| Flight 3: Climbing & Descending |
| Sunday, March 12th. Lesson cancelled due
to inclement weather; a blizzard in this case which is pretty unusual for
England, especially in March. Oh well, bad weather is bound to happen. |
Wednesday, March 22nd. I decide to get the
medical out of the way early so head to Manchester after work to my appointment
with one of the few CAA certified doctors in the area. Two rather lengthy
forms to fill out, one of which is completely concerned with vision. I get
to the inevitable section on colour vision. Oh shit. Colour vision, or my
apparent lack thereof, has been a thorn in my side ever since I failed those
ridiculous dot tests as a child. Like 8% of the population I'm red/green
colour blind, or so I'm told, though I've never had a problem telling red
lights from green lights. In fact, the only time I notice it at all is in
poor light when I sometimes have trouble distinguishing certain shades of
red or green. Add to this the fact that I'm quite myopic and I could be
in trouble here. The medical itself goes well, I'm fairly fit and healthy
but of course I have to fess up about the vision. "Your contact lens
prescription is just outside the CAA's limits", I'm told. Then I mention
the colour vision. The doctor groans and puts his head in his hands. This
can't be good.
The medical costs me 200 quid. "Flying's an expensive business"
says the doctor in a vain attempt to justify the outrageous surgery he's
just perpetrated on my bank balance. Hmph. Not half as expensive as 40 minutes
in a doctor's office.
The following day a phone call to the CAA's medical division allays most
of my fears. If the myopia is the only vision problem (ie: no glaucoma,
cataracts, astygmatism, etc.) then I'll probably be okay, and as for the
colour vision the only restriction is that I would be confined to daytime
only flying. I can live with that. Or I can take something called a "Lantern
Test" which, after some investigation on the internet, turns out to
be exactly as it sounds - looking at different coloured lights. If I pass
this the daytime restriction would be removed but it means a trip to CAA
headquarters at Gatwick to take the test. I'll wait to see what the outcome
of the rest of the vision report is before I decide if I want to go all
the way down there. |
| Saturday, March 25th. Weather looks reasonable
today so the flight is a go. After my pre-flight walkaround Tony informs
me that it's going to be a bit more hands on for me from now on so I'll
be taxiing out to the runway and getting a feel for ground handling. He
shows me how to set and release the parking brake and I find myself unconsciously
reaching for the gear shift. D'oh!! Mental note: Aircraft, generally
speaking, do not have gear shifts. We move off and head to the taxiway,
one of the few paved areas on the airfield. Steering with the feet isn't
as weird as I thought it would be and I manage to keep us on course fairly
well, even negotiating the 90 degree turn alright though I'm having to force
myself not to look like a complete buffoon by attempting to steer with the
control wheel. Mental note #2: Steering wheels, like gear shifts, are
for cars. |
| I do the takeoff again but this time there's a bit of a crosswind and
in spite of my best efforts we're veering all over the place like a one-legged
toddler trying to balance on a bowling ball. I can imagine the guys in the
control tower laughing themselves silly, but then, it is a flight school;
they must see this kind of thing all the time. I hope. |
| We head north as usual and climb to 2000 feet. In spite of the delay since
my last lesson my flying is not too bad and a quick recap on straight and
level goes okay. We then start on climbing at various speeds and Tony demonstrates
the max rate climb and the cruise climb. The max rate climb is at 65 knots
and we manage to get about 600 feet per minute out of the old 150. We'll
never catch any huns in this kite, that's fer darn sure. The cruise climb
is 90 knots and 300 feet per minute, and I learn the correct sequence for
climbing: Check engine gauges are in the green, mixture rich, altimeter
internal scale set, then it's power, attitude, trim. Every minute or so
we drop the nose to check the blind spot. Levelling out at the desired altitude
is attitude, power, trim. So far so good. Then it's the gliding descent,
65 knots again being the magic number. Carb heat to 'hot', power to idle,
control the speed with attitude, trim. A couple of seconds of full power
every minute or so to keep the engine warm and stop the plugs from fouling.
This is okay, in spite of the fact that I'm not always staying on course,
but I'll worry about that when the flying starts to come more naturally.
Assuming it does of course. |
| We head back to Barton and I fly us into the circuit under Tony's expert
instruction. A couple of turns and we're on final, the crosswind has picked
up a bit and we seem to be flying sideways which is a very strange feeling.
As the ground gets closer I'm wondering when Tony will take over but it's
not until we get to about 100 feet that he does and brings us into a smooth
landing - well, as smooth as you can be on a grass strip in a crosswind
anyway. |
| Back in the office Tony tells me I'm doing well and learning on schedule.
I get a "report card" of sorts at the end of each lesson and so
far there's been no problems. It's very early days yet of course but this
is encouraging nonetheless. |
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