Part 2, The Continuing Story
Dave continues his story of learning to fly.
Sunday 18th November 2007 turned out to be the most exciting day of my life, apart from the day back in 2002 when my paraglider and I had a disagreement about who was actually in control, ending up with me being ceremoniously smacked into a hillside (and doing considerable damage to my undercarriage). But of course, as you can imagine, that was a different type of excitement altogether.
On this occasion, after some frustrating moments (make that hours) trying to come to grips with the swing of the Drifter on takeoff (not to mention the level of skill involved in performing glide approaches), the penny finally dropped and both takeoffs and landings started to appear a lot less like a drunken (and perhaps suicidal) sheep had stolen a Drifter.
With the miraculous change in my standard of flying occurring late on a Saturday afternoon, it became immediately obvious that the opportunity to go solo would be offered on the very next day. This of course did wonders for my sleep on the Saturday night, and if I took off and landed that little Drifter once that night, I did it a thousand times – funny how when you visualise such procedures they always work out to be just right. The point, of course, was whether I was going to be able to replicate those perfect takeoffs and landings the very next day.
Woken by the rumble of opening hangar doors at around 6am, I peeked out the window to see my instructor for the day, none other than the venerable Trevor Bange CFI (of Clifton Airfield fame), waking up the Drifter. Quick as a flash (well, not really) I was dressed and joined Trevor in the hangar, where we coerced the little wire-braced beauty out into the faint sunlight. With a brand new Rotax 582 bolted on only a few days ago, she gleamed in the early morning light, encouraging me to run my hands over her during the pre-flight inspection. Suddenly I understood why a nearby Corby Starlet has Ronnie’s Mistress emblazoned on the nose.
The plan was to slip across to Warwick to reinforce my takeoff skills by practicing “bitumen runway rudder input tasks” – and let me tell you, bitumen is a much different kettle of fish than the lovely, slippery old grass I was used to. On bitumen, the tyres bite, and bite hard. The torture was preceded by a crap circuit (base leg took about 3 seconds due to my too-close downwind leg) and – wait for it – “one of the best bitumen landings I have ever seen in a Drifter – score is 9.9, but only because I never give anyone a 10”. These words, from the mouth of Trevor Bange CFI, gentle reader, caused me to grin uncontrollably for about half an hour. Praise indeed, but, I must admit, well deserved, for the touchdown was not felt, ‘twas such a greaser.
A Rare and Magnificent Sighting Awaits
Heading back to Clifton, Trevor noticed a temperature inversion had resulted in two layers of lightly scattered Cumulus, one at about 1,000 feet AGL and another about 6,000 feet AGL. Sensing the opportunity for setting up a spectacular and rare sight for us both, he instructed my positional changes until we both looked down at the same time and saw it – an Aviator’s Halo or Glory. Which, in layman’s terms, is the shadow of the aircraft on cloud below, surrounded by a circular rainbow. The stronger the sun and a more dense cloud gives some vibrant circular rainbows. Awesome.
Arriving over the ‘field at 3,500 feet AGL, I excitedly reported sighting the airfield below. The response from the back seat was immediate – throttle off and just two words – “engine failure”. Great – from this altitude, it will be easy as. Stick forward, check airspeed, trim for descent. With lots of huge holes in the cloud to choose from, I steered the idling Drifter through into the clear air above the ‘field and just glided on down to position for the end of the downwind leg at just the right spot – from there it was just another glide approach, with a not too shabby touchdown just past the piano keys – wow, what a flight. Cavorting around clouds was a far cry from all that circuit stuff I’d been working on for all those weeks, and the change was a real breath of fresh air.
After a refuel (Mogas for the Drifter, coffee for the pilots – gotta remember not to get those mixed up) I was informed that we would do a couple of circuits together, then He would exit the aircraft and I would do it all alone. Butterflies? They felt more like wedge-tailed eagles, actually. So, off we went – the takeoffs were OK, so were the landings, and after a few words reminding me of how different the Drifter behaves one-up, He got out. So, I just took off (not too badly), and the little Drifter roared me into the sky like the bloody Space Shuttle – damn but she goes without an instructor in the back! Up to 500 feet AGL in what felt about half the time it normally takes, boost pump off, 800 feet and commence a 15 degree climbing turn to the right (right circuits for 06 at Clifton due to high ground to the north of the ‘field), another 200 feet and I’m set for the downwind turn at 1,000 feet AGL.
“Clifton traffic, Drifter 460, turning downwind, runway zero six, Clifton” – thought I would have sounded more nervous than that through my headphones, good – stay calm. Downwind checks completed, tell myself out loud that if I stuff it up, power on and go around. Height is perfect, speed fine, position fine, lookouts OK. Base call and around I go, throttle off and (as advised) it feels like the little devil just about stops dead (Drifter characteristics zip through my head – high drag, low inertia aircraft), stick well forward now to maintain that airspeed, adjust trim and check for any aircraft on long final. Final call and around I go, good positioning, but that lack of rear-seat weight really has an amazing result on how she glides, so I trickle on a little throttle – watch the airspeed, over the piano keys, throttle off now and I flare just a little early, she floats so I just wait a little, gradually feed in back stick, and the Drifter settles onto the runway with just a tiny bounce.
The Next Step
And with that magnificent achievement attained, I was surprised and excited by Trevor’s words (after the traditional handing over of the blue Lone Eagle ‘Solo’ cap) and congratulations from all present – “have a cuppa and settle your nerves, then go for a little flight, out to Clifton township, perhaps up to Nobby, just enjoy the moment”. That little half-hour flight was even more magnificent to me than the solo circuit, just me and a little Drifter, scooting along in the blue. I would love to be able to give you some idea of how amazing it felt to have achieved something I’d dreamed of all my life, but I can’t, it was simply indescribable. Pure Magic.
My training now took a whole new direction, with an instructor flying with me to teach a new skill, followed by solo flights practicing not only the new skill, but all the others learned so far as well. The Lone Eagle Flying School has an ethos that makes a lot of sense – the entire training scenario is based on the premise that if you can handle 10 to 12 knot crosswinds (15 is the limit for the Drifter) then anything you experience in the future below those numbers will be a breeze. And if that means you will be pushed to control the aircraft in difficult situations (and that’s what it takes to turn out a safe and proficient pilot) then hang onto your hat, because there will be some hair-raising moments. But you will fly away with your licence knowing you are as well prepared as is humanly possible for your future aviation career, whatever that may be.
Good News, Bad News
As with all trainee pilots, I picked up the occasional bad habit during my solo flying. One particularly nasty one was holding off (using slight opposite) aileron in the turn – not every turn, but occasionally. Trevor picked this up on a check flight after I hadn’t flown for a few weeks, and he was very quick to not only spot the problem, but also to demonstrate to me the inherent danger in not ensuring all turns are perfectly co-ordinated. We flew to 4,000 feet AGL for his demonstration – while in a gentle gliding turn, he set me up to holding off excess aileron while applying excessive rudder input into the turn. The end result was terrifying – the Drifter suddenly rolled steeply into the turn, and immediately dropped the nose to the point where I appeared to be staring straight at the ground! After Trevor pulled about 10 G’s in the recovery to level flight (felt like it to me, but it was probably only 2 or 3) he asked “what’s our current altitude?” The answer was 3,300 feet, a loss of 700 feet. “So, what happens if you do that in the circuit, at 500 feet, David?” Hmm – point taken, and believe me, my turns are very carefully co-ordinated now.
As my training continued I found some aspects of committing aviation unsettling. My attitude has always been to fly as carefully and professionally as possible, but obviously not all of my fellow aviators share those sentiments. In particular, I am referring to airfield incursions – I have witnessed many, and experienced one personally. I had just turned onto final at 500 feet and was lining up nicely onto the centreline when an unknown and unannounced reasonably high speed white (low wing) aircraft appeared at my two o’clock low on a crossing course, at what I estimated to be about 300 feet AGL. I had given downwind, base and final calls and had looked for traffic on both downwind and base legs – I saw nothing and certainly heard nothing. I find it hard to believe a pilot would not know where Clifton Airfield is and that training is conducted there – if the correct frequency is on their radio, my calls should have been a giveaway as to my position/intention. Why anyone would fly through a circuit area below circuit height is beyond me. Scary stuff, and this type of incident has convinced me to fit a landing light and strobes to my own Drifter (not to mention continual traffic scanning, particularly in the circuit).
As previously mentioned, part of the attraction of learning to fly at Clifton is not only the terrific camaradie of the club members, but also the fantastic surroundings that lend themselves so well to flight training. The Darling Downs features primarily crop-based agriculture, so fences are few and far between (no cattle, so who needs a fence) and opportunities for emergency landing drills are endless. No suitable paddock? Fine, just line up on a nice straight dirt road and all you are looking for then are trees, power lines, and little nasties like road signs that will impact the wing about half way along.
And speaking of emergency landing drills, I suppose I should mention why I failed my initial licence test. We’d taken off with a slight breeze from the west, and I had that in the back of my mind as we climbed away from the airfield. When the engine failure drill was initiated, I immediately looked for a good paddock, keeping in mind the wind at takeoff but also looking for any indications of the wind direction at ground level. I didn’t see any, so I chose a paddock to land based on that ‘west’ assumption. By the time I was committed to landing, Trevor asked “any obstructions?” To which I replied “No, I have the power lines to the right of the paddock and the windmill at the fenceline”. The reply was awful – “and what do windmills tell you, David” – at which time I actually took some notice of the windmill, and the wind direction it showed, and just said “oh shite – it’s north-east”. Bugger. The landing would have been downwind, and probably through the far fence. I had been fooled by a sea breeze wind change during the flight.
Crosswind training turned out to be another tiny little problem for me, mainly due to the fact that when we got a crosswind it was usually roaring across the strip at a level close to the permitted maximum for the aircraft. But, as Lone Eagle’s esteemed CFI stated, if you can handle 12 knots cross reasonably well, in the future five or eight will be a doddle. The key to solving the crosswind riddle is relatively simple – choose your preferred approach method (crab or wing-down) and get that aileron into wind on touchdown. Before I got that just right it was pretty tough going, but like other difficult tasks, when they ‘click’ it all comes together nicely. I also found out the importance of aileron into wind on takeoff and how effective the secondary effects of the aileron can be as an aid to keeping straight.
There are always options in life, and where you choose to learn to fly is no different. Of course I am biased, but I make these statements knowing that any pilot flying away from the Lone Eagle Flying School with their licence firmly grasped in hand will have received nothing other than magnificent instruction, in a fabulous setting, with unlimited support, friendship and assistance from all club members. I know I will look back on those weekends camping in the hangar with a great deal of fondness and appreciation – up at the crack of dawn to take advantage of the smooth cool air, zipping around that huge magnificent sky, fighting that joystick on a difficult crosswind landing. They were the best days of my life.
Final Thoughts
One of the interesting aspects of learning to fly a ‘seat of the pants’ aircraft is the interesting comments made by non-aviation type persons, particularly when you show them a picture of a Drifter. Typical comments are “you gotta be kidding” or “where’re the doors?”, but my real favourite is when they say something like “oh yeah, I’d love to do that, but [insert lame excuse here]”. Give me a break. Life is short, so why sit on the sidelines saying “if only I could” when all you need to do is make a plan, Stan, achieve it any way you can. After my TIF (trial instructional flight) there was a photo taken of me standing in front of the Drifter – I printed it out A4 size and stuck it on the fridge, with these words written along the bottom of the photo – NEVER LOSE SIGHT OF THE DREAM. Dangerous? Ha – try driving down the open road with 50 tonnes of truck hurtling toward you at a closing speed of 200 km/hour, and missing you by a couple of metres, over and over again – now that’s dangerous. Ultralights don’t miss 747s by a couple of metres.
Drifters are becoming rare, so I am currently shopping for just the right aircraft. And in another wonderful little twist of fate, a private airfield (complete with hangar) only 10 minutes drive from our home sits waiting for my Drifter. The ‘strip is 500 metres long and 25 metres wide – Drifter heaven, folks. I am currently planning the inaugural Oz Drifter Fly-in at the airstrip, because these amazing little aircraft still have a significant following – I am expecting upwards of a dozen Drifters for the initial event, and once the word is out, heaps more for subsequent annual repeats. (I am or course hoping that my old mate Trevor will bring my beloved Drifter 460 down from Clifton for the event).
Cost wise, budget about $4,500 for your initial pilots certificate plus a plane if you want to buy one. The entire experience (including aircraft) will end up costing less than the price of a new Commodore/Falcon – and one thing’s for sure, I will never take for granted the magnificent opportunities made available to me from my involvement with the ultralight community.
The Dream
The dream has been realised, and now I find myself sharing that dream with like-minded souls. My training has been slower than some, big deal –my licence was attained on the same day I came second in the club’s spot-landing competition at the airfield – how good is that? Future plans include a Jabiru conversion and then I’ll be straight into my cross country endorsement. I just love the idea of taking my long-suffering aviation-tolerant wife for a wonderful little jaunt around the Scenic Rim mountains, hopefully in something like a rented Sportstar. Watch this space for more adventures of Cropduster Dave – there will be more, that’s for sure.
