Hey George, just what is a Horse Child Breakfast?

The classic soaring movie The Sun Ship Game is finally out on DVD and my copy arrived from Tom Knauff’s Knauff & Grove Soaring Supplies. This is a great movie about gliding – not a documentary, but a feature film by Robert Drew, made in the 1970s, of the comps in the runup to 1969 Nationals in Marfa Texas, including footage of that competition. The film focuses on two quite different competitors, George Moffat and Gleb Derujinsky and has some lovely footage of flying, as well as briefings etc at the comps. Some highlights for me include:

• Gleb smoking in the cockpit of his glider during a race (and checking he has his cigarettes with him before launch)
• George Moffat lengthening the wingspan of his glider by sawing the wingtips off with a handheld saw!
• Several landouts and crashes where pieces of gliders (particularly canopies) fly everywhere – attitudes to safety were chillingly different back then
• Plenty of footage of beautiful old gliders, including Libelles, fast becoming my favourite type

The title of this post refers to a typically late-sixties impenetrable and vaguely creepy poem by Richard Brautigan called Horse Child Breakfast, which George Moffat (English lecturer) reads to a class at the beginning of the film. The poem, if you want to check it out, along with others by Brautigan, can be found here: http://shalandar.com/richard-brautigan/pill-versus-springhill-mine-disaster.html - if you work out what a Horse Child Breakfast is, let me know.

Anyway, I’m glad I have a copy to replace the bad version I had downloaded from the net and I look forward to watching it (though I doubt whether my wife will be able to stay awake during it – she fell asleep in the first 10 minutes when I played it before).

Another weekend out west

I’m really cramming some flying into my time in WA and once I again I hired a car and drove out to Beverley early on Saturday morning to arrive in time for the briefing. The plan this weekend was to concentrate on judging height and angles in the circuit. First flight was in the ASK-21 (BSS) and was to 2,000 feet with the altimeter obscured. During the tow we practiced hang-up procedures (what to do if the glider’s tow release doesn’t work), plus the signals from the tow pilot to the glider pilot to check that airbrakes aren’t open, and the wave-off sign. During the tow the instructor asked me to judge our height a number of times and each time told me I was very close, which was heartening.

I’ve always been a bit nervous during instrument-obscured flights and I tend to fly a bit messier than normal and this was the case in this flight, though I was happy with my judgement of height and angles in the circuit.

The next flight (which was by then late afternoon – there’s a lot of waiting around and helping with launches etc in gliding) included boxing the tow “very well done Brian” says my instructor, and then a gentle flight in the beautiful late afternoon light. There was little lift left, though I found and hooked onto a small weak thermal over the town for a gain of a measly 200 feet at 1-2 knots. Finally, I joined downwind and of course this was the only place where there was ample lift, so I had to extend the downwind leg even for this hangar flight. I was happy with my approach and landing.

The next day (the Sunday) was busy, with 5 flights - more circuits with the altimeter obscured and a simulated rope break and ending with a hangar flight in the Pooch. All in all I was happy with my progress and only sorry that my time in WA was coming to an end.

More western flying and some surprises

At this stage of my training I try to reflect on what I’ve learnt after every flight, as well as planning my flights to address some area of my training, or a bad habit. This weekend’s flights gave me plenty to learn from!

After an atrocious Saturday (they reported hail on the airfield before lunch, thankfully before any gliders had been pushed out) Sunday’s weather looked good for flying (maybe not for soaring) so I hired a car and drove out to Beverley that morning. The plan was, after getting the rust off in the ASK-21 the previous week, to do stalls and spins in the club’s Puchacz (since the ASK-21 won’t really stall or spin “properly”, without a spin kit fitted), a type I hadn’t flown before.

Just like someone with an ailment I stupidly googled what it was like to spin and found it had a reputation for killing pilots in spins (not sure if undeserved or not…). So I was a bit nervous before flying the “Pooch”. The spin and stall went off well – the stall was pretty predictable, bit of a buffet and the left wing dropped a little, and the spin was sudden but was under control in less than a turn (though we lost a fair bit of height). Piece of cake.

After the spin, we were still at 2,000 feet so had a bit of a stooge around to get more acquainted with the ship. I thermalled for a little in an intermittent bit of lift (more cloud suck than anything else according to the instructor) then tracked south, west of the airfield. There was a stiffish westerly blowing and right at my altitude was a wedge-tail eagle, sitting facing into the wind just hovering there. I passed him just in front, maybe 15 metres away, twice. What a glorious sight and feeling to be sharing the air with this big bird. He was so close I could see the wind ruffling his feathers and I could clearly see his big eye looking at me as we passed by.

My second flight was much more eventful and much more of a learning experience. The first lesson I learnt was look at the altimeter more closely and double-check that against the view out the canopy. I’d planned a tow to 2,000 feet (2,700 indicated) to just basically stooge around and get used to the Pooch. I had been scanning the altimeter after takeoff as part of some drills related to options in case of rope breaks at Beverley (calling out when passing 200 feet AGL to remind myself that from that height on I could consider turning back to a runway rather than looking for straight ahead landing opportunities) when I looked at the altimeter and suddenly thought “Oh, I’m passing 2,800 feet” and bunged off. I felt pretty stupid when after getting settled I noticed how low we were and realised I’d bunged off at 1,800 (1,100 feet indicated) instead of 1,000 feet higher as intended.

This necessitated some quick thinking. I turned back towards the circuit entry point (which wasn’t far away) and then decided to join the (right hand) circuit, as there was no lift about and the longer I faffed about the fewer options I’d have. However, as I approached the start of downwind and made my downwind call, I noticed another club glider, an ASK-21, joining downwind in front of me and slightly lower. I didn’t hear his call and it turned out that his radio batteries were flat and he didn’t hear my downwind call either.

This presented me with a bit of a quandary. After consulting with the instructor in the back seat about options (turn in early, land long, land on crosswind runway), I elected to do a “normal” circuit and land long and over the other glider (I was higher and could do this). The next few minutes provided me with all the evidence I needed that gliding requires constant thinking and assessment. Decision-making. Everything that the other pilot did and everything my aircraft did and everything that the air around us did, opened up or closed windows for different courses of action. My height and the position of the glider in front closed out a landing on the crosswind runway (RWY 26), so my options were then to continue with a normal circuit and see what developed later.

I was fairly well behind and above the ASK-21, so I definitely had more options than him, but I couldn’t be sure what he would do (he was a recent solo pilot on his first few flights, so I didn’t want to put him under too much pressure). In the end I watched him like a hawk and when he had turned final, I turned final well above him and to the side and landed long, watching him out my window as he touched down. He had been unaware of my presence until I appeared above him on final.

When I climbed out of the cockpit, I was feeling a bit shaken. I’d never had a heavier workload in a circuit before and I seen the potential for a disaster – a wrong move by me or the other pilot could have seen a crash. Similarly, a failure by me to recognise the problem, or to not actually change my procedure (such as continuing with a normal approach) could have been disastrous. I was reading one of Tom Knauff’s newsletters and he talked about Plan Continuation Bias, which is where a pilot fails to recognise or act on the need to change a procedure (due to changed conditions) and continues on with their “normal” plan.

Immediately afterwards I discussed what had happened with my instructor and his main comment was that I could have acted more decisively earlier, by turning to base and final earlier (well before the other glider reached his base leg) and landed longer. This would have had the advantage of showing the other glider my position.

I could have done this, but I was high on downwind and under normal circumstances I would have extended my downwind leg. To turn in earlier than I did would probably have meant full airbrakes or a much longer landing (Beverley’s strip is long though, so it may just have been an inconvenience).

In any case, I certainly learned a few things from this flight, including the need to maintain attention and to constantly reassess the situation and to act, rather than continue on with the normal plan. I also learned a little bit about the pressure that an abnormal situation can place on the pilot and the need for a cool, analytical head.

I also had a late flight in the Pooch and managed to take some photos – the light was beautiful and there were small shower clouds around, which made it even prettier. The trees alongside the main runway at Beverley lead to shadowing of the runway in the late afternoon, which can make it difficult to judge height for roundout, as you go from bright sky into darker conditions on late final. Tricky, but I made it okay.

One additional nice thing about the Beverley club is their tradition of having group dinners cooked by one or two members. Many club members stay overnight at Beverley as its 1.5 to 2 hours drive from Perth and there’s a heap of privately-owned caravans around the clubhouse, as well as some beds in the clubhouse itself and the club developed a tradition where a couple of members buy meat and vegetables and then cook a huge roast dinner, which other club members can partake of for a nominal fee (about $10). The kitchen was busy for several hours on the Saturday of the last weekend I was there and a beautiful roast lamb dinner with apple crumble and custard was provided for more than 20 people. Very neat and I noticed in the club’s magazine that I managed to sneak into the photo!

Back in the air – but in the West

Well, a long, long time since I’ve been in the air. 2008/2009 has been a frustrating year for me in terms of my flying progress, but a satisfying year in family and professional life. Flying definitely had to take a back seat to the rest of my life, including the birth of my second daughter Ruby and a whole lot of overseas and interstate travel for work. In the end I just couldn’t fit gliding in. I knew I was getting rusty and not achieving the things I wanted to, but I figured I just had to put it aside for the time being. Well, the time being stretched out further and further. Finally, an extended project transfer to Perth Western Australia provided the opportunity to do some flying on free weekends.

Before travelling to Perth I posted a message on the aus.soaring message boards (see here - http://www.mail-archive.com/aus-soaring@lists.internode.on.net/) and got quite a few responses letting me know about the clubs close to Perth. There’s three, all within about 1.5 to 2.5 hours drive – Beverley Soaring Society, Narrogin and Cunderdin. Each apparently has a slightly different character, different fleet and different facilities. The great advantage to flying in WA compared with Camden seems to be airspace restrictions – which are less restrictive over in the west.

I decided on the Beverley club because it was closest to where I was living, has a nice two-seater fleet, flies Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, have a clubhouse providing for free overnight stays for visiting pilots and most people who responded to my post mentioned how friendly the club is. So on Saturday I hired a car and drove out west to Beverley (pretty country) after packing some clothes and a sleeping bag.

I got to the club about noon to find they were pretty busy doing annual checks for club members and training for about 4 others students, including three young guys who had recently soloed on a two-weekend ab-initio course.

However, I was made welcome and arranged to have my logbooks checked over and an instructor matched to me. Beverley has a sealed runway (16/34) which is mostly gravel and an unsealed 08/26 runway which has partially been reclaimed by the local farmer and so is partially unusable. Clubhouse facilities are very good, their “pie-cart”, called the Eagle’s Nest, is a sort of truncated caravan towed by a Hiace van. A row of trees along runway 16/34 create a bit of rollover in westerly winds, but overall facilities are pretty good.

The weather wasn’t all that kind however. It was a bit cool and cloudy with passing showers and no breeze to speak of and flying was interrupted a couple of times during the afternoon by rain. Not soaring weather but pretty good for what I wanted to do – which was to practice some circuits and get used to flying again.

Their main training two-seater is an ASK-21, Bravo Sierra Sierra (BSS) – almost my initials. Southern Cross has a new ASK which I haven’t flown, so I was keen to try it out for future reference.

Like fishing, patience is a virtue in gliding. I watched others have check flights (lots of abbreviated circuits as instructors gave club members challenges to deal with, like sudden sink simulated by popping the dive brakes open on downwind) and short flights by students, including solos in the two-seaters and singles. Finally, at 4.45pm (last flight of the day!) it was my turn to strap into BSS.

One unpleasant discovery was that, in common with the K-13 I’d flown, the dive brake control was difficult to use for my non-extending left arm. The problem wasn’t deploying the brakes, but locking them away – my arm wouldn’t straighten enough to positively lock them. With some experimenting we found that with the seat pan back fitted I could get myself far enough forward for my dud arm to properly lock the brakes.

Felt strange to be back in the cockpit and I was nervous. I still remembered all my checks though. Amusing incident when the wing runner showed me the tow-rope, having missed the knot that had formed just behind the ring!

Takeoff was a bit messy and it took me a while to settle back into the low tow, but things settled quickly. I released at 3,000 (indicated 3,720 – Beverley is 720 feet ASL) and the instructor talked me through the local landmarks. We tried a few coordinated turns to get used to the new machine and then I tried a stall (the ASK-21 won’t really stall – it mushes along but loses lots of height).

It was incredibly beautiful up there and really brought back why I love flying gliders. The air was still and smooth. No lift, but no sink either. Grey clouds contrasted with rich greens in a darkening landscape and in the west the setting sun threw golden light across fluffy lighter coloured clouds. Gorgeous and peaceful.

Soon it was time to join the circuit to land. This is an area I really want to focus on. I have found I tend to crowd the circuit and I find it hard to judge the angles on downwind, turning onto base too early, too high. So I ask my instructor to watch me and talk me through the angles. This helps heaps, but I have to say I was not at all proud of my first landing for 14 months. Speed control a bit of a struggle (but not too bad – 55 knots target speed, sitting around 60-65), off-line a bit and needing some adjustment to get back to centreline and then my flare was too late and not positive enough, with the result that I “flew” the plane onto the ground, rather than having the glider stop flying and settle onto its wheel. 22 minutes but I was back in the air! Pleasant dinner at the Beverley pub with some of the other members and instructors – friendly bunch.

Next day (Sunday) was much quieter and while it dawned clear and promising looking, low clouds built up and closed off any hope for thermals. A bit more of a wind on this day, which would make takeoffs and landings more interesting, but not much more than 5 knots or so. The club puts on quite a professional morning briefing before operations, covering what’s expected from the day. Only two students at the start of the day, myself and a young woman recently solo for the second time after 3 years – a precise, professional flier with a military background. Later, an older gent who had been a club member many years ago arrived, but the plane/instructor/student ratio was great today – I could fly as much as my wallet could bear.

Circuits was the plan and I was happy with my progress. I got in 4 short flights and each was better than the one before. My takeoff and tow sorted themselves out, my circuit positioning and speed control and landings got much better, though I still think I need more work judging my angles and height without reference to altimeter or landmarks. On my last flight, the clouds were starting to break up a bit and large blue holes were forming. I elected to take a slightly higher tow, to 2,000 feet, which was above the main cloudbase, hoping there might be some lift about (on previous flights there’d been some tantalising blips on the variometer). There wasn’t any lift I could find, but at one point, as I looked down at the ground, I saw an eagle circling below me. He was in lift and coming up. Not a peep out of my variometer despite me being pretty much in the same column of air as him, but the difference between our weights was decisive. He gracefully angled off and was gone. I went back to earth.

A cool poster

Saw this nice poster over at Cumulus Soaring (http://www.cumulus-soaring.com/posters.htm), with 50 Milestones in Sailplane Design. According to Cumulus Soaring, “the posters were created by Martin Simons using artwork from his 3 wonderfully interesting "Sailplanes" books”. I ordered one of the posters (a fairly simple process, but I suppose I won’t see the poster until I get home from WA where I’m presently working) but I’d never heard of the books. A bit of searching on the net I found he lives in South Australia and has written a bunch of aviation books. Must try to find some…

Papa Whisky written off

I got a shock when a fellow soaring pilot emailed me to tell me that the aircraft that I’d learnt to fly in, Taupo Gliding Club’s PW6, Papa Whisky, had been written off in a crash at Matamata in April 2009. It was the first glider I’d been in, I’d flown about 9 hours in this aircraft and soloed in it, so it held a special place in my gliding memory. It felt strange to think that it was no more.

Coincidentally, the copy of Gliding NZ that had recently arrived at the time I got the email about Papa Whisky had an item about a crash at Matamata and a net search turned up more. Apparently, Papa Whisky was at an Air Cadets camp at Matamata Gliding Club and during a simulated rope break exercise at 300 feet, with a largish instructor in the back seat and a 14 year old boy in the front seat, the glider stalled and spun in. According to the crash report, the student initiated a climbing turn to the right without sufficient airspeed (when I first heard about the crash I had thought the cause may have been due to insufficient ballast in the front seat, given the weight differential between the instructor, whom I know, and the lightweight student) which led to a stall and spin. Accident report here: http://aviation-safety.net/wikibase/wiki.php?id=59652.

Thankfully no-one was killed. The instructor suffered two broken legs, while the air cadet got serious head injuries, but has since recovered and is keen to continue flying. Sobering stuff though and enough to make me go over my rope break knowledge and options more thoroughly.

The forgotten flights

Looking through my logbook and planning to update this blog (it’s been 14 months since I’ve flown – combination of working overseas and interstate, plus the birth of my lovely little daughter number two, Ruby) I realised I had had three flights with Southern Cross at Camden in April 2008, which I hadn’t recorded here and found I had little recollection of! It was a mid-week (Wednesday) visit, so it should be memorable, but I can’t recall much of it at all. According to my logbook, I took three flights in the club’s IS28 (maybe I’m repressing the memory like a victim of violence) to 2,000 feet, 1,500 and 1,500 to essentially practice circuits. My instructor’s comments are “watch swing on takeoff” (I recall now it was a windy day at Camden and the trees along the side of runway Glider 06 caused a rollover effect with turbulence on takeoff and approach) “don’t drop nose on release. Fly circuit by angle – speed control OK, flare and hold off glider, aerotow good.”

I suppose these flights were part of my plan to go solo in Australia and to get used to things at Camden. I had found I’d relied too much on the altimeter when I was learning to fly in Taupo, so I wanted to make sure I could judge my approach by the angles. This is important because in future, if I go away from the immediate environs of the field for example, I won’t be able to rely on my altimeter when making a land-out at an unfamiliar place.