Flock1
7th Aug 2004, 16:22
Hi all,
Before any of you read this lengthy post, I would just like to point out that there is a very long preamble, and that no real incident of note actually occurs throughout the whole thing.
Okay then, I've been a qualified PPL for about 15 months now, and yesterday, I experienced my most nerve-wracking flight ever.
But before that, I think a bit of explanation about my experience is needed...
I passed by PPL about 15 months ago, and when I initially passed, I did the usual things, like jaunts over the local areas, as well as taking my friends/family up with me. Then, after getting jaded with this, me and another relatively new PPL holder (we knew each other from our training), decided to fly together. We didn't want to fall into the category of 'lapsed PPL holders within a year of passing,' and so we decided to fly together. We reasoned that by doing this, we could not only half the cost of hiring the plane, but we could double the expertise (if you could call it that) that we both possessed.
And so about 8 months ago, we took to flying together, and it was great. We flew to places further afield that either of us would have ordinarily gone to, and we soon developed a routine. Whoever was P1 would have the ultimate 'decision' and whoever was P2, would be chief navigator and radio operator.
Before you read on, you may be thinking that this thread is to slag off my flying mate, but you couldn't be further from the truth. It has little to do with him.
So eventually, we did more together. We knew that because there were two us (licensed pilots no less) we took things in our stride. The pair of us flew to airfields that were totally new to us. We did tarmac/grass/licenced/unlicenced/short/long/Class D airports, and we loved them all. We did MATZ crossings, we did the Manchester low-level corridor, and we donned life jackets to fly across the Irish Sea to the Isle of Man. and we had a whale of a time. And get this - we did all of these trips without a GPS! We flew by the methods taught to us by our instructors.
We knew that, no matter how bad it got, there were two of us to do the job.
Flying with my pal became easy. There was no stress at all. Whenever we flew together, and we came upon a situation that was perhaps 'iffy' we would both analyse it, think of what to do, and then do it. Our threshold of 'terror' began to grow.
That's not to say we became reckless. Far from it. We were always apprehensive before any flight. In fact, I remember once, when we had once just taken off, and after flying for only ten minutes, my pal - flying as P2 at the time, noticed that the temp and pressure gauges in the red. We calmly returned to our airfield, landing safely, but sweating profusely. (We later found out that the gauges were bugg**ed).
So now you know that we are not young hotheads (we are both in our early thirties) and that we do not take risks gladly. So let's return to the point of this (rather lengthy - is anybody still reading it - thread.)
As a new challenge for us both, we decided to broaden our horizons and to fly from Middle England up to Scotland. We diligently planned a route that would take us from our base airfield, on a northerly heading, up the west coast of England, towards our goal. We would route past Blackpool, up past Barrow, and then we would land at our first airport - Carlisle - where we would have a break, and assess the weather. Then we would switch seats and head up to Jockland, landing initially to Dundee, before weighing up our options for our trip back down to our base airfield.
Yesterday came, and before we met up, we both checked the weather. Morning was a no-go, but the afternoon looked fine. We met up and drove over to the airport. We checked the weather again, and it seemed to indicate good weather - except for a 30% chance of temporary periods of 8000 vis in rain showers up at Dundee. When we looked outside, it looked glorious – but that was at our home airport. But nevertheless, we decided that the trip was on. We would take off and fly to Carlisle.
I was P1, and so we headed north, safe in our minds that Forms 414/5 were accurate. At first things were great, but way out in front of us; over on my left-hand side (the Irish Sea) we could see a dense layer of cloud. This was our first inkling that things were not quite right. Regardless, we passed Blackpool, and up towards the north, we could see that layer of cloud stretched from the far horizon to almost the coast. As we got further along our track, the cloud seemed to really thicken.
“Mark,” I said to my pal in the passenger seat. “What do you reckon of that cloud?”
I could tell that my friend was looking at the cloud as well. He said, “Looks a bit dodgy mate.”
I flew on as he switched from Blackpool Approach to Scottish Information.
As we neared Barrow-in-Furness, we reached the rear edge of the cloud. And it was below us. We could still see the ground, and up ahead, we could easily make out the tops of hills, and so we weren’t too worried. We knew where we were, we knew how high (and how low) we could fly, and besides, the cloud ahead might not be closely packed; it might just seem as if it was from where we were. We reasoned that the cloud at Barrow was quite broken, but from further back, it looked solid, and so we elected to carry on.
We were cruising at about 3500ft, and the cloud was about 2000ft. A few minutes later, the cloud started to thicken up. We could still see the ground, but not like before, only intermittently. The holes were smaller and less frequent. I began to have bitter doubts about carrying on, and so voiced my concerns to Mark. I considered turning around.
He agreed, but from his right-hand position, the cloud was more broken, and so he didn’t seem as worried as me, so we cariied on for a few minutes more. The mass of cloud on my left was really worrying me now, and so I banked to the left, asking Mark to look out of my side of the window. What he saw shocked him. It was a sheer white sea of nothingness. It reminded me of the occasions when on board on airliner, all you can see is cloud below. That’s what it was like on my left-hand side.
We turned around.
My tension levels were high, and Mike kept a god look out for any gaps below. We knew that we were more or less alright though, because we could still see various bits of land in the gaps to my left, and we could also see the high ground which rose above he cloud layer. As we flew on, I wondered what it would be like at our home airport. Had the layer of cloud come ashore there as well? How low was its base? Mike and I discussed our options.
We decided that if when we got back, and the cloud had indeed come ashore, then we would fly out to sea, and then descend, hoping to come out the bottom layer before we hit water. There was only one problem with this though – the AI. It was dodgy. When we had first taken off, I checked it, flying straight and level. The AI showed us in a banked attitude. When I went to straight and level according to the AI, we were turning. It was only slightly, but it was enough to cause worry and angst.
I wondered if the sea of white was actually fog, and I could feel my heart beating as I pondered that thought. Eventually, as we passed some high ground, I could see quite a few breaks in the cloud over to my left, and so, after consulting the charts, we headed left for some low ground. Soon we descended and in the far distance we could make out Morecambe Bay. We were saved.
Half an hour later, we were safely back on the ground, thanking our lucky stars. Both of us decided that an IMC course was the next thing we would have to do. After chatting to an instructor (telling him everything) he informed us that we had been still legally flying under our PPL privileges. The fact that we maintained separation from the cloud layer and maintained contact with the ground (albeit sporadically) meant that we were flying in VMC conditions. This surprised me a lot.
Anyway, I leave it there, I gone on far too much, and the reason for posting this ‘tale’ is to ask one basic question. Are Mike and I reckless pilots, cowardly pilots, or are we somewhere in between?
Flock1
Before any of you read this lengthy post, I would just like to point out that there is a very long preamble, and that no real incident of note actually occurs throughout the whole thing.
Okay then, I've been a qualified PPL for about 15 months now, and yesterday, I experienced my most nerve-wracking flight ever.
But before that, I think a bit of explanation about my experience is needed...
I passed by PPL about 15 months ago, and when I initially passed, I did the usual things, like jaunts over the local areas, as well as taking my friends/family up with me. Then, after getting jaded with this, me and another relatively new PPL holder (we knew each other from our training), decided to fly together. We didn't want to fall into the category of 'lapsed PPL holders within a year of passing,' and so we decided to fly together. We reasoned that by doing this, we could not only half the cost of hiring the plane, but we could double the expertise (if you could call it that) that we both possessed.
And so about 8 months ago, we took to flying together, and it was great. We flew to places further afield that either of us would have ordinarily gone to, and we soon developed a routine. Whoever was P1 would have the ultimate 'decision' and whoever was P2, would be chief navigator and radio operator.
Before you read on, you may be thinking that this thread is to slag off my flying mate, but you couldn't be further from the truth. It has little to do with him.
So eventually, we did more together. We knew that because there were two us (licensed pilots no less) we took things in our stride. The pair of us flew to airfields that were totally new to us. We did tarmac/grass/licenced/unlicenced/short/long/Class D airports, and we loved them all. We did MATZ crossings, we did the Manchester low-level corridor, and we donned life jackets to fly across the Irish Sea to the Isle of Man. and we had a whale of a time. And get this - we did all of these trips without a GPS! We flew by the methods taught to us by our instructors.
We knew that, no matter how bad it got, there were two of us to do the job.
Flying with my pal became easy. There was no stress at all. Whenever we flew together, and we came upon a situation that was perhaps 'iffy' we would both analyse it, think of what to do, and then do it. Our threshold of 'terror' began to grow.
That's not to say we became reckless. Far from it. We were always apprehensive before any flight. In fact, I remember once, when we had once just taken off, and after flying for only ten minutes, my pal - flying as P2 at the time, noticed that the temp and pressure gauges in the red. We calmly returned to our airfield, landing safely, but sweating profusely. (We later found out that the gauges were bugg**ed).
So now you know that we are not young hotheads (we are both in our early thirties) and that we do not take risks gladly. So let's return to the point of this (rather lengthy - is anybody still reading it - thread.)
As a new challenge for us both, we decided to broaden our horizons and to fly from Middle England up to Scotland. We diligently planned a route that would take us from our base airfield, on a northerly heading, up the west coast of England, towards our goal. We would route past Blackpool, up past Barrow, and then we would land at our first airport - Carlisle - where we would have a break, and assess the weather. Then we would switch seats and head up to Jockland, landing initially to Dundee, before weighing up our options for our trip back down to our base airfield.
Yesterday came, and before we met up, we both checked the weather. Morning was a no-go, but the afternoon looked fine. We met up and drove over to the airport. We checked the weather again, and it seemed to indicate good weather - except for a 30% chance of temporary periods of 8000 vis in rain showers up at Dundee. When we looked outside, it looked glorious – but that was at our home airport. But nevertheless, we decided that the trip was on. We would take off and fly to Carlisle.
I was P1, and so we headed north, safe in our minds that Forms 414/5 were accurate. At first things were great, but way out in front of us; over on my left-hand side (the Irish Sea) we could see a dense layer of cloud. This was our first inkling that things were not quite right. Regardless, we passed Blackpool, and up towards the north, we could see that layer of cloud stretched from the far horizon to almost the coast. As we got further along our track, the cloud seemed to really thicken.
“Mark,” I said to my pal in the passenger seat. “What do you reckon of that cloud?”
I could tell that my friend was looking at the cloud as well. He said, “Looks a bit dodgy mate.”
I flew on as he switched from Blackpool Approach to Scottish Information.
As we neared Barrow-in-Furness, we reached the rear edge of the cloud. And it was below us. We could still see the ground, and up ahead, we could easily make out the tops of hills, and so we weren’t too worried. We knew where we were, we knew how high (and how low) we could fly, and besides, the cloud ahead might not be closely packed; it might just seem as if it was from where we were. We reasoned that the cloud at Barrow was quite broken, but from further back, it looked solid, and so we elected to carry on.
We were cruising at about 3500ft, and the cloud was about 2000ft. A few minutes later, the cloud started to thicken up. We could still see the ground, but not like before, only intermittently. The holes were smaller and less frequent. I began to have bitter doubts about carrying on, and so voiced my concerns to Mark. I considered turning around.
He agreed, but from his right-hand position, the cloud was more broken, and so he didn’t seem as worried as me, so we cariied on for a few minutes more. The mass of cloud on my left was really worrying me now, and so I banked to the left, asking Mark to look out of my side of the window. What he saw shocked him. It was a sheer white sea of nothingness. It reminded me of the occasions when on board on airliner, all you can see is cloud below. That’s what it was like on my left-hand side.
We turned around.
My tension levels were high, and Mike kept a god look out for any gaps below. We knew that we were more or less alright though, because we could still see various bits of land in the gaps to my left, and we could also see the high ground which rose above he cloud layer. As we flew on, I wondered what it would be like at our home airport. Had the layer of cloud come ashore there as well? How low was its base? Mike and I discussed our options.
We decided that if when we got back, and the cloud had indeed come ashore, then we would fly out to sea, and then descend, hoping to come out the bottom layer before we hit water. There was only one problem with this though – the AI. It was dodgy. When we had first taken off, I checked it, flying straight and level. The AI showed us in a banked attitude. When I went to straight and level according to the AI, we were turning. It was only slightly, but it was enough to cause worry and angst.
I wondered if the sea of white was actually fog, and I could feel my heart beating as I pondered that thought. Eventually, as we passed some high ground, I could see quite a few breaks in the cloud over to my left, and so, after consulting the charts, we headed left for some low ground. Soon we descended and in the far distance we could make out Morecambe Bay. We were saved.
Half an hour later, we were safely back on the ground, thanking our lucky stars. Both of us decided that an IMC course was the next thing we would have to do. After chatting to an instructor (telling him everything) he informed us that we had been still legally flying under our PPL privileges. The fact that we maintained separation from the cloud layer and maintained contact with the ground (albeit sporadically) meant that we were flying in VMC conditions. This surprised me a lot.
Anyway, I leave it there, I gone on far too much, and the reason for posting this ‘tale’ is to ask one basic question. Are Mike and I reckless pilots, cowardly pilots, or are we somewhere in between?
Flock1