| Flight details: | For once, the cherry-red RASP picture had kept its nerve until the day before. It looked best in Scotland; but Scotland was nine hours away, the Peak only four. I signed up as a temporary member of the Derbyshire Soaring Club, and headed north.
By 4pm I was at the local gliding club, which kindly allows DSC members to camp for a nominal fee. In a howling wind, I was astonished to hear that they were planning to give members of the local ramblers' club a taste of gliding. I volunteered to help lug sailplanes out of the hangar and up to launch, and was promised a flight at the end if there was enough time. Dusk and a broken-down winch meant it didn't happen, but it was fascinating to see the high-performance craft ascend almost vertically as soon as the rope started pulling. And they land fast, even into a 40 mph wind. Anyway, I did my bit for paraglider-sailplane relations.
I was glad to see Chinny's van pull up next to mine, and know I'd get some local expert advice. In the morning, we were joined for breakfast by Ben Friedland and Harry Bloxham of the Avon club. Chinny was awestruck to be in the presence of Ben, the man who devised the “big numbers” airspace format for Garmins (it does look very helpful).
The launch at Bradwell quickly became crowded, but the first few in the air had no trouble staying well above take-off; there wasn't much sun to begin with, but the air was clearly unstable. My natural timidity was reinforced by a local's words: “Don't leave too early.” But soon Chinny and the first gaggle were off, and then another bunch. I launched but struggled to get much over 2000 ASL - too low to head over the moors - and top-landed when the wind faded a bit.
I almost did the same again on my second go, but stuck it out until I found a climb with a shifting gaggle of half a dozen or so. Above us a yellow Mantra cruised effortlessly. Soon we were high enough to go – and far enough back to rule out returning to the ridge anyway.
After the first glide I |
