Over the years I have landed there in around five types from a Hastings to a 757. It used to be known as the RAF's own aircraft carrier!
There used to be lines drawn across the runway where the big pistons had to have wheels already on the tarmac, or do a go around. There was always one of my RAF colleagues who would leave a terrifying set of skid marks across the tarmac to keep the rest of us on our toes as we landed.
In one wartime book about Wellington operations, the crews with around 250 total hours would fly the aircraft all the way from UK heading south over the Atlantic until, on d/r, they knew it was time to turn left and funnel up the straights of Gibraltar into the Rock. By the time they arrived they would have little in the way of fuel and frequently had to throw it at the ground and hope. Some just made it and some didn't.
As they then staggered towards their accommodation the locals would suggest that they came back the following day around the same time to see the next load of new crews arrive.
It was the best sport on the Rock it would seem.
Sixty years later the locals can still be entertained. After two attempts I managed to land on one occasion to be greeted by the agent with the words:" We were burning candles in the Cathedral for you Captain!".