My longest duration, about 10 hours 45 minutes, is pitifully short compared with 21 hours etc, but it was in a Ka6E glider with a tiny cockpit having no room to change position. I had a very good cushion arrangement and felt quite fresh when I landed.
Skip the rest if bored of details of other people’s flying.
Chris N.
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A Glider Flight in Competition Enterprise
July 1987, Aboyne, Aberdeenshire. The seventh and last day of the competition, every day of which we had flown one or another sort of tasks. Today’s event was not untypical of Competition Enterprise, involving pilot selection of turnpoints from a number of alternatives, the aim this time being to fly round the largest triangle within the pilot’s and glider’s abilities.
I took off in my somewhat old-fashioned Schleicher Ka6E around 11.00, and took the tow to 3,300 feet, hoping to contact mountain wave. I found some and gained a bit of height near the gliding site, up to about 5,000 feet. It looked as though conditions were good to the North West. My plan at that stage was to climb as high as I could over the Grampians and then head North to a bridge over the River Spey near the coast. I made modest progress to Tomintoul. There I encountered a problem. For a safe margin to glide over the mountains, I needed height which I could only gain in wave. I found that I could climb in the wave to about the top of the nearest clouds, but not high enough to be sure of flying safely over the tops and in clear air over to the next wave bar, which looked as though it would have taken me straight to the Spey bridge. Worse still, I kept losing the wave and descending below cloudbase where the wave no longer worked. I looked at the fields round Tomintoul and concluded that I could land relatively safely if I had to, but focused mainly on thermalling back up into the wave – not an easy transition, but possible with persistence. I spent over an hour in that area, going through the same cycle several times until I finally gained enough height to dash over the nearest cloud to the one beyond. From there to the Spey bridge was an easy run, mainly at about 5-6,000 feet. I had lost so much time, however, that I could not expect a very good result for the day compared with others who had chosen that route and reached there well before me.
To make a decently sized triangle I headed towards Banchory in the Dee valley, turning another point just outside the controlled airspace surrounding Aberdeen Airport. I had permission from their air traffic control to enter their airspace if I needed to. In the event, I climbed well there, and had adequate height to return to Aboyne. A modest task achieved, after a bit of a struggle.
Returning to Aboyne with a few thousand feet in hand, I was surprised to hear some of those with a better start going further west, where it looked to me as though there was almost complete cloud cover over the Grampian and Cairngorm mountains. The wave was working well, however, and I thought it would be interesting to explore it along the Dee valley even if I could not improve on the size of a valid triangle, so off I went, above the clouds. At first there were plenty of gaps where the ground was visible, and navigation from my chart was easy. As I moved further west, the clouds increased, the holes got smaller, and near Braemar the ground was rarely visible. Until then, I had been able to work between 5,000 and 8,000 feet, above cloud.
I reached a point where the next step required flying into the westerly wind, round the side of particularly large wave cloud, and then hoping to find lift again on its western side. All week I had been working out safe exit routes from the mountains in the event of the next hoped-for area of rising air not working. This time, the escape route would be to go south, towards Blairgowrie, gliding down over gradually lower mountains; and then turn left, eastwards, for Kirriemuir and land out somewhere in the flat fields of that valley.
The big cloud did not work. Worse, there were almost no holes at all, and navigation was now a potential problem. Without lift, I was descending into the clouds at about 5,000 feet and the mountains there go up to about 3,500 feet – higher still in the Cairngorms to the west - so it was time for the escape route. I flew southwards with my cloud-flying instrument - the turn and slip - now switched on. In cloud but with occasional gaps, I was able to see the ground often enough to confirm that it was dropping away faster than I was losing height. My flight might be about to come to an end, with an ignominious and inconvenient outlanding, but it would be safe, and a reasonable achievement for the day in a wooden glider. I came below cloudbase and now had the ground in sight continuously.
A little north of Blairgowrie there was sunlight streaming though a large hole in the clouds now above me, shining onto a substantial mountain. I was approaching its western flank, which faced into wind, and it occurred to me that I might prolongue the flight a little at least, if it worked as a ridge, with the wind blowing up it and hence creating lift. If that didn’t work, it was back to the plan to turn left when past it and head for the flat lands.
It was the strongest ridge lift I have ever encountered – off the scale of my 10-knot (one thousand feet per minute) vario, the instrument which shows the glider’s rate of climb. The lift went right on through the hole in the clouds, past the mountain tops. As I put on my oxygen mask at 8,000 feet the wave lift still went up. At 13,000 feet the lift eased off, and through a further hole to the west I could see Loch Tay – another of our choice of turnpoints. Some quick calculations showed that even with no more lift, I could glide over to Loch Tay, turn back for Aboyne, and return there all above the clouds with the height I now had.
Loch Tay looked magnificent, as I photographed it to prove I had reached there. I would now be able to claim a larger triangle – 266 kilometres upon returning to the start point, when later measured, though I had actually flown much further with my diversions. Turning back for Aboyne, now down to 12,000 feet, I looked down again at the hill that saved me, where the ridge lift had combined with wave to yield that spectacular climb. The wave was also the cause of the hole upwind of the mountain which made such a climb safe as well as exhilarating.
Flying in brilliant sunshine over the clouds and mountains once more, by dead reckoning and checking occasionally with landmarks visible through more distant holes in the cloud layer, I heard a friend in a two-seat glider talking on our radio channel. He had not been far from Aboyne all day, but was having a wonderful flight with a friend. He confirmed what I expected, that the gliding site had clear air above so that I could let down without risk when I reached home.
I landed shortly before 10 p.m., the sun low in the sky, my flight having been for 10 hours 45 minutes. The others had long since landed, except for my two-seater friend who seemed intent on soaring the local wave until after sunset. The Competition last-night-party was in full swing, and the scorer was out on the runway to meet me and find what I had done – he needed it to work out and announce the results of the day and the whole week of competition.
As it happened, with handicapping reflecting my low-performance glider, I was the day winner and second for the week. Satisfying though that was, my elation was enhanced by the thoughts of where I had been, and what I had seen and done. I had used thermal, wave, and ridge lift, and transitioned between them; experienced the low of nearly landing out and the high of that wonderful climb that got me round and home; seen spectacular cloudscapes, green mountain sides, grey granite peaks, and blue waters; navigated over, through and around clouds; and completed the longest flight of my life.
A day to cherish.