After work flits

Possibly the very best thing about being at Old Park is the evening flit after work and my first one of the year came on the 11th of April (yes, again I’ve very late writing this up…)

Pretty much the first nice day since the clocks going forward and amazingly we seemed to be the only ones there.  The wetter weather showed though – walking the hill I could hear the land drains people have dug hither and thither around the hangars gurgling away.  An odd, incongrous sound in the absence of any visible running water!  But it was the only sound, apart from the bird calls and the clatter of wings as a buzzard took off at my approach round a corner of a hangar.

Aeroplane tugged out and after a certain amount of coaxing to start the silence was broken by the mighty clatter of two stroke cacophany.  Steve was along tonight and having jumped outto investigate the starting interruption walked up to the top of the hill where I collected him again and we went for a fairly aimless burble along the coast to have a peer at the new campus hurtling up there.  Then back over Neath, with a tootle around the fair a wave at a mate in a pub below and then a brief sortie up over the hills before tuning back for the coast – where up at still bone chilling altitude I showed of the X’Air’s silly but lovely utter docility at the stall before descending with an almighty sideslip.

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In spite of the soft ground there was a further sign of impending summer on landing – the aircraft covered in dead bugs to scrub off instead of mud…

A few days later and post-permit a visit to “just put fuel in” became “we’ll just sort that pipe out” became “We’ll just run the engine up to test” became “Well now we may as well fly…

And in any case the grass was all new-cut sharp edges, green and gold in the sunset and the shadows so heavy and dark that the light itself seemed syrupy thick as though it was the light and not the air that’d lift you up and all just too pretty to stay down on the ground…

One of those evenings you can see every contour.


Or last night, running full tilt to catch the bus over to the field to escape a working week’s full of stress crammed into one day, by fleeing into the sky.  Every earthly concern blown away in the whistle of wind and clatter of engine and chatter of an excited young passenger, son or nephew or other junior relative of a friend of a friend who was there when the seat was empty and had helped with the hangar doors…

Yep.  After-work flying must be some of my favourite sort…

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