighter, and smarter than ever. It’ll be perfect for nimble missions: campervan adventures, stealth launches from picnic benches, and dramatic flyovers of places where drones “technically probably shouldn’t be but no one’s watching.”

It’s like having a loyal dog with a 4K camera strapped to its belly. What’s not to love?

In Summary: What I’ve Learned at 400ft

Over the years, drones have given me:

• Stunning footage

• A hobby that keeps me outside and away from Amazon

• The occasional bruise (emotional and physical)

• A renewed respect for pigeons—they make it look so easy

And most of all, it’s brought new joy to the way I explore the world. Whether it’s Cannock Chase or the cliffs of Cornwall, the right drone makes even the greyest day feel like a scene from a movie. And not just any movie—my movie.

So, if you're thinking of getting into drones—do it. Just remember:

• Don’t fly near airports.

• Trees are not your friend.

• And always, always check for seagulls.

Fly safe, shoot steady, and never trust a twig.

— John Nickolls, Commander of Clouds, Duke of Drones, Pilot of Vanilla's Personal Eye in the Sky