LGC NEWS
March 1999
LGC NEWS |
March 1999 |
The new bowser
....and it is a Bowser not a Tanker!
As you can't fail to have noticed, four star petrol will not be available after next year so the Gliding Club needed a way to get Avgas. We could get it delivered, but we have to take a minimum delivery bigger than our existing bowser could hold. So the search has been on for something a little bigger...
"I've found a tanker and it's only at Gloucester" said John Burdett. "That's nice for you!" I replied. I tried to visualise this little tank, refuelling a Cherokee or something, at this Airfield in Gloucester. I have quite a reasonable imagination, but I never for one moment imagined a thirteen tonne tri-axle, ex Ministry mammoth, which must be as old as Pete Lewis! (And in similar condition)
I don't want to drive to Gloucester at the weekend, I thought to myself as I second-guessed what John was about to say next. "No I'm not bothered," I said, before the question was raised.
"We could fly down and it will only take about an hour and a half to get there" said John. "Right then what time are we setting off?" was the swift reply!
I was woken quite early on Saturday morning, by rain and howling wind, but set off for Birdies house anyway. I was surprised to hear that we would still be going to Blackpool to hire a plane. Chief pilot would be Mr. Meadows and the other passenger to keep me company in the cloud was Graham Welch. The weather, at Blackpool, was marginally better, so Mr. Burdett and Mr. Meadows went for a flight briefing (I think they just went for a communal panic as being professional about the job they didn't want us non-PPL types getting too scarred!)
We boarded the Plane, a Cessna 182, after I personally checked that there were no bits missing or hanging off, I am not usually the nervous type! We got to the end of the runway and proceeded to do the power checks. There was a strange vibration coming from the engine when we dropped one of the magnetos off, so it was back to the hangar. I had my eye on a Lear jet and thought it would be nice to go in that instead, but I was reliably informed that it would cost a few quid more and none of us had a licence (Aren't some folk boring?) We found a fresh plane and after a quick check we were on our way.
We set off in the direction of Liverpool and after a bit of smooth talking from the chief we were soon over Oulton Park and Heading skyward towards an ugly looking bank of cloud. The Air Traffic Controller made us climb up into this cloud and just as we came out of the other side he asked us to descend! (Nice chap).
Approximately one hour and twenty minutes after leaving Blackpool we arrived at Gloucester's Staverton Airport and proceeded straight to the Greasy Spoon for a cooked breakfast. John phoned the bloke who was going to meet us and show us the Bowser and we wandered over the airport looking for a hangar with "PAS" (Police Air Services) on it. We met up with the bloke, who at the time was having child control problems (It's nice to see commonality wherever you go in the country), who took us to view the bowser, which was just behind one of his many hangars. "It's big," someone shouted, which prompted the rest of us to check our trousers were fastened properly. It was in fact considerably larger than most of us expected, but was in very good condition considering it had been stood idle for a number of years. John would be first to climb up onto the top, as he is a lot closer to his second childhood than myself, but I wasn't too far behind. A lot of kicking and swearing and we had the tops off the tanks and stuck our heads in to inspect the inside. It is in very good condition and looks almost new. Next we looked at the engine, pretending we all knew what we were looking at, deciding that it was in good order and proceeded swiftly back to the Hangar. The bloke from the Police Air Services gave us an impromptu tour of the works which was very interesting, especially the 15 million candle power lamp on the helicopters which can set light to the tarmac in seconds if it is switched on whilst on the ground!
An agreement was made and after some confusion over when it would be collected we headed back to the Greasy spoon for a spot of lunch before setting off back to Blackpool in the Spam can (well it looked similar to one).
A price was agreed for the purchase and muggings here volunteered to go with the transport contractor to load it on. "It runs!" the chap from Gloucester told us. At three o'clock one Sunday morning I met up with the Low Loader driver and his young Transport enthusiast mate and off we went. "I've never driven one of these lorries with a sequential gearbox" he said as we crunched upwards through the gears to ten miles per hour. I had and I knew that if you pushed the stick to the left when you got it wrong it would select the correct gear for you so you could carry on as normal, but I would save that information for the return journey! I had climbed into the bunk to try and get my head down, but struggled as the tales of life on the open road were simply awesome. I always wanted to be a trucker when I was younger, but fortunately listened to my Father and went to college when I left school.
We arrived at Gloucester, after a stop at the Services for coffee, at about eight o'clock and phoned the manager of the company to let us onto the airfield. We were asked to drive down a track to the far end and contact one of his employees, who would sort us out, at which point we drove down a narrow alley with this fifty foot lorry only to find out we had gone the wrong way. With the low loader now stuck, I wondered what on earth I was doing here. The driver was no better with the sequential gearbox yet, so I got out to speak to this nice chap from the airfield who said "How the hell are you going to get that on there?" "I am going to start it up and drive it on" I said. "It will never start, it has been stood there for years" he replied. "Your Boss said that it runs." I said. "Aye he's full of lies like that!"
I jumped into the cab and had a look around to weigh the job up. There was still no sign of the low loader. "Stuck fast - stupid bloke" I chuckled to myself. I started to prime the diesel pump with fuel, but the lift pump seemed a bit lazy so I opened a pipe and pumped it as best I could until I had removed most of the air. At long last the low loader turned up and parked in another awkward spot. "Spin it round and drop the neck off it" I shouted to him, but he refused to do anything until I had got it fired up. I got the young lad to put his hand on the fuel shut off and after sticking some batteries on it and a hunt for the cut off switch we were ready to fire her up. I got the driver to stick some blocks under the wheels in case it set off when we wound it over - nothing! I then produced some magic easy start and after ten seconds or so she was away, belching clouds of white smoke. "Wahey! came the cheers" so we tried to move it and it actually moved. I was a bit worried at this point as I expected the brakes to be stuck on as air brakes usually come on when the vehicle loses it's air. I tried the brake pedal, but there was no effect so I moved on to the mechanical hand brake and again this was about as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike. "A good driver dunt need brakes," said our, by now, irritating driver. I will show him I thought to myself.
The unloading of the gooseneck on the trailer was interesting as well. None of us could remember how to do it. It had been about 5 years since I had last used one of these trailers and I just couldn't remember what to do first. We soon got it disconnected, lowered the ramps and I jumped back into the bowser to load her on. I got it as far as I could and hit the back of the trailer step and could move her no further. "It's too long!" shouted the driver, "Good job I brought some wood to pack up the ramp." Several pieces of wood went on to soften the slope of the ramp and I tried again. The bowser got up the ramp to the top and as soon as I depressed the clutch it set off backwards down the ramp again. I had pulled it out of gear (BIG MISTAKE) as it was now off at what seemed like seventy miles an hour (probably less than two, but this would sound boring if I said that). I had no way of stopping it and just had to wait until Isaac Newton took hold. Not being the type of person who gives up too easily, I got some more Adrenaline pumping and set off again, only this time a little faster, well about one mile per hour this time. I got to the top and down I rolled again, and again. The driver put a large chunk of wood under the wheels and it drove over it without me even realising it. I called for the assistance of the young lad who would turn off the diesel supply to the injector rack at exactly the same time as I dropped the clutch and it would stay put. This was the plan and after a couple of goes it actually worked. Jumping out of the cab was the next problem as I was now at a similar height to PR on his last high point!
It took us over an hour to chock it and chain it on, before we set off for home. This initial part of the journey lasted two minutes until the other two spotted the Greasy spoon on the way out and muggings here stood their breakfast. "Sup up lads, I wanna get home as I have been up since half past two." Off we went out of the airfield gate and straight into the middle of a road race - bloody joggers! This was a very apt time to tell the driver how to use the gearbox as it was our load that was on the back and missing the gears would only make the bowser jump about. Twenty or so miles up the road we pulled into the services to check on the chains and found that the bowser had settled down and one of the chains had come off. The driver claimed that the bowser had moved and was about to fall off so we stopped at the next two services to check, but it was alright with only minor fettling of the chains at each stop. North of Birmingham brought rain, which was a bit annoying as you couldn't see anything in the mirrors, so we didn't know if it was about to roll off the back. Suddenly all the cars in front had stopped and we anchored on really hard. The truck we were in started to slow very rapidly and you could feel the pulsating of the ABS brakes as the tyres scrabbled for grip on the wet Tarmac. As the speed dropped off we felt the load shifting forward and half expected the bowser to be wrapped around the gooseneck of the trailer, but it had just tightened the front chains a bit, but another check at the next services put this right.
Arrival back in Barrow was preceded by what seemed like an hour getting up Lindale bypass, especially when you are used to trying for the land speed record every time you travel this route by car! Five o'clock saw us back in Barrow and an argument with a security guard at Kimberly Clarke meant a further trek to Walney to drop the trailer. The original plan was to drop it off at Kimberley Clarke's trailer park and then into CAW on Monday for a quick once over. This as I am sure you all know never happened, but at least it is now in Barrow and didn't fall off the trailer whilst in my care. Hopefully rules and regulations will all be able to be met very shortly and the reduction in four star production at the end of this year shouldn't be a problem to us.
Sturge.
John Martindale
A few months ago there was a conference for Club Chairmen, unfortunately I was away and unable to attend. The B.G.A. made several recommendations including that clubs should have a Development Plan and that they should obtain security of tenure.
We have been working on forward planning for some time now but still have no formal plan. Financially, we are getting good up to date information thanks to Peter putting the accounts on computer.
As far as security of tenure is concerned Gordon Jenkinson has spent over two years negotiating a lease agreement with the airfield owners; bureaucracy rules OK at VSEL. Even when the lease is agreed we can still be evicted. RAF Gliding Association Headquarters at Bicester has to move and they carry more weight than the Lakes Gliding Club does.
Another point that was made was that many clubs are too dependent on income from Air Experience Flights to the detriment of club operations. See the article in the latest S&G.
Club Subscriptions have been at the same level for at least the last 6 years. Now is the time to make an adjustment for inflation at least.
According to BGA annual statistics the average club has 43 members for each single seat glider and 33 members for each two seater, aren't we lucky? We have 40 members and obviously need more to justify our fleet.
One idea that has been floated is to start mini one-day courses as an introduction to gliding. One instructor would be assigned for the whole day. An introductory briefing would be followed by a number of flights. The package would also include notes, a book, a log book and a period of temporary membership. By the end of the day the course member should reach a reasonable level of competence and have and better idea of how much fun and how interesting and challenging the sport of gliding really is.
Finally, can I remind everyone that committee meetings are open to all and we welcome your views, but only committee members can vote.
Spring is in the air, good soaring!
John
P.S. There's only been one entry so far in the photographic competition: Of yours truly lying upside down in the snow unable to move. Any other entry surely has to beat it!
Lyn Martindale
Hi Guys and Gals. Regarding the Annual dinner, the Coote have the receivers in at present although one of the existing owners is hoping to keep the place going. I did phone and I was assured the place will still be up and running, however I felt I ought to make other arrangements as a precaution. I have found somewhere else that could accommodate us offering the same service as the Coote, but on Friday 5th November. As it isn't until November you should all have time to leave both Friday and Saturday nights free. I'm sorry, there's not a lot I can do at present except wait and see.
The social (cheese and wine) was a success. Thanks to Alan for doing a great job as barman. As the bank balance is now looking quite healthy we plan to buy another GPS for the club soon.
The AGM is on Sunday 4th April after flying. I shall be providing pie and peas with dessert, please let me know if you require food.
Don't forget the Hus Bos trip starts on Saturday 29th May. They have their task on Saturday, Sunday and Monday. We are allowed to enter five gliders each day. The dates of the other club trips are on the back page. Please book all accommodation yourselves. Also, could you please put your names on the lists on the notice board in the club house for all of these.
The next social is on Saturday 22nd May. I'm away in May, June and July at different places, so someone else will have to organise it. I'm not the only cook! We will no doubt have barbecues if we ever get any good weather after flying.
There have been several requests for a party next New Year's eve, as everywhere will be charging astronomic prices. I would expect tickets to be £10 to £12 as Alan and I would be doing the work and we would want the club to make a handsome profit also. It was suggested we have fireworks at midnight if VSEL allowed us so we may have to charge more accordingly. Please give me some feedback. Either way I'm not bothered, I'd gladly stay at home so I don't have to kiss people at midnight, although there are exceptions, I'll leave you to speculate....
Cheers,
Lyn, Social Sec.
... Don't drag skids or tailwheels across the tow rope as the scrubbing action on the runway damages the rope.
... Fill in Daily Inspection (DI) books, like it says Daily.
... Don't forget to pay your membership which is due at the start of April.
A bit short notice I know (the newsletter's late!), but there is a lecture being given by Ken Smart of the Air Accidents Investigation Branch at DERA, Farnborough on the subject of Air Accident Investigation on Wednesday 17th March, 7:30pm at Forum 28, in Barrow. It is organised by the Professional Engineers of South Cumbria (PESC) in association with the IEE and IMechE. but is open to all. (The LGC contingent will be meeting at 7pm in the Hartington, next door to the Forum and no doubt retiring there afterwards!)
Alan D.
I have received a flyer from the Flight Simulation Company offering use of their simulators for "joy-rides". The package includes a briefing and then three people take to the simulator for 20 minutes "hands on" each, that's enough time for a take-off, circuit and landing and they reckon for people with previous flying experience enough time for a second approach. Is anyone interested? Let me know and we'll see what we can organise.
(P.S. I know it's not a 747 in the picture -it's only got two engines - anyone know what it is?)
Richard Milton
One of the best known urban scientific myths is that, from the standpoint of aerodynamics, bumble bees can't fly. Most students of engineering and aerodynamics have heard the long list of reasons why bees, and indeed all other small insects, are incapable of flying.
The common bumble bee weighs nearly a gram, has a wing area of around a square centimetre and flies through your garden at about one metre per second. Get out your calculator and you soon find that its wing area is too small in relation to its mass to provide enough lift at its flying speed. Bumble bees don't have aerofoil shaped wings like an aircraft or a bird, merely flat, rigid plates so there is no air flow over the upper wing surface generating lift.
Bird's wings are articulated so the wing can be pushed down flat against the air on the downstroke but tilted edge-on for the upstroke, thus enabling birds to swim through the air rather as we swim breast-stroke through the water. But the bee's flat wings are simply hinged like a door, so they flap up and down generating just as much downthrust as they generate upthrust.
I could go on even further and mention dihedral angles and angle of attack but I think this is enough to show that, all in all, the bumble bee hasn't a hope of getting airborne. And it isn't just bees - the same objections apply to all insects and even to some birds.
Of course the question is, how then do they manage to get into the air? We have the answer to this question thanks to some brilliant scientific detection work by Torkel Weis-Fogh.
The efficiency of a wing is described by something called its Reynolds Number. Reynolds was a physicist who laid down the foundations of fluid dynamics by studying what happens to an object when it is immersed in a flowing gas or liquid. A high Reynolds number means that the object experiences substantial lift and is held back by little drag, while a low Reynolds number means very little lift and high drag - the worst possible combination for flight.
Broadly speaking, the bigger the wing, the higher the Reynolds number and this is why Jumbo Jets are so efficient - they have huge wings. Insects on the other hand are stuck with the worst possible flying design. A bumble bee has a very low Reynolds number (around 1,000) while some very small insects such as the chalcid wasp have a Reynolds number as low as 15. At this level, flight in the conventional sense is definitely impossible. The moment a bee or wasp starts to move its wing, it simply generates drag that will hold it back - imagine trying to move a dinner plate back and forth under water and you quickly get the idea. So how on earth do they manage to overcome gravity?
The answer has to do with the way insects and some birds flap. The act of flapping a wing - even a rigid one - causes air to flow over it and leave the trailing edge in a downward spiral. This downward motion in turn produces an upthrust on the wing giving it lift. But this only works efficiently if you have long wings like an eagle or an albatross and you have the height or the muscular power to work up the trailing edge airflow to the speed necessary for take-off. And these are the very things small birds and insects don't have.
Instead they adopt the strategy of "clapping" their wings. The bumble bee brings its wings together over its back so they "clap". This forces all the air from between them creating a partial vacuum. Atmospheric pressure then pushes air rapidly into the space, flinging the wings apart hard, generating enough trailing edge turbulence to provide initial lift.
This, of course, is the reason for the characteristic buzz of insect wings and the clapping noise of smaller, heavier birds such as pheasant or grouse, and the town pigeon, which are not accustomed to frequent long flying - the louder the noise, the better the vacuum and the more lift on the downstroke.
Could humans ever fly using this or some similar dodge to get them airborne? Sadly this is unlikely. The anatomy of heavier birds with small wings such as the pheasant or pigeon shows that there is a considerable price to be paid for the privilege of flight in terms of the motive power necessary. The pectoral muscles of these birds are so greatly developed that they represent a considerable fraction of the bird's body weight, simply so they can get airborne from a standing start. And it is this anatomical development, of course, which is the very thing that makes them so desirable on our dinner table.
(Reproduced, with permission, from Mensa Magazine)
The following is from Andrew Watson, a student from Haverthwaite who is studying Aeronautical Engineering at Salford University. He contacted me a few weeks ago, after seeing our website, about gliding at Walney. I took the opportunity to run the article past him to see what someone in the know thought about it. Expect to see Andrew at Walney over easter. - Ed.
Alan
Interesting article on Bumblebees!
Well it always used to be thought that bumblebees violated aerodynamic theory but this isn't strictly true. This was mainly because they were considered in the fixed wing sense when quite clearly they are not fixed wing "aircraft". Therefore although the calculatons of Reynolds number and dihedrals etc etc is correct it doesn't really apply as many insects, including bumble bees operate more on the principle of helicopter aerodynamics. The action of the wings of bees is essentially like that of reverse pitch semi-rotary helicopter blades. Temperature regulation is critical to the flight of the bumble bee. Although the idea that bumble bees theoretically can't fly is erroneous, there is some truth in it: bumblebees cannot fly if their muscle temperature drops below 30 degrees celsius. The flight of the bumble bee is an amazing feat of high energy work output, however the flight of bees would be severely limited if they could not regulate the temperature of their flight motor, the thorax.
The wings are small and must beat rapidly in flight - nearly 200 times per second - to keep the bee aloft. The power for beating the wings comes solely from the muscles packing the thorax
However although lots of people reckon bees shouldn't be able to fly, they obviously can. The confusion probably comes from classic aerodynamic theory which infers that not even a fly should be able to fly. Classic aerodynamic theory deals only with objects in steady state i.e. aircraft with constant velocity and fixed wing orientation. But as stated above it is not fixed wing but oscillating wings which enable the bee to fly. So bees can fly simply because they obey the rules of un-steady state aerodynamics!!
Personally I think Gliding is the most fuel efficient form of flying, one bowl of Weetabix will keep you going all morning!!
Andrew
"...There's a thief about". Once again jockey wheels have been stolen from club and privately owned trailers parked on the trailer park. The police and Marconi Marine (VSEL) security have been informed. Please ensure that jockey wheels are removed from club trailers when returning them to the trailer park.
One of the most exhilarating exercises carried out by the Royal Air Force during my time with 19 Squadron was "Rat and Terrier". I see from my log book that I flew several sorties both as "Rat" and "Terrier". As the name implies it was a chase and catch exercise, the excitement being engendered by the fact that it was a low flying mission. Those of you who think that motorcycling at high speed is the ultimate thrill can think again. Burning round the low flying area at minimal height and 400 mph beats it into a cocked hat (believe me, I've done both!), especially when you found your "Rat" and engaged him in combat. There were several methods used. Sometimes target formation would be passed to the "Terrier" by GCI (Ground Control Interception) radar, who then controlled the interception, or information would be broadcast direct to the aircraft by the ROC (Royal Observer Corps), or the "Rat" himself would give position reports using a grid reference system call "GEOREF". The latter methods were the more satisfying as it meant that the "Terrier" pilot had to plot the broadcast position on his own map and work out his own interception from his current position. The least satisfactory was the GCI, I have on record a "Rat and Terrier" exercise in which GCI produced no targets except friendly fighters! Best of all was the ROC, whose skills had been developed during World War II and who, as the name implies, "observed". Their target information was superb, they identified friend from foe and broadcast positions, headings, computed heights and speeds (computing in those days was mathematical, not electronic), plus any other helpful information. Then, as now, low flying was an important part of our training and was conducted in dedicated low flying areas, in our case the Vale of York. We could have fun too. It is surprising what you can see from 1500 feet or so and the Vale of York is a popular tourist area. Many a motorist, or couple assuming absolute privacy could be observed from our lofty perch and a suitable landmark identified. The next thing was a jet fighter hurtling overhead at fifty feet going like a dingbat. As what is known as the "Doppler" effect places a fast moving object ahead of its sound, approach would be silent and the effect somewhat startling to say the least.
As I have mentioned in a previous article, inter-squadron rivalry was intense and every opportunity was taken to be "one up". We were minding our own business one day at Church Fenton having a parade rehearsal for the forthcoming Air Officer Commanding's inspection when there was a roar of engines and an Airspeed Oxford thundered overhead at low level. As we looked skywards to see what all the fuss was about, a mass of paper was jettisoned from this machine and floated earthwards to litter our parade ground (the airfield runway), making a hell of a mess. The paper turned out to be advertising an open day at RAF Linton-on-Ouse, about twenty miles away, and they took hours to clear away. We simmered and plotted revenge. The AOC's inspection of Linton-on-Ouse was just a few weeks away.
It was discovered that the standard issue RAF toilet roll fitted very neatly beneath the flaps on the Meteor. A brief trial out of sight of authority confirmed that they behaved like party streamers when released at 200 mph. Over the following weeks a hoard of toilet rolls was accumulated much to the surprise of the equipment officer, who was getting complaints from stores about excess demands from 19 Squadron for toilet rolls. The format of an AOC's inspection was always the same, a day of bull and presentation by the whole Station, with individual squadrons lining up their aircraft, highly polished, in parade ground symmetry. The plan was to fly over the assembled lines during the parade and release the toilet roll streamers along the row of aircraft. Linton's day of reckoning was nigh.
It should have worked, but it didn't. After stuffing the space beneath the flaps as full as we could with toilet rolls, four of us took off and headed North for Linton-on-Ouse, where 66 and 92 squadrons were to get their comeuppance. In the meantime, someone had sneaked. We had hardly got our wheels up when we were recalled and ordered to land by the voice of authority, our own Station Commander. What we should have done, with hindsight, was disappear eastwards and drop our load over the sea. What we did, without thinking (probably because we knew there would be questions), was rejoin the circuit normally and position to land. The downwind leg of our circuit overflew the village. Down went the flaps, as normal procedure prior to lowering the undercarriage and Church Fenton village got the benefit of a paper streaming deluge of unravelling toilet rolls, spread over a large area. We spent the next few days clearing it up in our off duty time.
We had a brand new Meteor 8 allocated to the squadron and it was a beauty. It had bigger engine intakes to increase the volume of air going into the engines, thus giving it superior performance, and spring tabs on the ailerons which made it very sensitive in roll and much more manoeuvrable. It outclassed anything else we had on the squadron but many of the pilots didn't like it because it was too sensitive. I loved it, it was like riding a thoroughbred race horse after a hack, and to my delight the aircraft was allocated to me. I was allowed to have my name stencilled on the fuselage, along with those of the ground crew who serviced it. It was the same Meteor that has been mentioned in a previous article that had had a hole kicked in the engine nacelle by an airman being told to "kick the b-----d" on start up. When it came out of maintenance after repair I took it up for airtest.
My only thought as I climbed away after take off was to get myself over Linton and throw down the gauntlet to either of the two resident squadrons there. I knew that my wonderful machine of mine would outclimb and out manoeuvre anything they had and I cheated a bit by burning off a bit of fuel (to lighten the aircraft) before arriving in their overheard. Several turns were made in this position but there was no sign of any of their aircraft being scrambled to intercept. Wanting to exploit the capabilities of my Meteor I continued to turn but climbed at the same time. When I got to a safe aerobatic height I settled down to enjoy myself, still keeping an eye open for any activity below and around. The next half hour was a joy. I gambolled around the sky, turning the aeroplane inside out, never once being straight and level. All too soon it was time to go home, fuel was low but I only had twenty miles to go to base. Linton was in sight and I couldn't resist a final pass at high speed over the airfield.
The period of time I am talking about was ages before the Clean Air Bill and our area in certain weather conditions suffered greatly from a thick industrial haze spreading from the midlands. From twenty thousand feet, looking downwards, I could see Linton clearly but when I got into the haze layer, slant visibility reduced vision to about a mile. Nevertheless, the heading had been set up and Linton duly appeared ahead out of the gloom and I was able to make my pass as planned, with a steep turn overhead at high "g" onto heading for Church Fenton. From then on everything turned to worms and Sod's law prevailed.
It soon became apparent that I was travelling at some five miles a minute over very unfamiliar territory. I rechecked the compass heading, it looked normal, but wait a minute, it was not enunciating and neither would it; the compass was unserviceable. Aircraft compasses were a little more sophisticated than a North seeking magnet, and worked on a sensing unit reacting to magnetic influence passing information to the instrument panel. Correct functioning was indicated by a dot and cross alternating in a small window set in the compass. A steady dot or steady cross meant a small correction by the pilot turning a knob to get it to re-enunciate. I turned the compass dial a complete 360° to no avail, Damn!!
The next option was to select DG (Directional Giro) and set the compass dial against the small standby magnetic compass in the cockpit. There was a printed notice adjacent to the standby compass. It said "This compass is u/s and misreading by up to 60°" - Blast!!
By this time I was heading in Lord knows what direction at a fair clip, gulping fuel at an alarming rate over open country in reduced visibility, with not a navigational feature in sight and the sun obscured by thick industrial haze. There was only one option left. Linton was directly behind as far as I knew; a rate one turn progressed at three degrees per second, - hit the stop watch and turn rate one for 60 seconds which I did.
On rolling out of the turn I assessed the situation I was now in. I had minutes worth of fuel left and no idea where I was. Radar, which I had previously mentioned was on routine maintenance (Sod's law again), Church Fenton was out of radio range, and air traffic control at Linton was closed - not that they could have helped. There was a routine for non-compass homings but I had not fuel available, nor could I raise anyone on radio.
I was quite seriously looking for fields large enough to land in (you hit the deck, wheels up, at 100mph plus in a Meteor) and possibly of ejecting when, Glory be, an airfield appeared ahead out of the gloom. It was disused but the bars painted beneath the large crosses at the threshold of each runway indicated that they were inspected and safe for emergency landings. With fuel gauges knocking on zero I did a low level inspection of the longest runway, a circuit and landing - Phew!!
After landing I turned off the runway and shut down the engines. It was very quiet, not a soul to be seen, the only sound being the thudding of my heart as I leaned against the fuselage to take stock. Suddenly, like a movie western when the Indians appear on the skyline, a hoard of moving bodies appeared, seemingly from nowhere. Some were on foot, some on bicycles, some on motorcycles and one enterprising individual was on horseback. The motorcyclist led the field and I was soon surrounded by a host of babbling people, none of whom could speak English. Where was I?
It turned out I had landed at a Polish displaced persons' camp, as they were called in those days. Eventually I managed to find a man who could speak a little English, explained to him the dangers of hot jet pipes and ejector seats and asked him to keep people away from the aircraft whilst I tried to find a telephone. There was a lorry parked by a gate in the hedge bordering the airfield and I walked over to it. The driver was sat in a cab, puffing his pipe, surveying the scene. I had a never to be forgotten conversation with him:
Me: "Excuse me, can you tell me where I am?"
He: "Aye, tha's at East Moor"
Me: "Is there a telephone nearby, please?"
He: "Tha'll probly find one at t'farm ower theer"
Me: "Thanks very much" - makes move to walk off.
He: "Hey lad, wheer's t'uther feller"
Me: "What other fellow?"
He: "T'utther feller that flies wither"
Me: "There's no none else, it's a single seater"
He: "Wot, nobbut yan in a gert bugger like that?"
Me: "Yes, cheerio, thanks very much"
It was great, I've always loved dialect, it's part of our heritage. My own had had to be tempered to be understood on radio, in a way it was comforting.
The farm looked deserted as I approached but I knew that someone was around because the farm dog carried out a line astern attack on me, coming in from ground level and fastening his fangs into my flying boot, which, fortunately, extended to calf height. I contemplated engaging him in combat with the other boot but, sensing observation from a blank window (which turned out to be true) decided against it. The conversation with my Squadron Commander was equally memorable:
Me: "Hello boss, it's Rip Pearson"
He: "Hello Rip, what can I do for you?"
Me: "I'm sorry boss, I've forced landed"
He: "You bloody fool. Where?"
Me: "At a place called East Moor"
He: "Is the aeroplane all right?"
I couldn't help thinking it was good of him to be concerned about me.
My recovery and subsequent return to Church Fenton was somewhat ignominious. Linton was only five miles away and the 92 Squadron Commander came out with a servicing team and refuelling bowser, which was a far cry from the reaction I had been trying to achieve earlier from 92. We inspected the runway, lined the Directional Gyro in the aircraft up against a hand held compass and I roared off under the interested gaze of a large crowd. The temptation to do a beat up was very strong but I thought better of it. By the time I got back to base it was quite late, but as is often the case in hazy conditions, visibility had improved as the temperature had dropped. Once I found the airfield I wasn't going to let it out of my sight and had to roar around at high engine rpm against airbrakes, in order to burn off fuel down to landing weight. There were several complaints about the noise - it just wasn't my day.
Dave was another squadron pilot who ran short of fuel and force landed in a field wheels up. He said it was a turnip field, but with hindsight it was probably sugar beet - root vegetable recognition not being a fighter pilot's forte. What Dave said was that he never realised it was possible to get so many turnips and soil in a Meteor cockpit with him in it as well. After the dust had settled, Dave looked around and saw what he described as an "old boy" observing him from over the boundary wall. As our intrepid aviator approached him, the "old boy" took to his heels and fled, with Dave on his heels. He didn't gain much on him at first, being encumbered with flying gear, but eventually trapped him, white faced and wheezing, at the far end of a field. The conversation was illuminating:
Dave: "Can you tell me where I am?"
OB: "York's ower theer"
Dave: "Can you show me where on this map?"
OB: "Nay lad, a carn't mek hed ner tail outa that"
Dave: "Why did you run away?"
OB: "A thowt th'd killed thersen an a wuz beeyin chessed by a go-erst"
On 15 July 1953 the Royal Air Force staged a Coronation Review of its aircraft and personnel at RAF Odiham, Hampshire to mark Queen Elizabeth II's coronation. Almost 1,000 machines took part, of which some 300 were displayed statically for inspection by the Queen, the Duke of Edinburgh and the Royal Party. The remainder took part in the flypast, a mix of jet and piston powered aircraft of various performance abilities, in the ratio of two thirds jet to one third piston. It was one of the largest ever displays of British air power in terms of numbers of aircraft involved.
The Review was a three part ceremony and lasted all day, commencing with a ceremonial parade of about 1,200 officers, airmen and airwomen who marched on promptly at 1130hrs to the music of massed bands of the RAF and WRAF (Women's Royal Air Force). After inspecting the parade, Her Majesty took the salute at the march past and watched the Queen's Colour being paraded. Before being driven off to lunch four Venom fighters equipped with smoke generators sky wrote the letters of ER in white capitals on a blue sky background as a welcome to the Queen.
A Venom (WE275, De Havilland Venom FB.50, Source Classic Jet (G-VIDI), taxiing, Duxford, Cambridgeshire, Classic Jets air show, 2/6/1996 - from the internet)
After their lunch the royal party returned to the Dais to carry out the second part of the Review, which consisted of an hour long tour (by open Daimler) of inspection of the aircraft and their personnel arranged in four long lines on each side facing the royal dais. The Queen and Prince Phillip made several stops en route to inspect the aircraft and talk to the assembled personnel. All in all, the tour covered some five miles, with the Daimler driving successively up one line of aircraft and down the next.
The third part of the Review consisted of the flypast, which commenced as planned at precisely 15391/2hrs and was opened by a single Sycamore helicopter flying past at 400ft carrying the RAF ensign suspended from a thirty foot cable beneath it, which was stabilised by a heavy weight. For the second time in my flying career I was flying for my Queen, being one of two hundred plus Meteor day fighters from various squadrons. My formation was in "the box", as a number four. In other words the tail end of a diamond formation of four aircraft. There were three sections of four such aircraft in each squadron flying an arrowhead of twelve, the lead section being at the point and the other two sections either side. Practice for the flypast started in June; by the time 15 July came along the formation flying and timing was spot on. The flypast timing was a masterpiece of organisation. The speed range of the participating aircraft ran from 86mph to 667 mph and, as each formation passed over the royal party the next was in view approaching. Various rendezvous and exit points were allocated to avoid conflictions but I have to confess that the first time I took my eyes off my leader's tail for a quick look round the sky as we approached our rendezvous frightened the life out of me. All I could see at the same height and in the same airspace were scores of aeroplanes. I remember huddling down in my ejector seat thinking "there may be only one way out of this". From then on I never took my eyes off my leader. Rather like a child hiding its head under a pillow, what I couldn't see wouldn't scare me.
Those on the ground said the flypast spectacle was magnificent, military precision and presentation at its best. However, it didn't stop there. Formation flying on a rough day (which it was), with the sun beating down onto a perspex canopy is mentally and physically demanding. The "gate" at which all the aircraft assembled at Levesden, after which all the formations flew down the thirty mile corridor to Odiham. By the time we got there we were well tucked in, keyed up with concentration and very hot and sweaty. Even the leaders of each squadron had a hard time because it was important to maintain a separation of thirty seconds between formations. Any adjustments the leaders made were passed down the line and, by the time we got over the Royal dais, it felt like every muscle and every brain cell was beaten to death. Once out of sight of Odiham, at the exit "gate" we could spread out a little and relax - but not for long. The "boss" (Squadron Commander) got it into his head that all 19 Squadron aircraft had to be on the runway after landing before he turned off at the end of his landing run. The drill for all fighter squadrons at that time was for sections to run in from about five miles to echelon starboard at 300knots and fan break (hard climbing turns) at half second intervals into the downwind leg. This again was a precise manoeuvre and a form of squadron drill. It was my lot to be number twelve in formation position, which meant I was last to land. Getting the "break" and downwind spacing as last man was bad enough, but the landings were horrendous to achieve. With eleven other aircraft all on the runway ahead of me, the wake turbulence from twenty two jet engines was considerable to say the least. I vividly remember two hands on the stick with dropped wings, assisted by full left or right rudder and an occasional grab at the throttles. The drill was to come in high and fast and dive through the last fifty feet or so in order to be in turbulence for the least possible time. I only had to overshoot once, for which I was on the carpet but, discretion being the better part of valour, I considered it wiser to be stood on the mat than a splat on the runway threshold.
My section leader on all flypasts was Chris, the "A Flight Commander". Chris was one of those guys on whom everyone played practical jokes, I feel certain you have all had people like that in your lives. The japes were legion and he never caught the perpetrators. We had him walking about one day with a black ear. To achieve this distinction we bootblacked his telephone earpiece when he was out of his office and then waited for him to return. Maybe there was an aircraft running outside, I cannot remember, but an indistinct voice on the telephone said "Chris, is your ear black?" Chris pushed the receiver tight against his ear and replied, "I'm sorry, I didn't hear what you said." The sibilant voice said again, even softer, "Chris, is your ear black?" Chris put his finger into his other ear, screwed the earpiece even tighter and said again, "I'm sorry, I can't hear you". Eventually he put the phone down and came out of his office. What innocent faces, what self control greeted him when he came into the crewroom with his black ear. Nobody told him, of course.
I mention Chris only because I caught him out on the return to North Weald from the Review flypast. As I mentioned earlier, after leaving the exit gate we could spread out a bit and relax and I learned from the two wingmen in Chris's formation that he would respond in kind to any gesture that either of them made. Remember I was in the "box", line astern on him and, needless to say, couldn't see me. Smithy, Stan and I worked out a scheme in which either of them would make a series of gestures, depending on who was being looked at, culminating in thumbs on each temple and fingers waving. As soon as Chris responded in kind and was seen to have let go of his controls, the other man gave two clicks on his transmit button. My part in this plot was to very slowly and steadily creep forward until my canopy was literally inches below the rubber stop at the rear of Chris's Meteor - so close I could have reached out and touched it. The close proximity of my aircraft, coupled with the insidious way in which it had been put in that position, meant Chris had, over a period of time, been having to trim seriously nose up to compensate for the change of airflow under his tail making his aircraft want to nose down. Two clicks I heard, out went my airbrakes, forward went the stick to achieve maximum change and Chris shot skywards like a homesick angel. With all that nose up trim it was quite violent and his wings rocked as he grabbed the control column. Poor old Chris, he took everything in good part.
After 21/2 very happy years I was posted - to Nicosia in Cyprus. What a penance! - What!!
From the Internet
After the flurry of records at Tocumwal in Australia over Christmas, on the 17th of January, Hana Zejdova (Czech Republic) set a another feminine record. This time it was for "distance over a triangular course" in the 15m class of 860.7km.
Recently, on the 3rd of March, an open class speed record was set over a 500km out and return at a speed of 247.5kph. The pilots were James and Thomas Payne (USA) in an ASH-25 from California City,. The previous record was 211.50kph set by Theo Roger Newfield (New Zealand)on the 24th of March last year.
Uncle Bug
C
Canopy - a transparent cover strategically placed to protect a glider pilots coiffure from the effects of wind, rain, flies and shi-ite hawks. Ideally it should be closed & locked before takeoff.
Cockpit - the nerve centre of a glider, where the intrepid aviator plans his/her every move. The word was derived from the expression "cock-sure" (a pilots natural demeanour), and "cess-pit" (the smell that emanates when a poor decision is made).
Circuit - an aerial manoeuvre, intended to maximise ones chances of landing somewhere half-decent. This word can often be heard around the airfield, usually preceding the expression ".......planning was crap!"
C3 - a German invention designed to wind up LNAV owners.
Compass - a magnetic precision instrument that swings about wildly while thermalling to ensure complete disorientation.
Capstan - a '60s vintage hot ship, with good views, benign handling, and a glide angle that would frighten a Stuka pilot.
Cloud - high level fog.
Clubhouse - a place where weather bound pilots go to lubricate their tonsils and tell exaggerated tales of infamy and daring.
Copley - a geezer Lyn flies with when she wants to frighten herself silly.
Coordinated turn - very rare this.... a change of direction executed with the yaw string central at all times (without the aid of super-glue).
Camper Van - a sort of mobile boudoir, where an aviator can preen himself/herself before embarking on another adventure. Also very much a status symbol, as in - if you ain't got one, you ain't got any!
Computer - an electronic gizmo that seems to prevent otherwise absolutely normal people from getting a life.
Chippy - a purveyor of perfectly healthy food.... OK, so I lie a little!
Cholesterol - see 'chippy'.
Uncle Bug
Dear Uncle Bug,
I just happened to be fondling the chest of a barman the other day (as you do after a couple of brandy and babychams) when I suddenly felt something smooth and hard between my fingers. Trembling just a little, I looked down into the silken folds of his designer shirt and there it was, glistening in the half light reflected from the clubhouse.
My pulse quickened as I realised what it was - a nipple ring! What manner of undisclosed decadence might this signify! The loud thump of another drunken pilot hitting the floor jolted me back to reality, and I realised that this must have some connection with the sport of gliding - could you help with an explanation.
Mary Hinge
Dear Mary,
You do not identify the gliding club you frequent, but I am happy to say that we would not countenance such behaviour at Walney. Admittedly we have tolerated the odd pierced ear on occasion, to allow our instructors to make a fashion statement, but I'm afraid we do draw the line when it comes to nipples! My old friend Prince Albert told me that apart from anything else these things are a health hazard, and can only lead to further depravity....tattoos, deep-fried mars bars, the internet....or even worse!
The BGA have strict guidelines about rings, which should be of the Ottfur variety, and not worn on the person.
I can only advise that you join a more respectable club, and stick to drinking halves of shandy.
Uncle Bug
Please help, I am putting together a new book for the glider pilot, to include things like funny bar stories, those strange traditions some clubs have, party games for the club bar, gliding jokes and cartoons.
If you have a story whether it is in the air, on the airfield or in the hangar I would love to hear it. You can put pen to paper and post it or e-mail me, record on to tape or telephone me, either way I will be very grateful. Please send me whatever you can.
Thank you, Phil Dawson.
Back to Contents
Gil Scurrah
Gliding At Walney (part 1)
Gliding At Walney (part 2)
Gliding At Walney (part 3)
Gliding At Walney (part 4)
Gliding At Walney (part 5)
Gliding At Walney (part 6)
Walney, here we come.
I tried a few positions behind the tug, going through the slipstream, left and right, then a little high, before we got out over the sea, and then settled into a good stable bit of air and waited for land to come into sight. I passed the time looking for ships in the hazy blue below, and with no input at all, it seemed, keeping the tug ahead in the same bit of windscreen. I can't remember if I ever pressed the machine gun button on the ring to gave the tug a few short bursts from my eight .303 Brownings. As I still do it from time to time in the Cherokee when I see a suitable target, then I guess I will have done the same to the tug.
Time droned on, with just a few drops down into the slipstream to recharge the cockpit with a new charge of diluted exhaust fumes from the four cylinders purring so steadily up ahead, until out of the haze came Sellafield. We turned south and travelled down the coast, and cut across the top of the Combe to let me drop off tow and give the tug plenty of time to land. At this time I was still rather euphoric, although not as wildly so as when I realised that Eire was on. I thought of doing a couple of coupled loops with a half cuban thrown in, that is a 45 degree climb from the bottom of the loop and a half roll and stick back into inverted. Stopping there was never a problem, but getting back to straight and level was not as easy. A bit like hitting a golf ball; even though one stands the same, uses the same club, on the same ground with the same ball, the ball sails of anywhere within fifteen degrees, the glider seldom pointed exactly where I required at the end of the exercise. I was running through the routine in my head; then I thought a chandelle or two, and as I got nearer to Walney a few steep turns, with a couple of stall turns, just to catch their eye. I'd finish off with a high speed arrival over the slag bank, a good beat up at Vne along the runway, using the ground effect for distance, with a chandelle to a landing right on to the park place. As I was looking around the cockpit to tie down various maps and bits that could get in my hair, and float about the cockpit I must have been thinking very hard. At that very time some of my thoughts were transferred to the C.F.I. at Walney, who was in a bit of a tizzy with himself, because as I was checking the outside, over the R.T. came his honeyed tones "551. This is Walney control, The C.F.I. speaking. You are to come straight back to the drome---WITH NO LARKING ABOUT OR AEROBATICS--- is that understood?" I was going to do the upside down bit out of sight of the base, and I was surprised at his comment. I thought he must have got me in his binoculars or something, but anyway, always being the exemplary example for others, I dutifully returned fairly straight back, only checking what height loss I got for what speed gain before a landing of the type that Redshaw is ever striving for. I climbed out of 551, gave it a pat, and got a few congratulatory noises from several people, together with a message to report - AT ONCE - to the hanger. The Hanger!! Now I never expected a welcome party, and I knew that there hadn't been time to have arranged for wines and cakes, or anything similar, so it was with puzzlement that I entered that great hall, and found I couldn't weigh up the assembly there. First I spotted Pete there, and you can't help seeing his funny face and not smiling, if not outright laughing. Then there was the C.F.I. Now he was the type to cancel out the Redshaw humour. To start with I don't think he liked glider pilots, then I think he didn't like little glider pilots, nor did he like private enterprise, nor private owners - with a grin on their faces. As I fitted most of those, I didn't get good vibes from that area. Then there seemed to be some people that didn't quite fit in to the usual scene. One of them was obviously a policeman, because his feet were at 90 degrees, and he kept rising up and down. Then there was another police type man, with a book that today would tell me that "Gilbert Scurrah, This Is Your Life" but I was wrong. There were others of a similar ilk. Another policeman, this one disguised as a copper, so I knew there would be no trouble from that side. And then the C.F.I. who didn't like glider pilots was going at some steam about the invidious position I had put the club in, etc. But he wasn't registering too much, as the Aemon Andrews with the "this is your life" book was asking me if I was Gilbert Scurrah. This seemed a bit daft as everyone was calling me Gil, or Gilbert, and most of them seemed to know this. He was also going on and asking silly things like. "Had I just landed the glider that had just landed" One of the others was looking cadaverous in the extreme, and I thought he would get brittle fractures if I made him smile, altogether there was 'an atmosphere'.
Good old Pete. One could always count on him to ease any fraught situation. There he was, hovering about in the background making rabbit faces and putting two fingers up behind the head of the C.F.I., Tying his tie around his neck and pretending to hang himself, and then putting two fingers into his open mouth like a pistol, and cocking his thumb. Well! I ask you Wouldn't you laugh? --- Well. If you would, and the man with 'This is Your Life' is there, don't -- They don't have a sense of humour, and among his type it is very infectious.
It was about this point that I began to hear thing about this good book, as by now Aemon had agreed that I was me, he placed his good self about 20 centimetres in front of me and was quoting at length from it to me. Bits that filtered in were like "A.T.C. Clearance- Custom clearance. Temporary importation order. Prevention of terrorism order. Custom and excise requirements. Notification of all sorts of people when you land on crown property. Involvement of C.I.D. Special branch. Etc. Etc. WOW !! Did I deserve all this. I felt a bit like I was in No 1 Kingdom hall and was getting their top gun. It's all in the book! and as is known about policemen, if it isn't in the book, they don't know what to do, but if it is in the book, they can be very difficult and not know how to get round things like humans can.
Now you all know all about V.F.Rs. V.M.Cs, T.M.As, adiabatic lapse rates, Rule 21s, and all the many pitfalls for aviators that are lurking about out there. But no one at that time knew anything at all about (A.I.P. FAL 1-19) The Prevention of Terrorism Order 1976 Which applies to gliders - with or without passengers, or at least no one ever told me.
"To enable the police to exercise their powers under the order ------ entering or leaving Great Britain ------ Non designated airports, ----- Permission from chief constables, --- as far in advance of the flight as possible. Etc. Etc. and at last it dawned on me why the police activity at the Isle of Man. I could have been gun running. Nor did I get the Governor of the Islands permission to land on Crown Property, nor the Cumbria chief constable to give me permission to go, nor custom clearance, not forgetting the C.I.D. special branch.
It seems that when the Rt. Hon. Robert Foot. Who was the only one to ken this order, gave out his foreboding and the requirements, the gliding club became a bit like a hen house with a fox in it.
The Chief Constable of Cumberland was out on the golf course, and wasn't best pleased.
The I.O.M. Governor was at siesta somewhere else, and the customs and excise were a bit miffed at being left out, not forgetting the C.I.D Special branch who had this 'This is your life' book that they hadn't used yet. In fact the only one of those I didn't tell until it had happened, and who didn't give me any earache, was my wife - but it did save her worrying about all those things that only she can dream of, so it was a plus there. I even felt a twinge of guilt at thinking of me and the redhead enjoying ourselves at a time like this.
I think that by this time Redshaw was running around behind the group, rattling some chains he had gathered, but I was wiser by now, and only let a trace of a smile out, even then, that was enough to elicit another burst of disapproval from the gathered vultures who closed in a bit more, and the C.F.I. portending the demise of the club through me. If any of you have been prosecuted, and been up in front of the beak for stealing out of a kids pram, then you will know what I felt like, only I had about six beaks, and had jeopardised the Northern Ireland agreement or something. However, I have always had a good recovery rate, and the congratulations and "Bloody good shows" from the Ron Reid side of the coin were more than sufficient to blank out some of the more unsavoury comments I had been bombarded with. And, after all was said and done, I did think I had managed to beat the Redshaw and that Flt, Lui. So all in all, the I.O.M. trip was one that I needed to do, and need not do again, -- but I will never rule out Eire until at last anno dominates me.
A vampire bat came flapping in from the night covered in fresh blood and parked himself on the roof of the cave to get some sleep. Pretty soon all the other bats smelled the blood and began hassling him about where he got it.
He told them to go away and let him get some sleep but they persisted until finally he gave in.
"OK, follow me," he said and flew out of the cave with hundreds of bats behind him.
Down through a valley they went, across a river and into a forest full of trees. Finally he slowed down and all the other bats excitedly milled around him.
"Now, do you see that tree over there?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, yes!" the bats all screamed in a frenzy.
"Good," said the first bat, "Because I didn't!"
Peter Redshaw (23)
This is how I do it, not what I was taught.
Again we have an article relating to the hazards of low level stalling and spinning from launch, thermalling and landing situations (page 231 S&G Aug/Sept 98 etc). I always read this type of article, accident statistics and so on to see what I can learn. I have over 3500hrs gliding, instructed for nearly 26 years and enjoyed my stint as a CFI. One accident back in 1971 which was significantly due to lack of speed even though I thought I was flying fast enough (70kts in an Oly).
For my personal flying I developed a different style of approach to landing and a different attitude to low level thermals (the latter being outside the training syllabus and is self taught).
About 3 or 4 years ago we woke up to the fact that experienced pilots were not doing square circuits but were in fact doing a long curved approach to the point of touchdown. A lot of experienced pilots had been doing this for years but I seem to do it with more speed than most pilots.
My logic is quite simple; I should be flying my circuit at best L/D plus up to 5knots faster in order to give me the greatest margin for error. By default this takes account of strong winds, turbulence, gradients, poor roll rate in big wings and zero undershoot area. Why do we still tell pilots to approach at say 50 knots and add a bit for strong winds as an after-thought, why is a slow approach speed promoted as an advantage for the modern glider, it encourages stalls and slow turns at low level? We operate from an airfield that has the sea as an undershoot yet I touch down and stop shorter than most, but at the same time could probably overshoot farther than most.
Our local fields are small and I land quite happily in them. How? by deliberately telling myself I will have to slow my approach down and accept the higher risk that a slow approach into a small field brings. Are we not better to slow down by choice than to have to increase speed by choice? This will produce fewer stalls/spins particularly when landing in hilly terrain with a high horizon.
I have managed to climb away from many a low thermal. Over the years the low thermal has proved to be narrow and frequently rough. This necessitates flying with a greater angle of bank and more speed to maintain accurate and positive control. At low level accurate centring is more important than rate of climb, this needs speed. At say 1000ft plus the rate of climb can be enhanced by flying closer to the min sink for the appropriate angle of bank. If the turbulence chucks you out you have the height to re-centre, but not if you are around 500ft.
By default I am well above the stall at low level, particularly that inspired by gusts or false horizons in both straight flight and low turns whether for landing or thermalling.
Speed is safe, slow down by choice, what do today's experts have to say?
A little old lady goes to the doctor and says, "Doctor I have this problem with gas, but it really doesn't bother me too much. They never smell and are always silent. As a matter of fact, I've farted at least 20 times since I've been here in your office. You didn't know I was farting because they didn't smell and are silent."
The doctor says, "I see. Take these pills and come back to see me next week."
The next week the lady goes back and says "Doctor, I don't know what the heck you gave me, but now my farts, although still silent they stink terribly."
"Good" the doctor said. "Now that we've cleared up your sinuses, let's work on your hearing."
Linda Burnett, 23, was visiting her inlaws, and while there went to a nearby supermarket to pick up some groceries. Several people noticed her sitting in her car with the windows rolled up, with her eyes closed and with both hands behind the back of her head. One customer who had been at the store for a while became concerned and walked over to the car. He noticed that Linda's eyes were now open and she looked very strange. He asked her if she was okay, and Linda replied that she'd been shot in the back of the head, and had been holding her brains in for over an hour. The man called the paramedics, who broke into the car because the doors were locked and Linda refused to remove her hands from her head. When they finally got in, they found that Linda had a wad of bread dough on the back of her head. A Pillsbury biscuit canister had exploded from the heat, making a loud noise that sounded like a gunshot, and the wad of dough hit her in the back of her head. When she reached back to find out what it was, she felt the dough and thought it was her brains. She initially passed out, but quickly recovered and tried to hold her brains in for over an hour until someone noticed and came to her aid.
The next instalment of S&G Club News through the ages.
June 5, 1931 Vol. 1 No 39
Since the last appearance in these columns of notes from the Furness Gliding Club quite a considerable amount of time has been spent on our machine, during which time the whole thing has been tuned up and packing inserted under brackets where required.
Our efforts were well rewarded in the recovered controllability of the machine. While this in itself has a direct reflection on the extent of skid damage likely to be occasioned, with bad landings, the opportunity was taken advantage of, nevertheless, to strengthen the centre section off the fuselage and generally stiffen up the skid. Much of this work, unfortunately, had to be repeated at a later date, on account of an untimely disaster when the machine went diving into the ground. However this was all successfully overcome and the machine ready and fit at Whitsuntide.
A last minute decision was made to enter for one at least off the competitions at Ilkley, and so it happens that at 5.0 am on Sunday May 24, the Furness Gliding Club machine and trailer were dragged out of bed and the journey commenced. Our ground engineer Mr Butterfield, took the wheel , while the ground captain, Mr W A Stevens, appointed himself traffic superintendent. Conditions were not exactly over encouraging, but that, in consideration of the early hour, was not taken amiss. A light rain came on later in the morning but by the time we arrived at Ilkley (9:15 am) well! it was wet.
Woofa bank! Here indeed was a dismal desolation-even the Furness squad could not brighten things.
After posting up our arrival and announcing our intention of proceeding to Ilkley (we actually set off), good fortune fell to our lot in that we were able to house our machine at an adjoining farm. So engrossed were we in changing tyres (not attire) that the now incorrect notice went unheeded, and the resulted in the remainder of our party, the late starters and unencumbered, going on to Ilkley where they resorted to a house to house search for the missing package.
Representatives of J Lyons and Co. and of the Ilkley Club arrived at the flying (or was it swimming?) field later on in the morning in time to post cancellation notices for the day, and the opportunity was taken of letting our members (1st detachment) make a careful inspection of the "Westprussen" and the "Falke" while yet intact.
The mislaid detachment, I am informed mad a similar tour off inspection later on in the day, having fallen in with some of the Ilkley club during their rounds.
We all felt a bit annoyed that we could not extend our visit until the following day (when good conditions prevailed) but would like to record our hearty appreciation of the reception we received from all the gliding fraternity and for the sporting offers from the Ilkley Club by way of assistance, should we feel at any time disposed to paying them another visit.
Now that it is all over - the return journey being accomplished under ideal conditions - we feel quite pleased with the endurance trials of the trailer - 200 miles without a hitch sounds somewhat of a perpetual motion or what!). By way off proving that the machine, at least, was none the worse for the journey operations on Sunday, May 31, were very successful, some 30 good, clean flights being accomplished. It speaks well for the recent modifications and adjustments carried out that remarkable ease of control was attained, while for the first time for many week ends the machine was housed after use in a completely serviceable condition.
This state off affairs augers well of the Club's progress in the next few weeks and we have every hope of being able to follow up with something achieved by those of our members who are at the qualifying stage for certificates.
From the Internert
1) Never reverse direction in a thermal.
1a) If you don't seem to be going up as quick as you'd like, always reverse your direction in the thermal.
2) Always turn right upon sensing lift, this reduces your error in direction of turn to 50% of the time. (Not an original thought, I just forget where I read it recently)
3) You can always visualise the thermal.
3a) Your visualisation of a thermal can sometimes be absolutely backwards.
4) Some days all thermals will be 'turning' the same way, and on this day you will pick the wrong direction every time.
5) Sea gulls are to be followed at all times, they always centre the thermals better than you do.
5a) Some days your electric vario is much better than that used by the sea gull's.
6) On really bad days, entire flocks of sea gulls will conspire to thermal in sink, leaving it only when you arrive to share the fun.
7) Red tail hawks live to give you whip lash trying to stay in their thermal.
8) Unless the guy is in the cockpit with you, resist the temptation to 'come over here, the lift is great!'
Alan D.
Eh-oh!!
Well the weather's been great hasn't it? It's a poor lookout when there's NOTHING in the newsletter about recent flights, but looking back at the flight sheets we've done a pitiful amount of flying since the last newsletter hit the streets! At least all of the CofAs have been completed and everything, Astir included, is now back in the air.
The more observant of you will notice that this issue is a few weeks later than was planned last time. Possibly because of the lack of activity but material has been rather thin on the ground. Despite that, this one is only marginally thinner than recent issues so it's not that bad, although I have had to do a bit of arm-twisting to get it this far! Regardless, a very big thank you (and a tellytubby biiiig hug if you like) to everyone who answered my rallying call for material. As ever I'm also indebted to the "regulars" Rip, Gil, John M and Lyn. The deadline for the next newsletter is planned for Thursday 7th of May, so I only hope I don't have to send the tellytubbies round to sort you all out before you write something for everyone to read. If all else fails, go and do some flying and let someone else write about it!!
"Byyyyeee"
Alan D.
AGM: Sunday 4th April
Next Newsletter Deadline: Thursday 7th May
Next Social: Saturday 22nd May
Next Newsletter Deadline: Thursday 7th May
Hus Bos: Saturday 29th May To Sunday 6th June
Next Newsletter Deadline: Thursday 7th May
Pocklington: Saturday 21st to Monday 30th August
Next Newsletter Deadline: Thursday 7th May
Portmoak: Saturday 2nd to Saturday 9th October
Next Newsletter Deadline: Thursday 7th May
Annual Dinner: Saturday 6th November
Next Newsletter Deadline: Thursday 7th May
Christmas Party: Saturday 11th December
Next Newsletter Deadline: Thursday 7th May
NEXT NEWSLETTER DEADLINE: THURSDAY 7th MAY"!!!!!
12 March 1999
Dear Member,
The 1999 A.G.M. will be held in the Clubhouse on Sunday 4th April commencing at 7.30 p.m. In the event that it is not flyable it will be brought forward to 3pm. Please telephone the mobile (0860 135447) on the day if you are unsure what time it will be starting.
The agenda will be strictly as follows;
1. Apologies for absence.
2. Minutes of the 1998 A.G.M.
3. Matters Arising.
4. Receive and approve annual accounts for 1997-98
5. Officers reports for year 1998-99.
6. Election of officers for year 1999-2000.
7. Election of committee for year 1999-2000.
8. Election of directors.
9. Motion: to increase Membership Subscriptions to £100 (Peter Lewis/John Martindale)
10. Motion: to appoint either an independent professional accountant or an internal auditor (Peter Redshaw/Alan Dennis)
11. Any other business relevant to the A.G.M.
Nominations for officers should be addressed to the secretary in advance of the meeting. For fuller details of the motions prior to the meeting, please contact the proposer or seconder shown.
On Behalf of the Committee
Alan Dennis
Secretary, Lakes Gliding Club