Freesteel Blog » 200 metres from cloudbase

200 metres from cloudbase

Thursday, May 7th, 2015 at 7:31 pm Written by:

Well, aside from losing the extra day at the beginning by being directed to the wrong hill while everyone flew in the Malverns, then two days of fog and drizzle in the camp site with a leaky groundsheet, and the day after the good one with its 40mph winds that exploded my UV-damaged tent that was then rolled up and shoved dripping into the back of the car minus several items that blew away without my noticing, my single 51 minute flight 7km downwind of Bache Hill as part of the British Open Series competition was not an unmitigated failure.
tentblown

I suffer for my sport.

Becka says I should do more caving, because that’s a sensible sport. You can schedule 7 hours of caving any day of the week you like, go down the hole, and that’s exactly at least as much as you will experience. Hardly ever a disappointment.

Call me picky, but I won’t be satisfied by 7 hours down the same old muddy wormholes every weekend, just as I can’t be satisfied by a bale of grass for breakfast. I’m not a horse. It’s not a digestible substance except as part of a balanced diet with many other things.

Here’s a picture from the hill on the day.
bachhill

The gopro SD card lost its read-only tag and didn’t work, so I don’t have any pictures from the sky. My head is still spinning.

Back in the old days when hang-gliding was actually popular (and I was a student with a crap glider that I flew crappily), these competitions were exclusive affairs, where only the top elite pilots from each club were allowed to darken the skies above the playing field.

Nowadays, they need more newbies, so they’ve established a “club class” with a special easy task, and go to great lengths to make you feel welcome to have a go.

They’ve even arranged special retrieve car for us noobs, knowing that we’re not in the position to organize our own. I mean, we all like to think that we have the potential to do some amazing XC, but it isn’t realistic. But it could happen. And then you’d lean on some friend to be your retrieve driver for the week, and only ever get as far as the bottom landing field, causing immense humiliation in the eyes of the person who’s just wasted their holiday not being required for something that could only have been important if you weren’t so damn big-headed and useless at flying.

A huge part of the game is is mental attitude and negative thoughts, and the organizers are well clued up on this, thank heavens.

Anyway, we drove to the hill. We were advised to take off early. The wind was off the slope blowing from the right. There were 30 gliders on the grass in front of where I’d parked. Suddenly the sky was full of them. Too many. And the wind veered back to parallel along the slope. I knew I had blown it again. Many were struggling to stay up. You could hear certain notes of concern in their voices as they talked over the radio about which end of the slope to go to before they lost it.

I had fitted a helmet radio the day before, and it was like wearing stereo headphones for the first time ever. I was on another planet, leaning on to the front wires of my glider waiting to take off. I left the mic unconnected, or I might have said: “It’s one small step for a man”.

A gust of wind came through. I was so spaced out I didn’t notice I’d left the ground. The funny thing about the flight is I don’t remember any wind during the whole experience, until I landed in a field full of sheep and lambs. Then it was blowing a gale.

It was a joy to fly in the gaggle of gliders. They said you really only had to worry about the two or three gliders at your altitude. These are all top pilots, all doing the same thing (going up and not going down), all turning in the same direction.

Eventually, after wallowing close to the bracken several times, I got up high, 500m above take-off, to an altitude that the earlier pilots had spoken of reaching, and I continued circling over the trees and the back of the hill. Everyone else rose above me and I lost track of where the heck they were.

bachgpsside

Then I lost the thermal, drifted downwind a bit, found another thermal, didn’t cling on to it with all my might, lost that, and came down at the high point of a hill to avoid descending into a one of the many narrow valley where it looked like there would be nowhere to land.

Two gliders passed overhead like flyspecks while I was packing up. They travelled in long straight lines to find their elusive thermals, and one of them circled until it hit the clouds.

The worked calculation of how far short I was out from cloudbase by will be included in the next blogpost after I have completed more analysis of the data.

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