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.