LGC NEWS
September 1998
LGC NEWS |
September 1998 |
A Lithuanian Std Jantar
As most of you will know four of us recently experienced (I use the word advisedly) a gliding holiday in Lithuania. Whilst we were there we kept a 'diary'. Admittedly entries were usually made post-dinner after a beer or two and maybe you had to be there, but I've been persuaded that it may be of interest to others. I must stress that our hosts could not do enough for us, nothing was too much trouble, things were just,.... err, a little different!
Friday, Day 1
Arrive at Vilnius International to be met by Gitalia, a striking six footer, who was looking a trifle embarrassed clutching her 'Glider Pilots' sign in the Arrivals hall. She speaks perfect English, to our great relief and suggests we might like to sort out our licences as the CAA (or the equivalent) are based in a hotel near the airport. It’s lunch time so we lurk around in the corridor outside the room where the CAA are reputed to live. Eventually Mr CAA arrives and ushers us in to his office, finds seats for five (we have Gitalia in tow to sort out language difficulties) and inspects our log books, medicals (for those that have them), asks a few pertinent questions and issues us all licences, regardless. Facile, even!
Unfortunately the licences are written out long hand which takes a little time. We are given the Lithuanian 'Air Pilot' to keep ourselves amused. I spot a chart of Lithuania on the wall and ask if it’s possible to buy one... or four. After a bit of falling out (amongst ourselves I hasten to add) we decide on two copies as we already have US military charts. The US charts are sadly lacking in features like airspace; I don't suppose airspace would terribly concern them, should they have ever been used in anger. A runner is dispatched for the charts; apparently the charts live in a different building. To fill the time Mr CAA gives us a lecture on the geo-political and aeronautical arrangements around Lithuania. "Don't go into Russia, Bello-Russia", "Here is friendly, here not so friendly", "Do not go within 15km of border or you will be intercepted". Rescued by arrival of THE Chart. Only one they have, freshly glued together from sheets of A4, don't fly near the joins!
Pile into Transit van (it seems Ford inflicted them on the communist bloc as well as us) and driven around most of the mega potholes by a man skilled in the freewheeling school of motoring. Stop on the way at what can best be described as a fairy-tale castle in the middle of a lake. Spectacular stuff. We eventually pull up at our accommodation, an ex-military house (officers' quarters), on the edge of the woods, 50 yards from the airfield. Left alone to contemplate our fate.
Saturday Day 2
Rainy, it knows how to rain in Lithuania! Clearly under house arrest. We amuse ourselves by copying airspace from the Lithuanian Chart onto the US ones and copying all the airfields that have disappeared from the US one onto the Lithuanian one; The Lithuanians don't seem to bother with disused airfields; we did, as rumour had it all retrieves were to be by air. Introduced to Petras, CFI, airfield manager and our host. We quiz him about the facilities, he has a standard reply, "It is possible". Is there a bar? "It is possible". What about the plunge pool? "It is possible". It turns out there is a bar (more of this later) and a plunge pool (empty).
We quiz Petras about the restricted airspace that was dear to Mr CAAs' heart. "Oh, we don't bother about that". "What about this green danger area?". He shrugs, never seen it before. "What about this Military airfield and all the restricted area around it". "They have no petrol, it's a good place for outlanding". If only the RAF were so obliging! He is keen for us to avoid the border. A visiting pilot flew into Russia last year. Realised there was something amiss when he saw a long queue of cars at a checkpoint, turned around and glided it out back into Lithuania.... just. The tale didn't end there. They found the glider in a field but couldn't find the pilot anywhere. They eventually gave up and returned home without the pilot. He was poured out of a car at the airfield 20 hours later, somewhat the worse for drink. He had been befriended by the locals and had spent the night drinking moonshine.
Petras issues us our homework for the evening. "Pashirushas" - Take-off, "Atsikabinow" - off tow and "Toopsoo" that meant downwind. Needless to say our attempts at these whilst flying were invariably met by a request for us to say it in English.
Sunday Day 3
Bright and Sunny but with wet forecast, literally; the fax machine seemed to use water in some crucial phase of the process. Check flight day! We had heard awful rumours of an extremely short rope so were somewhat apprehensive. Two Blaniks were wheeled out of the hangar and Petras and another instructor hove into view. We look hopefully for the tractor to tow them down to the into wind end of the airfield: Petras suggests 'ladies first'. John and I, being true gentlemen hastily agree. Ten knot tailwind, strange airfield, strange tug (Wilga), metric instruments, foreign language, no briefing, very tall trees at end of airfield. Definitely ladies first, hopefully they will be good enough to position them into wind for us when they land. All goes well so Petras asks what we want to fly. We choose 3 Standard Jantars, rather than the Laks, and the Puchacz for Linda. The Jantars turn out to be a wise decision as, when we ask about the effectiveness of the Lak airbrakes later in the week, we are told 'well they make a noise"! We try to choose the best from approximately 6 Jantars. The hangar contains 22 Blaniks, 6 Wilgas, half a dozen Lak 12s, an open Jantar, various exotic Russian gliders, a primary, two Antonov 2s, a YAK 2 (like a metal Auster on steroids with a radial engine) and various home builts. One of which has suspiciously Blanik like wings and control surfaces sporting a few dents...... we don't ask. The Jantars are obviously club aeroplanes and we spend an interesting hour or two trying to assemble a full set of batteries, Total Energy Probes etc.
Lynn was nearly run over by a YAK taxing across the main road whilst hastily returning to the house to 'prepare herself' for the check flight. It turns out the power club live on the other side of the road from the airfield. We are treated to an excellent low-level aerobatic display by this plane, obviously none the worse for his encounter with Lynn, later in the day.
The weather doesn't look promising we have a wander round the woods bordering the airfield, lots of wild raspberries, strawberries and ticks. The trousers go into the socks a la PR! The sky brightens a little and we hastily retrace our steps. I have my doubts but Lynn & John insist on getting the Puchacz out. Shortly thereafter we are hiding under the wing in the middle of the airfield. It knows how to rain in Lithuania
We emerge from shelter to find the CFI screaming down the field in his car, plumes of spray in his wake. Despite our protestations he makes us fly saying 'there's a clear bit over there'. We fail to see it. Anyway the Wilga emerges; we line the Puchacz up down the strip. The Wilga persists in pointing into the unmown portion of the airfield. We hastily change wingtips to drag the glider into roughly the right direction. The field twice the size of Portmoak and they want to use the rough bit! Lynn & John have an interesting 20 minutes; the tug doesn't get above 150' for a v-e-r-y long time and then it pours down again. Haven't these Wilgas heard they have a fearsome reputation? It turns out the pilots are under instruction to throttle back to conserve the engines and the quality of the petrol isn't all it could be. As a result we are to enjoy some interesting close-ups of Lithuanian scenery during the course of the week.
Beer ration issued at Dinnertime. One bottle each per day. No sign of bar.
Monday Day 4
Bright and thermic. We impress mightily by DIing the gliders. This appears to be a foreign practice but we persist nonetheless. Today we have the privilege of taking off into wind. Unfortunately into wind happens to be between two factory chimneys (why do they need chimneys on a glider factory?). The tug pilot chooses the path of least resistance and aims between them, interesting!
The weather obviously doesn't know it's meant to be thermic. We narrowly beat the rain and get the gliders back to the hanger.
Petras organises a trip around the LAK factory. This turns out to be extremely interesting as we see the Genesis tail-less glider being prepared for delivery. They are being manufactured in Lithuania due to the labour rates. The designer (and hard seller) answers all dumb questions patiently. It looks quite impressive and even more so when we later see it flying. It is very quiet when flying fast which backs up that which Mr Mudd has to say about it. No better or worse at low speed than any other glider but better at high speed. Less parasite drag I guess.
Still no bar.
The Genesis Tail-less glider
Tuesday Day 5
Raining & Shopping. Need I say more?
Wednesday Day 6
Bright and thermic. It over-convected in the end and the gear was away by 3:30 but we all had a good day exploring the Lithuania countryside and generally getting the lay of the land. There is an awful lot of forest and relatively few large fields; since independence the land has reverted back to its original owners and is consequently somewhat fragmented.
Much to Linda's frustration the thermals tend to be small and broken below 2000'. Her circuits are getting pretty good 'though!
Balloon festival in the evening. Still no bar.
Thursday. Day 7
Bright and thermic. Another good day. Remedial thermalling lessons for Linda; the low-level thermals only respond to 45 degrees of bank or more. John stays up all day and we find Lynn wandering around the airfield eating wild strawberries, quite a civilised spot really!
In the evening we wander around the airfield and are amazed how busy it is; there is parachuting, gliding, yaks, aerobatic displays, kids, dogs, light aeroplanes coming and going and the airfield has been set as the goal for the balloonists. The winning balloon wins by inflating his balloon in the field immediately upwind of the airfield and bouncing his craft across the road and onto the airfield! They had omitted to state that you had to take-off at a specific point.
As we pass a parked AN-2 there are hordes of kids crawling all over it, playing parachutists. We take the opportunity to have a look in the biggest biplane in the world. The cockpit has plenty of knobs, levers and gauges, most of which are a complete mystery as they are labelled in Cyrillic. As we disembark the CFI appears and asks us if we want to fly. "Now?". "Yes, now". We clamber back on board, complete with all the budding parachutists and I, somewhat rudely (sorry), claim the free seat in the cockpit. The Antonov clearly isn't designed to be started by a normal human being (not enough hands) but Petras succeeds in getting the huge radial engine fired-up, generating huge clouds of smoke, and off we go.
There follows a tour of the airfield and its environs in which we didn't get above 500' and spent a large portion of our time slaloming in and out of all the balloons. The kids loved it but we never asked the balloonists. For those of you interested it is easy to fly, a bit heavy in roll and great fun. I must admit a large portion of the fun was probably due to the height, or lack of it we were operating at.
Beer ration stops. Scottish contingent arrive, bar opens!
Lynn and John stayed on for a second week. If you want to know what happened then you'll have to ask them. We ended our holiday by flying back to Vilnius International Airport in a Cessna - much more civilised than the old tranny van. (It was the only time I got to see much scenery from the air - Linda). I've never had so much fun on a gliding holiday, our hosts couldn't do enough to help us and I can thoroughly recommend it.
AN-2 starting up and belching smoke in the process
I read with great interest and some amusement in the July LGC News, Gil Scurrah's account of my crash on White Combe on 29th March 1970, in what was previously LR's pride and joy, his Skylark 3F.
However, I must correct certain inaccuracies therein, namely I did not fly upside down, neither did I exceed Vne and at no time did I lose consciousness during and after the crash. I must attribute these and other statements in the account to Gil's wonderful and vivid imagination!
After extracting myself from the severed cockpit, I tried to raise the alarm with the Pye Bantam radio in the cockpit, without success.
I could see a road in the distance which turned out to be through the Whicham Valley and then I realised I was in the valley between the two Combes.
I then made my way down the valley and came to Mr Lewthwaites cottage, where I told them what had happened. They kindly took me in and telephoned the Lakes at Walney. Here I must state that I have no recollection of lying down on Mr Lewthwaites couch (another figment of Gils imagination).
In what seemed no time at all a retrieve party arrived with the trailer.
Mrs J Redshaw was with them and straight away took me down to North Lonsdale Hospital in Barrow for a check up.
Apart from a few bruises, minor cuts and a sore back, I was declared fit and well. Mrs Redshaw then took me home.
The photo reproduced in the newsletter was one of several taken by LR after the remains of the Skylark had been brought down to the edge of the valley and arranged in some semblance of order as it would have normally been. The photographs enabled LR to prepare a report on the damage to the glider.
The report is in my possession (courtesy of PR) and I would be pleased (?) to show it to any interested member.
The cause of the accident was no doubt my lack of experience in cloud flying plus my ignoring the compass.
Any pilot soaring Black Combe and caught in this swiftly forming orographic cloud would be well advised to set and maintain a compass bearing which would take him away from the mountain.
As to Gil's final remark that the Skylark never flew again, this will be obvious from the photo.
Cec Batty
From the Internet
A motorglider was on a ferry flight to the workshop in order to check on some noise problems. This is what was said when the motor glider called the tower for the first time:
Motorglider: "FFZPFFFZZ-TOWER-FZZZPHHZZZFFPH-G-FZZXZZZ-ON FZZPHFFF-ZZZZPHRRTT-FFFFZZZ."
Tower: "Aircraft calling tower, you're unreadable, say again."
Motorglider: "I've turned off the engine. Is that better?"
Tower: (long pause) "You did WHAT?"
Peter Lewis, CFI
This year there have been a few fatal accidents to members of the BGA, which is very worrying to say the least and does absolutely nothing for our sport. In our own club we are very safety conscious and you always surmise that it could never happen to us. Well let's make sure that it never does!
For a start we must never get complacent and always look to improve the safety in our flying. If you are unhappy about any part of our flying organisation or have any constructive criticism please let me know.
I know we always do this but the daily inspection of the glider is so important. You might get away with an unconnected air brake but without an elevator you have no chance. Make sure the glider has a positive control check at the start of the day. The canopy might not look so dirty but what’s it going to be like when you are flying into the sun or coming in to land. It’s too late then to clean it!
On most of our runways we do not have an undershoot area but we do have three runways about 900 yards long and plenty of grass. No one will ever complain if you come in too high.
Once in the circuit or overhead the airfield and you find yourself low, remember your training, don’t have the dreaded launch point mania but make a decision, stick with it and land in a safe place.
Remember Low and slow don’t go and if you think you can do a turn when you are very low, forget it because you will lose height, catch a wing on the ground and crash.
A good circuit usually means a good landing and there is nothing funny or clever about just scraping home.
We might not have a great deal of thermal activity at Walney so there will be little chance of having about ten gliders in the same thermal but we could have ten gliders in close proximity on the Combe. So it’s back to basics again. Good airmanship, Good lookout. Never get too close to another glider as they come together very very quickly, quicker than you could ever imagine!
While soaring on the Combe the weather can change very quickly, keep an eye on it all the time. If there is more than one glider soaring, stay away from the clouds, as it will most likely be around the same height. Need I say more! Yes I will say more. If you are even a little unsure about the conditions go home or at least go somewhere else.
We have three two seaters in the club so in marginal conditions why not take an instructor along, most of us are quite pleasant.
Gliding is a wonderful sport and as an instructor said to me about twenty years ago "Always fly to your own ability and you won’t go far wrong".
It is very sad that these pilots have lost their lives but at the end of the day when the reports come out I will be very surprised if it is not about 99% pilot error.
You may think this is a bit premature, but it’ll be too late by the time the next newsletter hits the streets so here it is now....
John Burdett
Before a glider is pushed out onto the runway several checks should already have been done. Some of these only need doing before the first flight of the day but others are required before every flight.
As you all should be aware, before the first flight of the day, the glider needs to be DI’ed. If you are not sure check that the glider has been signed up for that day as ‘serviceable’ in the yellow DI book. If it hasn’t then DI it and enter this in the book, if you don’t know how to DI that type of glider then ask an instructor to show you. Next is to check the release mechanism for satisfactory operation. Do a drop test, back release (if type requires it) and load test (a test rope can be found on the bus).
Once these checks have been done they do not need doing again until the next day unless the glider has been de-rigged.
Before every flight the "CB SIFT CB E" checks should be done, if you are not sure of these ask an instructor to go through them with you. On a hot day it is allowable to leave the canopy open until you are on the runway, but if you do this then stop the checks at ‘C’ for canopy and continue from there when you are ready, DO NOT continue with the checks and do canopy last.
Once all these checks have been done then the glider can be pushed out onto the runway for launch (assuming there are no other aircraft in the circuit).
When the rope is presented for connecting only connect it if you are ready to launch, then you should clearly say ‘brakes closed and locked, cable on please’ (if you’re connecting the rope and this is not said then ask ‘are your brakes closed and locked’ and wait for a positive response before you connect).
Once the rope has been connected this is a signal to the launch people that you are ready to take off and they now have control of the launch procedure. If at any time you wish to stop the launch then you should drop the rope to signal to the launch people that you are no longer ready.
By Alan D.
The Wolds G.C. at Pocklington in August is the venue of the annual two-seater gliding competition. The Lakes last attended in 1993 when we became infamous for the "Mr Blobby Saga". As it had been so long since our last visit, John Martindale organised entries this year for the T49 and the K21.
The advance party arrived on Friday evening expecting the competition to start on Saturday, only to be told that the first contest day was to be Sunday. Undaunted gliders were rigged and the opportunity of some winch practice was taken by a few - except Dave Bull who either hid or ran away to avoid it, as did I at the prospect of winching the Pilatus! Peter Lewis and John Martindale set off for Sutton Bank in their Pegasus’s but only made half way against a stiff headwind. When Peter Redshaw arrived with the K21 it was rigged in an amazingly short time before being flung skywards on the winch by an enthusiastic Dave North.
Day 1 of the contest dawned overcast and rapidly turned to rain. The two-seater comp is notorious for having poor weather and when the first day was scrubbed at the briefing it didn’t auger well for the rest of the week. However Sunday was a competition day of a different sort with a GPS treasure hunt being arranged by Pocklington Social Sec Chris Collins. The idea here was to follow a trail of Latitude and Longitude points using a GPS to find answers to some pretty obscure clues. Naturally the Lakes were not to be outdone and with some fancy techno-wizardry we thought we had it cracked with an awesome GPS linked moving map which showed us exactly where we were on a computerised Ordnance Survey map. Simple we thought! Despite completing the course in a shorter distance even than the organisers we were scuppered by the obtuse clues. Even a light-hearted letter of complaint to the organiser from Peter Redshaw failed to improve our score.
Each contest day starts with a briefing given by the contest director, Andy Butler. The briefing kicks off with the previous days winners collecting their prizes in exchange for a "howidunnit" story. This is followed by a weather briefing and then the task is announced. In the two-seater comp this usually takes the form of three or four turn points from which a number of tasks can be flown, the task sizes reflecting the expected soaring conditions. It is up to the pilots to decide how far to go according to the conditions.
Monday was the first proper competition day and the tasks were 88km (Out and Return to Sutton Bank) 105km (Triangle around Sutton Bank and Rufforth) or 165km (triangle around Sutton Bank and Scotch Corner). Peter Redshaw and Walter Postlethwaite were flying the T49 with Dave North and John Martindale in the K21. Although they got away at the first attempt, the K21 was the first glider of the contest to land out, about half way to Sutton Bank close to Castle Howard, a distance of 23km for 43 points. The Capstan needed a re-light before it got away and on our way out to collect the K21 we saw it circling over head and thought they’d win hands down as we knew a lot of other gliders had already landed out in the same sort of area. However PR had other ideas! Claiming to be drifted back by the wind, he was later seen back over Pocklington where he declared a second start only to final glide into a field 9km away at Full Sutton for a meagre 26 points. Naturally Mr North was uncontainable at beating PR and the seeds of a fierce competition between the two were sown.
Tuesday was a non-contest day with rain threatening for late morning. Despite this the Capstan was rigged and flown by a few people, including PR and Lyn who took it for a final glide into a field 9km from the site. The farmer, who had been wound up by his "neighbours", arrived demanding £50 before the Capstan could be retrieved. After some negotiations a figure of £20 was settled on. Next day PR won 2 bottles of wine for "entering into the spirit of the competition" with a flight of "9km, no turn points and nil points", despite it not being a competition day.
Wednesdays tasks were 77km (O/R to Wetherby), 145km (Tri around Wetherby and Doncaster) and 230km (Tri around Wetherby and Newark). PR was in the Capstan with Walter again and despite a re-light ended up back at the airfield with a good many others who didn’t manage to get away. The K21 did though.... John Martindale was flying with me in the back working the map and the GPS. I wonder why we ended up at Melbourne, now the York dragway, 90° off track and only 7km from the site? We did earn 12 points which was the lowest non-zero score of the entire contest; we should have got a prize for that! So at the end of contest day 2 it was 55 points to the K21, more than double the Capstans 26.
Thursday was THE day of the contest with the biggest tasks being set. 77km (O/R Thorne), 143km (O/R Worksop), 198km (Tri Worksop, Knaresborough) and 320km (quad Worksop, Knaresborough and Barnard Castle). It was going to be some contest with PR and Peter Lewis in the Capstan with John M and Peter Seddon in the K21. Both teams found it easy going south and having both photographed Thorne decided to press on to Worksop. The K21 was making good progress on the way back as far as Doncaster but there it all started to go wrong. Lift was expected at Drax power station but there wasn’t any to be had. Drifting towards Burn and down to 1500 feet they managed to find some weak lift which drifted back towards Drax where it combined with the power station to give some good lift. The 10-15 knot headwind didn’t help coming back and it took a few more nervous climbs to make it back to Pocklington after 4½ hours in the air having gone 143km to earn 530 points and fifth place for the day.
The Capstan on the other hand was busy being "unsure of its position" around Worksop. We were all amused to hear the spectacle of the CFI (accompanied by a former CFI, an ancient map and just one pair of spectacles between them) asking the Regional Examiner, Bob Pettifer, over the radio if they were indeed at Worksop. Having Photographed PR, rather than the Turn Point, they set off back towards Pocklington. Read Peter Redshaw’s full account of the flight in his article. The Capstan ended up in a field at Rawcliffe near Goole for 7th place with 117km and 454 points and 480 points overall, not quite enough to beat the K21s total of 585.
Outside the competition there was plenty of other single seater flying to be had. Lyn and Graham Welch both declared tasks for their 100km diplomas. Both originally 143km O/R to Worksop to follow the task. I persuaded Lyn to change that to 110km O/R to Doncaster which more or less followed the task but we all eventually settled on a 105km triangle around Sutton Bank and Rufforth. Both made slow progress to Sutton Bank but Graham was a bit too enthusiastic with a fast glide through sink before arriving at what he hoped was to be lift at Sutton Bank. Unfortunately it wasn’t and he was soon on the ground needing another tow to return to Pocklington. Lyn was more fortunate and despite getting low a few times managed to struggle around Sutton Bank and on towards Rufforth. She was lined up for an outlanding at Tholthorpe before going to over 4000 feet near Rufforth before an easy glide back to success at Pocklington. We only hope the slight technical problem with the barograph won’t invalidate the claim.
Lyn's 100km Barograph trace
I too had a fantastic flight in the Pilatus that day. On tow I was surprised to see the vario off the end stop. This might not be unusual except that I have a 0-10 m/s metric vario so that’s over 20 knots - which I’ve never seen before! Needless to say I released and had a steady 4-5 m/s (8-9kts) all the way to 4,500 feet. The barograph later showed that it took 5 minutes exactly to get to 4,200 feet - Awesome!
Friday was contest day four and the tasks were 77km (O/R Thorne), 110km (O/R Doncaster) and 196km (O/R Alfreton). D70 was first on the grid and was first to call start, flown again by John M and Peter S. The forecast had been for moderate thermals early on but dying out as the day went on. John hence elected to go for the short task but as fast as possible. The flight was pretty uneventful with the usual mixture of high and low points. Coming back he called "Pocklington, D70 one minute" and sure enough crossed the finish line a minute later, 97 minutes after starting. This proved to be a very effective strategy because there were a lot of pilots concerned to hear someone finishing whilst they were struggling down to the first TP, or indeed not even started yet. Including of course PR and Gordon Furness in the Capstan. They set off and Three and a bit hours after starting they were heard to call "Pocklington, BUC marginal final glide from the South East". We all looked and there, just above the trees we could see the Capstan edging towards us. It was a nervous time for the spectators as we saw the Capstan alternatively descending and rising relative to the trees in front of us. Eventually it crept closer and the "Straight in final" call was made. PR then asked if he had to cross the finish line "If you can" came the official reply, rapidly followed by an emphatic "yes" from someone else on the ground. Having cracked the airbrakes to bring the glider down to a dramatic ground effect finish it crossed the line at three feet and landed just after - a truly marginal final glide. PR resisted the temptation to hug and kiss Gordon on landing but was visibly shaking until nerves were calmed with a couple of Large (and I mean large by PR standards!!) G&Ts. Despite their efforts the K21 only scored 297 points and for the first time was beaten by the Capstan with 316 and narrowing the lead to 882 over 796.
Saturdays tasks were 80km (O/R Pontefract), 121km (Tri Pontefract, Doncaster) and 156km (Tri Pontefract, Worksop). Unfortunately the promised clearance in the cloud never materialised and the day was finally scrubbed at 15:00. Those that stayed went out for an enjoyable Chinese meal before the Hangar Party to finish off the social activities of the contest.
Sunday was the final contest day and the same tasks as Saturday were set before being hastily revised to go in the opposite direction to avoid Melbourne which the RAF had decided to use as a holding point for the Air Spectacular at Elvington. Again, the cloud didn’t budge until the task was scrubbed at 12:45 at which point, with impeccable timing, the sun came out. We all de-rigged and packed up in time for the prize giving which was held at 2pm. Once again Andy Butler was comical, this time wearing a jacket and a ‘plane covered tie. Over the four contest days 10,643 km had been flown in 282 hours. Andy then went on to real off a whole load of other statistics which included consuming 3000 pints of beer and using up 12km of toilet paper! The prizes were then presented. The overall winners were from Hus Bos and flew a Duo Discus, they clocked up 1840 points. The best "wood" prize went to the first ever international entry at the competition, a K13 team from Holland. Both Andy and Simon Parker (met man and task setter for the comp) were presented with propeller clocks contributed to by all of the competitors. As usual on these occasions, everybody heartily thanked everybody else and we all left happy and with a strong desire to come back and do it all over again next year.
Overall the Lakes turned in a very credible performance, the K21 coming 15th with 882 points and the Capstan 21st with 792 points. Out of a total entry of 40 it was very pleasing to be placed firmly in the middle third of the results. All that remained was for us to get home. Deprived of his GPS moving map, PR took a wrong turning after gleefully zooming past Peter Seddon and his caravan. John Burdett got lost in York. However both paled into insignificance against my performance of loosing a wheel from my trailer just after Lindale Hill - There’s something very unlucky about me, trailers, Pocklington and Lindale Hill! Dare I go back next year? - these things usually come in threes! Other than that you could say I had a wheelie good time....
by PR23
Some might say about time, but there I was at Pocklington and the CFI wangled himself into the Capstan. Well the stress was unbelievable, not only was I supposed to fly 140 odd km to Worksop and back in the Capstan but I was supposed to do it and fly properly.
The flight started OK and the launch was relatively uneventful as he sat there with his arms crossed and appeared to be relaxed. This is an old instructors trick and I was not fooled for one minute. A winch launch off the back of the tug at 2100ft was greeted with a grunt, I can only assume he was impressed with the technique. Several other gliders were circling in the area but I chose to show off my clear thermal finding skills and set off into a steady 5 knots sink, however it was on track. At 1000ft I expected him to say ‘I have control’. But not so, a stagger round a few times brought indications of lift. By 800ft I thought I had centred nicely and we began a slow climb. By now there was no point in trying to photo the start line so drawing upon his radio skills he announced to Pocklington base to use the launch time. He was of course P1 and so could take the decisions.
At the top of the thermal (my top as I fell out of the thermal) I set off. He indicated that I should have gone higher, I countered by muttering about rate of climb and there being better lift on track. This technique and glib explanation seemed to suffice until we joined a glider circling to the right somewhere near Doncaster. At this point I decided it was my turn to map read and suggested he might like to fly for a while. Interestingly the glider flies much more smoothly to the right and centres much better giving superior rates of climb, so much so that we reached cloud base. A point that he kept a mental note of for telling in the bar afterwards. I found this depressing and a side comment that he hadn’t realised a glider could thermal whilst doing fugoids to the left did not help me relax. I mentioned we were somewhere near Doncaster, I wasn’t sure because he kept holding the map upside down—a technique my wife uses when telling me to take the next red road to the left when she really means the main road to the right. At this point he said where are you. How was I supposed to know, he had the map.
By good fortune our Northern Regional Gliding instructor joined us in a thermal. The CFI immediately recognised Bob’s glider and thought he would have a friendly chat with him. This was fortunate indeed as I had no GPS on board with which to give the impression of knowing where the turn point was and the communication allowed the CFI to say ‘Worksop is over there, you’ve got yourself 10 miles off track’. Of course the CFI knew all the time and was just testing me.
A few thermals later and we approached the turn point. I passed the camera to Him and asked him to take the photo, good technique really because if it hadn’t come out I was not to blame. Speed up to 55 knots, pull back, stick hard over and click. Then he asked me to do it again as I had leaned forward so he could get a good picture of me. The objective he curtly said is to photograph the turn point not to take a snapshot for the family album. How on earth he expected me to thermal well with so many negatives I don’t know. In fact I only had three more thermals before the sky died. The high point of these was that the 49 was out-flying D70, a Bocian and a T53.
A point which escaped our CFI as we approached Drax power station at about 1000ft and D70 was radioing base to say they were on final glide. I knew that if we could reach the chimneys we would get a thermal, but when the CFI hints that you would have to fly round them not through them you need to change your plan discreetly and bow to his better judgement, so I flew east. At 800ft I hit a stonker and managed to reduce our sink to a barely noticeable level. Field selection was now uppermost in my mind and I pointed out this large triangular field. By 600ft he had gone quiet so I assumed he was about to tell me to concentrate on the field and not the non-existent thermal. Anticipating this I announced I was landing and going downwind. When I turned right at 400ft I felt the hand of god on the stick, but because I hadn’t heard those clear ’I have control’ words I pushed harder to the right and told him the field was behind us.
Now we all need a bit of luck and as we came round this wonderful big green square shaped field a good mile from the triangular one popped up in front of us and a steady approach was made. The actual touch down was marginally on the high side as I had forgotten to take my reading glasses off and everything went blurred for the last 50ft or so. Whilst undergoing debriefing in the nearest pub afterwards it transpired that he had nearly had to take control for the touch down, however my flying can’t have been that bad as I was allowed to fly the following day with Gordon as my safety pilot. He very nearly got me into trouble with the CFI again by doing a 6 mile final glide with only a midges Richard in reserve as we approached Pocklington. It must have been marginal as the CFI had about 30 mins in which to get his Video out and forgot to take any pics of BUC’s triumphant return.
The Turn Point at Worksop
by Gil Scurrah
Gliding At Walney (part 1)
Gliding At Walney (part 2)
Gliding At Walney (part 3)
Gliding At Walney (part 4)
In the early days it was all winch launching, and most people had to do a turn, say a half day, or if you had had your flights, it sometimes turned into much more, but this wasn’t always a chore, as you had quite a hand in the performance of the glider on the launch: So that if Redshaw looked like getting a higher flight than he should, one was wont to slow him down a bit to a sort of wallow, and say that the winch was playing up a bit. He was even known to do a sort of dive toward the winch, still on the wire, because if he had it in mind to hang on there, he wouldn’t let go of the wire, and if I was of a mind to slow him down a bit, it certainly honed up his flying skills. Then when we got to Oly stage, aerotowing was the best way to have a long flight, but it left us missing the walks down the runway first thing, tying knot after knot in the wire; Most of us got quite adept at reef knots and a couple of turns.
The tug pilots were at that time almost unsung heroes, we just expected to wave a hand at the right time, and away we would go, hoping that the tug pilot would remember who was on tow, and where we wanted to go. The invention of the wireless was to change that shortly, and we were able to ask to go ‘north’ or with some of us less skilled with the radio and flying ‘Left a bit now please’ but I didn’t hear many complaints from them, even when I had one of them almost nose diving into Ormsgill reservoir, when I was on tow with Reg Woolfe in my early aerotowing days. I think that was Ernie Dodd. Another pilot who comes to mind as a great guy was Rodger Bull, who was one of the first to do an away flight over the Pennines. I seem to remember that such flights were then banned until one had more experience of such flights; Maybe a bronze ‘C’ or something like that. One of the committee members said to me "We will have to keep a check on things like that, or we will have all sorts of people trying it" It seemed a nonsense at the time to me, because he had shown that it was quite possible, and would lead to more competition in the club. In retrospect, I think that maybe the flying committee had too many insurance agents on it, and it was still a nonsense. A bit like the catch 22. You can’t cross country until you have experience at it.? I am afraid that my simple brain never was able to understand the great intricacies of those profound thinkers of the time
I think it was Rodger who didn’t hesitate to take off when a snow flurry was imminent, and I wanted to experience what it was like to fly in snow, I had tried very heavy rain, and apart from not being able to see anything, it wasn’t anything like as bad as some of the pundits would have me believe, and I thought that the snow scene would be a similar exercise: It was, but I only tried cold, dry snow. wet snow would have me asking someone with more experience than apprehension what one could expect; -or trying it to find out.
This latter exercise was a bad move on my part, it was classed as ‘foolhardy’ and had me rejected as being a suitable person to be a gliding instructor, and though there were times when I would have liked to have passed on my knowledge and skills to others, and I missed that. The up side meant that I never had to sit in a cold day for hours going up and down like a yo-yo in a two seater, with ab initios making me go prematurely grey.
As I said in the beginning, I must be quite old, though I don't feel it, but as my memories go back such a long way, it makes me realise that most of my tempus has fugited, and the exciting things ahead must get fewer and fewer, so forgive me for going back into my past and rambling a little and re enjoying some of my happier moments with you all. I look in one of my drawers and see a Vickers momento of a trip to the Isle of Man, and so I’ll tell you of the humour of that flight, way back in 1976. But I made notes of most of it, which together with memories and a little decoration should fill a page or two.
Before that, however, I do have a small bone to pick with Peter the Red.: I read his escape story about his away landing at the base of Black Combe, and though he forgets to mention that the van driver had fainted, I can forgive him that. That we shared motor cycles, 100% true: That we shared model gliders- I think I flew it once, and each time I managed to see it, it had changed shape, or been shortened somewhat. 25% true: We did share a glider also, and luckily I had the larger share of it, otherwise I think I would not have had any flights when P.R.R. was on the drome. 100 % true:
Girls ?. My wife said she wouldn’t let him near her unless she was drowning, and Liz always approached me with a long wooden pole with a sort of metal hook on the end, and so she wants to know ; Who the hell were the girls that I never told her about, when she thought I was at gliding. I am afraid he only gets five per cent for that one. (and has he still got Evelyne’s telephone number?)
I read with enjoyment the episode of Ron Reid in the newsletter, and I realise that my humble story can not compete with that for excitement or content, but apart from one or two other little brushes in flying, it is the best I can offer for now, so bear with me a while, whilst I do my best to relate this three part saga;
Firstly the preparation and the flight
Secondly the time in the island
Thirdly the aerotow back and the reception.
The Isle of Man. The conception.
It started off as usual, all Redshaws fault; He won the Leighton Hall trophy for the second time, and in his usual introverted and timid manner, nonchalantly studying his finger nails said in a ‘soto’ voice; just loud enough for me to hear from where I was sitting, 45 feet away, ‘I’ll just get my name on this cup one more time, Scurrah, and then I’ll let you have a go’. Well ! if that isn’t enough to get anyone plotting ways to prevent this third P.R.R on the thing, I don’t know what will.
He had by this time tried to blow his damned head off with a petrol tank, so the thought flashed across my mind that he might just help me to solder another petrol tank, but he is so gullible that this didn’t seem to be fair, and anyway, I didn’t want to put Liz through the trauma of all that planning of spending the insurance money, and then not getting it, again.
I wondered if I might catch him out again by turning the maps upside down in the side pocket, like I did when he set off to Carlisle, and landed at Kirkby Lonsdale, But I think L.R. put him wise to maps after that, so it would have to be something better than that. So I sat me down and tried what is called a ‘Brainstorm’ at schools nowadays. Now I have never had even a mild breeze in my brain at any time, so after a day or two sitting staring blankly at various walls waiting for this inspiration thing to land, and my wife began to question if I was doing too much at work, I decided that it would have to be something better than brainstorming for me.
I contemplated catching a cold front and following it down to Rochester airport, an area I knew a little, but Manchester could have proved either a long wait, or a bit of law breaking that could prove hazardous, not to mention the low level corridor that was alien to gliders, so having watched quite a few fronts, the cold front foray was ruled out for safety and regularity. Contrary to rumours that have circulated previously about me, I have got so far in life through some semblance of ‘forsicht’ and have no wish at all of dashing myself into some hillside, or some 747. I read all my gliding magazines, cover to cover, and couldn’t find any flight to Eire from England in them. The mental picture of this Emerald Isle did the trick, and a flight to Ireland became the grand, Redshaw beating, plan.
The only cloud on the horizon was P.R.R himself. It was just like himself to walk into the clubhouse one day and say " Sorry I wasn’t at gliding yesterday, I just popped over to Enniskillen, or Cork," or somewhere, so it had to be as soon as possible, and with more secrecy than MI5. or he really would go for it. The master plan was a wavy day, a downwind as far as the island (where I had done a little flying, and weather watching) Get some more wave and another downwind to Eire, where with luck I could get more hill lift from the eastern hills, and then on to the west coast, so that to beat it someone would have to go on to Rockall; Or I could, with a good height over here, a long downwind straight over to Ireland for which I would have liked 9,000 feet to start with..
January, February and March were the most likely months in which I thought I would get a wavy day with a wind from the east to north, and that gave me plenty of time to prepare. I learned to use the radio (we now had to call base every half hour). I learned to read maps, got some hand fired flares, I kept a Mae West that wasn’t chafed through at the collar, and I went for lessons on how to eat and drink whilst in the water at the local baths, and then I waited and waited and waited. Jan, Feb, March all came and went, and I began to think that it wasn’t going to be my year after all, and I began to think of aerotows to 15000’ and other ways I might accomplish this flight, April was passing away and I was about to enter the slough of depression when the weather charts began to show a possibility in the third week. I got a tug prepared to go during the week if necessary, and my secretary and one of the office girls genned up on how to launch a glider, and now was getting just like a schoolboy in the week before the holidays. Getting up before the sun so I would have more time, although my plan to get lift downwind of the Combe only took an hour to cross, and something less than 50 miles, I thought of the Murphy law, and decided I wanted as much daylight in the water as possible.
The weather got better and better, and on the 23 of April was exactly what I wanted; Stable airflow for two or three days, 10 to 25knots at 040 to 060; 3000’ to 12000’. Haze 4000 to 7000. It was on, and on Sunday the 25th, a very inwardly excited Gilbert weed as much as he could, and then got himself strapped into 551. and was towed out to Black Combe - Eire, here I come.
- That's when the best laid plans of mice and men took over. Or that damnable Murphy showed his face. I got an aerotow to the Combe, and drifted out to sea to get the wave that was always there in those conditions, and I had been in before between Haverrig and Ravenglass. In steady reduced sink I went up the coast further and out to sea until I thought the shore was going out of reach, and I still had no lift; Murphy had moved it too far out.
Sadly I had to return back to the Combe- if I could! Not helping my annoyance any were the radio calls being made by everyone out flying. "6000 feet over towards Coniston" "In three up forward of Ireleth" "In wave near Broughton". Everybody seemed to be going up but me. I just had to get into the Duddon valley and the estuary where it all seemed to be happening. The Combe got nearer and nearer until I Could pass over the S.W. end of it at about 1500 feet and experienced great relief, and a giant surge of optimism as I got lift between Lowscales and the Combe at about 1200 feet, from then on it was all up. Going up and down the valley looking for the best lift until I felt I could go over to Ireleth and try there.
I never got as far as Ireleth. In the middle of the estuary I got into the wave everyone was burbling about, and in no time at all was over Coniston at 7000, wave all over the sky giving one great difficulty in going down.
I marked one or two bars of the wave on my map in red pencil (another innovation for me) and it made an interesting pattern. It was sometime about here when I first called base with my height and position. Then I thought that I could follow this pattern and I should get up as far as Keswick, which proved to be no problem I was about 10000 by now, and a downwind dash was on. If I could get higher a little more I would go. Following the theory of the red pencil lines I decided to go N.E. from Keswick and get into some big lift that should have been there. I can tell you now that the red pencil line theory doesn’t always work, you have to draw the lines ‘after’ you find the lift, not before. 551 made a hurried dash back down to earth, the little pointer on the sink side going to the stops; Whilst diving through the sink with the mountains getting closer at a jolly fast rate, the words of L.R. came to my mind. "There is always a little strip of sand or gravel at the side of every lake, just touch down in the water and run on up to it" I
found the landing strip on Derwentwater and thought this would be a good time to make my second radio call. At 4000 feet and still going down I gave my height and position, and said that if I didn’t contact base for a while, not to worry, I would telephone from wherever I was to get a retrieve. As I got closer to the hills it got extremely turbulent, and on the windward side of them I got into violent hill lift which progressed back into the wave that I had left such a short time earlier, and not wanting to go too far over Skiddaw to find a better wave, I elected to have a trial run to the coast at St Bees and see if the wave pattern carried on, and what the height loss was with a straight flight at a constant speed.
I left Keswick at 11000, having lost one thousand doing a circle forward over the lakes N.E.end, and proceeded to St.Bees, where I arrived at a little over 9000, and having gone through regular increased and reduced sink areas, where each was marked with my little red pencil. By now I had forgotten all about using that same red pencil to write my last wishes on the back of the map for when I was found, and concentrated on Eire.
Within minutes out to sea I was out of sight of any landmarks and was enveloped in a golden haze, which was light blue above, and a darker grey below. Behind were a few piles of cloud that marked the Cumberland Hills, whilst up ahead I could see only this gentle haze. I had little to do at this time, so I drew a few more lines with my red pencil each time I came into reduced sink at where I thought I would be, and occasionally flew on a northerly course to prove that it was wave, and that I could gain height if I looked for it, the most I found was about one and a half up, but I found it very comforting. At about this time I was very excited as I realised that I was going to do it, and as I got to a point just less than halfway, where I knew that I wasn’t going back, and by my matchbox calculations, I might not even be able to get back, not even without Murphy. I recorded my pulse rate at 140, and cried "Whoopee". out aloud. Up ahead I saw some clouds appearing that denoted Snae Fell, tapering into the haze where I thought North Barrule would be. At 8000 feet I had more haze above than below, and I thought I could make out the sea a little. Very shortly this was confirmed as I passed over the coastline, exactly where I had drawn my red line.
It was about time that I called Walney, and Walney must have had a bout of thought transfer, as they called me as I was thinking of what to say; They solved the problem.-"551 report your height and position" Bless them, they were thinking about little me, so I answered "551 at 7800 at the eastern edge of Kirk Andreas airfield" This promoted a rather longer silence than was expected, then came another request, which I think was Winco Hawkes, this time it was a little more like an Englishman talks to foreigners so they get the message, you know, lips moving a bit more, voice increased a decibel, and slightly slower speech, "551 Report your height and position " This I did again, "551 at 7500 feet over Kirk Andreas airfield" and added as an afterthought to give them more to cogitate on " In one and a half down" I thought this would make them think that I was going to land, and Eire was never even thought of. This last message provoked an even more pregnant silence, which was broken by the voice of L.R. himself, who happened to be cruising around in his rolls and listening out to all the gliding, and also happened to own a quarter share in the machine. "551 will you report your exact height, and precise location" I think that by this time I was somewhere about Peel, and looking for the wave that I knew must me about there, and that would give a greater safety margin, and at the same time get me furthest over Eire, I was in a little up and so gave the required details, which again caused a silence for a short period, and evoked a response that, wrongly or rightly, caused no small amount of mirth in my cockpit; "Some of the members are not amused !" I think that was the last from L.R. but I think there were other communications at that time, but I can’t remember them.
It was about this time, 8000 and two up, and travelling up slightly out to sea to the north to confirm the extent of the wave, almost ready to set off again, when a ghost from out of 1950 came into view, and the words of one flight lieutenant came into my mind. There down below was my old initial training school for air crew, R.A.F. Jurby, and I pictured this little airman standing there, with his hat with the black and white squares, like the Manx police have on their helmets, tucked in the regulation fashion for a telling off, underneath the right arm, with the lower edge parallel to the ground, and the smile wiped off his face, and confronted with this Flt.Lui, [Who didn’t like me one bit after seeing what I wrote about him in my diary, before I knew it was himself who checked them and gave out brownie points to the writer.] This next bit should be in heavy type, but that doesn’t quite convey the clipped words forced out through clenched teeth, so I’ll let you use your own imagination for this bit, " Scurrah- I’ll see that you never fly from this drome again"; I then went in to the squadron leader, and to the station commander, who compared to this Flt.Lui seemed almost friendly, to the point of my believing forgiveness was imminent, but alas. I was to be sent down., and would have to start again at the beginning after a suitable time had elapsed.
So there it was down below, all these memories from so long ago, and here was a chance to prove him wrong. The actual thought was ‘Got you, you bastard’. I could fly from that drome. This gave me a decision to make. Go on to Eire before my half hour to call back to base had elapsed, and some of the members were even less amused, and go on with the Redshaw beating plan, and carry on over the water. Or sink this ghost of the Flight Lieutenant.
I thought P.R.R shouldn’t beat this anyway this year as we were nearly out of the wave period, and I should get two birds with the same stone, so down here it would be.
The rest made me wish a little that I carried on, as, as I flew south again to get over land and loose height, I had to put out the air brakes to get down out of lift. I did a wide circuit of the area and could see no activity, I couldn’t even see any parked aircraft, and it looked as if some building was going on near the hangers. When I got down to a wide landing circuit at about 2000’ I realised that it was no longer a used aerodrome, and looked much too tatty for the R.A.F. and those were new buildings at what looked like a builders yard. and a lorry park looked all too familiar and like the disused areas of Walney. However, I was committed now, and did a long final run in over some housing estate that never used to be there, and did a perfect landing, exactly where I wanted, and ran onto the grass behind one of the hangers to park out of the wind, sadly this whole beautifully executed manoeuvre was witnessed by only a portly security guard and a little boy in short trousers, who I think would both have been more amused if I had wrapped it up in a more violent landing. I had been in touch with Walney during my decent, and had been informed that the tug was busy for about one and a half hours, and would need a refuel, but would then set off, and aerotow me back to mainland.
This gave me about two hours before I could expect a call when the tug was about ready, so I lashed down the craft, (luckily there were two ground pins in the glider and a length of rope for lashing) removed the radio, and locked up the glider. As I hadn’t crashed or burnt out, and there was no blood, the security man had gone back into his hut, to his television or whatever, and the little boy of about seven or eight had come up and was standing by smiling and suitably impressed by this man in the flying machine. He was very shabbily dressed, suitably grubby for a boy of his age all over, and had the uncanny ability to give a great and long sniff, for one of such slender superstructure, and get those two long candles to disappear back up his nostrils, from whence they could slowly creep out again, leaving his smiling, pink upper lip the cleanest part of his person. This was to lead to a sort of friendship that was to continue until 1982 or thereabouts; But this is another story, and nothing to do with gliding. --- So. Here I was on the island. Definitely one up on the F/Lt. and possibly had beaten the cup out of the Redshaw hands for the third time, so it was a happy little Arab that walked off the field. hand in hand with the urchin, into a hilarious, and unbeknown to me at that time, hectic two hours in the Isle Of Man.
Which I think is worth a chapter or two by itself. So bear with me guys, it does get better.
Gliding At Walney (part 6)
Gerry was one of the early members of the Lakes GC having joined the Club in 1960. He clocked up some 400hrs in gliders whilst with our Club. Gerry died this year after a prolonged illness. He saw service during the war and flew many sorties in Bombers. His enthusiasm for flying continued after the war when he started teaching and joined the London GC in 1959. Finally soloing in a Tutor in August 1960. A first for Walney appears to be taking the Tutor into cloud in the same year with a flight time of 11minutes. For those of you who know what a Tutor is this is a significant flight. (glide angle approx ½ that of the Capstan)
Bungee’d off Ireleth in 1962 in a Kite 1 and later in the year OK’d for passenger carrying. 1964 saw Gerry complete his Silver C with a flight of 98 miles in an Oly 2B from Lasham. This allowed Gerry to gain his assistant instructor rating. One of the few natural pilots of our club, he inspired confidence in his pupils and had an infectious sense of humour which could be taken the wrong way if you didn’t know him. A character who added to life’s rich tapestry.
1964 also won him the Lonsdale trophy for a flight to Blackburn from Walney in the Oly.
In 1967 he flew in the regional comps at Lasham. This is worthy of note in that I believe this was only the second member of the Lakes to fly in competition, Len Redshaw being the first. He continued to fly into the mid 80’s but mainly from Lasham with some of his old colleagues from the south.
I shared my first glider (courtesy of LR) with him and John Craven (Peters father), the infamous blue and white Oly 2B. He was a good syndicate partner to have. Ironically John and Gerry both died within 10 days of each other.
His son Mark and daughter Rachel have kindly donated Gerrys gliding books, photo’s, old S&G’s and newspaper cuttings to the Club. These will be added to our library in the Clubhouse. Of particular note is a full-page article in the Evening Mail from 1964, I will pin it up inside the Clubhouse.
Peter Redshaw
by Rip Pearson
I completed the Meteor conversion course in 1952. The next stage in RAF pilot training would be an operational conversion unit, which prepared the tyro fighter pilot for squadron service. We knew how to fly the aeroplane, now we were going to learn how to fight with it; needless to say, as with every new challenge throughout the whole of my career (which spanned forty years to the day), it was eagerly anticipated.
Incidentally, not every young pilot converted onto Meteors, which were front line day and night fighters of the era. The day fighter ground attack pilots converted onto Vampires, the night pilots onto Meteor or Vampire night fighters, the bomber pilots onto Canberras and Lincolns, the coastal command pilots onto Shackletons or Lancasters, and the transport command pilots onto Hastings. Some of my course were posted straight back into training command, one went onto Hornets (the single seat Mosquito) overseas; we envied this guy most of all. He only got this posting because he landed his Harvard wheels up on his last flight at Flying Training School and was held back for the board of enquiry. We thought this plum should have been offered to one of us!! I suppose we got our comeuppance. We had all watched Johnny coming in to land - there was no emergency declared so we knew he had forgotten to lower his undercarriage, and we stood there hugging ourselves at the thought of the surprise he would get when he hit the deck. Johnny sailed in blissfully unaware of the red verey lights being popped off at him and the red Aldis light from the runway caravan. He hit the ground with a resounding thud, the blood wagon and fire tenders raced out, we all fell about laughing. Johnny looked a dejected figure when he climbed out of the cockpit but, as I said earlier, he had the last laugh..
The Meteor OCU was at RAF Stradishall, which is nowadays a high security prison. Stradishall is near Haverhill which was not renowned for its fleshpots, so we blessed Newmarket and Cambridge with our presence and learned a bit more about life there; however before I got to Stradishall I almost cooked my career goose once again.
True to form, those of us on the conversion course who managed to finish with hours in hand, were given a Meteor to complete the fifty hours allocated. It obviously kept the books tidy! I thought it was about time my home village of Arnside got the benefit of their ace pilot - Driffield to Arnside was quite feasible with a full ventral tank and I fuelled my sleek bird to the brim. Did I say ace? I should have said ass, they're both three letter words beginning with 'a', the latter is more accurate. The RAF was then, and still is, very hot on unauthorised low flying and here I was planning a beat up, an automatic court martial and dismissed from the service if caught. The poser in me threw caution to the winds, in those days no one in the local area ever saw a jet aeroplane at low level, the bait was irresistible.
At speeds in excess of about 400 knots the Meteor made a beautiful sound, it was a type of high frequency resonance that ripped the atmosphere apart and made the blood tingle. It is difficult to describe sound on paper, but it had the same effect on us that a throbbing Bentley exhaust, or a Bugatti, or any esoteric exhaust note has on an enthusiast. We called it the blue note, and the blue note was what Arnside was going to experience.
The 100 mile trip from Driffield to Arnside took less than twenty minutes and I hit the deck in a dive from medium level some miles west of Grange-over-Sands, heading towards Arnside. The dive had built up the speed very quickly, by the time I had completed my descending turn I was going like a dingbat, trailing a beautiful blue note. Then, as now, the aircraft was well ahead of its sound footprint and as I streaked up the estuary at sandworm height I knew the good residents of Arnside were in for a rude awakening. At the last possible minute I eased the stick back to miss Arnside viaduct by inches and zoomed up into an almost vertical climbing turn to reverse direction for another go.
I cannot remember how long I spent over the village and surrounding area tumbling about in the sky in an aerobatic repertoire. Heversham Grammar School was done over, as was Witherslack where my uncle lived. It must have been a good beat up, I learned later that the village school headmaster had the kids under the desks as was in World War II, and Mrs Somebody or other had to be treated for shock. Even now, forty three years on, people still talk about it (honestly!); I had some anxious moments on returning to base as my fuel state was alarmingly low. With thirty-five miles to go I was down to circuit minima and flamed out an engine to make the most of what I had, committing myself to a single engined landing. I see from my logbook that I was airborne for 1 hour 20 minutes; even in retrospect I know that was a long time. Again, in retrospect, I realise that it wasn't really a good beat up - it was downright dangerous.
Needless to say the village was in uproar and I was reported for low flying. Nemesis and his sword were poised; I knew that if the report went to the RAF authorities I was doomed, that a court martial was inevitable. I was on leave a couple of days later, when I got home the village policeman took me on one side.
I had a lot of time for this denizen of the law. He had done two operational tours in bomber command in World War II as a navigator; he was renowned for his control of local rowdies, matching fist for fist if necessary, he was discretionary and fair. He saved my bacon. "Look Rip", he said, "I enjoyed your beat up tremendously, come over and give us a show any time. Your big mistake was to make more than one low-level pass. If ever you come again and feel so inclined just make one pass, it takes everyone by surprise and you'll be gone before they've gathered their wits. If you come back for another they'll be waiting for you. In your case there were two complaints reported to me and fortunately for you each had a different aircraft number; one said D25, the other O25. When I interviewed them I was able to persuade them that unless they got the number exactly, I couldn't pass the complaint on. Now, you know as well as I do that either of those numbers would have been sufficient, so let the village settle down for a while." Good old Ike, I am eternally grateful to him. Ironically, Ike was killed falling off his bicycle returning from his pub closure round one night, a sad loss to the village and its community.
The course at OCU was split into two halves, one being the tactical phase and the other the gunnery phase. Before being let loose with loaded guns we were put through the mill and had to prove our worth at formation flying, both tactical and close interceptions and air combat. Close formation speaks for itself but tactical consisted of battle formations and manoeuvres designed to position a section of four aircraft to maximum advantage over an enemy - who was also trying to do the same against you. Not an easy task for any section leader. The battle formations we flew then were a hangover from World War II and not really suitable for high performance aircraft. Fighter command did not accept this home truth until pilots on exchange postings to the USAF in Korea were returning to British squadrons with up to date ideas to put into practice. This, however, was in the future.
During the course we learned how to range and track. The Meteor was equipped with a gyro gunsight which made bringing the guns to bear much easier than with the fixed cross and ring method previously used, although this was available as a standby and was the sight I always used for air to ground firing. It was a reflector sight, which meant that the pilot looked through a small square plate of smoked glass, about the size of a car mirror, onto which was projected the gunsight, with various light intensities controlled by the pilot. The gunsight presentation consisted of a central dot, called the pipper, surrounded by five diamonds to form a circle. The circumference of this circle could be expanded or contracted by means of a twist grip on the throttles, which the pilot held in his left hand. The drill was to set the wingspan of the target aircraft into the sight using the rotating switch on the front (aircraft recognition and a good memory was essential for this) and then bracket the target with the diamonds, using the inner points. As the fighter closed in, the pilot continually expanded the diamond circle by operating the twist grip motorcycle style. This was called ranging. Tracking was achieved by placing the pipper on the chosen spot for bullet impact - usually the opposing cockpit and keeping it there using the aircraft controls. It was essential to keep the fighter in balanced (i.e. without any slip or skid), otherwise your bullets would go wild and miss. The gyroscopes in the gunsight compensated for muzzle velocity, fighter speed during the attack, 'g' or gravity forces in combat manoeuvres, bullet drop at range and many other variables. They would not, however, compensate for pilot ham fistedness. All your expertise, sins and omissions were faithfully recorded on camera using a 16mm cassette that slotted into the gunsight like today's video cassette, and these were projected to the whole course as part of the debrief by the gunnery instructors after each sortie. There was many a squirm and shuffling of feet as the acid voice of the instructor tore one to pieces, but one has to learn. Line astern attacks were very rare unless the opposing pilot or crew were asleep, normally they would be doing their damnedest to throw you off with violent avoiding action. An attack fighter would attempt surprise by coming in high, out of sun in a curve of pursuit, opening fire at about three hundred yards in the turn and breaking off on the completion of the turn in line astern position, as close as he dared. Good gunnery demanded accurate ranging and tracking, accurate flying and a keen eye.
At the end of each sortie in the tactical phase the aircraft would be put into line astern for a tail chase, led by one of the OCU instructors. This was a highly exhilarating form of air combat training in which the lead aircraft would lead the section though a series of aerobatic manoeuvres of varying degrees of difficulty. We would start off about two hundred yards apart and gradually get more and more spread out as the chase developed. Blue notes would be cracking around the sky like nobody's business - a pleasure to listen to on the ground, especially with four aircraft producing them.
The gunnery phase at OCU followed the tactical phase without a break. We were all well aware that failure to achieve the required standards in gunnery, which included ranging and tracking assessments, meant the end of your career as a fighter pilot, so we were pretty keyed up about it. Failure to achieve the necessary standards in tactical training would have meant not being allowed to proceed onto the gunnery phase, at least we had got this far. The Meteor was equipped with four twenty millimetre cannons located in the nose, two on each side one above the other. Before firing the guns we were given dual instruction in the two seater against the drogue, and shown how to position and perform the attacks. A couple of dummy runs in the single seater followed and then the guns were loaded with two hundred rounds apiece (only two out of the four were used for target practice) and we were launched into the luft for our first live firing exercises of the course.
The target drogue was towed by a Miles Martinet at about 150 knots so it can be appreciated that there was a wide gap between the speed of the tug and that of the attacking fighter. Many were the frustrations experienced in trying to hit that damned drogue. If you didn't get your position right for the turn in and turn on, you got a tantalising glimpse of it whistling across your gunsight with you nowhere near a firing position. Alternatively, you could roll out of your final turn with such a fine angle off that you were in danger of hitting the target towing aircraft. Woe betide any pilot who brought back film back in which the Martinet appeared. The attacking fighter positioned parallel to the target about a thousand yards out, heading in the same direction. A hard turn through ninety degrees to point towards the target was the "turn in", a further hard turn through ninety degrees was the "turn on" which should finally result in a smoothly executed curving attack onto target heading. It didn't always and even if it did, you might not hit the target because of ham fisted flying.
I must have got something right; I had passed the Meteor conversion course with an "above average" assessment in my log book, now I had an "exceptional" assessment to add to it on completion of the gunnery phase at OCU. I was ready for posting to a fighter squadron, commissioned as Pilot Officer, green as grass and still wet behind the ears. Now I was to join the big boys.
by Rip
Lyn's tale in the July issue rolled back the years and I trust the club will indulge me whilst I reminisce. It's much to do with the animal husbandry she described. In the first instance I was ten or eleven years old; with my cronies I was on the battlements of Arnside Tower - Robin Hood's men fighting furiously with the Sheriff of Nottingham's men.
During a slight lull in battle we all observed a developing scenario in the adjacent farmyard. The bull, bellowing and rampant, was being introduced to the cow. Now, we were country lads and well aware that this was going to be far more entertaining than the current activity, so, to a man (boy), we suspended the war and crept down to the yard. Soon, a line of small heads were popping up over the farmyard wall: In the yard things were progressing really well, also very impressive, then all of a sudden, one of the adults looked up and saw us. The resultant bellow almost matched the bulls and the message came across loud and clear. It said "if you young buggers don't f*** off I'll send t'bull out to f*** thee". We had just observed what the bull was capable off so we f***ed off in fine pitch, little skinny legs in short pants going like road runner. When it was observed that we were not being pursued we all sat down to have a fag, which we thought pretty macho at the time. Fags were in short supply in wartime, the more enterprising of us used to purloin them from whoever they could, smoked them down to the last centimetre using various aids. In my case after an awful experience with Kendal Black Twist and one of fathers' pipes, I was a non-smoker. However, in order to be one of the crowd, I had obtained a cigarette machine and rolled my own herb tobacco fags to smoke. These smelled awful, like an old bonfire, but had the useful side effect of keeping flies at bay and clearing adjacent seats in the cinema so that we would all sit together. The cigarette machine was also quite profitable. I used to tour the streets and pick up fag ends, which I pulled to pieces and rolled into cigarettes, these were then sold to a ready market. Even my mother and sister purchased them, having been assured by this curly haired, wide eyed innocent that I hadn't picked them up off the street. (I always thought George Washington was an idiot to admit cutting down his fathers cherry tree, a good lie saved a good hiding and mother never probed me any deeper.) Sweets were another thing in short supply and needed coupons to support purchase, but cough sweets were coupon free and we scoffed pounds of Hacks, Nipits, Chlorodynes etc as substitutes. We must have had breath that would strip paint and were probably budding drug addicts from the opium in the Chlorodynes.
I can't match a horse of 17 hands. What I can say is that, some years on, my girlfriends used to accuse me of having more that one pair of hands when we were having a good snog. It used to cost me a fortune to purchase cinema tickets entitling access to the back row but with movies being continuous quite a bit could be achieved in the space of two or more performances.
I can almost match the cow jumping the wall though. The incident occurred when I was having it off with my girlfriend in her garden. We had thought her mother was out as the house was locked and quiet, apart from which, lust overwhelmed us. Being deeply involved, I was unaware of the impending threat until it was almost too late. I caught sight of a figure in mid air, an irate parent leaping a flowerbed very close. Believe me, terror lends one wings. From a standing start (nothing to do with acceleration, you understand) I was up and at terminal velocity before the first rose bush. The old biddy (no more than forty, I suppose) had a fair turn of speed but couldn't match my Olympic hurdling of the garden wall and I shot down the road followed by a stream of missiles and invective, trousers in hand. I swear I heard a voice say "cheeky" but I didn't stop to find out whose voice it was. I was impotent for at least an hour after that.
Finally Gil Scurrah's graphic description of attempting to have a pee whilst flying his glider stirred a memory. I had this old (1931) MG which was in regular use to commute between Church Fenton (in Yorkshire) and Bridlington - a distance of about sixty miles, taking in Tadcaster, York and several villages. The wooden floorboards of this vehicle were full of holes and I had bodged up a device consisting of a flexible tube and funnel, which would allow me to pee in the car without stopping. One end of the tube projected through the floorboards, the other held the funnel and was very handy. Come the big day that this device was necessary after a goodly session in the bar and several pints (no breathalysers in those days), I confidently got into fumbling mode to get part of my anatomy into the funnel. Unfortunately for me and unbeknown, the free end of the tube had worked its way round from aft to forward facing. The resulting deluge soaked the front of my trousers, three pints of beer being difficult to stop whilst driving the car. Needless to say, explanations tend to be somewhat inadequate when standing in front of someone and displaying a very wet crutch.
From the Internet
This is a series of items I picked up off the internet. They describe how a "new" soaring technique and a glider with a 24:1 glide angle won a regional gliding competition in the States back in June.
From: "Chuck Rhodes"
Date: Fri, 03 Jul 1998
The following is excerpted from an initial draft by Chuck Rhodes, Mitchell Wing pilot of many years and Editor of the Ultralight Soaring News, the official publication of the United States Ultralight Soaring Association.
HANG GLIDING PIONEER / ULTRALIGHT SAILPLANE PILOT WINS BIG AT HOBBS
World Class Ultralight Soaring pilot and current Champion, Gary Osoba, had never competed in a SSA (Soaring Society of America) sanctioned meet before. That did not stop him from taking his home-built, Jim Maupin-designed, FAI Ultralight Category "Woodstock", a sailplane of wood and fabric construction, to Hobbs, New Mexico. Thus, he competed in the SSA's Regional Sailplane and National Motorglider Soaring Competition over the June 22 through 26 period.
In the entire history of the Sports Class competitions they had never had a (relatively speaking) low performance glider like the Woodstock compete with any success in good conditions. Designs with glide ratios of around 60:1 ($180,000 investments) would be in attendance, as opposed to the Woodstock's meager 24:1 published maximum glide. They said that no matter what the handicap, if the wind blows (does it ever at Hobbs!), or thunderstorms blow up, you just can't get around the course and make it back in a "low performance" glider like the Woodstock. Sooooo.... Gary was told that it was pointless to enter the Woodstock in the competition there.
Being Gary Osoba, this was just the kind of challenge that he was looking for. The opportunity to pit his extensive thermal and Microlift soaring expertise, gleaned from years of hang gliding and ultralight soaring in the Carbon Dragon, against some of the nation's best competition sailplane pilots.
It was quite a sight.... some 60 slippery composite ships and then the little wood and fabric Woodstock in the middle of the grid. It was reported that one competitor turned to the other on the first day and remarked "What does that guy think he's doing here with that little toy glider?".
After the contest, Chip Garner, a very experienced competition pilot, reportedly congratulated Gary in a very sportsmanlike fashion. He said that "What made the whole performance awesome was that with the really strong conditions, the disparity between the high performance sailplanes and the little Woodstock should have grown larger. You're not supposed to be able to win *anything* in these strong conditions". According to experienced contestants, these were the best of conditions which have been experienced during contests at this site... 16,500 to 18,000 msl cloudbases daily, and sustained climbs in excess of 1500 fpm.
On Wednesday, the third day of the five day meet and one day after Gary won his first daily task, thunderstorms developed in the area. At this point, Gary and the Woodstock were about 50 miles out. Then, the cloud mass he was working started blowing up as well. No matter how fast he flew, Gary couldn't outrun the shadow line as he raced to get back to the field and its finish line. The headwinds aloft built to 30 mph and the Woodstock just couldn't make it back! The landout earned him only 375 points out of what was each day's 1000 point maximum, a major set back. Gary was told it would be impossible to come back from that even if he won the remaining two days, but he didn't give up.
What made things especially difficult was that Dick Johnson, the winningest pilot in US Sailplane history with 11 National and 3 World Titles, decided to fly in Gary's class at Hobbs this year. Johnson has decades of experience in the Midland, TX/Hobbs, NM region and recognized the thunderstorm picture early.... he moved way out west into the blue and waited out the whole cycle...winning by a large margin that day. Normally, with Dick's consistent and finely honed skills, this would have sealed the event.
But Gary and the Woodstock flew well and won the next day, bringing his total to 2 out of 4 day wins. Even so, he remained more than 200 points out of the lead which was still held solidly by Dick Johnson as the final day approached. What this meant is that he would not only have to win on day 5, but also would have to win in a truly big way....finishing some 125% faster than Dick with the rest of the field below him. Again Gary was told that this was really not possible to do.
However, with nothing to lose, he simply relaxed on Friday and started flying more like a hawk than a sailplane... his type of flying! Up to this point, Gary had been mixing personal technique with traditional sailplane technique ...good results, but not good enough.
On this day, and his final chance to win, he resorted to Microlift Techniques, various methods he has pioneered, over and over. He screamed around the course. Later, Gary said "It was one of my most accurate flights ever, given the conditions". He did win the day big, at an adjusted speed of 91 miles per hour for a 3.25 hour task while returning to his start point...big enough to pass up Dick (just barely) and gain the crown.
Gary was the only winner of any class to win 3 out of 5 days, and every day the winner was invited to give a talk to the assembled pilot's at the AM meeting. Needless to say, Gary got on his soap box and took advantage of the great opportunity to extole the virtues of ultralight sailplanes and their ability to utilise Microlift soaring techniques. People were really intrigued, and he got a wonderful reception overall.
One crusty old competitor said this was the most exciting thing to happen at a contest in decades and that this might start to breathe some life into the sport again.
Dave Mockler, who won in the 15 meter racing class told Gary "You know, you're really lucky. A lot of these guys attend 4 or 5 contests every summer for 10 to 15 years before their first win." Then, after thinking for a moment, he said "Maybe it wasn't luck after all."
The field included four gliders from the US Air Force and their top glider pilots... two motorgliders and two glass ships.
In summary Gary Osoba did an amazing thing by winning this contest. He proved that a little wood and fabric sailplane can beat the world's best sailplane pilots in the most expensive glass ships at their own game. He did this not because he is necessarily a better pilot but because his hang gliding and Carbon Dragon experiences have made him a master of Microlift soaring technique. The Contest Director's Meet Summary on the SSA's Internet site credits Gary's hang gliding history in this regard... a first.
He truly does transform his mind from human to hawk. Without those years of experience in hang gliders and ultralight sailplanes and his intimate knowledge of the world of micrometerology, he could not have done it.
From: "Frank L. Whiteley"
Date: 3 Jul 1998
Gary is indeed a fine pilot and imaginative public speaker and writer.
Not to diminish his accomplishment, I note that the handicap on his glider is *very* favourable for its achieved performance, better even than other gliders of lesser performance and wing loading. There were several changes and subsequent corrections to this year's handicap list, especially among the higher performance ships. These changes were not to their advantage. As Gary's glider type hadn't been tested previously in an SSA comps, I think these results will earn a second look at the handicap. I reckon Dick Johnson has already broached this to Carl Herold!
This achievement may be a bit more difficult to repeat in the future. Nonetheless, congratulations Gary on a fine effort.
From: Gary Osoba
Date: Sat, 04 Jul 1998
As Frank Whitely has correctly pointed out, the Woodstock's handicap is very favourable. In fact, I made two official visits to the contest committee early on asking them to check and make sure that the figure was correct and not some typographical error. I was told that they made the inquiries and that the figure is right, especially due to the limited speed envelope which is more restricted than a 1-26. There was also a lower '97 handicap for some Woodstock's from a prior contest experience which evidently was for the 13 meter version (the one I flew has an 11.89 meter span).
For those who haven't flown one, the Woodstock is limited to a rough air and Va of 66 knots...that's pretty slow, and makes the strategy one pursues quite different than standard techniques employed by most contest ships. Its fundamentally different than my other sailplane, an Open Multi-Place which I generally fly at 10-11 psf. As Chuck Rhodes has correctly pointed out, the strategies employed were much more like that utilised in the very light Carbon Dragon or with Hang Gliders.
I had a ball at Hobbs, whether I won a day, every day, or nothing. The soaring conditions were wonderful. The pilots were all very gracious to put up with me (I couldn't be towed by two of the four tugs.... too fast, etc.). The help and advice I received from local Kansas pilots, who have a pretty good history of winning at Hobbs, was invaluable.
Anyone could have won in their event, its often just a matter of how circumstances combine. And, given everything Dick Johnson has done to advance the interests of soaring, I would be in favour of awarding him a perpetual and automatic first place in whatever class he chooses to fly in...then let the others slog it out for second, etc.!
Best Regards, Gary Osoba
Microlift Techniques
10 August 1995
The following article has appeared in several different soaring publications in recent months. It recounts, in part, the joy I have had flying the prototype Carbon Dragon. The defining characteristic of this design is it's remarkable ability to utilise lift. Weighing only 145 lbs. empty, the Carbon Dragon stalls at 19 mph and has a minimum sink of only about 100 fpm. In spite of it's modest glide ratio, it embodies the attractive features of a growing class of ultralight and light sailplanes and yields some amazing soaring experiences.
Toward a 20 Hour Work-Week (It's a tough job, but someone has to do it.) - By Gary Osoba
Flying basically every other afternoon, it looks like I'll wind up logging about 20 hours in the prototype Carbon Dragon this week. The work conditions have been deplorable.... almost more than one can bear! Pristine autumn air... crisp, cool,....clear. Dodging 2-3 foot corn leaves sucked into the atmosphere by big, smooth thermals. Dust devils and migrating gulls below mark columns of lift many miles into the distance with nearly unlimited visibility over the flatlands. A mile or more beneath me the earth is carpeted with a deciduous delight. Light winds aloft make it possible to move around quickly at will in any direction. Although not engaging cross-country tasks aggressively, many hundreds of miles will be covered before the week's end. The lift band at 4000-6000' AGL has been consistent and efficient. Typically, in blue conditions, I've been able to travel in any direction, rarely circling, by utilising something I call microflight techniques. This goes beyond simple dolphin strategy and fully captures the vertical energy in our atmosphere which is free for the taking.
Macro-lift (thermals, orographic, wave, streeting, etc.) is the easy stuff. Micro-lift is comprised of disorganised burbles, disintegrated thermal fragments, and thin, string-like animals that meander through the sky and often flow into thermals like a winding stream would a lake. Microlift is fleeting, elusive, and rapidly changing. Fully exploiting it is one of the most challenging and rewarding tasks a soaring pilot will ever address. How may it best be utilised?
Two elements form the underpinning of microflight technique. Variation in velocity and variation in heading. The basics of dolphining through variation of speed have often been addressed in soaring literature. It is important that ultralight soaring pilots make a distinction between conventional speed-to-fly theory (essentially speeding through interthermal space as if it were always a homogeneous unit of sink) and flying a narrower, somewhat slower speed range (which through variation of velocity takes advantage of the minor vertical discontinuities which exist). The latter technique is obviously better suited to negotiate microlift. The truth of the matter is that although sailplanes possess glide ratios and speed capabilities much superior to hang gliders (or ultralight sailplanes), they simply can't fly slowly enough to fully utilise microlift. It may all come together for them in strong streeting conditions, but even then pure dolphining occurs far less frequently than you might think. Actually, hang gliders are much better suited to take advantage of microlift through dolphining because of their slow speed capabilities. This does not necessarily mean that their glide ratios have reached a point which provide for frequent level flight while doing so. It simply means that they are capable of extracting the lift while a sailplane may be roaring through what feels like very light turbulence and miss the benefit of the lift it contains.
On the other hand, when utilising microlift I have found that the 100 fpm sink and 26:1 glide of the Carbon Dragon is sufficient to frequently provide for extended level flight because of the hang glider-like flight speeds. However, variation in heading plays a critical role in producing these results. In fact, more often than not it plays a more significant role than varying flight speed. Microlift strings (another term I have coined, if you'll bear with me) are often only a wing span or so wide. They may stretch for miles but can meander widely and suddenly. The challenge is to stay centred squarely upon them through sensitive, instantaneous changes in heading.
The pilot must divorce himself from any visual references on the ground and generally in the clouds above (I nearly always do best on blue days). He must acutely sense the lift differential across his wing span and constantly turn, first this way, then that, to stay centred. He'll often feel a pretty good surge under a wing, something reminiscent of a thermal, and turn into it instantly by reflex... if he continues the turn as in a thermal, it'll be gone! And, as he comes back around to re-enter the string he won't find it. There's often little vertical depth to a string and he may now be below it. When feeling such a surge, it's best to make a rapid, firm turn into it followed by an instantaneous correction back the other way with maybe half the firmness. Then be alert to sense the lift differential across your span and make another instantaneous correction... then another... constantly reacting... always sensing. As the old adage says, "Lift is where you find it". Within reason, follow it wherever it may go. When you think you can't work it any further, try harder. The results are often limited by your level of finesse, not ambient conditions. We're talking about a delicate high-wire routine which, if performed properly, will leave you applauding your flight! As you might expect, intuition (or probably more precisely heuristic reasoning) plays a significant role in locating and continuing with microlift phenomena.
Some degree of microlift exists in every soaring environment. Some days, its minimal. Other days, its extensive. Its strength and consequent usage in relation to macrolift is something a pilot will have to judge for himself given the flight parameters and goals at any given time. Fully utilising it does not of necessity impinge on cross-country tasks and at times can enhance them. Simple trigonometry will show that even when working macrolift systems, a relatively large divergence from heading toward a distant goal can be justified in the pursuit of lift. Only when the angle of divergence grows to something on the order of 25 to 30 degrees does the divergence start to significantly subtract from total distance flown. The rapid, fleeting variations in heading which take place during microflight techniques have a minimal effect on distance flown when microlift is good and your overall course is not dramatically divergent.
I often make same flight/same condition comparisons of macrolift and microlift techniques. It's surprising how often you can do as well or better with microlift in the Carbon Dragon, especially when penetrating against a headwind. Recently I was making such a comparison, flying the same 7 mile beat back and forth between a couple of towns and I followed one microstring for more than 20 uninterrupted minutes with a net gain of 200' in altitude. Although my heading momentarily varied as much as 70-80 degrees to either side of the course, I never turned a circle.
I remember one day earlier this summer when we had 20-25 mph winds aloft which had to be penetrated in order to stay in the vicinity of the gliderport. In spite of relatively weak conditions, microlift saved the day. Using conventional speed-to-fly, I could just stay where I wanted to, arriving back at the gliderport after each cycle with at best a modest altitude gain. After 3 cycles, I switched to microflight technique. Now, making slow headway against the wind, I returned above the gliderport at 3000' with a net 200' loss from the time I left a thermal. I was then able to gradually progress upwind and pass up all the sailplanes (including an open class ship many miles ahead) while gaining altitude, all before the conditions shut down. Most of the sailplanes were not able to stay up that day. Again, conventional soaring wisdom would not dictate that things like this can be done. However, with the right equipment, the right conditions and the right techniques, it is being done.
Try microflight techniques. They're particularly suited to ultralight sailplanes but also applicable to heavier wing loadings in certain situations. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised!
A Dragon at sunset
by Alan D.
As usual I have to say a very big thank you to all of the contributors, not only the regulars (in no particular order) Gil, Rip, PR, PL, JCB, but the first timers especially - Cec and Neil (and presumably Linda as well...) - Thanks to you all. You’ll notice a lack of the Martindales this time, they’ve been too busy being away to write anything! So I’ll have to briefly do the Flying Diary and Social bits.
Flying Diary: There hasn’t been a lot! The only notable day was a few weeks back when everyone was soaring on the Combe. Just like in the old days, the Pilatus was at the top of the pile and from up there it was quite impressive to see the "mass exodus" of six gliders all setting off up to Devoke Water. And that’s the flying diary!
So onto the Socials. We had a Barbecue back in July which was enjoyed by the dozen or so people who came along. It was also the first outing for the new Gazebo. We were planning another social on September the 19th, but it won’t happen because Lyn is off Gliding in Spain, and I’m in Paris working for three weeks (it’s a tough life....). and nobody else wanted to organise it so that’s fallen by the wayside I’m afraid. So the next one will be the dinner and prizegiving. You’ve probably already noticed the invite on the back of this newsletter. I know it seems a long way off, but the next newsletter wont be out until the end of October and that’ll be too late! So grab a pen right now, fill in the form and send it off before you forget, don’t leave it until the deadline which is Monday 9th of November! (We wont cash the cheques until nearer the time, unless asked to).
As usual the venue will be the Grange Hotel, where we are assured of an excellent night’s fun and frolicking. The night will be run along the usual lines with dinner 7.30 for 8.00pm. There will be a disco providing all sorts of music after the meal, progressively getting louder as the night wears on. It only remains for me to speculate on the prize winners. Will Lyn catch up with Roger to win the ladder or will Graham storm in and snatch it up. No doubt the truly magnificent Capstan flights at Pocklington will win something. I remember a few years back Keith Butterfield and I winning a trophy for a 43km flight in it. At the time this was alleged to be the longest it had ever done. Pales into insignificance against 113km doesn’t it? And then there’s the wooden spoon. I wonder what misdemeanours will be dredged up for that? Surely we can think of something better than a wheel-up landing? Although there hasn’t been many of those this year so if you want to "buy" a trophy - it’s an easy one to go for, just do it spectacularly - a new glider ought to do nicely!
It has been suggested that I put a copy of these newsletters in the clubhouse for future posterity which sounds like an excellent idea and I’ll arrange it when I get back. They’ll go in the bookcase, but please don’t walk off with them. Ta!
Don’t forget Portmoak which is 3-10 October. I hope someone will go prepared with pen, paper and/or camera to record the events of the week for this fine tome.
The deadline for the next newsletter will be Thursday 29th October, so if you’d like to pen something that’d be absolutely fantastic! Look forward to the next Isle of Man story from Gil and hopefully Uncle Bug will have plenty more problems to help with by then too. (hint hint)
And that’s about it. Au revoir!
Here’s a couple of photos from Hus Bos:
Many Hands Make Light Work... |
Two Hands Make Lights Work... |
And one just for fun:
Who's this then?
Answers on a postcard please....
03 September 1998
Dear Member,
We cordially invite you and your guests to attend this year’s Annual Dinner and Prizegiving on Saturday 14th November 1998 at the Grange Hotel, Grange-over-Sands, 7.30 for 8.00pm.
The price is £18.95 per head to include a four course dinner with a choice of main course. A disco will provide all sorts of music until the small hours of Sunday morning. Advance booking is essential and reservations are required by Monday 9th November at the latest.
Please complete the form below and return with your payment (cheques payable to Lakes Gliding Club) by the above date. Please indicate if you require any specific dietary requirements. The seating will be arranged in tables of 10 and it would be helpful if groups could indicate the names of people in their party for the seating plan.
For further information please contact either Alan Dennis or Andy Tebay.
Regards
Social Committee
Name ………………………………………………
Contact tel. no. ………………………………………………
Number of places required ……………… @ £18.95 / head
Names of others in your party
Please enclose cheque payable to Lakes Gliding Club for total amount and return to
Andy Tebay
Swallows End, Coal Ash,
Grizebeck
Cumbria LA17 7XU
