HAPPY DAYS

During these tough times thoughts turn to some of our favourite fly outs. Duncan Campbell shares one of his favourites, and looks to the future when the freedom to fly returns…

Those of a certain generation will no doubt recognise the line ‘…you don’t know what you’ve got ‘till it’s gone’ from the Joni Mitchell song Big Yellow Taxi. Not being able to fly at the moment does, like absence of friends and loved ones, make the heart grow fonder and I hope, like me, you are able to relish the memories of favourite flights as you look forward to once again having the freedom to fly. I hope you enjoy my favourite ‘local’ as much as I’m sure you enjoy your own.

Approaching the strip along the rutted track, the only living creatures in evidence are the resident horses, Tiger, Amber and Rosa, barely acknowledging my arrival from their loose boxes. To them, I suppose, I am just another regular human who they recognise is neither going to feed, groom nor exercise them, so barely worth a whinny or the toss of a mane. It is 7.30am, the sun is up, but the air is cold and the grass is wet with dew.

I drive slowly down the apron and then along the runway favoured by the wind. Good, no detritus. Although I have never found anything untoward here, runway checking at a previous home for us had on more than one occasion yielded branches, rabbit corpses and once, a headless sheep. Today, there’s thankfully only grass, which could do with a trim before too long.

The handle of the hangar door is cold and, in the quiet of the morning the squeak and juddering of the doors as they concertina back against their frame seems loud enough to wake the dead. Mustn’t forget to hook them back to stop them creeping back along the track in any breeze; for some of us the wingspan clearance is measured in inches and the slightest narrowing presents a hazard.

Somewhere near the front…

Great, I’m in luck, there’s only one aircraft in front of me. It could have been much worse. There are seven operational aircraft in the big hangar and the convention is to let Jack know if we plan to fly, so that we can be chalked on the board and hopefully end up somewhere near the front when we arrive.

Having had no plans to fly until late last night, too late to let anyone know, meant it really is pure luck that I’m not right at the back! In pole position is one of our sister Luscombes. She is easy to pull out and manoeuvre to one side on the small concrete apron. It would be a different matter if there were several to move because we are then parking to one side of the grass taxiway and, at this time of the year with wet grass and slightly soft ground, it’s not an easy task for a single person. I roll Mike India onto the apron and chock the tailwheel.

Looking at her on the apron always gives me a little rush of adrenalin. She looks so purposeful, and the urge to just leap in and go at this point is strong.

There was a time when pre-flight checking seemed an irritant, something tedious that had to be done, but these days it is enjoyed in an almost zen-like calm, an opportunity to admire the beauty of her construction and check all the little signs of ageing, as well as attending to the ‘must-do’ tasks before flight. Today, all is as it should be, although the oil needs topping up and our simple but foolproof hardwood dipstick shows there is not quite enough fuel on board to allow a good enough margin for a safe flight.

To one side of the hangar, where the roof slopes low, is a hay store where we keep our refuelling steps. At some time or other they were in daily use in a

Above Duncan uses the convenient pump equipped steps to fuel up the Luscombe before his early morning flight.

commercial maintenance organisation but today, bird-lime spattered and often used as a test piece for trial sprayed paint colours, they are somewhat tatty but they are stable and make our lives easier. I wheel them over to the aeroplane, position them and attach the earth strap to the exhaust stub. Walking back to the hangar Jennifer appears, leading Amber. We exchange pleasantries and I agree to hold off starting up until all three horses have been led out to the field. Fuelled up, tanks checked for water and pre-flight completed, we’re ready to go.

I’d checked the Notams and weather before leaving home, so I know there are no contraindications to making a local flight. I’d put local frequencies on my plog but there won’t be any ground stations operating this early. Still, I might change my mind and wander further afield – it’s as well to have them to hand.

Horses safely corralled, no humans in evidence, I climb in and sit quietly for a moment. I start going through the checklist. Window open, prime, master and mags to ON...‘clear prop!’... she starts immediately. Very satisfying! Strobe on. I put my headphones on and wait for the engine to warm up enough then call on Safetycom to alert any other early birds.

Shallow undulations

Before entering the runway and backtracking, I call again, this time adding a second call on the dedicated frequency of our closest airfield neighbour, barely a mile away. The ground has not yet hardened up, still soft enough to cushion some of the rocking from side to side as the wheels drop in and out of some of the shallow undulations.

When I have a non-pilot beside me, this is often a perfect opportunity to reassure them that this bumping about is likely to be the roughest experience of the flight, not dissimilar to the country road surfaces encountered on the way here. Today I’m alone. The engine sounds sweet, running smoothly, comfortingly and as the buildings and trees are left behind us and the runway ahead curves gently down to our turnaround point. A broad vista of Downs and sky opens up ahead and even that friendly sound seems to fade as I feel an expanding sense of peace, freedom and tranquillity.

Reaching the end of the runway the reverie has to pause – rudder hard over, a touch of brake and we swing round to face the way we had just come. Now I have to concentrate. Stick fully back, heel brakes on, gently increase revs to 1,700, carb heat on (rev drop as expected) carb heat off, left and right mag check (the usual slight drop) temperatures and pressures OK, reduce to idle, 400 revs. (any more and we wouldn’t land so much as float forever), then back up to 1,200rpm.

Now the final checks. Although on my own, I still read aloud from the checklist on my lap and touch everything with my hand as I go: ‘trimmer neutral, throttle friction off, carb heat off, mags both on, mixture full, primer locked, fuel on (recording which tank on the plog) controls full and free, altimeter set, transponder set to 7000’. We’re ready. A last look round, seat-belt tightened and the windsock showing a slight crosswind from the left. I know where the horses are, the sheep are two fields away and the geese in the next field are still on the ground – I haven’t seen the dog though, so I’ll keep an eye out for her as we roll, although she usually runs a mile from engine noise.

Carb heat check and a final call, then stick over to the left, push the throttle smoothly to full, stick full forward as we begin to roll, slowly at first as we are trundling uphill, then the tail begins to lift. The jolting increases as we gather momentum, I have half an eye on the abort point ahead. A quick glance at the gauges but I already know from the sound of the

Top left Parked ready for the off, note the solar panels alongside the runway, a good landmark as the sun often glints off them long before the airfield is in sight.

Top right Heading down the river to Newhaven for a flight along the South Coast.

Above left What a glorious morning, heading back inland from the South Coast.

Above right Cleaning your aircraft before putting it away identifies any problems, such as missing screws or loose inspection covers, before they become a much more serious problem.

engine and wind noise that all is well, we are close to lift off. The jolting stops abruptly, we are airborne, holding low to gather speed over the runway, then climbing and swaying slightly as we pick up the breeze above the trees. I bank slightly to avoid flying directly overhead next door’s farmhouse, then bank again to head due south and we are already at 500ft and pointing towards the South Downs.

Sheep dot the hillside ahead and a handful of cars make their way along the ribbon of road below. I overtake them, as well as a green, three-carriage train heading south on the dead straight railway line. I have a palpable sense of relief, of freedom, of being alone in a wide, open space, connected but mercifully separate from the waking world below. The air is clear and as we climb towards the 2,750ft that I have set as our initial cruising level, I can see places that tell me I am already able to see about 40 miles in every direction. This really is a true privilege.

Other traffic

This early, none of the local ground stations are open for business, so I’m still tuned to Safetycom as I’m well aware that some of our non-radio neighbours are early risers, so I’m keeping an eye open for other traffic. Suddenly the headphones break into life and I know that below me, someone is taking off. Sure enough, far below I see a movement of something red and I can just make out what looks like it may be a Pitts Special. I keep watching because, if it is, it can climb up here in the blink of an eye. I make a brief call, giving registration, position, altitude, type and colour so the aeroplane below has some idea what to look for. She acknowledges and thanks me. She’s clearly seen me because she turns and climbs in the opposite direction. The airwaves are quiet again. I bank left and head south toward the coast.

Approaching overhead Newhaven, I look around and, seeing nothing to conflict, climb another 500ft before pulling out the carb heat and throttling back. I can hardly hear the engine now. I trim for almost level flight (slight descent) and sit back, hands and feet off the controls. I glide, almost silently. I look down and, as always, find such joy in the colours and patterns below, the shadows and highlights cast in the folds of the hills by the early morning light. Below me white gulls circle and below them two trawlers make their way downriver against the incoming tide. I’m basking in the sheer joy of flight and now begin an almost imperceptible bank to the left. I glance at my watch and note we have been flying ‘hands off’ for three minutes. Not bad for a vintage aeroplane with no cockpit-adjustable rudder trim. We’ve obviously got the ground-adjustable bits on the rudder and ailerons just about right. Time to switch tanks and note it on the plog.

Rock the wings

A few minutes later and we are under low power, but now over the sea, about 500ft out from the cliffs and descending to 100ft or so above their highest point. A solitary dog walker waves as we pass. I rock the wings and get another wave in response. Gulls scud alongside us a few metres off the landward wingtip, playing with us. Experience taught me many years ago that our size, shape and relatively slow speed gets us treated like a big brother and, like the buzzards we often meet above the Downs, they seem to enjoy cruising alongside. Ahead I can see a break in the cliffs that tells me it’s time to climb and turn inland. I ease the throttle forward and as the engine noise increases and the nose lifts, the gulls peel away.

We will need the extra height because turning inland here will take us above the mouth of the river, a gathering place for many varieties of seabirds and waders that wheel and dive in great numbers and we need to be well clear above them. I lift the starboard wingtip to check as far as I can behind, then dip it and begin a gentle climbing clockwise turn out to sea that will eventually bring us back to pointing inland. This way I will get ample time to check left and right for any other early traffic heading along the coast. It was at this point on one memorable occasion a year or so ago that I was buzzed by a two-seat Spitfire doing the South Coast cliffs experience. Very exciting!

Landing preparation

At 1,500ft, we follow the river back through a break in the Downs and turn left for home. It’s still too early for the ground stations but there is noticeably more road traffic below.

Over the reservoir, way ahead, I see the sun glinting on the solar panels alongside one of our two runways. I feel different, shifting from flight enjoyment mode into landing preparation. I make an early call. Nothing comes back, but I keep a weather eye out for anybody flying non-radio or on a different frequency. Down to 1,000ft, call downwind, glance to the right to check the windsock, which is still showing a crosswind, but not enough to change runways. I wake up the feet on the rudder pedals, pull carb heat out and bank right and over the pond, throttle back and almost immediately bank right again.

On this runway to do a standard rectangular pattern would mean passing over the top of the high-tension power lines that diagonally cross the final approach path. Today I don’t fancy it so I’m turning onto final early, paralleling the power lines with the runway about 30˚ to the right of our track. Trim all the way back. We are slightly too low now so, a little burst of throttle, bank right again and the runway is dead ahead… wing down slightly to counter the crosswind, tiny bit of opposite rudder, another quick burst of throttle to counter a sudden sink over the dip and we’re now into ground effect. The throttle is now fully shut… back gently with the stick… wings level – and we’re down, bouncing about on the rough surface. Will we need a touch of brake? No, we’ve slowed enough to make the turn onto the taxi track to the hangar.

The door is open. An RV is pulled out onto the grass, tail to the hedge. Alastair is leaning into the cockpit. He waves as I do the final mag check and cut the engine. The silence is loud and broken only by birdsong and the ‘tic, tic, tic’ of the cooling exhaust and cylinders. I climb out and we exchange a few words before I pull her onto the hard and collect the bucket and cleaning materials. I pop the kettle on, so I have something to look forward to after the mucky bit. Cleaning is also the perfect time to do a post-flight check. Everything OK and I top up the fuel to half tanks for the next one of our group to fly, and wheel her back into the hangar.

Alastair is taxying out as I pull up a chair in the sun and start to enjoy a perfect cup of English breakfast tea. And, the entire day still lies ahead… ■