The most protracted PPL ever?........

[kevmusic]

The Great Day - Part 1

Getting away from the Km household can sometimes be an epic task, and as I had to be at the airfield at 0830 I planned every job for the evening and morning and put it down in a timetable, setting myself to get up .......at 0500. One of my biggest concerns had been whether I would get enough sleep before the test by either failing to get off to sleep, or awaking early and tossing and turning while waiting for the alarm. In fact, I slept soundly, waking and snoozing for about half an hour before the alarm and getting about 6 ½ hours. As I went about the house, getting ready, I felt alert and positive – unusually for me at that time of morning!

I got notams, weather, TAFs and METARs; got the spot wind and factored it in to my plog; did the necessary domestic jobs and was ready to leave, a little later than planned, at 0750.

During the last few weeks I was becoming aware that my currency was beginning to look decidedly thin. I’d been flying pretty regularly upto the end of August, but had only managed one flight since then, and that not even a navex. My initial test appointment was for three weeks after that and Bruce was confident I’d hold it together for then. But the weather had other plans, and that was cancelled. And the next. And so it dragged on. By now, Bruce was beginning to think I’d be better off with a refresher, but I was beginning to feel I’d had enough. Immerse myself in visualisation and revision, run and re-run the route (Staplehurst – Uckfield – Ford – Farnborough) in Google Earth, rehearse the checks to death then go for it.

Later, my impatience was very nearly to be my undoing. But for now I trusted in my immersion habits and skill-retention attributes to get me through. It even came down to affecting my choice of car for the journey. Would it be the Astra, with its modern smoothness, quite and comfort? Definitely better for maintaining immersion and deep thought for the way there – and, perhaps more importantly - the way back! The other option was my pride and joy, my 1967 Spitfire. Despite its initial reputation as a ‘girly’ sports car, the Spit is actually quite a muscly drive. The steering’s heavy, the gearbox is heavy, the cockpit is spartan and it’s noisy and rattly. It’s a great buzz though, and definitely the car of choice with a fun flight in the offing. But this was a Skills Test. And if (dreadful thought) I failed, then the Spit is not a car inwhich to slink away from the airfield with your tail between your legs. In the end I decided that the latter train of thought was pure negative thinking and went for the Spit. At least I’d have a fun ride on the ground.

Transport of delight - my '67 Spit.


So there we were, at ten to eight, I’d kissed Mrs. Km goodbye and I was getting the car out of the garage. I love open-top motoring but it is December, so I had the top and the windows well and truly up. It felt rather strange making that familiar journey now – so often for just a flying lesson, now for the Test itself. But I found I didn’t want to immerse myself in checks and other flying thoughts this journey. I was happy just to do the drive with the radio on and think about nothing. When I arrived, something made me grab my bag, climb out of the car and stroll into the club just as if it were another ordinary day.

There was a rush on. The aircraft was booked out later that morning and we had to be off the ground by 9.30. So I went straight to the briefing with Max, my examiner, who told me what we would be doing and where, and what he expected of me in terms of safety and lookout, R/T, navigation and all the other good things. Then we agreed that I would check out the aircraft and take it over to the pumps. Max, meanwhile, would go over to the Tiger Club to blag a cup of tea and meet me when ready. At the time of my first appointment ‘YL had been parked nearest the clubhouse in anticipation of my doing the walkround under Max’s gaze. Not so, this time – she was parked several spaces up the line. So I checked her over as normal, started her up and went over to the pumps. I had just finished the port tank and was taking the ladders and hose over to starboard when I saw Max hurrying across, looking grim and shaking his head.

“I just heard”, he called. “Locusts. Millions of ‘em”.

I couldn’t believe my ears. Sounded a bit biblical. Here?

“Zero visibilty. It’s all off”.

Then the penny dropped. My CAA examiner was having a pre-test wind-up. I must have rolled my eyes, or something; anyway, he chuckled. At least I’d pleased him on the ground. A good start.

So here I was – finally ensconced in the cockpit with an examiner. Due to all the recent heavy rain there had been some doubt whether we could use Headcorn for circuits, raising the possibilty of doing the circuit work at Lydd and incurring extra headaches and fees. However, the authorities relented, though the ground remained very heavy, and I needed a lot of power to taxi and turn. Once lined up for departure Max ticked me off for not setting up for a short-field take off due to the conditions. After take off I remembered to retract the flaps at 300’. Settled into the climb it was time to get my kneeboard and chart from behind the seat and start navigating. The climb out on 29 took us to our departure point over Staplehurst a little low so I turned 270° climbing to 2,300’ to orientate myself for the first leg to Uckfield. Time, stopwatch, does it look right? – yep, there’s Bewl Water – FREDA and go.

That’s when I entered faff mode. Big time.