02 Jan 2015 - A New Level of Low

One of the great things about gliding is that you never quite know what you are going to get, sure there is the expectation, the hope for forecast epicness as you hitch up the trailer in the predawn gloom before setting off on another adventure, but often what transpires is even more astonishing than what you envisaged in the first place.

Map of the Ridge between Nympsfield and Bath

 There had been a call to action by Trevor Stuart, who highlighted the forecast of fresh westerly winds and the possibility of a good ridge day at Nympsfield on the 2nd of January. Answering the call, JB and I set off in convoy in the early hours of Friday morning for the 90 mile trip to The Bristol and Gloucestershire Gliding Club where we joined at least another 12 gliders on the grid for what was hoped to be a pretty good day. 2 other North Hill pilots had also made the trip so that they could experience the Cotswold ridge from the privileged position provided by the back seat of Trevor's Nimbus 3DT 970. This is by far the best way of being introduced to the Nympsfield ridge tasks as so much of the flight is outside the normal gliding frame of reference and Trevor wrote the manual. Socks were going to be blown off.

As we busied ourselves getting ready to launch there were murmurs amongst the grid that the wind didn't seem that strong and even the large wind turbine to the east of the field was contributing to this feeling with its lethargic rotations. At least it was pointing in about the right direction. Further umming and aaghing ensued and Trevor who had initially said that he was planing to incorporate a north run in his task, only because he had an engine, decided to limit his fun to the Bath ridge. I had optimistically set NY2-BAT-DSW-BAT-NY2 into my Oudie, hoping for a double run down to Bath, but was beginning to think, oh well, it would be nice just to get into the air. 

Rob Thompson launched first in his Discus B turbo, with a plan to use the plummeting price of fuel to get him to the wave in the lee of the Welsh Black Mountains, and soon the drone of the Solo engine drifted over us on the somewhat more energetic breeze. Hmmmm the task might still be on. 

JB went next and as was signalling too fast most of the way up the wire, pinging off at 900' and climbing a bit more as he bled off the speed. I was 4th to launch. Strapped in, here we go, cable going tight, all out! The speed built...slowly, increasing now, unusually long ground run, lift off, rotate into the climb, through 50' speed really increasing, into windshear and turbulence, constant pressure on the stick, let it settle down, speed still increasing, too low to try and signal, heading towards 85kts. Bang! Pressure on the stick gone. Cable break! Push forward, check speed, adjust attitude for 60kts, can I land ahead? Yes. Full air brake and I'm back on the ground. Bugger not quite the first flight of 2015  was hoping for. 

I pushed M5 to the side of the strip out of the way and walked over to the winch to catch a lift back to the launch point in the cable retrieve truck and to give Tommy the club's new winch driver some asked for feedback. Wyn Davies, however, arrived shortly after with my car and tow out gear, negating my need for a lift and I was soon back at the launch end of the field with M5 in tow and faced with the prospect of waiting ages for a launch at the back of the still hefty grid. So instead, I elected to help the tuggy justify getting the pawnee out and joined the front of the until now non existent aero-tow queue.

By the time I pulled off the tow at 1500' Trevor and Matt Williamson in 970 were almost at the M4 motorway  on their way to Bath. I decided, what the hell, I'll give it a go. (Heights mentioned are QFE Nympsfield which is also just about relative to the top of the ridge to Bath) So through the start line, and as I was relatively high I aimed straight for Hillesley missing out the usual routing of Tyndale Monument (DSW) and Wooton Bowl. My gadgets where indicating a wind of 268°/18kts giving me fresh hope that the task was on. There were a bunch of gliders milling around on the home ridge at about the 1000' mark which probably should have sown a little doubt but I was lost in the view and the prospect of attempting a task. 

It is almost 10km from the end of the Nym home ridge at Uley to Hillesley, crossing a series of ridges and valleys which are not aligned with the wind. As the air-flow tumbles across the gnarled folds in the landscape there are welcome burst of lift as well as tense spells of heavy sink but I was soon across this and happily cruising along at about 900' passing Hawkesbury with the silhouette of the Bath end of the ridge beckoning in the yellowy glow of the low winter sun. Absolutely glorious. 

Over the home ridge, Bath is on the horizon to the right of the wingtip and DSW below the sun

I was flying slowly, between 50 and 55kts, not stopping, but turning momentarily into wind, in the pulses of lift, to gain a few feet before continuing on. I often recall an article written by G Dale where he likens it to crossing a stream on small stepping stones. Where you can skip across the stones using your momentum to carry you along but you can't really stop in-case you slip and fall in. There are places along the ridge where the stepping stones are a bit bigger and you can pause there, S turning or even circling if the opportunity arises or if the situation calls for every foot of height you can muster but we'll get to that later. At the moment I was comfortable, continuing on southwards and slowly spending my height reserve. The wind was a little weaker about 16kts so things were as expected but becoming less curtain in terms of completing the task. Radio chatter was now also relaying difficulties, doubts and speculation of wave interference. Hmmm

I was south of the M4 at Toghill, a place I have managed to hold position in the past and about 5km from the racecourse turn point. I was down to about 250' and I could see 970 beating the slope at the turn-point at a similar height and I didn't want to increase the work load and chance of landing out by having 2 gliders fighting over the same meager lift. However, 5 minutes later 970 came past heading north at about the same height and I was having second thoughts about trying for the turn-point. I wasn't comfortable about going anywhere really so I spent the next 12 or so minutes trying to tease every last inch out of the bubbles of lift that I encountered as S-turn after S-turn kept me in the air. 

I had almost given up on the task and was thinking about turning back but then some new-found resolve and a feeling of acceptance of probably landing out anyway gave me pause.  Eventually, with almost 300' on the altimeter I headed south for Bath race course where a bit more direct sun on the slope got me around the turn and up to 350' providing enough motivation to head back north again and if anything a least shorten the retrieve. 

A small thermal over the Bath Racecourse turn point

I was back down at 250' by the M4 and attempts to stop seemed to lose any gains I made during the initial turn in the lift so onwards I went. By now Trevor was at Hawkesbury with James Ewence in his Cirrus and Mike Fox in his LS4, all trying to get high enough for the jump to Wooton bowl. Over the radio, Trevor advised James that 400 was the absolute minimum for the jump and that 500 would be more sensible. Meanwhile Rob Thompson had called passing 12000' over the Forest of Dean confirming the presence of wave and possibly explaining the tricky conditions down on the ridges.

James Dyson's (Mr Vacuum) estate just south of Old Sodbury

I was bouncing along the small slippery stepping stones over the Dyson estate at about 200', a new low for me and unable to stop. I was aiming for the relative safety of the ridge at Old Sodbury. When I say safety, I mean it usually seems to work, probably because it is down wind of Chipping Sodbury so any warmth generated by the town gets an extra nudge upwards when it meets the well shaped ridge here. I arrived 33' below Nym according to my 302 and exactly level according to my altimeter which kind of tied up to being level with the tops of the trees on the brow of the ridge. Another new low in as many minutes and only about half way back to Nym.

Joining the good bit at Old Sodbury (the railway tunnel cutting visible on the left)

I was now resigned to the fact that I was going to land out and was ready to turn left and drop into my chosen field at any second. Approaching the ridge the air was positive though. I could feel the buoyancy and see the glider rise by the view outside more than by what the vario was telling me. Safe to keep on flying. The beat is about 2km long which also meant at this height I had to choose another field to escape to at the north end as well. For what seemed like an age my altimeter resolutely showed 0' and I wondered if the houses I was floating over might help by lighting their fires. Back and forth and back and forth, again and again, trying to turn in lift, watching the seagulls and crows, joining with them, if only I could flap my wings too. Ever so slowly my altitude crept up to a more comfortable 400' and so north I went again, hoping not to lose my hard fought gains and be able to go for Wooton. 

It was not to be and at Hillesley I was back down to 250' having to retreat south looking for a place to climb again. James, meanwhile, had fought his way up to almost 500' utilising the nooks and crannies around Hawkesbury which were concentrating the bubbles of lift before setting off for Wooton and losing 450' in the jump but he also called back to say that the bowl was working well. So after another long battle I managed the same and put on some speed to arrive at Wooton just above the trees to some enthusiastic waving by a couple of walkers at the southern point. Phew!

Lift in the bowl was the best I'd had all day and I was quickly up at 600' and safe in the knowledge I could get back to Nympsfield. So abandoning the task I rounded Tyndale Monument (DSW) and headed for the home ridge to join the throngs now hunting for wave around the club. 

Home ridge by now was working well enough to smoke the last bit home!

 I have flown down to Bath loads of times but never at such consistently low heights or had to choose so many fields that I might need! Every time it is different and a number of times I have turned back unsure of the conditions, defeated as much by my own doubt as by the elements. I was super stoked to have persevered this time and surprised myself to make it back again. Even though I had not completed my declared task the effort required to get back gave me a great sense of personal achievement and I was grinning like a dope fiend. Contented with a great days adventure,  I easily climbed up to 1000'  and thought I'll just pop over to Wooton bowl again which had been showing better signs of wave and it was fun diving back to Nym from there anyway.  During the jump over Dursley to Tyndale, Trevor announced that he was passing Hawkesbury on his second trip to Bath this time taking Wyn Davies along for the ride. I recalled my resignation to landing out in some muddy field and at 900' in Wooton bowl I turned south for Hillesley and gave chase to the Maestro in his Nimbus eager for another battle with the elements having temporarily defeated my own demons.

Long Shadows at the end of an epic day!

Trace of the flight : https://www.skylines.aero/flights/42502/

La Motte du Caire June 23rd 2013

At precisely 7.34am on one of the longest days of the year the sun clears the mountain and strikes our tent. Soon it is too hot to stay in bed so the morning ritual begins; a wash and shave followed by tea and discussion of the day’s plans in the shade of a tree.



Decision time

Yesterday (Sunday 23^rd) we decided to have a lazy morning after the extended flights of the day before; 8hrs for Matt and 5hrs for JB and me, whose buttocks are not so resilient. Launching later in the afternoon when the wind was expected to turn to the NW should make getting away easier and open up the opportunity for some late evening wave soaring.

So it was to be; although getting away was still challenging for all, with the exception of JB who for the first time this visit launched straight into a thermal. Rather like banging your head against a brick wall there is a certain satisfaction, after it’s over, from climbing away from the rocky lower slopes. This completed, I set off for the Parcour where Matt and JB along with David from Nympsfield were already playing.

My usual cautious approach (take every climb you can) meant I was once again playing catch up. Whilst the main gaggle took a tortuous route toward a small hill (5,600ft) out in the valley to the north of Gap airfield I took a more direct route from the Northern end of the Parcour  arriving several thousand feet above them. Whilst they climbed back up from the “weeds” I investigated the edge of the large black cloud which had formed above us which had a whispery edge indicative of some wave action. Whilst this excursion gave tantalising hints of zero lift I failed to get a climb and losing a lot of height by pushing forward. I scampered back to the hills to the east of Gap for a top up.

Meanwhile the gaggle had contacted the wave a little further north of my search area. To be fair there were three of them plus an unidentified Frenchman in the search. Here the Flarm traces on the PDA are a great help as the relative positions and climb rates of gliders in the area are shown on the screen.

Whilst I could hear the “director” above me shepherding his cast for the next ‘epic’ video, I found a small but strong patch of wave in the lee of a sharp ridge and using a technique I had learnt from Brian Spreckly, many years ago in Spain, managed to climb up to join the boys. The technique known as “knitting” is useful when the wave is very narrow. It involves flying slowly straight into wind until the lift drops away then turning sharply allowing the wind to push you back and repeating the process. On this occasion this was shown to work spectacularly when subsequently viewing the 3D SeeYou trace.

By now, filming over, and beginning to feel the effects of altitude the pack dispersed to explore the area. Further areas of wave were found including one above a spectacular ridge with the cloud cap below streaming over and down like a giant waterfall only to melt away as if being eaten by acid.

Acid etched clouds

 

Where's Phil

Pushing forward from this bar, through horrendous sink, I bottled it and retreated to know territory. Matt continued to the next bar, lying NW of the Pic du Bure, recording some amazing footage as he swooped down over the clouds. Meanwhile I found a more sedate climb to take me right over the top of the Pic and take in the spectacular views in the clear air. We left there (35km from La Motte) with sufficient height to allow a required glide angle of  10:1. Flying at 75knots, the return was speckled with good air and lift as is often the case at the end of a flight and I was using the airbrakes to arrive back 6,000ft above the field! So it was a quick tour of the local ridges before returning to La Motte for a cool beer and the excited chatter of Matt, JB and David.

 

Gliding Home

 

Swimming with a Shark

 Preface
I submitted the previous article to Susan Newby, the edtitor of Sailplane and Gliding Magazine and then promptly ended up ditching a couple of weeks later, before that story had been published, so I was obliged to write the article which follows, of how I got it wrong. Both appear in the June - July 2013 edition of the magazine. Follow the link to see how to subscribe to the magazine.

I felt the cold clammy hand of fear on the last Friday of April 2013. It wasn’t an irrational fear, like "oooh there is something under the bed" or a nervous fear like standing up to give a presentation; it was from the grim realisation that I had flown myself into a hole with no way out. I know my last article started by alluding that we should do one thing everyday that scares us, as some motivational way to grow and become a better person but I think, on this occasion, I might have taken that notion a bit too literally.

The Flying Shark

That Friday wasn’t a normal day. Firstly, the weather forecast had predicted a good soaring day albeit with a strong north-westerly wind and secondly, the club would have been closed as is often the case on good soaring days down our neck of the woods but his Friday a small band of pilots had arranged to come and fly. We had even convinced Pete Harmer, our CFI to come and fly the tug because he had something else on and couldn’t go soaring himself. A 304km task was declared with the turn points North Hill – Dorchester – Dulverton - Melbury Bub – Tiverton - North Hill. During the briefing banter, I had also speculated that it might be possible to thermal our way up to the North coast to soar along the cliffs for some added awesomeness. It was with that possibility in my mind that I initially set off, chasing Pete Startup in 230, on the declared task.

The grid and the plonker

After turning Dorchester and grinding back upwind past the club towards Dulverton there was a great looking cloud street running up to the coast just west of Porlock and I thought, with the wind strength and direction that the cliffs would definitely be working. My glide computer was showing a wind direction of 325-330/19kts which although was 35 degrees off our perceived optimum, I assumed would be fine because on my previous flight to the cliffs the wind was 40 degrees off from the east and the ridges were still working extremely well. I decided to follow the clouds to see how near to the coast I could get. As I got closer there were wisps of cloud forming above the hills further enhancing my belief that I would be able soar the updrafts. So I gave up on the task and decided to go for an adventure.

I cautiously arrived overhead the coast at about 1500', 5 km west of Porlock and turned west towards Foreland Point. There was lots of turbulence and strong sink, however I continued on, thinking it will be OK, the kink in the hill ahead will work and I can top up there if I needed to, but my grip had got a little tighter and my nerves were starting to tingle. I had just put all my eggs in one very flimsy basket. The sink stayed on! The reality was not meshing with my mental model and doubts where finally starting to flood in. The kink in the hill reduced the sink but didn’t eradicate it and I realised that I would not get around Foreland Point at anything like a sensible height and was now also not convinced that I would find lift even if I could get around the point, so I turned to run for the fields at Porlock. I knew I was in trouble but still thought, hoped, prayed that I would get at least some lift off the hills on the way. Why wasn’t it working? Why didn’t I turn around sooner, before the escape door had been slammed shut? Why was I even here? I’ll have to come back to those questions. Concentrate! Fly the glider!

I was now below the top so I flew as close as I dared into the sides of the tree covered slopes to maximise the chance of finding lift but there was nothing on offer but 4kts of sink. The trees where being swayed by the wind and I realised that despite the upper winds indicating a north westerly flow, the surface wind was blowing along the ridge rather than up and over it.  I now also realised that I wasn't going to make it to Porlock so just aimed to stretch the glide as long as I could.

The tide was out so about 30 meters of shore was exposed between the water and the base of the cliffs. The beach was just rocks with a few boulders thrown in for good measure and I had visions of a very messy crash if I tried to land on land. The only other option was to ditch into the sea, and this I thought, was the far safer choice, so the flying shark was going to go for a swim.

It’s funny the things that go through your mind. I distinctly remember thinking that it was going to be a bugger getting the trailer onto the beach not to mention the glider out of the water and I wondered if the little fishing boat about 3miles out to sea had seen me and would come to investigate.

There was about a 3ft wind swell on the surface of the sea and I put the wheel down inline with what I had read on ditching a glider. I rejected the thought of making a low level turn to land into wind, which would also have taken me further out to sea, in favour of continuing wings level and ditching with the tail wind. I used 1st stage of landing flap to slow down as much as possible without using the air brakes and aimed to touch down about 30m offshore. The tail wheel touched first and I assume it was on the crest of a wave because the nose of the glider pitched in and I was immediately slammed under water. The glider came to rest upside down. I can still see the murky yellow brown rays of sunlight filtering though the water as I recovered my senses after the initial impact. The canopy had gone, and there was a moment of fumbling to determine the difference between the harness straps and the parachute straps before I found the release, pulled it and dropped out of the cockpit before popping up next to the glider. I had a massive feeling of, “Wow! I’m alive” and even the water didn’t seem to be that cold.

There was quite a strong current and I couldn't touch the bottom with my feet so after groping in the side pocket to check if my phone and camera ware still there, they weren’t, I left the glider and started swimming the 15m or so to the shore. The tide must be coming in. From the shore I could see that approximately the first 6 inches of the nose of the glider was broken, I assume from hitting a submerged rock, but was otherwise intact. It was floating with the bottom of the wings just above the surface and with the horizontal stabiliser just below the surface so that the fuselage, aft of the wings, was clear of the water. As for me, apart from a small cut on my hand and my pride, I had escaped unscathed.

Now what? I caught my breath, and set off east along the shore, to Porlock Weir. There was no one on the beach and eventually I stood dripping at the reception of the Miller’s at the Anchor Hotel.  I cannot be grateful enough to angel Maria who let me use the Internet to find some numbers, make a few calls and also plied me with tea in front of the freshly stoked fire while I waited for the cavalry and to Andy, the chef of The Ship Inn next door, who loaned me some dry clothes. True Samaritans!

A while later I accompanied members of the Coastguard to go and ascertain the state of the glider but with the incoming spring tide it was unsafe to venture west along the beach in case we got cut off. Using binoculars we scanned the shore for any sign of the glider but were unable to spot any so assumed it had sunk and the strong tide would make it impossible to search for it until after midnight. The Coastguard guys also speculated as to how much of it would be left, if it was near the shore, being beaten against the rocks for 8 hours and that it had more than likely sunk below the low water mark anyway, so the consensus view was that it was not worth attempting to salvage.

The remains of my ASW20 after being in the water for 45hrs

 Well so much for the how I didn’t do it; let’s get back to those questions. 

Why wasn’t it working? The simple answer is that the wind direction was at too acute an angle to the ridgeline. I had overlooked the fact that the wind direction veers with height and I had based my assumptions on the 3000’ wind, I suspect also that the Porlock valley acts as a bit of a venturi which would have aided in drawing the wind along the coast and off the ridge.

Why didn’t I turn back to sooner? This one is harder to answer. I suppose I was overly confident in my initial assessment of the conditions and the fact that I’ve become pretty comfortable flying low to the ground meant that I didn’t have the normal sense of danger until the realisation finally dawned that I had got it completely wrong. It is this aspect of flight that I’m most disappointed with myself, that I had failed to retain a Plan-B and allowed myself to get into a position that no amount of skill could possibly recover.

Why was I even there? Well this one is both simple and complicated. It’s for the same reason people climb mountains, jump out of planes, surf big waves, ski off-piste and even play golf. The same reason that we go soaring in the first place, for the challenge, for the adventure, the experience, the thrill, the view and most of all for the fun! Individually, we determine how we weigh the risks involved, we balance the options and we make choices to try and get what we crave out of our sport. Sometimes we get it wrong and sometimes if we are extremely lucky we get to learn from our mistakes.

Oh and one final question. Would I go again if the conditions were right? Well, what would you do?

Below are some pictures taken by Mike and Barbie from their Super Cub about 9 days after the incident.

Porlock Weir looking west to Foreland Point

Wings separated from what remains of the fuselage.

Where the wreckage finally washed ashore.

5th April - North Coast Cliffhanger

I was listening to the radio on the way to the gliding club and that old Baz Luhrmann song was playing, you know the one, dishing out life advice by the bucket load and advocating the wearing of sunscreen. Anyway there is a line of that song which goes, "Do one thing everyday that scares you". That was rather apt! Today I was definitely heading into that territory and I could feel the butterflies beginning to flap their wings. A tornado was probably brewing somewhere.

In the build up to today, at least a couple of years in the fermenting, we had been waiting for a chance to fly the cliffs on the North coast of Devon. After having rediscovered the fun we could have on the south coast cliffs we immediately wondered about repeating the exercise on the other side of the county. Ideally the wind would need to be close to due north and sufficiently strong enough to guarantee that the cliffs would work when we arrived. The closest bit that was likely to work is the hill/ridge at Minehead, which is 40km from North Hill, so it would mean a fairly long aerotow into the headwind, climbing to a height which would then allow a final glide onto the ridge, so a good cloud base or at least scattered cloud conditions were added to the growing list of prerequisites. Oh and not to mention, I needed to be off work, the tug serviceable and the club open for gliding. The odds, you can see, have been stacked against us.

Further preparation had been spent by pouring over Google Earth, measuring distances, angles, field sizes and figuring out where suitable turn-points might be. A trip by car, to go and look at the terrain, resulted in the discovery of a nice field in the Porlock valley which we could probably land in and possibly even get away with using the glider again. The best out-landing options, however, were identified as the bigger fields near Butlins at Minehead. Farther west, the fields get smaller and seem to be plastered to the sides of steep valleys, so getting out of trouble down that end becomes a much more interesting prospect. Unlike the south coast, apart from at Porlock, there is no beach to speak of on the 50km of coast from Minehead and Mortehoe Point, mostly sheer cliffs dropping straight into the rocky sea. Hence the overwhelming sense that the final glide off tow onto the ridge at Minehead might well be taken literally.

If all went well then getting back was optimistcally considered as needing to bump up against the Cardiff airspace which would put us on glide for home, more realistically though the plan was to climb as high as possible on the taller cliffs west of Porlock before aiming for the big fields to the west of the Quantocks, just to shorten the retrieve. If we couldn't get high enough then it would be the fields at Minehead and home by midnight.

The run of strong northeasterly winds that had plagued the first few days of April were forecast to back a little to about 030° on Friday. That would work..wouldn't it? It's obliged to work! Oh bollocks, Friday! not a club flying day.  It's never simple, is it? But undeterred, questions were asked and Peter Field stepped into the breach, offering to fly the tug. Liam was going to be on site waiting for the gang he was joining on the club trip to Portmoak and Adrian is never far away. So plans were set in motion on Wednesday and confirmed late Thursday evening, with JB having to do some major social calendar juggling so he wouldn't miss out in the fun. Pete Startup was well and truely scuppered though having to attend his outlaw's diamond wedding anniversary, there's no getting out of that one! Fortunately the viz wasn't quite good enough for him to endure the sight of us on the cliffs from across the sea in South Wales. The pursuit of epicness has scant regard for diary engagements it seems.

So to Friday and those feelings of apprehension on the drive to the club. I'm probably going to land-out, will the field be OK, will 030° make the ridge work, what if it doesn't, will I be high enough to turn back to the fields. Going on these ridge running type tasks, especially on ridges I haven't flown before, is very different to normal thermal cross country flying. Setting off on a XC in thermal I almost have the feeling that I will definitely get back and the chance of a field landing is relatively low, (maybe I'm not pushing hard enough!) That's not exactly true, I think it's more of the case that on a thermal XC I'm not worried about landing in a field because you can usually see it coming and can prepare but low down on a ridge things can change quite quickly and the lack of height really ups the work load when the lift is gone and a field is needed. It's a very similar feeling to the one you got when you set off on your first silver distance attempt and you finally get out of gliding range of your club.  Butterflies and humming birds! Mixed in with these though were also feelings of excitement and expectation, I'm going adventure flying, I will be pushing my boundaries on a brand new playground and the views and footage will hopefully be awesome. Butterfly central!

The wind was howling. A steady 22kts according to the club weather station with gusts of up to 30kts. The launch was going to be hairy! Once the gliders were rigged, JB being the voice of reason in unison with Peter, deemed it too rough to launch so we retired to the club house to warm up and have a cup of tea in the hope that the wind would calm down a bit. (but not too much)

Fortunately the Gods were smiling on us and the wind obligingly reduced to a dull roar, so we readied the tug before Peter, fired up and gingerly taxied to the west end.

Liam, Adrian and Peter help get us airborne

Cameras rolling, I launched first in M5, flapping like a wild thing until we cleared the lee of the trees, where the ride settled down and we turned north. The sky by now was looking really good with some great cloud streets running up to the north east. Staying at about 2500' QFE North Hill so we could duck under them, I saw that I had lost GPS input to my XC Soar program. I switched over to the Dell Steak's internal GPS only to find that it calculated a wind reading of 055°. Bugger! With all the other "what ifs" wizzing round in my head, there was no way I was going for the cliffs with that wind direction. With about 20km to run to minehead I pulled off tow under a cloud street, wondering what to do next, and feeling really disappointed. The movement of the cloud shadows however was indicating a wind direction of about 030° so I tried re-configuring the GPS input in XC Soar and hey presto it reconnected and was up and running with all the air data from my new LXNav V7. Observations backed up by the gadgets = Wind 033° 25kts... cliffs here I come.

Going for Minehead - Butlins white tent in the distance

It was a long way to Minehead and my gadget was indicating arriving at about 800' asl not much above the hill but there was one cloud that I could aim for on the way so moment of truth, time to go! The cloud delivered about 500' so floating over Minehead was not as nerve wracking as I expected and I could relax and really suss out the safety fields from the air. They looked good and I relaxed a little more.

Minus 2 and Stick to the front

Given the forecast wind direction we had thought we should be able to go from Minehead to Combe Martin relatively easily. 5 beats of almost 40km giving a task distance of a whisker under 200km. There would be places where the line of the coast would create wind shadows and turbulence though so some restraint would have to be called for. Over Minehead Harbor and through the start gate, I just followed the line of the hill, quite cautiously as there was the jump across Porlock coming up and the other North Hill wasn't exactly booming. Looking across the valley, the far cliffs were oriented more into the wind so I confidently continued on across the bay. Approaching the hills and as the lift increased it was time to select minus 2 and stick to the front. Yeeeha! From there it was just a blast, winding on the speed in the sweet spots, moving out to sea to avoid suspected turbulent air, it wasn't long before I was turning Combe Martin, grinning like a dope fiend.

Turning Combe-Martin

Going back east there were 2 places where a little caution was called for. Firstly, there was a jump of about 3 km directly into wind from Lynton around the headland at Foreland Point Lighthouse. Once round the lighthouse though, the wind was directly on the slopes and lift guaranteed.You could even afford to be halfway down the side of the hill. The other was the 5km jump, also directly into wind, from Porlock Weir to Selworthy Beacon where enough height was needed so that you arrived at least as high as the hill before continuing round the corner on to Minehead.

Going for Foreland Point Lighthouse

There were loads of coast path walkers, quite a few seagulls and a lone buzzard who shared a couple of hours with JB and I, as we traversed the coast between Minehead and Combe-Martin. The views were absolutely amazing and the footage pretty good too!

On each successive beat, the wind calculated by my gadget was slowly veering towards the east and on the final run back to Porlock it was indicating 040°. So with discretion being the better part of valour we slowed up to start climbing. The lift over the coast took us up to about 1500' above North Hill before we went to investigate the clouds in the lee of Selworthy Beacon. There were some "rough as old boots" rotor thermals which gave us another 1000' before setting off for the next cloud which was a fair way down track. A good climb there put us over glide for home, but a sustained attack of 8 down had me back on a marginal glide. So we stopped again to make it comfortable, JB patiently waiting about 600' above me!

What an epic day's adventure! Made possible by the generosity of Peter, Liam and Adrian and also the moral support of JB. It's far easier venturing into the unknown with your china's than it is on your own and much more fun too! Oh and I think I might have even got a little sun-burnt!

Map of the flight

Footnote:
I submitted this article to Susan Newby, the edtitor of Sailplane and Gliding Magazine and then promptly ended up ditching, before this story had been published, so I was obliged to write the article which follows, of how I got it wrong. Both appear in the June - July 2013 edition of the magazine. Follow the link to see how to subscribe to the magazine.