Little and often.
Well, it's been a month since my last flight and my 6th proper XC flight this season. I knew it would be tricky through June due to work commitments, so I told Kirsty and the gang "I will be out if there's even a slight chance". To be fair, the day looked better than just a slight chance; however, a trough down the middle of the country scuppered my plans of going further North and so I settled for a day at Selsley. I collected Tim P from The Globe pub due to some train delays, and we drove up to Selsley where we met with the usual suspects.
Having arrived at 10.15, we had time to get organised, and it was apparent that actually the sky looked OK, although the wind was often nothing to light at best. Having gotten ready and given Ken a physio session and massage, I got clipped in and the wait began. Other than a few little beats and a short 15 min flight for me, nothing was really happening. The occasional bird and passing sailplane, but no real aviation to speak of. By 13.00 I was messaging our group, moaning and telling them I was off at 14.00 as it looked rubbish. Well, that must have been the red flag to the weather gods, as within 5 minutes gliders were airborne, and before I knew it, I was in a climb with Dave W and Tom J and things looked promising.
After the first climb out, I spent no time with the others, really. Everything was a bit messed up; no one had radios, climbs were scattered and not always great. All in all, it wasn't your perfect or ideal XC flight. I could see Tim P for a while, but he was a climb or so behind me. By the time I passed Swindon I could no longer see anyone else, and it was apparent by the speed it had taken to get this far that the goal was unlikely and to make it would require a slog.
The rest of the flight was just tricky decision after tricky decision, really. Old friends (seagulls) offered an occasional helping hand, but generally it was trying to plan the route based on the sky and how I would bridge gaps that looked poor. I pushed a bit further North than was ideal and a little crosswinding was needed to put me back on track to avoid that horrible 3500' bit at the South downs.
I was getting average climbs of around 1.2 h 1.5 but every third climb or so was a solid 2.2 to 2.8 and that meant that I couldn't push on like I would if they were more consistent. I did, however, manage a wee after about 3 hours and had a bite to eat while thermaling south of Basingstoke and that was a boost that was needed.
I could see the coast and a vague outline of what I believed to be Worthing / Goring from a long way out and this was both a help and a hindrance. Climbing in small bitty climbs with 35km to go the goal looked like a mirage to a dehydrated desert goer it was also the carrot dangling Infront of me that ensured the decisions I made toward the end were conservative and sensible.
The last 25km of the flight were great. The sky wasn't as good, but occasional puffs would develop and I'd chase them down, just watching my required glide to goal numbers drop. 18:1 'I can do that with a buoyant line, " I thought, and I went for it. Not for long, as I found a lovely 2ms climb with about 18km to go. I climbed to 5k and with 12:1 to go inset off. Just tweaking the bar to get the best glide on the best lines. I needn't have worried, though. I arrived at Goal with 2grand to burn before landing in a school that was putting on an outside drama performance (I'm sorry the audience paid more attention to the idiot on the flying bed sheet)
GOAL. 162KM and 50 yards from the train station. A train station that was on a line that had had a serious incident and no trains were running (I'll remember this retrieve), Kirsty sprang into action for me and arranged for her aunty to collect me and take me to Brighton where I boarded the first of 4 trains and began the 5 hour journey home. I am currently sat on a train in Paddington and Tim P is snoozing on his sofa, ready to collect me at 00:58 from the station. I wouldn't change a thing…