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Aviation History
1953
1953 - 1345.PDF
9 October 1953 499 too, but as these have been specially diverted, one should not encounter them on a conventional approach, and one soon realizes the truth in the claim that, if one can fly and land at Dunstable, then one will have little difficulty elsewhere. Especially intriguing is the experience of missing the first crest and flying (at twelve inches above the ground) down and up the sides of the gully before finally touching down on the far slope. The club member who manages to fly his Gemini on and off the field for aero-tow purposes has my deepest admiration. On Tuesday came my introduction to ridge soaring, with about 20 minutes in die two-seater in some very bumpy hiS-lift. Being able to arrest the previously inevitable sink to the ground by using the rising air over die hill was a new and thrilling experience, as was being able to overtake a raven, poised with curled wings and rising in a strong thermal. For the first time I took an active interest in the up-and-down indications of the variometer's green and red balls: in general these agreed with my own sensations, especially when the up- or down-drafts were strong, but occa sionally I doubted the high rate of descent shown. The parallel in technique and feeling with yachting was empha sized as we used the wind to crab along the ridge while maintaining height, and as I slowly began to learn the elements of hill-soaring. For the first few beats the sight of the ridge-top people and activi ties (a golf course and a swimming pool were prominent), seen slowly moving from a relatively low altitude, was especially novel, as was that of Whipsnade Zoo's hillside lion, penguins and polar bears. Wednesday provided an excellent and full day's flying. My first circuit was a solo check with George in the two-seater. I realized after the event that I should have been expecting it; nevertheless, the dummy cable-break half-way up the launch came not only as a loud bang but also as a complete and alarming surprise. "What are you going to do about it?" asked George, after I had instinctively put the nose down. "A quick circuit," I replied, with more confidence than I felt. My height judgment was apparently reasonable, however, for the intention seemed an acceptable one, and its execution brought no calamity. I was now deemed safe for solo (having sampled the T.21's docile stalls and spins on previous circuits), and was about to flap—meta phorically speaking—my own wings. Indeed a proud prospect for me, albeit possibly a risky one for the London Gliding Club's Tutor. The Tutor, externally, appeared a pleasant and conventional machine. As I inserted myself in the cockpit, however, I realized that someone had disturbed its conventionality by removing the instruments. A gliding joke, intended to frighten would-be soloists—an uncompleted D.I.—panel removed for checking? Slowly the further realization dawned that this was no joke, no incomplete D.I., no panel removed. This was deadly serious. I was actually expected to fly the thing that way. In solemn mood I tested the controls for movement; that of the harmonium-type rudder pedals seeming quite appropriate to the dark mournful music I alone heard at that moment. In a last desperate attempt to reassure myself, I observed that neither birds nor the four other pupils who at that time had soloed on the course carried instruments, either. But then, Flight's Gemini did. . . . Such reflections were cut short as the cable tightened and the Tutor began to move. Having been told that the Tutor tended to rise more steeply than the T.21A, I over-corrected and con sequently climbed rather shallowly for the first part of the launch. The feel of the new machine came easily, though, and then I was at the top of the launch, as if riding an airborne steed, holding its head high in the air and with an exhilarating feeling of power, anticipation and enquiry before putting the nose down and around and into the circuit groove. Really, who wanted instruments at a time like this? Judgment of the circuit and landing run was little different from that in the two-pew: if anything, rather easier because of In the groove; the author brings the Tutor in through the "tradesmen's entrance" (0 conveniently clear gully approach) after a circuit. the livelier response of the Tutor's controls (dare one say, more like a real aeroplane?). My main faults were again a tendency to fly too slowly in the rather strong wind and, I was told, with one wing down; and what I thought to be a rather well-judged landing on the first crest but which was deemed too near an undershoot. The remainder of the day for the proud Tutor pilots was spent in circuits, and more circuits (with the occasional thermal circle). My second and third flights qualified me for my "A" and "B" certificates and a large round of lunchtime drinks in the bar. Of the five of us who had reached "B" stage, undoubtedly the best pilot was John Reynolds, a 16-year-old Felstead schoolboy and the youngest person on the course, whose natural ability to fly very nicely judged circuits and circles was outstanding. Inci dentally, his interest in gliding had followed a landing in an Olympia by Dan Smith, the club's C.F.I., in the grounds of his school. Doing our best to equal Reynolds's nice flying were Arthur Keeler (another power pilot), Richard Godwin-Austin (a medical student), Leonidas Contostavlos (known simply as "Jim") and myself. As circuit practice continued, we came gradually to know the Tutor better, including what to do when one "runs out of rudder" on a final turn uncomfortably close to the hill. Over-con fidence and unconventional circuits were guarded against by the Damoclean threat of relegation to the two-seater should caution and good judgment not prevail. Threat or no threat, there remained an increasing fascination in the whole business of gliding. One gradually came to accept the idea of someone else sponsoring one's ascent by pulling on the end of a piece of wire —-indeed this almost seemed the natural thing to do. The local topography became better known, and instructors' exhortations to "watch the lynchettes" were recognized as references not to diminutive punishments for errant birdmen, but to prominent agricultural landmarks downwind of the field. Solo on the Ridge The wind was directly on the hill on Friday morning, a good sign for "C" aspirants (five minutes' solo soaring was required for this certificate). After twenty minutes' dual on the hill and one Tutor circuit, we were in turn able to take the Tutor up into the strong hill-lift. This proved an exciting and satisfying experience and, even if we were not actually being birds, it was certainly the nearest approach to acting like a bird that we had yet made. "Much better than circuits" was the unanimous and understating comment on our first hill solos, each of which was of 20-30 minutes' duration. Moving slowly sideways just above the line of the 200ft-high hill, one had time both to improve one's flying and to notice details on the ground—Dunstable town, for example, spreading below the far side of the "bowl" end of the ridge, could now be observed at leisure. With no variometer in the Tutor, thermal-seeking was neither advisable nor profitable, although one could take advantage of obvious lift by turning and crabbing back slowly in the reverse direction when it was experienced—provided one looked round for other aircraft first. The proximity of other gliders and sailplanes over the ridge did require a sharp lookout at all times, particularly on the busy following day, Saturday, when there were often some 12 machines in the air. The slow relative motion and the ability to hover by turning direcdy into a strong wind lessened the hazard consider ably, however, and indeed made the slow, close and sideways passing of another machine a pleasant novelty. The frequency with which another aircraft, seen from the corner of an eye to be approaching from the rear, turned out to be one's own tailplane, was embarrassing but (on the ground later) amusing. Also reported by one able-bodied "C"-man was his alarm at the sight of his own shadow on the ground being steadily approached by that of another machine, which on feverish search was nowhere to be seen (but which actually appeared some 150ft above him). The sight of the long week-end queue for two-seat instruction emphasized the advantages of taking a full-time training course. Learning to glide at week-ends over a long period can be a slow (and, even for the keenest, a frustrating) business. By gliding, talking gliding and living gliding for a whole week or fortnight, it can be a lot of fun. Thus, with a series of rewarding half-hour flights over the ridge, my week at Dunstable ended. I had enjoyed a good week's flying, and the companionship of experienced pilots and other learners alike; I had received a week's disgustingly healthy exer cise in the open air, sore feet from retrieving, and my "C." What this all added up to was a brief first taste of the fascination—and satisfaction—of gliding. For those whose thoughts are in the sky, there can be no finer sport. Given the wind, the sun and the sky, were engines necessary? I think not.
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