Attempt on Project Prop

One of my flying highlights from last year was taking part in Project Propeller, a fly-in event which pairs veteran aircrew with current GA pilots for a meet up somewhere of aviation interest.

This year was to be a second attempt on Bruntingthorpe (the firs having been largely weathered off a few years ago).  I’d been paired with a Port Talbot local who turned out to have been a flight engineer on Halifaxes, and heavily involved with the air cadets since.

We met up at the airport just as it opened, for a 10:45 slot time at “Brunty”.  Phil, my passenger for the day, insisted on helping untie the aircraft and accompanied me on the walkaround, and things did go much quicker – leaving us both time for a cuppa before the off!

The weather was looking decidedly mixed, but we set off in hope.  First hurdle became the Welsh hills, andI opted instead to skirt along the northern edge of Cardiff’s zone rather than chance the cumulus granitus on the direct route!

We passed near Gloucester and Phil did some flying, his most recent experience having been in a friends Baron.  TOMS was a shade less plush no doubt!

North west of Gloucester the vis started to go steadily downhill, as did the cloudbase.  I took back control and started looking for a clearer route.  Down to 1000′ I was unwilling to engage in any lower level skud running.

Another aircraft it seemed was having similar difficulties, and his problems were compounded by being unable to hear Gloucester.  Several aircraft, including me, relayed messages and when he switched t Leicester, the last we heard was that he was attempting to find an easterly route around the cloud.

I decided that this was possibly a plan for ourselves as well and for a while it seemed to work.  Still being pushed east but able to edge north here and there I made intermittent progress toward Wellesborne Mountford, at which point the wall of cloud became impenetrable.  At any rate for me and my non-IMC self and aircraft!

I tried a few more detours, hoping for a route, but ended up having to make a hasty 180 to keep us out of the clouds, at which point it was time to employ the better part of valour.

Still unable to spot Wellesborne, though we must have been almost on top of it, I decided instead to head for the known clear skies of Gloucester.

I hadn’t been in there since my QXC a few years ago, but it was as friendly and efficient as I remembered.  Also as pricey – at 21 quid for landing, just missing St Mary’s for my most expensive stop to date — but then again I suppose the staff doing the ‘friendly and efficient’ bit need their wages paid!

On a happier note the lunches were also as good, and I tucked into a enormous ham and cheese omelette while continuing the fascinating chat with Phil, including the relating of his first 20 minutes on a squadron which featured a burst tyre, a ground-looped Halifax and the crew member who’d warned him not to evacuate though the top hatch, pegging it via that exact route!

I made a couple of phone calls over coffee trying to establish the odds of succeeding on a second attempt if we could get an alternative slot time.  Sadly the weather seemed, for the moment to be settled on low cloud and even rain.

Most frustrating, especially since we were sitting in pleasant, patchy sunshine a mere 30-odd minutes flying time away!

Eventually it became clear it was a no-go this time, and I apologised to a philosophical passenger (”That’s flying!”) and we headed back out to the aircraft.

The flight home was uneventful, the cloud having lifted in this direction at least, and allowing us to take a more direct route over the hills, swinging south in time to take in Port Talbot and do the “my house” routine.

Back at Swansea we joined a busy-ish circuit with one Ikarus and the cadets motor-glider ahead of us.  I extended downwind a-ways to give them room, which gave me a usefully long final as the jump-plane nipped out onto the runway to take off from alpha without a backtrack.

I was still poised for a go around at fifty foot, but he cleared off in time and I landed and rolled on to the intersection.

All in all a pleasant day, if not entirely the one we had planned.  Here’s to better weather next year!

GPS Track: In so far as my decision making can be remembered it went something like…

1) Hmm, that’s rather a lot of cloud. Well we just heard someone else trying to get around it to the east so we’ll try that too.

2) That’s marginally better, back towards track.

3) Sod. More cloud. Let’s try east again. Ermm. Nope.

4) North then?

5) Nope. And now I need a 180 just to keep out of the cloud at all. Can’t spot Wellesborne either although I must be almost on top of it. Time to give in.

Camping, Cornwall and Cousin

For a while now I’ve been intending to take an overnight trip with Lauren, my cousin and most enthusiastic of my passengers!  We’d planned for Scotland, tying in with the Flyer Forum Glenforsa trip, but imminent lack of funds (diverted to TOMS’s engine needs!) meant that somewhere closer and cheaper was required.

Devon and Cornwall have more or less the perfect location from South Wales – you feel like you’ve “been somewhere” even though it’s not that far by air, and thus not too expensive, it’s sufficiently tedious by ground transport that flying gives you that smug satisfaction, and it’s littered with lovely spots, strips and “proper” airports all in happy proximity.

Shafted…

Horrible pun, but it’s laugh or cry time so it’s staying!

The good news is that all the current niggles with our engine are resolved and we’re back on 50 hour checks.  The bad news is that the metal in the filter which had taken us off them turns out to have been coming from the camshaft, which is now so worn that the engine will not pass another annual.

We sort of knew we were coming to a decision point in the next year or so when the hours ran out, but didn’t expect it this soon!  Several other bits are also approaching their ‘lifetime’ and the whole engine only has about a years worth of hours left at our current flying rate so it’s not really worth spending the rather large amount of money to replace the camshaft.

This leaves us without a huge number of options.

For what we’d have to spend on an engine we might get another aircraft — but probably only one of similar age and condition with possibly similar problems and without the benefit of knowing the service history and money that’s already been paid out like we do with TOMS.

We could walk away and find other groups, but we all get on so well and the running of the group works so smoothly, and our flying patterns fit together so nicely, nobody really wants to lose that.

We could go fly rental aircraft (and having worked out the maintenance cost this year we’d have saved money doing that), but most of us are too fond of dawdling over coffee and cake to willingly go back to being tied to someone else’s schedule .

Or we take the plunge and buy a new engine.  To everyone’s slight surprise, this was the favoured option.  Almost all of us thought that everyone else would rather give up on the aircraft and look elsewhere.  Perhaps we’re more emotionally invested in TOMSyplane than we thought!

Only one person who hadn’t been able to fly much, decided to call it a day, and a some of us still have little-to-no clue where the money’s going to come from, but assuming we can find it, we’re in.  Probably we’ll look at taking on another share or two to spread the cost.  Can’t be that bad a deal — essentially they’d be buying into an aircraft with a shiny new engine.

On a happier note, the aircraft was ready to be picked up, and I once again found myself the willing ferry pilot.

Sleap was busy and the sky blue once again as I set off on the return journey.  I’d forgotten the GPS, today but the route was simple, apart from a slight detour around the rather large clouds over hills surrounding the Elan Valley, which I detoured around.

I do adore flying over the hills, and intend to make the absolute most of all my flying with such a ticking clock on the horizon!  I was already mentally scaling back a few longer trips this summer, both for finance and because it didn’t seem fair to use up such a large proportion of our remaining hours.

But for now the sky was blue, the wind was with me and there wasn’t another aircraft in sight.  Pretty day.

Horse before cart…

Along with what must surely be a world record for number of starting issues on one aircraft, we have now topped it off by having to have the aircraft repaired in order to actually fly it to the the 50 hour check!

No one else had managed to start the poor thing since my abortive attempt on Caernarfon and after trying a few things, including cleaning the primer jets and a complete new set of spark plugs it was finally reported as starting normally again.

Admitting to only a slight trace of doubt, I therefore voluntered to do the ferry run to our new engineer at Sleap.  (Caernarfon would have been the last flight before the 50 anyway.)

My doubts were washed away as the prop flicked over, once, twice to fire and catch on the third blade with no fuss at all.

Filled with relief, made the more pleasant by the cloudless sky, I taxyed out to the PAPI lights to await my turn at the ski jump that passes for runway 10.

I hadn”t been to Sleap before, and had dutifully read to NOTAMS (to discover an aeros competition in progress!) and got myself briefed, drawn my lines on my charts and copied across to PocketFMS, charged the PDA and was ready to go.

It was fabulous to be up in the air again, and I felt quite the scrounger for knowing it was a freebie on the group for the engineer run!  The railway below wound up the valley, acting as an easy guide for the first leg, as well as a useful line feature to keeping clear of the Sennybridge danger area.

It was nice to settle into the routine of navigation again too, so many trips lately have been to familiar destinations.  I was enjoying the challenge of spotting new landmarks, and for the most part resisted the temptation to gaze at the GPS (I did double check Llandeilo was really Llandeilo…)

Overcome by the novelty of cloudless skies, and aware of the limited options for landings on the lumpy hills below, I stooged on up to 6000′ leaned well and gazed around most happily, not that I clapped eyes on another aircraft.

London Info was heaving and I decided I really didn’t need them badly enough to do battle trying to jam a word in edgeways, so I jumped straight to Welshpool early and turned the radio down until I got close enough to be worth warning them of my presence.

All that high, quiet sunshine went some way to erasing the frustration of the previous month.

Sleap itself crept up on me while I was mulling over how exactly to sort myself out to join right-downwind for a 05 runway while approaching from the south west…  And do so without passing through the deadside — that’s where the upside down aeroplanes were to be found…

I was still blithely staring at Shawbury in the middle distance, in blissful ignorance, when during a scan for traffic I spotted the actual airfield dead ahead!

Shaking my head with a sheepish expression there was happily no one to see, I repositioned myself for an awkward little U-turn outside the ATZ for that downwind join.

Still dithering over that or the whole not-spotting-the-place thing, I missed the QFE and didn’t remember until shortish final, at which point I realised I hadn’t looked at the altimeter since downwind anyway.

With someone close behind I’d kept it tight and somewhat misjudged the crosswind, leading to a gentle but untidy and decidedly off-centre landing.

I decided to be generous and put it down to rustiness along with the missed QFE and late sighting of the airfield!

With the following aircraft now on final, I bailed off the runway at the end to let him land, before taxying back at the length of the airfield to the maintenance hangar, guided by the extremely helpful air/ground operator (a UKGAer I later discovered) — I’d never had found it otherwise!

With impeccable timing, Andy, the other half of today’s G-TOMS Ferry Team had just arrived after trolling the length of mid-Wales in the car to retrieve me.

We pushed TOMS into a tidy corner, introduced ourselves to the engineer and turned over keys and logbooks before heading for lunch.

The cafe was lovely, up in the tower with fabulous airfield views over the neat rows of tiny and brightly coloured aerobatics types awaiting their turn at the tumbling, twisting performances overhead.

Lovely airfield, one to return to when not under the duress of a aircraft check!

Caernarfon and more woes

Having been thwarted in my attempt to fly to the Bourne Bacon Butty event (turned up to find people landing on the disused because the crosswind had become so bad on the other two runways and thought it a bit rash to take off into that…) I’d only managed to scrounge up a quick fly round Gower in the past few weeks.

Caernarfon and the LAA North Wales Strut Fly-in was the excuse this time.  I’ve never had much luck with Caernarfon — weather having stopped all previous attempts.  Today, with broken cloud at 2500′ and a brisk breeze seemed more doable.  I bumped into one of the UKGAers Bryan on the apron — one of those odd face-to-name moments!

I uncovered and untied TOMS and collapsed the pushbike and manhandled it into the back with relatively little difficulty.

Checks okay, but then came the but.

We’ve been having intermittent starting problems for a while now, and I’ve been one of the luckier ones, avoiding the worse of it but today it was my turn to get bitten.

The prop thwapped over willingly enough but there was not firing happening.  I tried a couple of the more obvious things — waiting a while for things to cool, flooded start procedure, peering under the cowling for anything conspicuous I might have missed on the walkaround, but no joy.  After some head scratching I enlisted Derek from the Cambrian club who’d been having starting issues with one of there Tomahawks and who offered a jump.  Still nothing, so Bryan kindly offered one of the empty seats in his AA5 Tiger for the run up to Caernarfon.

I jumped at this way out of a sulky return home!

Fretting about the latest tech problem aside (our poor aircraft seems to have reached A Certain Age), it was quite pleasant to be a passenger for a while, I gazed out of the window, snapped piccys, and was quite content.

The cloud stayed high enough, just about, though the extremely large hills were very conspicuous, as was the massively tall mast just south of Caernarfon itself.

There wasn’t a vast amount of traffic but even so we managed to get behind someone on a lloonnggg slooowww backtrack and had to go around from the first attempt.  Caernarfon’s runway layout does tend to lead to this, and they have a procedure for backtracking aircraft which didn’t quite work this time.

Still we had another look round the hills and beach on a second circuit.  It really is a lovely spot.

On the ground there were some nice aircraft, a packed and shiny new cafe and a decent dinner to be had.  We didn’t go in the museum, I mentally added that for another day.

Nice spot, very welcoming, lots to see — not much more you could ask for from a GA field really!

If it’s not one thing…

Once again we were faced with trying to get TOMS home from the engineer.  With everyone busy, few opportunities presented themselves until a rather unsettled Saturday afternoon.

This meant a belt down to Devon from Cardiff, followed by a flight home, dodging the showers before confronting a gusty crosswind landing back at Swansea.

I surveyed the met reports very solemnly indeed.  Ending up at Dunkeswell after a 2 hour or more drive only to find it was too bad to come home would be no fun at all.

The visibility was excellent and the showers looked likely to be easy to dodge.  I ticked that point off and stared at the wind.  60 degrees off the closest runway heading at Swansea, at 20knots. 

Matters were simpler at Dunkeswell where it was a mere 20 degrees off one of their shorter runways.

I did question whether it was hubris developing but I felt, if not happy, at least content, with that.  It had been a flustery, windy winter and I was in more current crosswind practice than I’d been since relocating from Pembrey with it’s single runway.

It was close to the windest weather I’d flown in but not quite there and I decided to go.

Of course nothing with aeroplanes if ever simple, and after the troll down by car, we arrived to find the carb heat cable fixed, but the park brake broken.  A certain amount of wailing and gnashing of teeth ensued before some help from one of the airfield staff got us out of the tight parking space behind at hangar, refueled and ready to go again.

A phone call to Swansea to double check the weather resulted in a bizarrely protracted conversation with one of our air-ground staff who seemed intent on dissuading me from making the flight.

Not sure whether it was misplaced concern for my wellbeing or misplaced dreams of authority, though I’d like to be generaous and say the former.

In either case, I was already fully aware of the headwind en-route and the crosswind and the gusts I could expect on arrival, and could have done without the repeated pointed references to same.

It wasn’t as though I hadn’t already run it through my decision making three times already.  Once before leaving home, again on arrival at Dunkeswell and again two minutes ago as I prepared the aeroplane.

In any case if push really came to shove, there was hours of daylight and both Haverfordwest and Cardiff had more into wind runways if I arrived at Swansea and decided I didn’t like it after all.

Feeling irritated at having to justify myself, and not wanting to take my annoyance into the air where it would be a distraction, I refocussed on my checks and taxyed out to the far end of the airfield.

A few people were up and flying including some very intrepid parachutists — I think that’s about where Id draw the line in this wind!

TOMS leapt into the air quickly, and I settled down for what would probably be a slightly longer trip than usual in the northerly wind.

The visibility was even more outstanding from the air.  Almost disorientingly so — you saw landmarks before you expected to see them and then took ages to reach them!

I had to dodge fewer showers than I expected, though I saw plenty of them in the near distance, and one scattered a stunning rainbow around my right wing.

Hubris again maybe, but this was such a familiar route I barely looked at chart, or GPS except for interest to see how well the ground speed matched my guess.  About 20 knots less than the airspeed, and I decided to stick at 2000′ instead of go higher where it would be stronger still.

I didn’t bother with Cardiff’s “basic service” today and switched Straight to Swansea from Dunkeswell, enjoying the peace and quiet.  In spite of the freezing wind outside, the sun through the perspex was warm and comfortable.

An Aztec inbound to Swansea was the only other traffic about, landing a few minutes before I joined.

04 was the closest runway to the north-north-easterly wind, a nice runway to use if you are stuck with a crosswind.  Lots of space.

In the absence of other traffic I joined straight in, keeping an extra five knots of speed and one stage of flap on as I approached.

Concentrating more on keeping the approach stable in the promised gusts, I replied rather vaguely to air-ground’s query on my position.

“Long-err-ish final 04″

“Roger,” came a dry reply.  “Would you like the QFE-ish,”

I rolled my eyes.   Bet that visiting twin wasn’t subjected to wit on the r/t

“Affirm,” I said, though really I was more interested in looking out the window than a precise height by now.

The wind information followed, and had dropped to 15knots.  In spite of which, I still managed a less-than elegant touchdown.  I didn’t manage to quite get all the drift off as yawed the nose round, resulting in an indignant TOMS trying to make a break for the edge of the runway.

Quickly back on the centreline to roll out, and vacated to head back to parking.  No fuel to be had this weekend, so straight to the tiedowns to do battle with the cover — the wind seeming to pick up the moment I started trying to get the thing on!

I headed home feeling rather more relieved than anything — I like the run to Dunkeswell, but I’m getting heartily sick of constant mechanical problems with the aeroplane.  Surely there must come a point where everything that can go wrong, already has…

My gripes were unfortunately put into stark perspective the following day when one of the airfield regulars, who’d given me a jolly on one occasion, had an accident in a R44, resulting in it turning over.

Here’s hoping for a speedy recovery to all.

Busman’s Holiday

In the day job I do “techy stuff” and teach IT and “basic skills” to a assortment of unemployed adults and young people who are, in the horrible parlance of the powers that be, “disengaged from education” and have left school with few or no qualifications for whatever reason.

I’ll take whatever I can to engage them – which ranges from flying paper aeroplanes around the maths classroom and working out the fraction of a Smarties tube which are hyperactive-blue, to getting them to create blogs and projects on anything like they like, to using ”who wants to be a millionaire” style handsets for multichoice, on the the interactive whiteboard.

We also teach teachers how to use the IWBs and have started doing workshops for other training providers on best use of IT.

So when, I discovered the LAA and their Youth and Education Support bit had a IWB it seemed the logical place to offer my services.  We’ve taken it a few places like Splash where the Scouts were brilliant with it and more recently the Royal Berks Strut asked if they could borrow it for some stuff they do with Scout badges and for their open day, so I bounded up there to do a demo.

The original plan was to take TOMS, but a combination of mechanical problems and dreadful weather on the day put paid to that, and it was a train job.

What a gorgeous airfield White Waltham is.  Lovely club, lots of social side and enthusiasts of all types.  Grand evening.  I did my bit, then listened with pleasure to talks about the filming of “Dangerous Adventures for Boys” and the experiences of a Jaguar pilot in the first Gulf War.  (Who was also the first of the evening brave enough to get his hands on the IWB and collar it for use in his presentation!)  Must be that fighter pilot daring )

I left for the overnight B&B full of ideas and enthusiasm.

In no hurry to get home the following day I wandered back over to the airfield, explored the hangars, drank lots of coffee and eventually met back up with Mike, who’d organised the talk and loan of the board.  He had with him John, the builder of a dropdown gorgeous RV6A he’d finished building late last year.

Lovely aeroplane! (Photo from RVUK)

He asked if I want to go flying, and there’s only one answer to that isn’t there?

I love other people’s aeroplane and this one was especially attractive, beautifully built and finished and went like the clappers.

We bounced (rather solid steel undercarriage!) over the grass of Waltham’s ample runways and were up and climbing away. 

John handed control over to me one we were level and trimmed, and after checking we were quite clear the he was navigating (lots of airspace…) I happily stooged around getting the feel for it.

Lovely and light in roll, slightly disconcertingly light in pitch — my first few attempts at turns had me rocketing skywards!

As usual on the rare occasions I’ve flown this side of the country the difference in the scenery was striking.  Still pretty, but far more horizon than I’m used to — I’m lost without hills!

We overflew Greenham Common and admired the lovely little airfield at Brimpton. 

We flew over the “real life” Watership Down at Kingsclere, then a fantastic hillfort (Beacon Hill near Burghclere) that outdid my local favourite Hardings Down, and Highclere, the impressive stately home turned hotel, that had originally belonged to Lord Caernarvon.

It was about this point I realised we were really covering some ground — this was a fast aeroplane. 

I also realised that I needed for my own sanity to find out what “clere” meant in all those place names.  (This turned out trickier than expected when consulting Google back home — it’s either Middle-English for “clearing” or “claer” which is Welsh for “bright”, which seems a bit inexplicable but apparently might have been the name of a river or stream…)

John obviously knows his local landmarks well, perhaps this is a favourite route for taking flyers unfamiliar with the area.  Either way, I adored both the scenery and the handling of this fun little aeroplane.

John generously allowed me to fly all the way to final, talking me round the slightly convoluted noise abatement procedures as well as the join in place to deal with the fact that half the ATZ in inside the London TMA.

He took back control to put us down very tidily and taxy back in while I grinned and enthused.

Have I mentioned how I love other people’s aeroplanes…

Trusting the checks…

Had been invited to fly down to the Isle of Wight with another group member today

Glorious weather, planning and NOTAM all done, genned up on the new phraseology and as he was flying the first leg I was staring reasonably aimlessly out of the window until:

“That’s not much of a drop.”

I watched as he repeated the carb heat test. In fact it was no drop at all that either of us us could detect.

Back to the apron to investigate.

Cable snapped. Broken clean off at the point where it connects to the little moving lever arm that presumably operates whatever it is that changes the incoming air source.

Mildly alarming given that we’d been about to pile off on a hour and half flight, the first 15 minutes of which would be spent over the Bristol Channel.

Sunny day but hazy, I’m pretty certain there was enough moisture about to have really ruined our day.

After the fact I find myself wondering what I’d have done alone. We were both wondering as we taxyed back if we were over reacting. I hope I’d have made the same decision.

The part in question is easy to see with the cowling open and I do tend to give it a tweak. I didn’t do the walkaround this time and the other chap didn’t know which part that was so we’re really not sure at what point it broke.

The connection is via a sort of clamp held with a nut and I could turn the nut with my fingers when I investigated which I doubt is normal. I wonder if the fact that it was loose might have caused fatigue in the cable if it was moving in a back and forth instead of in and out direction (does that make sense? maybe not).

Anyway a salient reminder to me that a) power checks are there fr a good sound reason, not to be taken for granted, and b) it’s worth knowing what’s connected to what in that gobbldegook of cables under the cowling!

The usual haunts…

I haven’t been into Pembrey in a long time, it seems almost silly to bother from Swansea, even though I’m fond of the place.  So when there was a Flyer Forum trip there last Saturday, I straight away decided to go.  Someone else had TOMS booked, so plan A was the train and pushbike, but that was quickly replaced by an offer of a lift in Waveflyer’s very plush 182.

Since it was so close, we planned a quick turnaround, on the apron, and sorting out the landings later. 

TOMS had not yet departed, so I sat on the wing and watched Osprey Formation practice their twirlybatics, while I waited.

Soon enough Waveflyer arrived, and parked up beside WhiskeyLima, making me smile to myself — ‘WL is a slightly elderly C172 tricked out in the shiny, curvy paintscheme of a brand new 182, parked next to the real thing, she was fooling no one

We took off quickly and flew the short hop to Pembrey with me grinning around at this familiar patch of sky.

On arrival at Pembrey we could hear aircraft being directed hither and thither to park all over the place — I don’t think Pembrey had seen so many aeroplanes in years!

The cafe certainly hadn’t and was struggling to cope with the numbers.

Nevertheless, once the majority of the forumites had rearranged the tables to sit together as a mob, the wait for food was soon swallowed by conversation and introductions.

An enjoyable afternoon, then back into the air for the short flight home.  Gower was looking particularly pretty in the hazy sunshine, prompting Waveflyer to voice my own usual line at being able to do this – ”Aren’t we lucky.”

Too right!

The following day, TOMS was mine, and I’d initially planned another forumish trip, UKGA at Leicester this time.  The weather, while clear, was gusty and forecast changeable though, and the hours before the oil filter change were getting close.

I prefer to make a habit of only carrying one potential worry at a time, when flying, and hour-plus-weather made two.  I therefore decided that Haverfordwest and a family lunch was the fallback plan.  Closer to home if the weather turned, and familiar runways to offset the challenging wind.

I untied the aeroplane and jammed the cover under the heavy tiedowns, before straightening to gaze at the tossing windsock.  They were using 28, but the wind was a sharp northwesterly.

I ran through the checks and listened out on the radio.  320 at 17 gusting 22.  Interesting.

Oh well, I was probably due some more crosswind practise anyway.  Not for the first time, I was glad of having learnt back at Pembrey.  One runway meant that crosswind landing became less of a black art and more of a routine exercise!

I updated my mum with an ETA and taxied out.  Osprey were up and about again, though only a two-ship today. 

Last time I went to Haverfordwest I’d dawdled terribly on the way, but I kept it more or less direct today, apart from a brief detour to look at the new holiday village next to Oakwood park.  From the air it doesn’t look as big as I thought it was.

Haverfordwest were very prompt on the radio today, though the wind was, if anything, stronger across 27 and needed a certain amount of concentration.  I floated on, longer than I’d have liked, but there’s plenty of space.

I met up with my mum, and to my surprise my brother and his wife as well.  Uncharacteristically, the cafe had already officially finished serving hot food, and a rather literal-minded young member of staff baulked at serving us the remaining sausages clearly still visible on display.  Rather dismayed, we defected to the cafe at the department store down the road.

There was very little activity at the airfield in any case.  Although the sun was shining, perhaps the wind had deterred some.

Time had ticked on with the detour for food, so I didn’t hang about on arrival back at the airfield. 

With the wind behind me the trip home was considerably faster.  (I would be inclined to say it “flew by” if that wasn’t an outrageous pun” and I was back at Swansea in 20 minutes.

I then proceeded to make a muddle of the circuit, lack of forethought allowing the crosswind to blow me into a stupidly wide downwind position as a result of which I was forever on base!

Got it sorted out on final for a reasonably presentable crosswind landing.

I tied the aircraft down and shivered my way back indoors.  Roll on those balmy summer days!

A sudden urge to aviate

I hadn’t really planned to fly this weekend.  The aircraft is getting close to maintenance time again and I had hoped to sally off next Sunday to a UKGA “do”, and anyway the weather forecast was rubbish.

In point of fact even the METARs for Cardiff were rubbish Sunday morning, but the sun was shining and no one else had the aircraft booked and somehow I found myself looking at the weather, and the NOTAMs and slowly the desire to go and fly crept up on me.

I still had some doubts about the weather.  Cardiff was still giving low cloud and rotten vis, but all I could see out of the window was blue skies.  I eventually talked myself into it via a convoluted self-deluding logic that had me decided to pedal the shiny new pushbike out there and collect the new Pooley’s I’d bought.  That way (I told myself!) I was still doing something useful if the weather did suddenly decide to follow the forecast and scupper my flying.

I’d been meaning for a while to try out the pushbike option, it’s cycle paths almost all the way, bar one enormous and exhausting hill (I got off and pushed!), but there was something charmingly childish about cycling to the airport (freewheeling down the massive Killay hill was more hair-raising than anything in the air!) and the weather appeared to be holding.

The airfield was quiet given the weather.  Perhaps most people had believed the forecast, but I was warmed beyond measure to see one of the Vigilants up and flying.  There was an awful accident earlier in the week, two air cadets and instructors from St Athan killed in a mid-air and after such a tragedy it was unbelievably good to see young people on the airfield, still smiling, still flying.  In a world where knee-jerk reaction to accidents are so commonplace it was amazing to see the VGS operating more or less normally.  Since every single conversation on the field eventually got around to the accident, it must have taken great courage from those cadets to be there at all.  Frankly I wish I could bottle some of their remarkable spirit. 

What an incredible organisation.

Perhaps to people who don’t fly it would be surprising that I was so keen, almost desperately so all of a sudden, to go and fly, just days after an accident so close to home.  Maybe it was some subconscious sense of defiance that drove me, but the sky was blue, and TOMS started willingly at the first few turns of the prop and the windsock was the limpest I’d seen in ages.  It seemed the silliest thing in the world to ask, “Why fly?” when everything about the day asked why on Earth you wouldn’t want to.

So… rolling down the runway once again, wearing the usual silly grin as the wheels eventually left the ground.

I say eventually because I’d almost forgotten how much of a difference to the roll that limp windsock makes — it’s been decidedly windier the past few times I’ve flown!

Since the pushbike option had involved a certain amount of experimentation (I’m still wobbly!) it was a little late in the day for straying too far.  Also, the day’s NOTAMs had caused a moment’s pause since the danger area around Pembrey was additionally active for an hour at lunchtime for some reason. 

Perhaps they were clearing the practise ordnance, I gather they do that at weekends sometimes.  In any case it caused a moment’s pause and interruption to the mental litany of, “The danger area is never open at the weekends… never open at the… Hot damn, it’s open this weekend!”

I only boggled briefly, and in the end decided to wander around Gower then up north a-ways to see if there was any snow left on the higher hills.

Somehow however many times I fly around Gower there’s always something new.  Today the cliffs and caves seemed particularly sharp and clear, the causeway to the Worm was open and almost a dozen paragliders were soaring off Rhossili Down.

I dawdled at 1200′, a favourite sight seeing height, and the accident impinged rarely on my thoughts, now that I was airborne again.  I perhaps paused before deciding not to descend further to oggle the view — afraid that the walkers on the clifftops would also remember and be afraid for this little aircraft which was really only playing at diving and turning about.

I was perhaps more aware of lookout than normal.  Something that I’d ceased to consciously think as much on as I used to and I made a point of schooling myself to a “proper” scan pattern.

Whether I saw more aircraft than normal I don’t know.  I certainly thought about it more.  I tried harder than normal to spot the aircraft announcing themselves to air-ground, made a point of not assuming the one I saw was the one I thought it was, made sure not to stare at the ones I’d spotted instead of looking for others.  All those things we’re taught to do and which can so easily slip into habit or slip away.

In the quieter skies north of the city I flew over reservoirs and hills, and I did find the little traces of snow still on the heights above Ammanford. 

I’d been up an hour and was feeling quite content with my lot once again.  I circled round and headed back down along the Loughor for rejoin.  Two in the circuit and I slotted in downwind.

Landing, I floated on a bit so while the touchdown was gentle enough it wasn’t entirely my most dignified and I sailed straight past my normal exit!

I suppose there always has to be something that doesn’t go right!

I watched the fire engine getting a soap scrub while I waited for fuel then wandered back to the club feeling quietly satisfied with the day.