Outlanding stories: Wet wet wet at Pickering

It’s funny how my most memorable landouts seem to happen when flying competition tasks. Whether it’s because the tasks are sent into more unfamiliar territory, or that I push myself further, I don’t know. But here’s another one from a couple of years back.

It was one of the more successful (weather-wise) Northern Regionals. I think that year, we flew 6 days out of 9, which given the track record of recent years in the UK, was quite good. Saying that, on this particular day we had been set a short task of only 100Km. The met. man had predicted a short weather window, so a short racing task was in order.

The first leg of the task was quite fast and enjoyable. For once I was ahead of ‘the pack’ as we went around the first turning point. The second leg was also fast initially, but the sky ahead was getting increasingly dark, with a distinct line of cloud ahead. As I got closer, I could see that it was raining under the cloud. However, it looked like a relatively narrow band of cloud, and I had a lot of height. I was still way above cloudbase, so I raised the flaps a notch and increased my speed to dive under it. Luckily, the LS6C flies quite well in rain!

The glider was soon quite wet, and we were inevitably losing height. As we came out from under the rain, I could see the second TP ahead. Pickering lies where the ground starts to slop up towards the moors. The town itself was in sunshine, and I could see a quarry behind the town that was facing into the sun (and the wind), so I thought it would be a likely spot for a thermal. I headed towards it, passing over the TP as I went.

I reached the quarry quite low, and a weak burble on the vario gave me hope. But unfortunately, the weak burble was all I got. I decided to go back over the town, now at around 1000 feet above it. Nothing there either. I decided that the squall line I’d passed under had probably killed the thermals, and it was taking some time to re-cycle. But, looking up, the sky was clear blue, all the way over the moors and to the coast. Oh dear… perhaps that was a sea-breeze front that I had passed under.

I was now down to 700 feet and I had a field picked. It was a very large field next to a main road, and had two gates. There was a tree in the middle of it and people at one end, but the field was so large that there would be plenty of room for me. As I watched, one of my fellow competitors landed in it. And then I hit a thermal.

Seizing my chance, I turned hard into the weak, narrow thermal. Half a knot. Oh well, it might develop into more if I could stick with it.

I must have sat in that thermal for a good 20 minutes, trying to make it work. But I just couldn’t make any headway. I’d gain 50 feet, then lose it. I kept tracking into wind, to try to find the next bubble of the thermal, and occasionally I’d was rewarded with another half-knot burble. But eventually the thermal dissipated, the lift turned to sink and I realised I’d have to land. I was now down to less than 600 feet and in a good position for a circuit for my chosen field. One final check of the field, and then I put the gear down and committed to landing.

The landing itself was uneventful, and the field was truly massive. As I taxied up alongside the Discus that had landed previously, its pilot gave me a cheery wave. I wandered over the speak to him after I’d rung my hubby to come and fetch me.

We’d landed in the field used for the Pickering Showground, two days prior to the show. The group of people were setting out markers and posts at one end of the field, and one of them walked over to us and told us that the main gate to the field was locked and they didn’t have a key. The other gate to the field was open, as some workmen were working on a new roadside pylon and had their machines in the field. However, they were due to leave at 4.30 pm and would be locking the gate behind them. It was already 3.30 pm, so we didn’t have much time!

At that point, a third glider (ASW27) joined us in the field. We gave its pilot the bad news, and he rung his crew to tell them to hurry. If we didn’t get the gliders out by 4.30, it looked like we would have to carry them all out over the fence!

Luckily, the Discus pilot’s crew arrived just then. We planned to get his glider into its trailer, then use that to block the gateway and prevent the workmen from closing the gate, if necessary. My trailer arrived shortly after, and we de-rigged my glider. The ASW27’s pilot’s trailer arrived just as we shut the lid of my trailer, so we de-rigged his glider too. We were all done by 4.25pm, just in time! We all left the field with a huge sigh of relief, as you might imagine.

It just goes to show, even when you think a field looks perfect from the air, there can still be something in it which can spoil your day!

Outlanding stories: Bird-watching in Hampshire

I’ve just logged in to my blog and am amazed at the stats. You lot must have nothing better to do at the moment, judging by the number of views of my blog! But thanks for reading 😉

I was just recounting the story of an outlanding I made years ago to a friend, when it occurred to me that glider pilots seems to end up in some very funny situations. Most glider pilots will have listened to takes from other pilots of daring-do, usually to do with an outlanding! I have my share of those tales.

Because it’s Winter, nearly Christmas, and we’re all bored, here’s one such tale from my collection.

Several years ago (when I was still young) I took part in the Junior Nationals out of Lasham. I’d never flown in the south, in such a busy area of airspace, and I was finding the whole experience quite daunting. I hadn’t done many ‘long’ cross-country flights either, so one day, when we were sent on a 300Km flight around some of the busiest airspace in the UK, I was more than a little nervous.

The flight itself wasn’t too bad, but due to my lack of experience, was ‘slower than the second coming of Christ’ (an expression borrowed from fellow pilot Andy Wright). I was still flying 6 hours after take-off. And it was only a 300Km task.

I rounded the last turn point in the task with a feeling of desperation. I wasn’t far from Lasham, only about 30Km, but I had been flying for a long time and I was getting desperate for the loo. Those women who’ve been in a similar situation will know that having a full bladder becomes extremely distracting. You begin to feel EVERY little bump of the air, and it becomes almost impossible to concentrate on flying.
I realised that I had to land, there was no choice, other than to wet myself and ruin my parachute (which was the type that you sit on). Parachutes are expensive and I wasn’t going to do that!. I picked a massive field, which had a Tumulus (an ancient burial mound) with long grass and bushes in the middle of it. I landed in the middle of the field, aiming to stop near the Tumulus. Before the glider even stopped, I was unstrapping, throwing off my parachute, and opening the canopy. I jumped out and ran towards the mound, unzipped my trousers… and oh… the relief!

Needs met, I returned to my glider and rang my hubby to let him know where I was. I also went to the farm, which turned out to be a 6-figure horse-training stable. None of the staff seemed to speak English, and there was no-one in at the farm. I started walking up the road towards the village I’d seen before landing, as I didn’t think Chris would find my field on his own.
I met a woman walking her dog, who told me that the village was about two miles up the road, so off I went. The road seemed never ending, and I was beginning to doubt that I’d get there before Chris drove through. Several cars drove past me without stopping. Just as I was starting to despair, a car came up behind me and pipped its horn. I turned to look, and a friendly-looking man was waving at me. He offered me a lift to the village… and trusting naive little me took it. I felt instinctively that I could trust him.

I jumped in to his car, and we drove off up the lane. As we drove, he said he’d seen me land. I asked where he’d been, and he said he’d been bird-watching in a hide at the side of the field.
Luckily, at that moment, we reached the village and he dropped me off. I said goodbye then waited until he disappeared out of sight before collapsing onto the verge in a fit of embarrassed laughter. He must have seen the whole thing… the landing, the Tumulus… etc.

I guess when he went bird-watching that day in Hampshire, he got more bird than he bargained for!

 

Sometimes I’m so glad there are people you’ll never ever meet again.

A cross-country task and a landout!

When I wrote the previous post, the weather forecast was for only one day of soar-able weather over the Bank Holiday weekend, and that day belonged to my hubby. We duly rigged the glider on Saturday morning, and he went and flew, but the weather conditions weren’t as good as forecast, and he was back on the ground within 2 hours. He was very disappointed, but you can’t help the weather!

We were very surprised to wake up the next day and see clear blue skies. RASP and other forecasts were indicating it would be another good day (2 good days in a row??), and it was my turn to fly!
Just for the practice, I planned a task. I haven’t flown many cross-countries since my son was born, so I planned something fairly short: Sutton Bank, Pontefract, Leyburn, Wetherby, and then back to Sutton Bank for a total distance of 221.4Km. I thought that would be a good task to get me back into the swing of things.

Conditions looked good late morning, so I joined the launch queue and took off at just after lunch time.

Conditions were indeed reasonable, and I released from the aerotow at 1300 feet above Sutton Bank, joining fellow club member Rob Bailey in a thermal just over Bagby airfield. I hung around the club for a while, getting a feel for the conditions and re-familiarising myself with my glider. Then I got into a good thermal to cloudbase and set off on task.

The first leg of the task was reasonably good, getting to Pontefract in around 35 minutes. Coming north again, I caught my best thermal of the day, with an average of 6 knots, back to cloudbase. It was never quite that good again. Slowly I made my way north, topping up at various clouds on the way until I came to Wensleydale. I could see clouds over the hills, but felt I didn’t want to go over the high ground in case it all went wrong. There were few clouds up the Wensleydale valley itself, but I could see one or two wispy clouds near Leyburn. I headed for them, hoping that my luck would hold and they would work. However, it didn’t go to plan.

Heading up the valley, into wind, I was in constant sink. But I held on, as the clouds at Leyburn were still there. I was sure they’d work. I got lower and lower as I approached Leyburn, with the ground rising up to meet me. I identified several fields that would be suitable for landing in if it all went wrong. Just before Leyburn, I passed under one of the wispy clouds, which was looking considerably less well-defined than when I’d seen it from the mouth of the valley. It was dying. As I passed under it, my variometer indicated weak lift with a half-hearted bleep, but it wasn’t enough to turn in. I turned overhead Leyburn, the impartial observer in me noting that I could almost read the street signs. Then I returned to one of the fields I’d picked on the way in, gave it a final check, and started the circuit.

My checklist went as follows: Size: Acceptable. Slope: a little bit, downhill. Landing direction: mostly into wind. Stock: none. Surface: young crop, small enough to see through with big bare patches in the field. Anything else: rocks in the field.

ROCKS IN THE FIELD!!!

The impartial observer in me sat up and took notice. I hadn’t seen the rocks before, as they weren’t that large, and they were the same colour as the bare patches of earth in the field. But, no problem, they were mainly confined to one side of the field, so I could steer away from them. When I landed I came to a stop fairly quickly, without having to use the brakes, as the surface of the field was lightly raked on top. No damage. Phew.

Here’s a photo of one of the rocks:

You wouldn’t normally expect to find these in fields – it was obviously a crop field in regular use so surely these would present a problem to the farmer’s machinery?

In any case, they were a nasty shock, but easily avoided. It reminded me that you never know what you’ll find in a field when you land out!

The rest of the retrieve was uneventful, with a short (1.5 hour) wait for my hubby with the trailer. The place I landed in was very beautiful, with far-reaching views, and I had a very pleasant time sitting in the sun whilst waiting for the trailer.

We were back at the club within 3 hours of my land out, which isn’t bad at all as retrieves go!

Oh well, it’s all part of the fun of gliding!

Here’s a photo of my hubby and son in the field before we derigged. Aren’t they gorgeous? And the glider’s not bad either!