Plastic, Bloomer, Chilli & Cappuccino

Damp, damp, damp. The usual weather conditions when Bloomer and I plan to go flying. So as the sun rose and I could actually see it, my heart lightened a little, along with the sky in the east. Yes there were lots of those fluffy cumuli hurrying across the windswept sky, but the sun was shining in the cornflower blue between them.

Cup of tea in hand, I called the number for ATC at East Midlands Airport and booked a training slot for later that day. A SRA and then radar vectors for the ILS should give my pilot some work to do and it will be good to see it from the right hand seat. One can learn a lot by sitting there and taking it all in without the pressure of flying headings and holding height inside turbulent clouds. I was to go along as safety pilot/general nag/radio person if required. It is no great secret that I have been missing my flying immensely of late; today was going to be a good ‘un.



Our mount for the afternoon and early evening was going to be a Diamond DA40. Yes, one of those modern aeroplanes, made of, dare I say it, plastic! I had flown in one previously though only a short trip from my home airfield of Shoreham, along the coast to Littlehampton and back. With modern avionics and comms this was going to be a learning experience for us both, especially me with my love for older aeroplanes, open cockpits and inverted flight when avionics don’t really count for much.

In addition, the DA40 is also fed by AVTUR, otherwise known as diesel, unlike the normal mounts one sees in aviation that guzzle AVGAS (high octane petrol). There is one lever operation with, zut alors, electronics and a computer chip controlling the likes of mixture, propeller pitch and RPM. The pilot pushes the lever forward and stops when he gets to the relevant power setting, the electrickery sorts the rest. Far less fun than playing with three separate levers, surely.



The avionics included twin Garmin 430 Nav/Comm units along with the separate controls for squelch and volume amongst other things. Like a couple of confused sniffer dogs, we finally got the balance correct about 20 minutes from the end of the return trip!!

Finally we had loaded the route into the GPS. Power checks consisted of holding in a test button and keeping it held until the checks were complete as lights flashed and the engine and propeller played mechanical tunes with each other.



Cleared for take off we launched ourselves…..well ok, after a fairly lengthy take off run we were airborne and heading off down Mig Alley, that stretch located between London and Gatwick zones that constricts the traffic into a funnel. I snapped a couple of pictures of the M25 whilst the captain for today compared his trusty Garmin 96 against his chart, having had a bad experience or two with 430’s apparently. These are BRNAV approved so should be ok I reckoned. As we feature crawled our way around the south west corner of Heathrow zone we said goodbye to the Bagshot mast and when we got to Henley we started a climb. I say we started a climb…..twiddling with a knob or two meant we managed to get the electronic wizardry in the form of an autopilot to climb us gently up to 3000’, nicely into the base of the clouds.



Damp damp damp. The airframe was taking a good wash as Bloomer became more familiar with the avionics and played with the autopilot. This was my first time operating an autopilot, I have never really seen a use for them as I prefer to hand fly even in cloud; but then I also like flying NDB holds and approaches, so that may explain why I had never been tempted. I have walked away from this trip convinced of their use, particularly when flying single pilot. Monitoring it and the instruments takes far less effort and allows you to check approach charts and write things down, take instructions form ATC without forgetting them halfway through due brain overload and relax a little. Both of us made sure we knew exactly where the circuit breaker was though in case it decided to do its own thing without our permission.

As we passed DTY VOR I managed to get the ATIS from East Mids and it was not weather to worry me as safety pilot, looking out. We should break cloud at 1200’ which would allow me plenty of time to get my bearings and ensure my captain was where he should be. It would also give me time to admire the view whilst the left hand seat sweated to as low as he was able to go.

Skipping in and out of the cloud tops is always fun. It is a bit like playing hide and seek with the sky. Playtime wasn’t going to last long though as the cloud tops rose and we were immersed in the grey nothingness that is the middle of a cloud. The grey has different shades, sometimes very light grey, sometimes bordering on black, but grey nothingness all the same.

Now in touch with East Mids I took the radio and Bloomer concentrated on the flying. Hand flying again by this time I might add! I am far too much a slave driver to allow the autopilot to do the work!! Entering the zone we were put under Radar Control and given headings to steer and advised that we were number three to a BMI Baby and a Ryan Air. Not having done a real SRA (Surveillance Radar Approach) I was very interested in watching this one. I have had instructors sit in the right hand seat and talk me down to the ground (literally in one brave souls case!), but doing it for real is always better. I did notice some light ice build up on the leading edge and was almost at the point of saying something when the build up seemed to stop and a change in heading indicated we were soon going to be given a descent though at one point we both lost situational awareness a little, with several alterations in heading to put us in behind the 737-800 out of his wake turbulence (do 430’s operate north up at all?), but it was momentary and we were soon on base and being instructed to descend to 2000’. The ice thankfully melted very quickly then, but another first for me today.
Then came the tones of the controller as concentration in the cockpit increased. Turn right heading 280. Turn left heading 275, left of centerline but regaining nicely. Left heading 265. Left heading 260, on centerline, your height should now be 1700’. Right heading 265. On centreline, your height should be 1200’, check decision height.
And so on. At 660’ we leveled off and at the appropriate place commenced the missed approach. This had been confirmed to us earlier, but the controller had kept a couple of commercial jets on the ground for us, so he changed to a different set of instructions to get us out of the take off path as soon as possible.

Back at 3000’, change of controller to a young lady. She must have sounded rather attractive as I struggled with our call sign every time after that until we were passed to tower! As I kept a watchful eye on Bloomer and we intercepted the localizer, we were passed to Tower.

Damp damp damp; that was the runway condition apparently. We should be OK, the runway is rather long here! Cleared to land I kept Bloomer focused on his instruments until minima, despite me having a lovely view of the light show laid out in front of me like a Christmas tree. A reasonable landing later and we were given progressive taxi instructions passed the easyJet, the BMI Baby, the Ryan Air and the DHL jets. As we arrived at the flying club there was a follow me van doing its best to blind us both with its amber flashing lights, our eyes straining in the dark to see the marshaller. We then had to sit for two minutes before turning off to allow the turbo to cool and were greeted by the marshaller. It was that Chilli Monster bloke who put us into the follow me vehicle and took us for a whistle stop tour of the airport and ATC. Thanks for the cappuccino, not sure how I managed to turn down the sweet sticky cake, must be the thought of my medical renewal next week.

We met the radar guys and girls and then went to admire the view from the glass topped tower. Oh what a view! Just in time to see the Thomson flight take another eager bunch of holidaymakers to Barbados – oh to get away from the greyness and damp of the last few weeks in the UK. I could have stayed up here all night, but we did have to get back before Biggin closed, so regretfully walked down all 249 steps….ok, I lied, we caught the lift, and were whisked back to our steed. I really must say a huge thank you to all the ATC at East Mids, a fantastic bunch, very warm and friendly. Keep it up guys, GA needs people like you. Also to Chilli who was a splendid host for the whirlwind tour. We’ll make a day of it next time.

Soon we were airborne and heading back south, having checked the weather and expecting a damp arrival back at base, but we should beat the worst of the weather. In cloud at 1200’ we were cleared to 3000’ and as we climbed through 2800’ we were met with the most wonderful sight. We were flying along just above the cloud tops, in between layers, but with enough light from the moon hidden above the next layer to give the scene a ghostly, though remotely romantic view. The odd star shone through the upper layer, far off aircraft moved silently through the inky black sky. It is at times like this I wonder if there really is a god, the beauty, the sheer ability of scenes like this to take my breath away, the way the view around me has no way of being put into words effectively.
Far in the distance we could see that the sky cleared. As we got closer, ever closer I can only relate it to being similar to the following. Imagine flying just off the surface of a river, lumpy, fast flowing water, white capped. Ahead of you is a gigantic drop, thousands of feet and the water will cascade over yet you will continue flying at the same level as the top of the huge waterfall. This was what it was like. We reached the edge of the cloud bank and suddenly we were not 200’ above the cloud but 3000’ above an inky blackness punctuated only by the sparkling of lights a long way below us. Oh, and Leicester off to the right.



I love night flying. Banishing thoughts of engine failure and trying to pick out somewhere to attempt a landing in the darkness below is not easy. It is, however, worth pushing it to the back of your mind, remaining alert to the possibility but enjoying the unique vista flying at night provides. Add some cloud to that, lit by the stars and the moon and the experience becomes a magical one, one that has the capability of transporting you to another world. Autopilot on, we just soaked up the view for a while.

By now approaching the busy zones around the north east of London I amused myself watching the downwind traffic for Stansted. Coming at them at right angles must have a controller worrying at times, even when we are wearing a squawk. Turning to parallel the downwind we watch the traffic land to our left and then concentrate our efforts on threading our way down towards the northern section of the M25. London was rapidly disappearing in the rain that was now pouring down outside and all efforts were now focused on navigating our way back to base. Crossing the river we called Biggin and were given a left base join for Runway 21, call at 5 miles. A couple of minutes later a report of a rapidly lowering cloudbase and visibility and an offer of the ILS if it was required. UK controllers really are the best in the world. A thank you from us and keeping that option open we did get back without the need for the ILS. A somewhat unconventional final approach and I have to say a lovely soft landing from he who was flying.
Told to vacate via the crossing runway we struggled to find it in the lashing rain that was now giving the plastic aeroplane a good wash. The runway and taxiway lighting at Biggin is not as good as some other places. Either that or they were teasing us with the rheostat turned down low.

The drive home was definitely challenging, the roads rather more than damp damp damp.

Goodbye Mad Dogs

Camouflage paint doesn’t work when an aeroplane is silhouetted against a cornflower sky. It does however present an imposing image, especially when it is daubed onto an inverted Harvard whose cockpit is not all that far from one’s own.

As the Harvard peeled away back to chase the summer sun dropping into the western sky I returned my thoughts to the serene bimbling ones I had been enjoying before I had caught sight of the warbird a few minutes earlier as it had attached itself to my port wing.

A fitting good bye flight this. I had started by climbing through the puffy white cumulus clouds, flirting with them as I dipped my wings in and out of their edges, playfully kissing their soft underbellies, tickling their tops with my undercarriage, going in hard with a strafing attack, pulling up at the last moment before allowing my steed to drop down into its comforting embrace once again.

Cloud surfing complete, I had climbed into the smoother air above the cloudbase, gradually building up the pace from gentle wingovers into slow graceful rolls, watching the world rotate magically around that magnificent propeller, the very same propeller that had seen me through my last 150 hours of fun filled frolics in the vast playground that is the sky. Using a railway line for reference I looped and rolled, relaxed but alert, always looking but with enough in reserve to savour the moment.
Floating over the top of a loop whilst watching the world all topsy turvy is simply magical; the ground filling the cockpit is reassuring rather than frightening as the g-force builds and level flight is once more attained.
But not for long, a gentle pull back on the stick allows us, just momentarily, to hang there, nose pointed to the heavens, the propeller refusing for just a short while to relinquish its grip on the air around it, before I kick the rudder and the nose transcribes an arc through the blue horizon and once again that tug on the harness as I hang there, nose pointed at the lush green fields below, picking out white balls of wool grazing on that greenness, those couple of seconds filling the senses with an appreciation of life, before pulling on the stick to bring the world back to the right way up.

Eventually the aeros fix for the day was fulfilled and I headed east, throttled back, my mind full of fond memories, fun times, laughs, trials and tribulations all forgotten now. I had never thought it possible to fall in love with an aeroplane to this extent, but I had. We were often as one these days, each communicating with the other in our own special way. I valued the unrivalled view from that panoramic canopy, filling my eyes with special and unrivalled views on every trip we made. I loved the arc the propeller made, the way the handling was secure and predictable, the ability to cruise in comfort yet hurl each other around the skies too.

That is when the Harvard had appeared on my wingtip. It meant a lot, the pilot knew why I was up here and had taken the effort to seek me out, the effort that only a true friend will make for another. As he departed and left me to my thoughts a lump appeared in my throat and a couple of salty tears glistened as they rolled down my cheek highlighted by the sun shining from that beckoning sky.

I must have flown this way 500 times by now, but still love the scenery of the Downs as it unfolds beneath those red tipped wings. I doubt I shall ever tire of it, the lushness of the fields, punctuated by yellow swathes of corn, inky green hedges, picturesque villages. The ocean, tips coruscating in the sunlight, full of all those mysterious blues, the cliffs white and standing proud, marinas full of boats, small decrepit motor boats, huge palatial extravagances and yachts, their sails flapping like handkerchiefs on a washing line.

I dived for the ocean, flying along at cliff height, the one time it really does feel like you are moving quickly when flying, admiring the colours, the houses and the cars all looking like you could pick then up and rearrange their order. A windmill standing proud, people walking their dogs, kids on the beach enjoying the surf, an elderly couple walking hand in hand, enjoying their memories, fishermen casting their hopeful lines.
Time to climb a little, admire the architecture of the cityscape now passing by, the piers, the buildings, the layout of the streets, everything laid out like a moving map below me.

Reaching the river that would lead us back, I turned inland, making every moment last as long as possible, no cameras, just memories, the type that nobody can take away, that will stay with me forever and always bring a smile to my face and a skip to my heartbeat.

Fate was kind to me and my dawg , touching down smoothly as the grass came up to meet us and then it was over, our time as soul mates over, an era complete but with no regrets harboured. Time moves on, priorities have to change, but love for that aeroplane will stay with me always.

Flight in Awe

Been a while since I went for a bimble. Looking out the window at lunchtime I figured I could do with a shot of the "grins" before the long weekend at work. I grabbed a victim from the office (it's always a shame to go flying with an empty seat I feel) and off we went to Shoreham.

Tall_Guy was there pre-flighting for a similar flight and even offered to wash our windscreen for a quid - looking into the sun down the taxiway I began to wish I had taken him up on his kind offer. One short field take off later we were heading east over the Downs to the north of Brighton and then headed to the coast to do a bit of house spotting for my passenger. That over, we headed toward Eastbourne, climbing all the while, until I spotted a gap in the cloud to aim for, with a suitable bit of blue sky further west so I could get down again.

I have found myself intentionally above cloud before, but very scattered and only about 50' high. Today they were about 200' high, with the odd one peaking higher still. Being careful to keep the land in sight I decided to play in the cloud tops. My passenger was spellbound............. so was I.

We played up there for about ten minutes, weaving in between the higher clouds, marvelling at how we could almost reach out and touch that cotton wool right outside our windows, wing tips almost touching the edges of the soft fluffy cloud. The impression of speed really is heightened when so close to the surface of the cloud. Diving through another gap and heading back west again, a large hole appeared with Beachy Head showing clearly in the distance.

Down we went, back below the cloudbase, with me grinning as much as my passenger about the last ten minutes of fun. From almost a mile high, we gradually descended to 700' about half a mile off the coast and had a birds eye view of the coastal strip towns. People scurrying about like ants, oblivious to the two grinning aviators staring down at them. Cars moving slowly along, nothing to see but the rear of the car in front, not realising what they were missing out on.

The cliffs were almost glowing in the soft afternoon light, the sea lapping against their base as we climbed back up to listen to the ATIS and jolt us back to reality.

There is very little that silences this particular passenger, very often we have considered issuing him with a gag, but this afternoon he just gazed in wonderment at the scenery unfolding beneath him, passing only the odd comment to confirm what he was seeing.

Back to the busy circuit, shattering the peace and tranquility, extending the downwind forever it seemed to try and avoid cutting in front of number 3, eventually holding the speed right back and weaving on final in order to avoid a go around, before kissing the tarmac once more and ending another fantastic flight. I am so lucky to be able to fly. We all are. Let us hope we never forget that.

Fooling around

OK, so it was only half an hour of flying. The cloud base was 1100', the visibility was 5k and it was damp and gloomy. Not normally the sort of day one would expect to have enormous fun flying.

Taking off we were advised of an inbound helichopper approaching from the NW so eyes were peeled as we headed off that way.

Flirting with the base of the grey foreboding cloud, we soon arrived overhead our destination. Nobody in, not surprising really, we pulled those lovely red wingtips around in a steep right hand turn before skipping over the ridge and running down the grass strip before pulling the nose skyward and rolling to the left.

The instructor friend sat next to me then took control and eased us skyward, explaining the unusual approach pattern as we went... over the ridge, follow the straight hedge with the tin hut at the end. When reaching said tin hut, ease left over the farm ensuring all is settled at 70 knots, full flap...then aim to the left of that row of trees, but to the right of those others, over the hillock using that to slow us to 60 knots and then remove all the power and nose well back, stick in the gut for landing. The hump halfway along looks more like a mountain, but we are slowed by then and the next demo is a take off.

It is now clear why this is a one way strip other than in very stiff headwinds. Power checks carried out, we hold the 'Dog on the brakes until she starts slipping on the damp long grass and we release to accelerate rapidly, airspeed increasing, launched by the hump, stick in the belly as she drops almost gracefully back onto the runway before we pull off, nose forward, keep her in ground effect, trees getting larger, then pull up and turn, right hand this time before the words I want to hear are uttered...'you have control'.

Left base join this time, head due south, left at the solitary oak tree, through the gap in the trees at the end of the ploughed field and then descend as the ground falls away, turning quite steeply, ground looking very close, but wings straightened in time for the stick back in the belly and a rather good landing, much to my pleasure.

Back up to the top of the hill, we turn right around, my turn to fly it off, we bounce over the hump, nose down and watch those trees become larger, then it is up and away, stall warner bleating, power and revs back for the neighbours and climb her away...

...to find another red wing tipped, roundel adorned aeroplane, game for a play, circling round right above us. Not being of the nature to disappoint we aim for his flanks, he tags on opposite us and we play tag in the sky for a wonderful couple of minutes. He started to gain, we weren't pulling tight enough, so I gave back control and one steep wingover later he shot right on past us. 'Must tell Janie about our game with the Chippy' I thought, as he admitted defeat and circled to watch me land from the tin hut approach. A low pass and a waggle and we were alone yet again.

A stretch of the legs and a wander around the patch, it was a lovely place that is sure, a perfect place on a summer day one would imagine and one I would hope to be back at soon.

A pheasant clearing taxy along the strip and back saw us perched at the top of the hill, ready for our 4 minute transit flight back to base. I even managed to pull off one of my best landings ever there too, so a wide grin was assured as we stepped out and reminded each other that fun can be had in even seemingly lousy weather.

I flew with this particular instructor when I had done 17 hours. He did the recovery from unusual attitudes with me. He moved on to the airlines but has continued to fly (mainly tailwheel/warbird stuff) and instruct and we have, I would like to think, stayed in touch and become friends through our love of flying because it is such damn good wholesome fun. It has taken nearly 4 years and 450 odd hours to fly with him again, but it won't be so long next time.

It never ceases to amaze me that so much fun can be had on a simple half hours worth of flying. Big grin and a happy heart tonight. Plus a realisation that I have so much more to fit into this year and beyond...

Dogfighting

"Game on!" came the call as we tried hard to join in loose formation with a tightly turning Bulldog. The following couple of minutes were a blur of black and yellow, red and white; twisting, turning, wings on the edge of their aerodynamic limits, one pointing to the beautiful angels in the bright blue sky, the other to the white sheep in the lush green fields below. Stall warner breaker pulled, the buffet kicked and punched the wings as it tried so hard to relinquish the lift from those hard working wings.

Momentarily straight and level, a glance to the right and we pulled hard over to the right in an attempt to lose the bumble bee 'dog on our tail. That did the trick, canopy to canopy, each pulling as hard as he dare on that stick, gaining gaining gaining, we are almost on his tail, guns blazing and the imaginary tracer cuts through his tail.

Breaking off to regain some height, we pondered on the day so far. One of those days one is glad to be able to fly, blue sky beckoning, visibility superb, cold November air helping performance. A side bet was placed that Ridders had to carry out a stall turn to at least 9/10 standard and then I would buy lunch for him. Much to my horror, his only fault was to not quite hold the vertical, so I scored him 9.5 and agreed to buy lunch. We looped, rolled and stalled turned our way through the skies, almost alone in the vastness that was our playground today.

Fluffy soft clouds bubbled up as we played, beckoning us to join them, to dodge in and out of them.

Then down we meandered in typical Mad Dog fashion, the radar traces from our flights must provide some amusement for those controllers who watch over us. Rarely a straight line, a different height reading every time; one moment stationary, the next at VNE.

Our height regained, it was our turn to call game on, but wait, our opponent is becoming bored, and he's rolling around the sky. Not to be outdone and with a chant of "what ever you can do, we can do better" we joined in the rolling, smiling all the way round. Levelling our wings, "Game On!" went our call and those black and yellow wings bit into the sky once more. We engaged that bumble bee impostor, he was after our blood this time, buffeting madly as we flew through each others wake, tighter and tighter, head craned behind searching that attacker. "dakka dakka dakka" came the sound of his guns, our airframe vibrating as his shots found their way home. Breaking off from the combat to regain more height the talk turned to lunch.

Our lunch was a hastily arranged meeting. Gerard had posted on Flyer Forum for a willing victim to join him from his base and I suggested we should meet for lunch as the only previous time I had met the chap was over a Martini in the City. As we barrelled down short final into an impressive crosswind, the pressure mounted as Gerard stopped taxying below us to watch our landing, the black and yellow of his machine standing out against the green of the airfield.

Down alive and in one piece we savoured our lunch of chilli con carne and nachos as it warmed those cold extremities. Oh the joy of clear winter skies has to be repaid somehow, this time with cold hands and feet. Good excuse for some hot food though! Lunchtime over, brief completed, we marched out to our mighty fine steeds, ready for battle.

And ready for battle we were for a third time. "Game On!" "Tally Ho" and our wings danced frantically, desperate to disobey the Laws of Physics, our red and white struggling this time to keep that black and yellow beastie off our tail. He fired. The bullets whizzed past our canopy. I pulled harder in an attempt to out turn that dastardly pilot. Major buffet, stick shaking like a blancmange on steroids on a bumpy cobbled French street, protesting wings screaming at me to ease up a little. Just a little more, just a bit and I can get onto his tail; the wing let go, the physics won, nose forward and off we go, glad it didn't flip, his bullets hitting home and we reach the base of our playground and I call a break.

We climbed back up for one more go, more of the same, a lot more hitting each others wake so I guess we were both in this one to win. As it happened we ran out of height and had to call it a draw before we were playing slalom with the trees. But hey, it had been enormous fun, enjoyed by both sides.

Finally managing to get alongside for some photos, we kept station for a couple of minutes and then headed our respective ways home. I managed to get my revenge on Ridders as he had to make a joining call upside down and we soon joined crosswind the right way up (as requested by the Tower!) for a curved final and a reasonable landing, ready for tea and medals.

Thoughts on life

Sometimes things in life don't pan out in the way you expect them to. Sometimes decisions are made that though major, are made under stress or excess emotional circumstances that affect every day of your life. Far more than you ever realise they will, with far reaching consequences that will last until the day you die.

Attempts to put right those decisions are often frustrating and futile, but you persevere in the hope that one day the cuts from the thorns will bring the sweet scent of the rose petals to the fore.

Rather like that first ray of sunlight that filters through the leaden grey winter sky, the first song of the birds of summer, that refreshing first drop of thundery rain from the humid sky of midsummer, every so often something happens that jerks you back to that vivid reality that is life. Like a wave washing over you, it makes you realise that it has all been worthwhile.

It is then you realise that there is more than just you involved. There are others, with feelings that need considering, with different perspectives on the same thing. Others who deserve to be protected from hurt, yet are also bugged by that same quest, the same curiosity, and the same wantonness of completeness in their life. Others, who through no fault of their own are in the situation that they are in; who will be facing equally strong inner struggles, equally disruptive additions to their life, regardless of how good or bad those additions are.

These are things that wreak havoc with the grey matter, keep it turning over at a rate of knots, the subconscious working overtime trying to work out the best solution to the situation that presents itself. Ever aware, the pondering continues even when you are asleep. On the one hand your mind sees nothing but a positive outcome, a future of happiness and joy, filled with love and adventure. On the other it sees fear of the unknown, excited nervousness, which leads to feelings of inadequacy, dread of change, even a degree of paranoia.

Impatience being a human trait, once the thorns thin out and the rose petals become visible, it is so hard not to charge ahead, full steam ahead like a bull in the proverbial china shop. No, caution is needed, indeed is required in order to let those butterflies subside and for common sense and logic to take over. Time for others to think things through; to work out those monumental decisions according to their perspective. Hopefully everyone reaches the same decision.

Nothing in life is achieved by playing safe. Striking out down a different path can be very scary, but can also bring renewed vigour and excitement to life. It takes courage, it takes perception and a certain amount of daring, but more often than not it brings far greater rewards than just playing safe. Adds that certain pizzazz to life. Brings new chances, new opportunity, new verve. And a satisfying of the curious within us all as we turn that corner and hit the next straight running.

Blogging by candle light

I figure that as everyone else is doing this blogging I had better do so too. OK, so I have a website full of stories and such like, but the blog barely gets read, so it may be better served somewhere meant for blogging alone.

Inspired by the likes of Flight Level 390 and Cockpit Conversation I have now to find something to write about I guess!

Most of my writing is done late at night; the side of my mind responsible for writing seems to function better in the wee small hours. It may be that the mind is sleepy and more able to write with the stresses of the day numbed by thoughts of bed and escape from attempting to find solutions for one problem or another. A kind of autopilot left to keep an aircraft on height and heading through an inky black sky whilst the pilot concentrates on other things.

Avgas for Dinner - why that title?

I shall copy below something I wrote a year or two back now. It goes a good way to describing how those machines that run on avgas make me feel...


The recent rain shower had washed the sky and sharpened the outlines of the gently rounded clouds, puffy and white.

As we turned east along the coast the water reflected back the blueness of the sky, the occasional glint of sunshine waving back at the aeroplane flying above.
The low autumn sunshine wrapped its softness around the buildings on the sea front, giving them a soft warm glow as the pastel colours were interspersed with the odd startling bright red and blue fronted property.

The beach was busy with people from all backgrounds.

Children playing, frolicking in the warm sunshine, playing dare with the breaking waves.

Couples out for a lunchtime walk, hand in hand, breaking their cloak of romance to look up at the aviator kissing the air above them.

The breakwaters were being lapped by turquoise waves, as fishermen sat astride the gnarled wooden beams, hoping for that elusive catch to match their proud boast.

Boats flirted with the waves just as I teased the air around me, gazing at the white cliffs ahead, outlined in golden sunlight against the green of the land and the blue of the sky. The cliffs are almost like Neptune’s crown from a distance, dazzling in their splendour, regally standing proud, resolute and sure.

As we guide our wings inland, the scenery changes, soft greens of the downland broken by patches of brown, freshly ploughed fields attracting the seagulls, solitary farmers working til dusk, happy in their solitude, surrounded by nature.

The walls of a castle reach upward unbeaten, in contrast to the fresh red brick of housing estates so new, so brash, so out of place from the view up above. Beautiful mansions enclosed by even more resplendent gardens, chlorine stained pools shouting out their presence, sheep grazing peacefully, their white coats like daisies against the deep green of the pastures.

Ablaze with colour, so red, so orange and yellow, so fiery, the trees are a sight to fill eyes with joy. Their leaves scatter the fields, a carpet fit for royalty as we reach our destination, suddenly busy, hectic, frenetic.

A silver and yellow Moth performs for us as we approach downwind, looping with delight at winters respite. We land our mobile viewing platform and wander to quench our thirst, surrounded by people enjoying the sun’s welcome radiance.
The café is busy, full of colour and chatter, the nerves of aspiring parachutists mixing with the adrenalin of those already brave enough to have jumped. Wives, girlfriends and husbands congratulate their partners, that faraway look pervading their eyes, ‘I wonder, just wonder, if I could have done it too’.

Our eyes look skyward and watch the next jump plane disgorge its contents, bodies barely visible falling earthward so fast, before colourful canopies open, like multi coloured tulips against the pale blue sky, the descent arrested, the relief from the crowd all consuming.

A warbird appears as the drop zone is cleared, a lustrous red and silver machine, engine growling as it reaches for the sky. Before arrowing earthward it rolls its splendorous wings as it fights with the air, propeller twisting to keep it in place. Loops, rolls and stall turns accompanied by the background symphony of that wondrous engine, the sound from the radial music to all ears. A low pass to show off her belly, the Russian dancer of the sky waves us goodbye and we realise this day for us, has also to end.

Clawing the still cool air, we head for base, throttle back, level off and smile.

This is why we fly, these perfect days were just made for it.

If I achieve nothing else I have achieved my ultimate dream.