Chitchat with other pilots seems to suggest we all have at least one airfield which it seems as though we’re simply not fated to get to.  For me it’s been Caernarfon.

Prior to the day’s flying it’d been put off in succession, by:

• Weather
• Weather
• Weather
• Dead starter (Though Brian and BIBT  took pity on me and I went as a passenger on that one)
• Weather
• Weather
• Someone else’s aeroplane rolling down the hill and bumping into ours
• Weather
• Babysitting due extremely pre-ETA arrival of second tiny nephew
• Weather

The past two weekends had also been alternately wet or gloriously sunny while I was otherwise tied up.

Finally, in desperation and suffering junkie-like withdrawal I dipped into my annual  leave from work and took a Tuesday afternoon off to go flying!

I made it down to the airfield by about half past one and chatted for while over other people’s tales of woe for once (Poor Cambrian have had a pranged Tommyhawk and a wrongly impounded Cessna on their hands this month!).

I also took the opportunity to get the local gen on the rather vague NOTAM about Work In Progress on the runways.  This turned out to mean sweeping and grass cutting (and with any luck weedkilling to get rid of the bizarre green slime that nearly has me on my backside every wet day I visit)

They’d picked a good day for working on the runways though as there was nil wind and all four possible directions were a viable option.

I got given 28 and headed off.  A quick call to check there was no objection to be turning against the circuit direction to get straight on track to the north and I was away.

There was a suggestion of haze in the air but the visibility was generally excellent and I burbled along happily mulling over a difference a month makes.

Next week TOMS will be disappearing into the hangar for annual and a new engine and a month or so ago, the prospective cost of same had managed to finally push me off the rackety edge of being able to afford this shared ownership game.  I’d made  the decision to give up the share, told the group, examined options for alternative flying, made myself a new sketchy budget and almost managed to get over a certain amount of wailing and childish self-pity.

I’d paid my subs to the end of September and, making the most of it, went along to several fly-ins, smiling and trying not to wince as people chatted about TOMS and shareoplanes and future flying.

And then I got an offer too good to refuse and was reminded all over again how very lucky GA pilots seem to be in their friends.

So, hanging on my the skin of my teeth and the generosity of my mates and still airborne over the glorious Welsh coastline I swerved around clouds and called it an excuse for practising steep turns and had to resist the urge to shout and sing nonsense.

Caernarfon was quiet-ish and I joined downwind after slipping past the mast and high ground to the south and convincing myself I’d never make a fastjet pilots — the sight of hills higher than wings makes me feel decidedly wary!

I fancied a nose round the museum while I was there, so dawdled only long enough to snag a drink and kitkat in the cafe before heading across where an extremely keen member of staff told me a bit about the museum and ushered me in to the glorious muddle of wings and tails and murals.

It’s pretty packed and I could have spent most of the afternoon there — if it wasn’t already mostly gone and rapidly cantering towards 4 o’clock.  Lots of the aircraft have open cockpits you can climb up in and there was a chap building a Bleriot in a corner of the hangar.  I absolutely must go back with (older) nephew in trail, he’d adore it!

Since I wanted to catch the refuellers back at Swansea (that was is becoming a ‘for once’ as well!) I headed back out to TOMS, pulling a face at the sight of my rather untidy parking.

Up anf off again and an easy run home with entertainment en route provided by a Hawk who flashed past underneath me, somewhere down in the weeds, rolled well on the way to inverted before hauling round into a valley and disappearing.

Better nerves than mine!

I just about snuck in for fuel with five minutes to spare and some more novel R/T from Swansea Radio: “Golf Mike Sierra, you’re lucky…”

The ’sweepers’ were making use of the airfield JCB to move our Tie Down Blocks of Doom back into position, just in time too!

I’m a dawdler over putting the aeroplane to bed, and the light was going by the time I ambled out and headed home.

Well worth snagging the leave for!

A couple of days out recently, first of which was the (not-the) LAA Rally at Sywell. Fooling no one really, they were out in force! Over 600 aeroplanes all told, I gather.

I was along with the Youth and Education Support bit again, and although the wind and facilities prevented us setting up the techy toys, we did have a lot of interest in the Build-A-Plane (Speedy joined TSOB on the Saturday) and lots of kids pelting about in the pedal planes. I suspect we delayed rather a lot of parents, as we were set up right by the entrance / exit!

Even had a visit by a bride at one point – wedding reception at The Aviator and they apparently couldn’t miss the opportunity to get some pics out with the aircraft.

BBQ and hangar party to finish the day and the “Strictly Come LAA” dancing had to be seen!

I’d stuck up my tent behind the B@P bus, and kipped quite comfy.

Airside access had been a bit of a drama in the lead-up but common sense prevailed and it was lovely to see plenty of people wandering amid the aircraft. No one except the marshallers was yellow-jacketed and no one got mowed down by rouge props, so a result.

It was quite a sight on the Saturday afternoon at around 3.30, when the non-campers were starting to leave. I watched fascinated as almost 30 aircraft wound their way across the grass, taxying to depart. Impressive feat of organisation! Full marks to the marshallers and FISOs/ATCOs (not sure which but they did a cracking job!)

Second trip recently was a Flyer Forum “New PPL” fly-in at Wellesbourne Mountford, which neither me nor my fellow TOMS pilot, Malcolm, really had a good excuse to go to but which looked fun anyway!

The trouble with these things is always that far more people recognise me than I recognise, and indeed when I rang up for PPR, it was to a “Hello, Leia!” called over the shoulder of the person answering the phone as she repeated the registration – TOMS is, if anything, even more recognisable!

The weather for once in a way was absolutely perfect, and I had to revise my planning the opposite way to normal – from a detour around the hills back to a straight line!

I flew the outwards leg, and was extremely grateful for the extra pair of eyes on board as we were one of seven joining when we turned up. The slightly plaintive r/t from the aircraft behind us rather summed it up…

“Downwind, MANY ahead,”

Once again the FISO was well up to the job and astonishingly collected.

It turned out that the aircraft who taxyed in behind us was the Carlisle contingent of the group and we all piled over together, looking for a familiar face to formate on.

This was supplied superbly by Keef, as poor Craig who organised the whole thing had had to drop out at the last minute!

With the best flying weather in weeks, the cafe was packed with forumites and “normal” visitors alike, but lunch when it arrived was superb. We caught the end of Keef’s talk on flying abroad once we’d finished, then ambled over to the slightly startled Vulcan crew who’d expected the invasions somewhat earlier in the day.

Nevertheless they were very accommodating and welcoming to a small mob of pilots wanting to clamber up into their aircraft.

XM566 is very obviously an adored and pampered aircraft, the pride and affection in which she’s held by her supporters really shining through as they showed us around and answered a barrage of questions.

They were preparing for the annual open day and taxy runs the following day, which must be something to see. Definitely something to go back for. Since we were quite a large group this all took a while, and it was approaching time to head back again.

Malcolm was P1 on the homeward leg, so I spent most of the flight playing with the beta of “SkyAngel“. At least until the PDA battery coughed and died.

The shadows were already long by half past five as we squinted into the lowering sun – summer’s coming to an end again. Still it was mild and warm as we landed, just missing the refuellers, but in time to see the resident Strikemaster disporting itself over the field and bay.

Looks wonderful, but I’d not want his fuel bill!

The temptation to linger in the evening sun was strong, but eventually we wandered back, leaving the field to the last of the microlights still flying.

A few more nice September weekend would be favourite now!

More on the Flyer trip, with pics on the thread here.

Along with Project Propeller, the Burned Children’s Club Flying Day, at Bourn is one of my best excuses to get airborne!

Once again this year I was toting the chainmail making kit along and had also managed to kill quite a few evenings making up keyrings of the stuff for the youngsters to take away, since there was such a keen interest last year.

The weather forecast looked mixed all week and arrived wet but clearing on the Friday morning. I delayed a while for clearer skies then set up into patchy blue only to rapidly catch up with the retreating rain of the morning. The straight line over the hills was out so it was the usual skulk along the southwards route, crammed between the hills to the north and Cardiff’s control zone to the south.

The cloudbase was not actually all that low (the hills are very high!), but there were a lot of showers about and my head was on a swivel constantly checking left and right and especially behind to check I still have escape routes if it should threaten to close in on me.

Outside of the showers the visibility was really quite good making the flight rather strange and pretty. I could see the coast quite clearly, although separated from in by a veil of silvery rain, which streaked and shimmered the sky between. To the north, when the clouds parted I could see way up the valley to the high peaks of Brecon.

The cloud cleared up as I reached Newport and lower ground and I swung north to pick up something close to my planned track. Crossing the river into England just north of Gloucester I could see a line of rain which I suspected really was the rest of the morning’s downpours.

Shades of Project Propeller once again as I started trying to find a way around it, first south, then north, pressing eastwards where I could and hoping against hope not to find myself ending up diverting into Gloucester all over again.

I ticked off each landmark I reached, feeling gradually more hopeful. I bore cautiously north of Silverstone with its RA(T) for the Aerobatic World Championships though it was hard to imagine much twirlybatic flying going on in this.

Somewhere not long later it cleared up again, and stayed clear and pleasant for the rest of the trip.

Bourn was easy to spot, but trickier was picking out the current runway from the masses of disused tarmac. Traffic was pretty busy, but I still caught a “Hello, Leia,” on the radio!

Not quite oriented with the runways, I went for an overhead join to be certain, and was soon set up and ready to land. The excess of “old” tarmac fooled my eye once again and I ended making a rather low and flat approach to the threshold with cranes and bushes zipping past to left and right! Not my best approach ever, but down and taxying into to a wonderful warm welcome and lots of Flyer Forum-ish faces!

I see I've got the yoke well back on that tarmac...

Just in time for lunch too!

Quick bacon roll, then out with the chainmail gear, which had apparently been quite eagerly awaited to judge by the number of people who approached me as I set up.

It was nice to see some of the same kids back and their enthusiasm undimmed.

We had a very pleasant interruption to watch a display practice by a very attractive Pitts Special which taxyed in afterwards to great applause (I always forget what little aeroplanes they are!)

I’d found neon pipecleaners for the mail-demo this year and with typical creative they were subverted into a number of other decorations as well!

Aeroplanes and pipecleaners...

After the kids had been bussed off, the pilots soon fell to chitchat and comparing of aeroplanes and I got the twirl in Keith’s (or Keef’s in forumish) lovely Arrow which he’d offered me a fly of earlier in the week.

Keith most trustingly offered me the left-hand seat in the charmingly registered G-UTSY, even with my utter inexperience of complex aeroplanes and advised I treat it like a big Tomahawk. It was in fact a lovely well behaved aeroplane to fly, and I enjoyed it immensely. Rather more acceleration than a Tommy zipping down the runway, mind you! The speed picked up nicely and all was very comfortable. Nice going-places aeroplane. We did a turn around the circuit before slowing down (dangling the wheels helped!) and setting up for the approach. I did a slightly less dramatically low approach and was pretty pleased with the landing.

Nice aeroplane!

Cake was out by now and people were finishing up and starting to filter off home. Thoughts of encroaching weather were on people’s minds and I nipped on the computer in the office to have a quick squint. Similar to the rest of the day really – showers, but hopefully dodgeable ones. In any case there were plenty of alternative airfields en-route and with fuel sorted before leaving Bourn my only time limit was daylight. I had time in hand to detour as much as needed.

As it turned out the showery clouds had all collapsed into pretty, fluffy Cu, and I had a straight run home.

I’d once again leaned on the “on” switch of the GPS when stuffing in my bag on arrival so that coughed and died somewhere after Banbury, when I last looked at it and decided the groundspeed readout in the stonking headwind was too depressing to think about!

Two and a half hours it took, and I diverged from my course only to dodge Silverstone and look at a reservoir or two and a pretty ridge north of Neath…

Hmmm maybe I should just stop pretending to even try and fly in straight lines… What’s the hurry anyway When has the aim ever been to do less flying…

Pictures from the day are here and on the Flyer Forum

A cancelled passenger meant an empty seat alongside Andy,  another of the TOMS mob, and as I very seldom turn down flying, I pounced on it.

Andy fancied somewhere new and suggested Ireland so Waterford became the plan.  Neither of us had been there before, and since my last sally across the Irish Sea was a last minute change of plan from France, with a pile of borrowed charts and flight guides, I left the outward-bound planning up to him!

Derek from the club lent us a PLB for the crossing of all that wet stuff and we made a timely get away almost spot on the 10AM claimed on the flight plan (which Andy had managed to submit through the shiny new AFPEX system that I’ve not got around to signing up for yet.)

Swansea opened the plan for us and Andy changed to London Info.  It seemed we’d chosen a good day to fly west.  The east and south of the country sounded like something of a maelstrom of microlights and light aircraft, all in the throes of recreating Bleirot’s flight across the channel on the hundredth anniversary of same.

I did not envy the London Info controllers at all.  The frequency was packed and there was a certain amount of muppetry going on with several callers apparently having got airborne in glorious happy ignorance of the massive NOTAMed TRA surrounding the event!

Our route was a nice straight line, and Andy skirted the Haverfordwest ATZ and headed for St David’s to coast out.

London had a squawk ready for us to hand over to Shannon and sent us on our way with a “Fantastic” at Andy’s readback.  Perhaps they were just glad we were going in the opposite direction and off their hands!

Andy’d mentioned that the morning had still been misty when he’d left for the airport, and the clouds had only lifted so far.  It was clear over the water, but the Irish shore was identified more by the lowering bank of cloud than the coastline.  A certain amount of dodging and diving was called for to remain VFR, but following the coast suited our destination reasonably well anyway.
We seemed to be almost alone in the sky.  Both Shannon and Waterford were very keen to warn us about the solitary item of traffic, and we were informed we were number one to land, almost as soon as we entered Waterford’s zone!

We were both struck by how few and how small the built up areas were.  Waterford itself looked hardly bigger than Carmarthen, and at home people would have laughed themselves silly at the idea  of Carmarthen having a regional airport – even Swansea couldn’t sustain one.

But here we were, taxying up to park beside two extremely new and high tech fire engines and wander in to a neat, modern terminal.

The image broke down somewhat at the Security Checkpoint, where our details where carefully taken down – on a corner of a post-it note…

GA landings were dealt with at the information desk where we were also directed to a pilot’s briefing area where we could sort out the flight plan for the return trip (the old fashioned way this time – cribbing from Andy’s handout and getting the lady at the desk to fax it!)

Taxis into town were quoted at 20 Euro which seemed pricey so we dismissed the info-lady’s shocked, “It’s an hour’s walk!” and struck out on foot.

I should have known better after the Devon trip of course – people in airports (I thought I’d learned by now) never have a good estimate for walking distances and “an hour” was a rather optimistic guess.  Nevertheless we saw a bit of the surrounding area, learned what a lot of support the local hurling team had, and realised how few pubs did food as well, outside of the town proper!

Waterford was a nice little market town – and once we did reach it, we were spoilt for choice for food.  We found a nice place abeam a taxi rank (we did weaken on the way back!) and tucked into paninis and large cold drinks.

Back at the airport, we trooped once more through security –my hat set off the metal detector and prompted some waving of the scanner — and back out to the aeroplane.

We’d heard on the way in that people were calling to ask permission for engine start, but I utterly forgot that bit, then tried to listen to the ATIS with the volume turned all the way down and generally ruined any hope of sounding nice and professional…

Nobody called me on it though (maybe we were well enough hidden behind those new fire engines), and we were quickly given permission to taxy to the hold for our power checks and shortly after to line up.

A couple of other GA types arrived to prove we weren’t really the only ones here, but it was a short wait before we were cleared to take off.

Easy flight home along the coast, and the cloudbase had lifted a bit further by the time we reached the sea, and we were able to club nice and high and get well leaned back, resulting in a rather more efficient cruise than usual.

We coasted in around St David’s and looked down at Brawdy’s long runways, still in lovely condition.

Swansea had a bit of circuit traffic but nothing too frantic and I ran with my usual plan of heading for Three Cliffs and joining from there – it’s still my favourite landmark and handy for joining almost any variation of the circuit!

Downwind for 22 and a bit tight, I sort of skipped base leg in favour of one long turn to final, and nipped off at Alpha to clear the way for someone behind me.

We were in decent time for refuelling and I had the lazy job of sitting in and steering while Andy pushed TOMS back to the tiedowns.

Lovely day out, it still delights me that GA enables you to do silly things like “Ireland for lunch!”

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.

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.
After last year’s trip I was keen to return to Bolt Head under my own steam (and maybe actually find the campsite this time!) so that was to be the first night stop.  Swansea was again belaboured with intermittent fuel supplies, so first job was refuelling, and I opted for Plymouth as handily down the road from Bolt Head.

For the first time in a long while (maybe since the performance and planning exam!) I sat down and worked out the full weight and balance sheet, and runway requirements.  We’d be full of camping kit, and after refuelling, heavy with avgas too.

I’d packed the PDA with PocketFMS, but discovered on arrival at the airfield that I’d failed to update it with the news that I paid my subscription for another year!  So it was back in the bag with that and map and compass for the duration.  No harm there – it’d be moderately difficult to get lost on the routes I planned.

Swansea wasn’t too busy as we wandered up in the late morning, 22 was in use and after some careful packing and positioning of the heavier items we were airborne.  I cast a quick glance across the cockpit as we started the climbout, and met a broad grin.  Satisfied passenger to start the trip anyway!

I don’t fly in the week much and it was a bit of a new experience to have all the military airfields open and operating.  I talked to Chivenor, whose first transmission was utterly unreadable and eventually picked sense out of their second attempt while Lauren commented it sounded like a different language.  I actually had to agree with that assessment on this occasion – Gobblegook perhaps!

I pointed out Belle Vue as we passed, with a fond look for the recent weekend spent there with a mob of scouts and aviators.

Lauren did some flying on this leg.  “Awesome” was the verdict!

I’d planned in a dogleg via the reservoir Roadford Lake to miss the danger area D011 and the gliding site at Brent Tor.  I like big landmarks – especially without the benefit of the beeping box telling me which tiny village I’m looking at!

We didn’t see any gliders though, which given the weather made me a bit suspicious and had my neck on a swivel.  Maybe they were all at work!

Plymouth city eventually hove into view, but could I see the airport?  I could not.  Likewise could I find the reporting point – Yellerton?  I could not!  I should have looked at the map harder for features before taking off.  Shooting quick looks at it now, I couldn’t find anything distinctive about Yellerton to give me a clue.

After a few moments floundering and finally admitting I was not yet visual with the field, ATC asked me to transmit for VDF and gave me a direction to look in.  Followed by a check on my QFE as I’d drifted low with searching.  Muppet.

Still my passenger had the grace not to express out loud any reservations about the competence of the person she’d given her safety over to, and I joined the circuit without any further incident.  Perhaps to make up for being too low earlier I found myself too high on short final, and rather than go around, opted for a bit of a sideslip to get back where I wanted to be.

Quick fuel turnaround which would have been quicker still if either myself or the refueller had remembered I needed to pay a landing as well before hopping it!  Landing was reasonable for a biggest airport though and the refueller tremendously apologetic about the price of avgas, which only actually topped Swansea’s hit and miss supply by a few pence.

Airborne again and a short run along the coast to Bolt Head barely required even the map.   I made a pass along the runway to have a squint at the windsock and remind myself of the layout.  I was heavyish for the length and wanted to get it right. Plymouth listened out for us all the way to safe touchdown which was a trace bouncy – whether down to me or the strip is an open question!  I’ll go ahead and blame the hard, dry ground and a few clods!

We taxyed in beside the imposing old radar station buildings and shut down in the afternoon sunshine.  The plan was set up camp then wander into the village.

We managed the first part…

It turned out the route into the village was in the opposite direction to last year’s attempt, but we got distracted looking for Bolt Head itself, which after a very scenic walk turned out to be a marker post in the ground…  Not the civilisation we were in fact looking for.

Presumably we should have taken the Salcombe path, but hey we were back within sight of the strip and the caravan park was surely in the other direction…  We did ask directions once.  Or twice.  Eventually we found it, and refreshed we even managed to find the actual footpath back to the strip in place of our convoluted route.

Time out 2 hours.  Time back 10 minutes.

Not for the last time…

Camp TOMS

Lauren had been on food duty for night one, and had brought the necessary for BBQ, which we enjoyed in the cooling evening air before amusing ourselves with my favourite outlandish card game which I’d slung in the pack as an afterthought.  Fluxx has to be played to be believed but it entertained us for some while.

The night stayed warm, and we both slept well.  Same couldn’t be said for the local bird-life who were all up at 4AM in an almighty dawn chorus.  I slept again once they’d calmed down a bit but eventually woke up irretrievably at around 7.30 to a very pretty, slightly misty morning.

I boiled up some coffee on the Magic Green Cooking Goo, that had been another impulse buy as a handy alternative to camping gas and sat quite content as the day warmed.  Lauren woke a bit later, by which time I was puttering around, de-bugging TOMS and wiping the overnight dew (and more bugs) from the wings.

Land’s End was the plan today and we wanted some time to wander, so while we were in no rush, working to no one’s timetable (even our own!) we didn’t dawdle at Bolt Head once we were awake and fed, eventually leaving at around 10:30.

Pleasant run along the coast, talking to the very helpful Plymouth Mil to keep out of the danger areas, and with Lauren now in charge of the camera, snapping at towns and coast, and a few of the Eden Project’s glasshouses.  She also proved to have a good eye for traffic.

Land’s End wanted us to join from the north so we cut across to St Ives and down to the usefully conspicuous Pendeen Lighthouse VRP.  The airfield itself proved trickier to spot and I’d already been overtaken (twice!) by a rather attractive RV6 before I spotted the place.

We were offered 12, but I opted for the crosswind on the rather longer 16 as we were still relatively full of fuel and gear.  This seemed reasonably routine as ATC gave us the runway length on both when they offered it.  We were amused on the way through our overhead join by ATC’s calm but rather resigned response to someone ahead of us landing on the wrong runway.

Aircraft: “I did look for the numbers…”

ATC: “They’re quite large.”

They were and happily I was spotted them without trouble for a reasonable touchdown.

There were a fair few aeroplanes already at visitor parking and once ATC knew we were staying overnight they popped us right up at the far end with a request to get as close into the fence as possible as we were quite near the hold – the grass it appears is all taxiable and people seem to opt for straight lines between runways.

We tucked ourselves in as requested, but decided this time to leave setting up the tent for later.  We wanted to explore.

Quick lunch at the airfield coffee shop, watching the tourists embarking for the Isles of Scilly, then we got some rather directions from the chap at the counter and struck off.

The directions proved to have been given by a habitual motorist and were wildly out on the timescales involved by foot!  Once again we found ourselves trogging through extremely pretty scenery, while extremely lost, only to emerge and find ourselves once more within sight of the airfield, albeit one hill further over.

The conversation started to fall into a pattern and Lauren became used to my complete lack of coordination on the ground as I tripped over every tree root and pebble in our path.

Bridge to...?

“It must be a path – it’s got a bridge.”
“Why would someone build a bridge over a wall?”
“Let’s see what’s round the next bend…”
“Cool rock!”
“The sea is that way, we must be vaguely on the right track…”
“Did you just trip over again?”

Eventually we stopped once again to ask directions and buy ice lollies at a local campsite and got a rather more direct route, via the beach.

We stopped for a paddle at the pretty Sennen Cove, and checked again for directions, (3 hours out so far).  We would reach Land’s End if it killed us!

More pretty coast, and plenty of walkers suggested we were on the right trail and eventually we arrived at the “First and Last House”.  Triumphant, but tired we were more interested in finding a First and Last Bar so after a few souvenirs and a stick of rock, we settled ourselves with Cornish cider, overlooking the Longships Lighthouse and relaxed.

See -- we were there!

While in search of the footpath on the way out of the airfield we’d been passed by an open topped bus from Land’s End to St Just’s so deduced that would probably be a nice easy way back.

It certainly was quicker, but Britain is perhaps not the spot for open topped anything – it was screamingly windy up there!

The airfield was shut, but not locked by the time we got back, and in any case we’d been advised to simply hop the fence!  It wouldn’t have been handier open though as one of the things it turned out we’d forgotten to do was fill the extra water bottles for cooking.  A bit of creativity was therefore needed for dinner which ended up involving soaking the couscous in the pasta water.  Mmm, starchy goodness!

Still we were fed, watered and sleepy.  Ready for an earlyish night after a few more hands of Fluxx,  as I finally broke Lauren’s almighty winning streak!

We were woken the following morning by a dawn chorus of a different sort in the form of the first Twin otter flight of the day steaming down the runway.

The visibility had gone downhill a tad this morning and after breakfast I phoned St Mary’s to discover a broken 700′ cloudbase.  I wasn’t too keen on that.  Not when sallying out across 30-odd miles of open water trying to find a handful of little islands without aid of the beeping box.

We packed up the tent, swivelled the aircraft around for a quick getaway and then migrated to the café proper, which seemed well geared up for waiting pilots, with aviation murals on the walls and a pile of flying books on shelves besides the comfiest window seats.

Waiting for the weather

More Fluxx, coffee and cake, interspersed with ‘weather’ calls, passed the morning reasonably pleasantly until, as lunchtime approached we finally got a CAVOK and headed out to fly.  In all my concern for landing and taking off at the shorter Bolt Head was quite relaxed on the relative length and nice smooth grass here – bit too much so as TOMS launched a concerted effort to take to the air before actually going fast enough to stay there.  A series of ungainly hops and skips preceded our final departure from the ground and left me rather chagrined and reminded of the folly of assumptions!

With PocketFMS still thinking me a debtor and with only a solitary, rather elderly VOR to back up the compass as we headed off into the hazy blue, we had to give a regretful “neither” to Land’s enquiry as to whether we’d be using DME or GPS.  Instead they gave us Wolf Rock Lighthouse as a reporting point (which we never did find through the haze) and I ended up using the timing from our coasting out point to give them mid-way estimate instead.

We’d been asked if we could accept 1500′ for the crossing which is lower than I’d normally enjoy for a longish water crossing, but it was a busy bit of airspace and the odds of meeting another aircraft seemed to distinctly outweigh the odds of the engine choosing those particular minutes to throw a cog.  1500 it was and we stared about into a world of blue, the slight change in shade and the ripples on the water the only indicator which was sky and which sea.

Blue!

We were handed over to Scillies Approach shortly after my call, and asked to report at the Eastern Islands, at which point we were offered a circuit of islands before landed which we happily snapped up.  I’ve been once before but it blows me away, this little flotilla of islands hidden away down here.  They look like a little piece of the Mediterranean transplanted to southern England.

By the time we’d finished our little circuit the rest of the traffic had arrived and we found ourselves asked to orbit, before being directed in as number two to one of the Twin Otters.  Uphill on runway 09, the same as the last time I landed here – I’d made a bit of a lumpy job of it too, so was concentrating furiously on getting it right this time, and was rewarded with a gentle touchdown and slowed to almost taxy speed by the top of the hill.

We parked in front of the same sleek, black RV6 as we’d encountered at Land’s End – someone else on holiday?

Today was a day for taking it easy and we weren’t spending long on the island – we were both starting to tire and Lauren was extremely sunburned.  We ambled down the hill to town in search of lunch, and more importantly icecream!  I remembered the way almost well enough to not lose us this time.  In any case the detour was shorter…

We dawdled over souvenirs before heading back and I perched on the wing in the sunshine to phone Perranporth where were planning to pick up fuel on the way home.  I also tipped off Swansea that we’d be arriving back after hours and got a warning about a Hercules which might swing past to do a practise missed approach.

Quick visit to the Tower to settle up with the very friendly staff, then it was back on with the lifejackets, and a careful taxy down the hill to the runway threshold.  I set up for a shortfield departure but was determined not to get launched prematurely this time and was caught muttering “stay down!” to TOMS like some sort of disobedient mutt.

“Ermm.  I talk to aeroplanes,” I explained as we climbed away.

“I noticed,” Lauren said, but she seemed amused rather than daunted by this less than professional approach!

Perranporth was an easy run, and easy to spot, perched on the clifftop, the approach over which was sufficiently distracting that I ended up high and fast on my first attempt.  Opted for a go around and looked determinedly at the runway not the cliffs on the next attempt for a tidy enough landing.

Topped up with fuel, and took advantage of some help to push back to a parking spot.  Yellow jackets were waved off with a “You don’t need that here if you don’t want to,”  Lovely!  We chatted  and paid up in the tower before going in search of cold drinks to sustain us for the last leg.  Lauren was flagging and hit the Red Bull!

This time we really didn’t linger and once watered and briefly rested, we were up again for the run home.

Next pilot in the family?

Lauren did some more of the flying, improving all the time as she got used to the controls and discovered it was easier to maintain straight and level with one hand and a lighter touch, something I remembered vividly for myself when learning – one of my main offences was hanging onto the controls too tight and veering all over the sky every time I wanted to make a tiny adjustment!

Newquay gave us an excellent service, first time I’ve talked to them, and the traffic density had eased as the day came to the end, and we seemed to be the only up still up and flying in the early evening sunshine.  Chivenor had gone home by the time we called them, so I flicked to London Info, for the mental security blanket of talking to “someone” on the final overwater segment.

Swansea was long closed, but Swansea Traffic was still populated by a small swarm of microlights on the Round Britain rally, most of whom seemed to have magically loaded almost as much camping gear as we’d stowed in TOMS!  Shortly after I came to a halt back on TOMS’ tiedowns, we were all interrupted by the aforementioned Hercules.  To judge from some of the facial expressions on the other pilots, not everyone had had the warning I had!

Sleepy the moment I kicked the front wheel chock into place I stumbled and fumbled through tieing down and covering up the aeroplane before flopping into the passenger seat of Lauren’s car and turning the transport arrangements over to her.  (and another can of Red Bull)

Almost 5 hours flying, (one of which was my hundedth ‘in command’), 4 new-to-me airfields and a cracking few days, featuring everything that so great about GA – little airstrips, accommodating airports, friendly people, fun, and a complete absence of timetables and check-ins.

Only way to holiday!

Intrepid Campers!

More photos in the Facebook Album

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.

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!

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!

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.