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ZEISS DTI thermal imaging cameras. For more discoveries at night, and during the day.

Anyone else like Birds AND planes? (1 Viewer)

While we are on the subject of Duxford:
- it was the first place to have an operational Spitfire Squadron (No. 19)
- it was the principal location for filming Battle of Britain (during which one of the historic hangars was blown up for an airfield attack scene after permission had been denied
-it holds a cracking all-piston warbird airshow every July called Flying Legends which I would only miss for a tick
-it is probably the best place in Britain to listen to the song of the Merlin

Here are some Duxford Spitfires:

Waking up this morning I got to wondering when the final show of this year's season would be on. I had a rush of blood and a sudden urge to go down.

Good news - It's on tomorrow.

Bad news - the weather's crap.

It got me remembering the other time I went to the same display. It was spread over two days of the weekend and the visit resulted from another spur of the moment decision. I looked at a report on Ceefax on the Saturday morning and asked my wife if she fancied seeing A Bf109. She was up for it, so the next morning saw us up bright and early with some spicy chicken wings for sustenance during the day and we were off down the A1.

The day had been billed as the last flight for 'Black 6', the only flying Bf109 that had actually seen service in the war. It was on loan to the Imperial War Museum and it was due to go back to its owners, the RAF Museum after the display.

We got there before most of the crowds and there was Black 6 right in front of us on the taxi track, with the engine cowl open and the motor roaring as fitters worked on it. Great views.

It was due to do a mock dogfight in the morning with a Spitfire, and a repeat in the afternoon, but the morning flight was cancelled because of a blustery crosswind and they didn't want to risk it with the notoriously narrow undercarriage.

As the day wore on the wind lessened and at about 4.30 the announcement went out that they were going to have a go, with the final decision being taken by the pilot when he reached the end of the runway. If the wind was OK, he'd go. If not, the spit would do a display on its own. In the event the crowd thrilled to the sound of the engine winding up and away he went to give us a fine display with the spit. It wasn't one of his better decisions.

As he came in to land he passed us and I remember saying to my wife 'Bloody hell, he's going fast' - and so he was. Too fast.

He bounced on one wheel, then came down on the other before bouncing again, high into the air. After the second bounce I lost sight of him behind the tail of a parked Catalina and waited to hear the engine open up for him t come around for a second attempt.

He didn't.

The crowd went quiet. The 109 didn't return. He'd bounced over the M11 motorway and attempted an emergency landing the a recently sown field on the other side of the road. He got down, but the wheels dug into the soft earth and the aircraft ended up on its back, with the pilot fortunately unhurt, but having to hang upside down on his straps until they could get a crane in to lift the plane enough to open the side-hinged canopy.

It was indeed the last flight of Black 6. I went back for the Flying Legends the following year and Black 6 was still there in bits in a workshop at the rear of one of the hangars. I believe the cause was traced to a faulty magneto that prevented him winding the engine down enough to get to a safe landing speed - something the fitters were working on when we arrived.

It's incredible to think that this took place on 12th October 1997 - 16 years today. Where the hell does the time go?:C

Photo of Black 6 taxying past us for its flight.
 

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Wow magnificent tales.

I was always fascinated by WW2 machines, went to the IWM in London last year and I particularly wanted to see the Heinkel HE111 German bomber with its vulnerable cockpit. Think it left a lasting memory with me to see how vulnerable they were, getting shot to pieces.

I would definately go to Duxford if there were ever to be anything like 16 Spits again! It must have been the site so many people saw during the war, as a RAF group went out to meet the attackers.
 
Inside the USAF hall, SR71 Blackbird (sons to the right, bless'em).

The SR71 was an amazing aircraft. At around 3000mph, the skin got very hot, and the aircraft became about 15cm longer, due to expansion of the metal fuselage. The corollary was that, while parked in a hangar overnight, it tended to leak fuel because the structure had shrunk and expanded so often, and I presume that preparing the beast for flight involved refuelling it as late as possible before take-off. Maintenance costs were immense (one of the reasons cited for grounding them, but they had quite a long in-service life. No current aircraft has a comparable performance.
MJB
 
I can remember when I was at school and it first turned up in the Observers Book of Aircraft, billed as the Lockheed YF12A - a fighter prototype.

I thought the future had arrived.

I declared there and then that it was my favourite aircraft.

It seemed to disappear from view and never came to anything, then many years later (mid 70s) the news and the papers were full of this amazing aircraft that had just broken the speed record for crossing the Atlantic. It was going so fast they said that it had to turn over Belgium to land in England. It was called the SR71 Blackbird they said.

I thought to myself that it looked very like that favourite of my school-days, so I went off to the library and found out that it was indeed the same, now in production and kept secret - that's why my 3,000mph fighter had seemingly vanished along with that other favourite, the Valkyrie.
 
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Barred Wobbler,

with reference to "Black 6", I was lucky enough to be at the 1995 North Weald Fighter Meet where for the first time since WW2, not one but two genuine ME109s flew together over that airfield!

I borrowed a VHS camera from work but the battery died just as the simulated dogfight commenced between these old adversaries and a Spitfire and Hurricane :C

I did get some nice footage though and one day I'll have to dig the tape out and transfer it and stick on youtube

Here's some pictures of that occasion, not my photos though :t:
 
SR 71's (from Beale AFB) used to do 'touch and go's' at our air strip (long for small town). U2's still do - quite frequently. 'Crack their burner' right over my house. My fave' SR 71 moment was during an 'Open House' at their base. One came over quite high at mach 3. Then lower at Mach 2. Then swooshed and banged pretty low at Mach 1. Then the guy landed and stepped out of the plane. Anyone could shake his hand. Seemed quite beyond my grasp.
 

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I have had a passion for aviation longer than birds, just about. Built almost 200 Airfix kits, then spotted in the 1970s, travelled extensively for business from about 1992 until now (approx 900 scheduled flights) and got my PPL in 1993. Have just under 400 hours mainly in G-AWBC (Arrow I - seven of us owned this old money hoover) but hung up my headphones after a second horrid incident. In 2002 I wrote a book about aviation (long out of print, but including all the above subjects) and also wrote several magazine articles (including about the incident above, will try to find it and post it) - then kind of repeated this with birds!

Unlike birds, I was pretty good at aircraft recognition, winning the ATC individual competition in 1973 (I was 14) and the Air Britain all comers (for cadets) individual in 1976. I could bore you for hours about planes, perhaps I just did!

I was birdwatching in Porthgwarra on Thursday and it was a pleasure looking for birds but also identifying overflying airliners - in fact where I live (Southampton) the New Forest is a great place for both activities - last time I was at Acres Down there was another planebird chap but not sure who it was.

Lastly it can be (mildly) amusing to do birdwatching as plane spotting / flying, as you often see birds in the hold ready for a vectored approach and I always think of Sparrowhawks as Polish planes - SP-HWK, can't look at a Gannet without thinking Bristol Freighter either.

Regards

Rob
 
Some beautiful photographs of historic aircraft by others above. Love to have the opportunity to hear if there is difference in sound of the Rolls Merlin, vs. Packard licensed Merlin.

Below is again from the regular patch, at the confluence of the Mississippi & Missouri rivers. The first, a DC-3( dressed as C-47). The second was taken 7 minutes before the Vickers VC-10 posted above. The VC-10 actually flew over as I was watching the coyote fish "with" the Heron, rather "hunt" for the Heron themselves.
Edit: added last, a scan of an old polaroid from 1979.
The mockup and test bench Enterprise, aboard its carrier as it toured the US,
prior to first crewed launch, STS-1, Columbia.
 

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Hi All

I can't find my second hideous misdemeanour while at the controls of my Arrow, but here is the first one - not for the faint hearted amongst you.....

We had yet again procured the services of a babysitter and so on 9th February 1997 I booked Bravo Charlie with the intention of having a relatively easy day flying to Oxford, having some lunch and then returning in the evening for a meal with friends. It was a beautiful day if a little hazy, but cold and bright on the ground. I went over the top with flight planning as I even filed a flight plan, believing that it would be easier to pass through the hallowed Solent Control. I think I took beacon hopping a bit too literally too as I planned to go via SAM – madness! We took off and all was fine as I routed towards the SAM VOR. Bournemouth passed me onto Solent Radar on 120.22 with ‘they have your details, have a nice flight’. I am sure Solent really didn’t need some PPL filing a flight plan to Oxford so they routed me to the west and north and then got rid of me as quickly as possible to Brize Norton. We tracked towards the Compton VOR, no problems, a bit scary near RAF Benson with ‘multiple contacts’ from Brize which were Bulldogs doing aerobatics and then quite soon we were a few miles from Oxford, bang on track with the GPS showing it just ahead, confirmed by the OX NDB. I called Kidlington (that’s the name of Oxford’s airport) and inadvertently lied when I said I had the field in sight. Could I find it, could I hell! To this day I cannot believe I missed it but I did and the first cock up of the day occurred when I realised I had almost strayed over another airfield which I later worked out was Weston-on-the-Green, a parachuting place – I gave myself a severe bollocking over that. Shortly after that I found Kidlington and we landed, paid a bargain, £5 at weekends, landing fee and sauntered off into the city of dreaming spires, or is it perspiring dreams, for lunch.

Oxford is a lovely place but having studied for a while at Cambridge I am obliged to say that it is not as nice as the light blue city. After a greasy spoon bacon sarnie (are bacon sarnies de riguer when flying, I always seem to be eating them?) we walked around the city and then got a taxi back to Kidlington where I picked up the METAR (current weather) and the TAF (forecast) for Bournemouth. Now either I misread the weather, or the TAF was wrong. I know if I wanted to I could get the weather for that day and check. The truth is I do not want to, because I think I misread it.

We taxied out, departed ‘20’ and were on our way following the same route back home, initially to the Compton VOR and then to the SAM. We flew past Compton and headed for the SAM VOR – it was all going very nicely. At Newbury I was fascinated by the sight of an infinite eiderdown of cloud complete with quilt effect that lay in front of me. It was briefly an ‘omigod’ moment, but then I thought what a fantastic opportunity this would be to use my IMC in anger.

I carried on and spoke to Solent who seemed a trifle concerned that I was going on to Bournemouth.

‘Bravo Charlie, would you like the latest weather’

‘Thanks, go ahead’

‘Visibility 1500 metres, overcast at 700 feet’ well below the minima for me.

My heart sank. The controller asked if we’d like to divert, but I said I’d carry on and see if it improved – what an optimist! I contacted Bournemouth radar who asked me what approach I’d like and I opted for radar vectors to the ILS. In fact this was the only option as I had neither of the ‘plates’ for the procedural NDB or ILS approaches. Fortunately the weather had improved a bit with the visibility out to 2000 metres and the cloudbase up to 800 feet – or so they said. I think we were at about 3000 feet, and I turned to my wife and said these prophetic words:

‘It won’t be very nice but we’ll be fine’

She nodded in silent comprehension and probably thought ‘merde alors’. With that Bournemouth told me they would vector me in for ‘26’ from the north to I would close the localiser from the right. I was getting quite excited with this, and obediently descended to 2000 feet on a heading of something like 200°M. We were straight into cloud and it was pretty bumpy, the instruments performing some bizarre Buzby Berkeley dance routine in front of my eyes. I had to report localiser established and was also cleared to descend to 1500 feet. I watched the localiser needle come off its stops and move towards the centreline. Anticipate, anticipate here we go, turn to pick it up……..I called ‘localiser established’ as the needle hit the centreline and continued past. ‘Shiiiiit’, I banked Bravo Charlie to the right to try to re-establish myself when the controller informed me of my height. I remember it was 1300 feet instead of 1500. Watch the glideslope, that’s moving up – wrong way, watch the localiser - still out to the right – I want my mummy! The controller then warned me again about my height this time about 900 feet when it should have been around 1300 or so.

I took my eyes away from the ILS for a second and was horrified to see the altimeter spinning as fast as the, by now, screaming propeller. ‘Fuck me’ I thought, I really needed to get a grip of this or very soon I felt sure I was going to be presented with a very accurate large scale map of Christchurch in front of me which would increase in size until it was 1 to 1 and we were history. Everything fell silent and somewhere a sixth sense took me back to my training, back to the basics. Aviate first, forget the rest, and in any case we were talking survival here. I managed to level the wings, put on some power and climbed and climbed. 600 feet became 650, 700, 1000, 1200 and the controller asked me what I was doing. After my wife and I had retrieved our faces from the sides of the cockpit and had checked that the interior of Bravo Charlie didn’t resemble the inside of a Maze prison cell I mustered a reply:

‘Sorry, I messed it up and need to do another’.
‘Are you sure you are qualified to do this sort of approach?’ he enquired.
‘Oh yes I have an IMC rating’.

He must have pissed himself laughing at that, it must be one of the most stupid things ever heard on the R/T! Was I an idiot or what? Out of practice flying VMC let alone IMC and I chose to use my IMC in anger for the first time when Bournemouth had become enveloped in a pea-souper. We roared out into the evening sun and continued climbing. My wife was a broken woman sitting beside me I remember she looked as if she had shrunk! I was cursing my stupidity, what had I done wrong? She said that we should be careful of other aircraft in the area trying to do the same thing and I made the comment that it wouldn’t be a problem as there weren’t likely to be any other idiots up here.

Bournemouth radar piped up and grabbed my attention away from my ‘if I survive this I am going to give up flying’ reverie. ‘What would I like to do now?’ they politely enquired. I thought of Southampton, I could go there – no the weather had worsened since we flew over the SAM VOR. I should have taken the offer of the diversion. Okay, um, what next? The controller asked me if I would like to try another approach. Hooray, it had all cleared.

‘Bravo Charlie would you like to copy the weather?’
‘Go ahead’
‘Visibility 600metres, overcast 100 feet….’

I didn’t bother listening to the temperature and the pressure. I wanted to say ‘are you taking the piss?’ I declined his kind offer so he suggested a diversion to Bristol. Our daughter was at home, we had a dinner booked, diverting wasn’t an option. My brain found the ‘statistics’ part of itself and ran some details. ‘Get home-itis’ is one of the major causes of GA accidents – carrying on in bad weather. No I didn’t want to become one of those. I thought of Louise, just 2 years old – and a lump appeared in my throat. I was calm, I didn’t panic, if I had I think we would have been killed, but the awful reality of what I had done, or nearly done, and my current predicament were slowly and painfully dawning on me. I thought positive – for starters we had loads of fuel left, and decided on the diversion option. I was unfamiliar with Bristol so I enquired about Exeter.

The weather there was much better although we would have to descend through a layer of cloud around 2000 feet or so but only a thin layer. I could manage this, and by now I had had enough time to realise that the major fault of my approach was my speed.

I told Bournemouth radar that I wanted to divert to Exeter and so set up the GPS and the ADF to get me there. After about 15 minutes I noticed in the gathering dark a gigantic black patch a few miles to the north. I assumed it was a hole in the clouds so I turned right to investigate thinking I could get under the cloud and route toward Exeter. By this time I had climbed to 5000 feet, and so started a slow descent to take me down into the hole. The controller had a fit:

‘Bravo Charlie what are you doing?’

I reassured him about the hole investigation and said I’d call him back. We descended into the hole – 3000, 2000, 1000, 500 feet and by this time we were low over Sutton Bingham reservoir. It was pretty murky and I thought I just could not risk trying to pick my way across the ground to Exeter to the south-west. There was only one option, to climb back out of the hole. Up we went, poor old Bravo Charlie must have wondered what it had done to deserve this. Eventually we levelled out at 5000 feet again and I spoke to Bournemouth radar. I was getting a bit desperate now and asked them if they could ensure that they handed me directly over to Exeter approach. That wouldn’t be a problem.

Bournemouth radar told me to contact Exeter and probably thought ‘thank Christ we’ve got rid of him!’ I dialled up the Exeter approach frequency and was mightily relieved to hear them straight away. They gave me first the weather and then the cost of keeping Exeter open. I wasn’t too interested in the cost, I just wanted to land but I thought it was a bit of a cheek telling me that when he must have known that a) I had no option and b) I was not in the best frame of mind. Next they gave me a steer for the localiser and a descent and once again we went down through the cloud, but nice and slowly this time. Localiser established, we popped out of the cloud and there ahead were what I thought were four white PAPI’s. Fantastic, we were a bit high on the approach but we were going to be okay. As time progressed I couldn’t help feeling that the ILS and the GPS seemed to be a little bit out with respect to the PAPI’s, but I continued the approach using the ILS. After a few minutes I realised that the lights were actually the floodlights of an outdoor sports field! Was this never going to end? Beyond I immediately saw the ‘Christmas tree’ of approach lights and the real PAPI’s – two red and two white – perfect.

I did a greaser of a landing (something had to go right) and we taxied in and after an hour and forty minutes tacho time we shut down. We had survived and the relief was better than when you’ve had to wait all day to go for a pee! I paid the landing fee, we got a 50% discount because there was another unfortunate diversion behind us, so he had to pay £70 too because of the airport being kept open just for us. I thought it strange that a 146 was being readied to take holiday makers off to the sun somewhere and couldn’t help feeling I and the other pilot had been fleeced somewhat. Nowadays it wouldn’t happen because true weather diversions are generally free, but I didn’t care – we could enjoy a few beers and prepare to get back home tomorrow. I phoned the Bournemouth controller to thank him for all his help and to tell him we had arrived safely and he seemed pleased to – ‘I was worried about you there for a while’ he said in his slight Scottish accent, ‘I was worried myself’ I said. We joined the others from the ‘172 that had landed after us and found a hotel a bar and food.

Laying in bed that night I was in one way very pleased, I had snatched victory from the jaws of defeat. Yet the defeat that had been written large in my mind was completely of my own making and I pondered on just how close we had been to meeting our maker. I think we were in injury time and the whistle was in the referee’s mouth, but he just didn’t quite blow. The grim reality really hit me and I couldn’t stop thinking about how stupid I had been (was the weather as predicted?) but also how lucky too. I relived the events time and time again and thought over what I had done wrong. There were probably a whole litany of errors but the main one was my speed – I flew the descent much too fast which would make picking up the ILS difficult in VMC let alone IMC. ‘It won’t be very nice but we’ll be fine’ I had said – how true that statement was! Tomorrow would be another day and at last I fell asleep.


Not a nice experience at all, the second one was worse - thank goodness I gave up!

Rob
 
As a kid I was into building Airfix models of planes & then at the age of 7 I moved to an area close to woodland.My parents encouraged me learn more about birds/wildlife & i`ve been hooked ever since.

Steve.
 
I love and paint them both - planes, esp military gear, are awesome!
Still remeber pitching up early at Minsmere one May morning in the mid-80s and having an SR-71 zoom across the sky in front of us rapidly gaining altitude. That sight couldn't be bettered all day.
Or having 3 fully-laden A-10s low over our garden as a kid in Bognor, so low that the lead plane wiggled its wings as it went over as I was jumping about madly on our lawn....ah, so cool.
Back to the Blackbird - I was sent an email ages ago that had some classic coms-talk from the cockpit of th3 Sled and others which are quite amusing, especially the 2nd one down:

Aviation ....... Note: For those that don't know, "The Sled" is the SR-71 Blackbird spy plane from the 1960's and still the fastest airplane. In his book, "Sled Driver", SR-71 Blackbird pilot Brian Shul writes:

"I'll always remember a certain radio exchange that occurred one day as Walt (my back-seater) and I were screaming across Southern California 13 miles high.
We were monitoring various radio transmissions from other aircraft as we entered Los Angeles airspace. Though they didn't really control us, they did monitor our movement across their scope. I heard a Cessna ask for a readout of its ground speed.
"90 knots" Center replied.
Moments later, a Twin Beech required the same.
"120 knots," Center answered.
We weren't the only ones proud of our ground speed that day as almost instantly an F-18 smugly transmitted, "Ah, Center, Dusty 52 requests ground speed readout." There was a slight pause, then the response, "525 knots on the ground, Dusty."
Another silent pause.
As I was thinking to myself how ripe a situation this was, I heard a familiar click of a radio transmission coming from my back-seater. It was at that precise moment I realized Walt and I had become a real crew, for we were both thinking in unison.
"Center, Aspen 20, you got a ground speed readout for us?"
There was a longer than normal pause.... "Aspen, I show 1,742 knots" (That's about 2004.658 mph for those who don't know)
No further inquiries were heard on that frequency.

In another famous SR-71 story, Los Angeles Center reported receiving a request for clearance to FL 600 (60,000ft).
The incredulous controller, with some disdain in his voice, asked, "How do you plan to get up to 60,000 feet?
The pilot (obviously a sled driver), responded, "We don't plan to go up to it; we plan to go down to it." He was cleared.

The pilot was sitting in his seat and pulled out a .38 revolver. He placed it on top of the instrument panel, and then asked the navigator, "Do you know what I use this for?"
The navigator replied timidly, "No, what's it for?"
The pilot responded, "I use this on navigators who get me lost!"
The navigator proceeded to pull out a .45 and place it on his chart table.
The pilot asked, "What's that for?"
"To be honest sir," the navigator replied, "I'll know we're lost before you will."

When Hillary Clinton visited Iraq the Army Blackhawk helicopter used to transport the Senator was given the call sign "broomstick one". And they say the Army has no sense of humor!

Tower: "Delta 351, you have traffic at 10 o'clock, 6 miles!" Delta 351:"Give us another hint! We have digital watches!"

One day the pilot of a Cherokee 180 was told by the tower to hold short of the runway while a MD80 landed. The MD80 landed, rolled out, turned around, and taxied back past the Cherokee.
Some quick-witted comedian in the MD80 crew got on the radio and said, "What a cute little plane. Did you make it all by yourself?"
Our hero the Cherokee pilot, not about to let the insult go by, came back with: "I made it out of MD80 parts. Another landing like that and I'll have enough parts for another one."

There's a story about the military pilot calling for a priority landing because his single-engine jet fighter was running "a bit peaked."
Air Traffic Control told the fighter jock that he was number two behind a B-52 that had one engine shut down.
"Ah," the pilot remarked, "the dreaded seven-engine approach."

A student became lost during a solo cross-country flight. While attempting to locate the aircraft on radar, ATC asked, "What was your last known position?"
Student: "When I was number one for takeoff."

Taxiing down the tarmac, the 757 abruptly stopped, turned around and returned to the gate. After an hour-long wait, it finally took off.
A concerned passenger asked the flight attendant, "What was the problem?"
"The pilot was bothered by a noise he heard in the engine," explained the flight attendant," and it took us a while to find a new pilot."

"Flight 2341, for noise abatement turn right 45 degrees."
"But Center, we are at 35,000 feet. How much noise can we make up here?"
"Sir, have you ever heard the noise a 747 makes when it hits a 727?
 
I remember being at Holme in 1983 and seeing an SR71 hacking out over the North Sea, just after the Soviets had shot down the Korean Airlines plane. I also remember looking for Golden Orioles and one belted out of Mildenhall, I guess that is the closest I will ever come to Nirvana
 
Great stories BD344 and BirdBoyBowley!


Quite so!

Rob, that was quite a scary experience in your Arrow! I was in the ATC I did quite a bit of flying but couldn't afford PPL lessons, but I had a mate who had one so he would often let me fly his Cessna from Biggin Hill - once he'd taken it off I hasten to add!

I also did a weeks gliding course up in the Cairgorms but never solo'd as I didn't have enough hours :smoke: But I did get to fly a competition glider there which was exciting, as well as Falke and not least the old ATC mainstay - a Slingsby T21 :-O

Happy days.

birds, yes....
 
I always regret not learning to fly.....I went the other route and learned how to jump out of them instead - a much less financially-rewarding choice, as my captain friend will attest!!! But still, spiralling down under canopy at Zephyrhills in Florida and having the local Turkey Vultures coming over for a looksie and circling with me was kinda cool!
 
Did 20 + years as an RAF CCF officer. One of the air experience pilots at Woodvale used to enjoy being led out to the plane while wearing dark glasses and carrying a white stick. The cadets faces were a picture!
 
For your enjoyment / horror, here is another piece I wrote for Flyer in about 2008 - this event led me to give up flying.....

CARDINAL SIN
I am at 6,500’ heading approximately northwest battling a stiff headwind somewhere over mid-Wales. Above and around me is a cloudless sky, below a grey, inpenetrable carpet of cloud. To my immediate right is an acquaintance who is a fellow pilot and immediately behind me is my 8 year old son and his friend. The Ts and Ps are fine, the aeroplane is trimmed out and Brecon VOR tells me I am more or less on track and the GPS confirms this. To an outside observer it’s all going well, except I know it’s not.

I am not hungover from the night before so I know my eyes don’t deceive me. I know I am level, the clouds tell me that, but the AI says ‘no you’re not, you’re in a bank my friend’. I know I am level but decide the instrument may have a point. I cover it up with one hand, unlevel and level the wings and take my hand away – I know I am level, the AI says 30° bank. I point this out to my acquaintance who agrees that we are level. But it’s not the end of the world, we are VMC, the destination’s weather is not overcast so we’ll be fine. Soon the AI topples completely, remember to avoid cloud we agree but soon we are in the descent for our destination. By the time we are in the circuit the AI has repaired itself and all is forgotten – another thing to put down to experience.

A few hours later and we are coasting out and the gear won’t come up. I go back into the circuit and recycle it and the greens go out, I hope they come down later on. I have two cardinal sins I must not commit, landing with the gear up and running out of fuel.......

I have decided to repeat the trip up and will climb through the gaps in the cloud to a safe level and head southeast towards home – the weather there is fine. The number of gaps in the cloud reduce, the climb is slow and I miss the gap and enter the entertaining world of IMC. I have forgotten to reset to climb power from the diversion back into the circuit. Now I am in big trouble – a dodgy AI (can I rely on it) and IMC – what happened to the coastal route below the cloud? The three levers are firewalled and we climb. My acquaintance thinks the AI has toppled, I am not so sure, but momentarily I think of us strewn across the Welsh hillsides – I have forgotten the GPS has a panel. We climb on and on it gets lighter and eventually we are born into the sun filled sky. I have lost a kilogram in sweat. I level us out set the engine to cruise and away we go. The relief is palpable, my acquaintance makes a note on his kneeboard, ‘don’t fly with this guy again’, I make a note on mine ‘don’t fly again’, I am very, very angry with myself.

Our attention is drawn to radio information of 20 contacts to our right ‘probably gliders’, we see nothing but we do spot a gold object hurtling towards us. ‘Look out, what’s that?’ as a toy balloon zips past us. My acquaintance looks at me and says ‘Blimey can this get any worse?’. I really wish he hadn’t said that.

I am impressed. I set us up in a slow descent and right on the VRP we are at 2000’ to enter the zone – perfect, something has gone right. My puffed up chest is quickly replaced by an all embracing sickening feeling in my stomach, as completely without warning everything dies. The propeller is windmilling and I am trimming for best speed and picking a suitable field in which to land. This is it, this is success or failure written in a large neon sign right in front of my eyes and I am not able to ‘’phone a friend’. I remember the passengers in the back – and feel even worse – what have I done wrong?

My acquaintance writes another note on his kneepad ‘go to church more often’ and enquires, well shouts – ‘fuel?!’. I turn the fuel cock from ‘Left’ to ‘Right’ and as if by magic everything comes to life again and I pull off a greaser of a landing, but I have committed a cardinal sin and that means my flying days are over.

It was a classic accident build up, a chain of events - the duff AI, the ridiculous return route, the undercarriage problem, the climb through the clouds all distracted me (hardly surprising I must admit) from one of the basic checks – fuel. The flight up had been a lot longer than normal due to the headwind and I got caught out badly by not doing the basic stuff – had I remembered, a frightening day would have been reduced to scary (or plain stupid rather than idiotic)!

What really frightened me though was this thought – had my acquaintance not been there would I have remembered to check the fuel? I will put my hand up and say ‘No, I wouldn’t have’ and that realisation was enough for me to hang up my flying boots – running out of fuel was bad enough but not realising the problem was far worse to me.

Some fellow PPLs think I have been way too hard on myself, some think I have not been hard enough, however, should I return to the skies, (apart from flying solo everywhere!) checks, checks and more checks will be my mantra alongside aviate, navigate, communicate. One thing I have learned is that I won’t be making that mistake again!















 
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having the local Turkey Vultures coming over for a looksie and circling with me was kinda cool!

Have encountered, and been encountered by Red-Tailed hawks a few times, while soaring.
We're taught early on to keep eye out for buteos, vultures, eagles, etc., thermaling underneath a developing (flat bottomed) cumulous cloud.

One experience was in controlled airspace, a TCA (terminal control area).
At 2000 above ground level, one is commited to the ground operation, getting back down to the port.

At about 2700 foot indicated, 2200 foot above ground level, spotted a Red-Tailed about 15 seconds flight time away, maybe 20 degrees off starboard. He/she was wrapped up tight in some nice lift. Slid over to that cloud with the bird, laid over into a bank, slowed to minimum sink speed. Rising air felt like being lifted by a giant hand, skin on the wings rattling like a piece of sheet tin. There's latency in analog variometers responding, and about second after getting in that thermal, the variometer needle pegged at 1,500 foot rise per minute. Worked it for over a 1000 meters gain, got back up to 5,400 foot indicated, about 35 minutes additional air time. Hawk didn't ride along, but rather stayed below. Still owe that bird a big one, a pint isn't it?
 

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