My First X/C, 19th June 1989
Bear in mind that no one had ever flown more than 12 miles from Bo Peep at this time and it was not considered to be an X/C site then(since this, of course, Steve Cook has done 90 miles from there.)
My First XC
by Little David Williamson (age 32 1/2)
Well... really my first XC was a one thermal dash over the back at Firle, with no vario, to the middle of nowhere - and that necessitated a 3-mile carry-back in very hot conditions. Although I couldn't bend my back the following morning,this did not put me off!
The day after that, Monday 19th June, my back having become mobile again, and armed with a vario/alti lent to me for the week by Kirran Patel (possibly the most magnanimous gesture madesince Jim O'Sullivan bought a round!),I was ready for another go. And so, gentle reader, I should like, if I may, to take you on a long(ish) journey.
The day was clear and sunny with a light to moderate NE wind and a reasonably high inversion layer just above the dew point - so off to Firle again. Having seen John Pendry in the pub on Saturday night and having had my suggestion that his site record of 12 miles to Brighton Beach could be broken within the next two days pooh-poohed by Monique, these were just the conditions I'd hoped for.
Just after lunch, when the big weatherman in the sky decided that there were enough of us mere mortals scratching the ridge to make it sufficiently amusing to drop the monster sink of the day upon us, I went down into the trees in front of take off and landed where a
hang glider just ain't s'posed to go. Miraculously suffering no damage in what was, truthfully, a totalled glider situation, I thought about de-rigging there and then while close to the road and going home - but it was only 2:15pm, so yet another sweat-drenched carryup while rigged and a help over the fence at the top. At least where there is sink there will also be lift.
On reaching the top I was told that Dave Keepax had skyed-out, heading towards Newhaven. I thought "well, I'm really pleased for him", but it came out of my mouth as "b#####d!"
I took off again and, searching for the thermals which had cunningly swerved to avoid me all day, I began to ponder whether, as this was my first day ever flying with them, the instruments had put a jinx on me. I turned them off to get rid of that annoyingly unmelodious bleeping.
At last, at 3 o'clock, I caught something decent in front of the East bowl, turned the vario on again, and worked it back to 2,000 ft. The audio signal sure sounded like music now! Coming forward again, out of the lift, the wind was light enough for my Clubman to penetrate and still have 1,000 ft. out in front of the bowl. By now the inversion had
lifted sufficiently for the swirling mistiness just below it to grow into definite but immature looking clouds, which would not even reach puberty by the time they were culled by the cold sea air.
I centred the thermal below one of these and that was it - Mr. Top Landing had shut up the shop and gone on holiday.
"We're off!" Steady 3-up, which gradually crept to 6-up as I circled back 2 miles, and occasionally more when I searched hard for it. You couldn't do that without a vario!
The altimeter had clocked its way inexorably to 4,200 ft. by the time I was approaching Newhaven, in weaker lift, at the base of my prematurely decaying cloud. Off to the West the clouds looked healthier and so I left the lift and min.sinked across the River Ouse, behind Newhaven and toward Peacehaven.
Arriving at Telscombe Cliffs I was wondering "What can you do with 2,000 ft?" Well... you can form a millepede tap dancing duo or you can carry on to a different landing field. The Windmill pitch'n'putt course was well within reach as I sank downwind in cold, moist air over the red-bricked cosiness of bungalows that is Saltdean, cossetted by their unstable ground level blanket of sun-warmed air. The cruel sea breeze threw an ice-cold haddock in under the blanket and the playful dwellings shrieked with surprise and mirth kicking the warmth skywards towards me.
I circled up in the ensuing dry, warm air with 5-up, by now sounding like Beethoven's 6th Symphony on the vario, and drifted out to sea up to 3,500 ft. where it seemed imprudent to get any further away from good old Blighty as I didn't have my wellies on! Pulling on a little speed crosswind in sink to get over the Marina, I had East Brighton Golf Club far below me to land on, but, as the tide was right out and the beach sparsely populated, a glide along the coast seemed in order. Suddenly "hello", what was this? A huge cloud of red dust enveloped the Wilson Avenue landfill site to the North of me. Had the Council employees had a post-curry bout of synchronised flatulence? Well, possibly so, as all that training is bound to payoff one of these days... but this was definitely a thermal, as the dust cloud was rising fast.
Pulling on speed with one hand, to leave my whip-hand free to give the keel an encouraging drubbing, I intersected the rising air and again circled in a 5-up, drifting over the green onion domes and blue plastic sheeting of the Brighton Pavilion, and out to sea up to 3,500 ft.
I was above all the muck in the air and the clear sky above was as deep a blue as the boat-dotted velvet sea below. Early evening commuters were getting part of their daily dose of lead poisoning, a helicopter passed by me in the opposite direction and 2,000 ft. below, and sailboards were idle on the beach and in use on Hove lagoon. I could see forever with a big, solitary cloud shadow over the sea just before Portslade and it all looked beautiful. I started to weep.
When I stopped crying I cut back to land in more sink and caught the last bit of lift which I circled with to 3,000 ft. Dismissing the idea of overflying Shoreham Power Station to look straight down the remaining chimney, I decided to work for as much height and distance out to sea as was possible, because Shoreham airspace was looming large - so I passed the Power Station on the East side. I then heard, and saw, a light aircraft heading NNW at an altitude not much lower than me, but it seemed to be making a landing approach on Shoreham Airport from very high. As the lift died and the sea breeze cut inland for good, I estimated, perhaps on the optimistic side, that I could clear Shoreham with 2,000 ft.(I wasn't going to go 2 miles out to sea and skirt around airspace as I would have been risking drowning, or worse, losing my beloved glider). The light plane landed at Shoreham and - uh-oh - all flying activity ceased. There was nothing in the air, nothing on the runway and nothing on the taxiway. I wondered what was happening. Had I shut down Shoreham Airport? That would be BIG trouble. No, I was sure I could overfly as long as I was above 2,000 ft. Looking towards the Isle of Wight, I could see an airship coming down the coast approaching Shoreham. They had shut down the airport to allow a mobile FujiFilm advert to cross the end of the runway at about 700 ft! Apart from having to treat the blimp as a roundabout, I had the sky to myself.
I overflew the airship, resisting the temptation to go down lower to wave to the crew, and continued my final glide until I crossed Worthing Pier. Circling down towards the large, sandy beach, I shouted to some dog-walkers to give me a wind direction but got no response other than a cursory glance upwards. So it was a flat-sided circle to confirm that the drift was, as expected, a SE sea breeze, and a landing flare onto tippy-toes into wind.
I landed at 4.55 pm. and, having secured witnesses and left the two best looking girls on the beach watching my glider and kit, I crossed the seafront road to 'phone a friend to come and retrieve me while I de-rigged and had a pint in an Hotel. Then it was back to Brighton just in time to get to work at 9:42 pm. (I work nights).
Since then nothing much has happened apart from a little sea breeze jaunt from the Dyke to Lewes but that, like the 11th floor that used to be on our 10 floor tower block, is another storey.
I should like to extend my heartfelt thanks to my instructor, Vince Hallam, everyone in the sport and the Southern Club who have given me such invaluable help and advice over the past 4 years, and Daphne, who doesn't always get a mention in Muckraker, but I've flown with her many times and, Daphne, you've made a happy man very old!
FINAL DISTANCE: 22 miles, GLIDER: Clubman 160, EQUIPMENT:
Borrowed Lindsay Ruddock Vario.
My First XC
by Little David Williamson (age 32 1/2)
Well... really my first XC was a one thermal dash over the back at Firle, with no vario, to the middle of nowhere - and that necessitated a 3-mile carry-back in very hot conditions. Although I couldn't bend my back the following morning,this did not put me off!
The day after that, Monday 19th June, my back having become mobile again, and armed with a vario/alti lent to me for the week by Kirran Patel (possibly the most magnanimous gesture madesince Jim O'Sullivan bought a round!),I was ready for another go. And so, gentle reader, I should like, if I may, to take you on a long(ish) journey.
The day was clear and sunny with a light to moderate NE wind and a reasonably high inversion layer just above the dew point - so off to Firle again. Having seen John Pendry in the pub on Saturday night and having had my suggestion that his site record of 12 miles to Brighton Beach could be broken within the next two days pooh-poohed by Monique, these were just the conditions I'd hoped for.
Just after lunch, when the big weatherman in the sky decided that there were enough of us mere mortals scratching the ridge to make it sufficiently amusing to drop the monster sink of the day upon us, I went down into the trees in front of take off and landed where a
hang glider just ain't s'posed to go. Miraculously suffering no damage in what was, truthfully, a totalled glider situation, I thought about de-rigging there and then while close to the road and going home - but it was only 2:15pm, so yet another sweat-drenched carryup while rigged and a help over the fence at the top. At least where there is sink there will also be lift.
On reaching the top I was told that Dave Keepax had skyed-out, heading towards Newhaven. I thought "well, I'm really pleased for him", but it came out of my mouth as "b#####d!"
I took off again and, searching for the thermals which had cunningly swerved to avoid me all day, I began to ponder whether, as this was my first day ever flying with them, the instruments had put a jinx on me. I turned them off to get rid of that annoyingly unmelodious bleeping.
At last, at 3 o'clock, I caught something decent in front of the East bowl, turned the vario on again, and worked it back to 2,000 ft. The audio signal sure sounded like music now! Coming forward again, out of the lift, the wind was light enough for my Clubman to penetrate and still have 1,000 ft. out in front of the bowl. By now the inversion had
lifted sufficiently for the swirling mistiness just below it to grow into definite but immature looking clouds, which would not even reach puberty by the time they were culled by the cold sea air.
I centred the thermal below one of these and that was it - Mr. Top Landing had shut up the shop and gone on holiday.
"We're off!" Steady 3-up, which gradually crept to 6-up as I circled back 2 miles, and occasionally more when I searched hard for it. You couldn't do that without a vario!
The altimeter had clocked its way inexorably to 4,200 ft. by the time I was approaching Newhaven, in weaker lift, at the base of my prematurely decaying cloud. Off to the West the clouds looked healthier and so I left the lift and min.sinked across the River Ouse, behind Newhaven and toward Peacehaven.
Arriving at Telscombe Cliffs I was wondering "What can you do with 2,000 ft?" Well... you can form a millepede tap dancing duo or you can carry on to a different landing field. The Windmill pitch'n'putt course was well within reach as I sank downwind in cold, moist air over the red-bricked cosiness of bungalows that is Saltdean, cossetted by their unstable ground level blanket of sun-warmed air. The cruel sea breeze threw an ice-cold haddock in under the blanket and the playful dwellings shrieked with surprise and mirth kicking the warmth skywards towards me.
I circled up in the ensuing dry, warm air with 5-up, by now sounding like Beethoven's 6th Symphony on the vario, and drifted out to sea up to 3,500 ft. where it seemed imprudent to get any further away from good old Blighty as I didn't have my wellies on! Pulling on a little speed crosswind in sink to get over the Marina, I had East Brighton Golf Club far below me to land on, but, as the tide was right out and the beach sparsely populated, a glide along the coast seemed in order. Suddenly "hello", what was this? A huge cloud of red dust enveloped the Wilson Avenue landfill site to the North of me. Had the Council employees had a post-curry bout of synchronised flatulence? Well, possibly so, as all that training is bound to payoff one of these days... but this was definitely a thermal, as the dust cloud was rising fast.
Pulling on speed with one hand, to leave my whip-hand free to give the keel an encouraging drubbing, I intersected the rising air and again circled in a 5-up, drifting over the green onion domes and blue plastic sheeting of the Brighton Pavilion, and out to sea up to 3,500 ft.
I was above all the muck in the air and the clear sky above was as deep a blue as the boat-dotted velvet sea below. Early evening commuters were getting part of their daily dose of lead poisoning, a helicopter passed by me in the opposite direction and 2,000 ft. below, and sailboards were idle on the beach and in use on Hove lagoon. I could see forever with a big, solitary cloud shadow over the sea just before Portslade and it all looked beautiful. I started to weep.
When I stopped crying I cut back to land in more sink and caught the last bit of lift which I circled with to 3,000 ft. Dismissing the idea of overflying Shoreham Power Station to look straight down the remaining chimney, I decided to work for as much height and distance out to sea as was possible, because Shoreham airspace was looming large - so I passed the Power Station on the East side. I then heard, and saw, a light aircraft heading NNW at an altitude not much lower than me, but it seemed to be making a landing approach on Shoreham Airport from very high. As the lift died and the sea breeze cut inland for good, I estimated, perhaps on the optimistic side, that I could clear Shoreham with 2,000 ft.(I wasn't going to go 2 miles out to sea and skirt around airspace as I would have been risking drowning, or worse, losing my beloved glider). The light plane landed at Shoreham and - uh-oh - all flying activity ceased. There was nothing in the air, nothing on the runway and nothing on the taxiway. I wondered what was happening. Had I shut down Shoreham Airport? That would be BIG trouble. No, I was sure I could overfly as long as I was above 2,000 ft. Looking towards the Isle of Wight, I could see an airship coming down the coast approaching Shoreham. They had shut down the airport to allow a mobile FujiFilm advert to cross the end of the runway at about 700 ft! Apart from having to treat the blimp as a roundabout, I had the sky to myself.
I overflew the airship, resisting the temptation to go down lower to wave to the crew, and continued my final glide until I crossed Worthing Pier. Circling down towards the large, sandy beach, I shouted to some dog-walkers to give me a wind direction but got no response other than a cursory glance upwards. So it was a flat-sided circle to confirm that the drift was, as expected, a SE sea breeze, and a landing flare onto tippy-toes into wind.
I landed at 4.55 pm. and, having secured witnesses and left the two best looking girls on the beach watching my glider and kit, I crossed the seafront road to 'phone a friend to come and retrieve me while I de-rigged and had a pint in an Hotel. Then it was back to Brighton just in time to get to work at 9:42 pm. (I work nights).
Since then nothing much has happened apart from a little sea breeze jaunt from the Dyke to Lewes but that, like the 11th floor that used to be on our 10 floor tower block, is another storey.
I should like to extend my heartfelt thanks to my instructor, Vince Hallam, everyone in the sport and the Southern Club who have given me such invaluable help and advice over the past 4 years, and Daphne, who doesn't always get a mention in Muckraker, but I've flown with her many times and, Daphne, you've made a happy man very old!
FINAL DISTANCE: 22 miles, GLIDER: Clubman 160, EQUIPMENT:
Borrowed Lindsay Ruddock Vario.
posted by SHGC Flying Diaries at 12:10 AM
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