By Joanna Van Der Hoeven
It was a gorgeous August day, in the summer of 2007. The sun was shining, there was a slight breeze, and little fluffy clouds dotted the sky. I was going gliding today.
We arrived at the Essex Gliding Club early in the morning, ready for the morning’s tuition and learning the dynamics of flying.
I was expecting desks and notes, slides and various other demonstrations by very professor-like people.
Knowing absolutely nothing about flying, I thought that it would be essential.
We were taken into the hanger, and shown the gliders. They were tiny little things, light as a feather and looked about as strong as a child’s toy. Indeed, children were about in the hanger, teenage boys, who had more flying time than most people who turned up there. They helped to wheel out the gliders, and attach them to the four wheelers who then pulled them out onto the grass runway. They reminded me of the “barn rats”, the nickname we give the children, mostly little girls, who hang out at the riding stables, save for where little girls liked horses, it seems little boys like planes. Some of these boys had been flying for five years, one, who was just sixteen, could fly solo. How hard could it be, I asked myself.
We were told that there was no time for the usual lesson plan, and that we had to make the best of the morning weather, for in the afternoon the clouds would be thickening, and rain would soon be following. If we wanted the thermals, we would need the sunshine. So, straight to the runway we all went, myself and three others, for a crash course, or how not to crash course, as the case may be.
As I had arrived after two others, they went up first. The lady, I can’t remember her name, bravely got in and smiled as they attached the tow line to the front of the glider. This would pull the glider across the runway until the plane lifted off, and then it would be released. Pretty simple stuff. The glider rolled along quite peacefully and then suddenly lifted off. I was so glad I wasn’t first.
It went straight up into the air. I am not embellishing this for artistic reasons, it really did go straight up, the way you only see fighter jets go straight up into the air. It was like looking at a rollercoaster that had no rails, and instead of the slow, tortuous climb up, it was like being shot out of a cannon straight up into the sky. I seriously considered going home.
I was then shown the parachute.
You had to wear a parachute, as that was your only escape route should things go wrong. The seats were hollow-backed to accommodate your newly acquired hump.
Uncomfortably tight in the crotch area, I nonetheless fitted the parachute, and got into the cockpit.
The flight instructor, Andy, showed me the dials and what they were for. He promptly told me that all I really needed to watch was the bit of orange string that was cello-taped to the windscreen just in front of my face. That little bit of string would tell me all I needed to know, basically, which way the wind was blowing. Heart in mouth, the first glider landed, and we were clear for takeoff. I bravely waved to my partner, and waited to be launched.
The world below was at an impossible angle, however, the silence was astounding. The only sound was the wind, and Andy letting me know what was happening, and what he was doing.
Andy had one of those really easygoing personalities, just the right sort of person for this kind of job.
Nothing would faze this fellow.
He told me that in just a moment he would signal to the ground to release the hook, and the glider wobbled as he waggled the wings back and forth.
A loud thunk, the nose of the glider went down, and then we were aloft, without any mechanical power whatsoever.
Silence. You could feel the wind under the wings, and you were floating as if you weighed nothing at all. We turned and then began our search for thermals.
Thermals are necessary to the art of gliding, providing you don’t have a street of clouds to follow. I’ll explain about a street of clouds later.
Thermals are created by the sun hitting the ground, causing warm air from the ground to rise back into the sky.
We had instruments on board that beeped at us to tell us when we hit a thermal.
We went around for about ten minutes, looking for that updraft and listening to the beeping sound, which was beginning to become a little annoying. All I wanted to hear was the sound of the wind.
Andy just about gave up, and then we hit one.
The glider swept across and we rose, ever higher, like eagles or hawks or vultures, in lazy spirals towards the heavens.
What a view. I could see the sea, I could see for 50 miles in every direction at least, what a feeling.
Now it was my turn. Oh yes, did I not tell you, I was going to fly this glider as well? That was the supposed to be the point of the morning’s lesson, followed by the afternoon of flying experience. Well, I learned to literally fly by the seat of my pants. I took over the controls, and looked for another thermal.
I have never been so scared in all my life.
Knowing that my life was totally in my hands, and that my instructor’s life was as well, and that we were hundreds of feet in the air without a motor was a sensation that I’m not all that keen to try again. However, I hung in there, and stuck it out.
I was going to fly.
We floated along for a straight stretch, and then the beeper went nuts. Bank right, Andy said, and I did. And we found a thermal to end all thermals, riding it high. Andy told me to put the nose down and pick up more speed, as we were near to stalling. How you could stall a plane that had no engine I as yet did not understand, however, I put on the speed and we rose higher and higher. I watched my bit of string, and adjusted the rudders accordingly, so we would not slip sideways in the wind. Andy said I was a natural. I didn’t reply that I was bricking it.
Our first twenty minute launch was near to ending, after having gone ten minutes over the time anyway. I told you Andy was laid back. Anyway, I handed the controls back over to him and relaxed tenfold.
I much preferred to let him fly it, while I could enjoy every sensation and the scenery.
Andy asked if I would like to see what happened when the glider stalled while circling upwards. Sure, I said.
The air went quiet, and then we spun towards the ground like a sycamore or maple seed spinning towards the ground. Before I knew what was happening, Andy pulled us out. Amazing. I didn’t know what to think, only that I had just done some amazing stunt, and that it probably looked pretty cool from the ground. All I know was that I was looking at the ground while it was going on, and it was again at a very odd angle, and spinning very quickly, like being in a tumble dryer that had fallen on its side.
Lazily, Andy brought us back down so we could wait our turn to re-launch for the second go.
Knowing what was in store for me this time, I felt much better.
We got back in and the pulley slung us back into the sky.
I had only one bad moment up there, when I realised that there was nothing beneath me but open air.
Empty, open air beneath my bottom.
And a very hard and unforgiving landing, should anything bad happen.
But then I was back on track again, enjoying the miles of countryside that opened up beneath me. I was going to film this for posterity from the cockpit, as my partner videoed from the ground. Every now and then I turned on the camera, to show everyone what it was like being up there. I wanted to share this experience with all. Then the annoying beeping stopped. All our electronics had given up the ghost. Oh well, said Andy, we’ll fly by instinct then.
We hit 3,000 feet, and Andy said that he supposed we’d better be heading back.
But then he saw an interesting bank of clouds, and decided to investigate.
It was starting to rain, however, Andy wasn’t bothered in the slightest, about the time limit or the ominous looking weather.
He just loved to fly.
He reckoned that along a particularly black cloud, where the edges furred, that there would be some pretty strong lift beneath it. Clouds, you see, suck up air into them. And gliders. He reckoned we would be pulled up right into the clouds. He reckoned right.
As we got closer, he pointed out the little funnel clouds that were the previously furred edges of the black cloud.
They really showed how the air was being sucked up, like little tornados.
This black cloud was joined by a few others, and Andy reckoned that we could go along in a straight line and still be gaining altitude, merely by being sucked up by the clouds.
He said you could go quite far along a street of clouds in a straight line. I only hoped we could get back.
We began to circle under the heavy cloud, at a steady four knots, five, “oh wow,” said Andy, “six…”.
He gave a chuckle of delight and declared that this was fantastic.
We got up to four thousand feet, and the air began to get quite cold inside the cockpit. There were no heaters, and the difference a hundred feet made was astonishing.
Clouds are cold.
We went into the cloud slightly, before Andy said we had to pull out. The sound became all muffled and soft. Kind of what you would expect, but not. We didn’t have instruments on board, even if they were working, that allowed us to fly in clouds, therefore, we had to pull out. Reluctantly we pulled away from the sucking cloud and headed back towards the airfield.
We’d had a really lovely couple of flights. Andy was impressed by my flying ability, and I told him that I had spent a lot of time in the air, flying trans-Atlantic.
He commented on the fact that I was pretty fearless. I guess I was; I had gotten used to the glider now, and only had experienced that one bricking moment just after takeoff.
Well, Andy asked me if I’d like to do a few stunts then.
What the hell. When was I ever going to get the chance again, eh?
I got the camera out and ready.
Andy asked if I fancied doing a loop de loop.
I didn’t really want to, as the thought of being upside down in the air just didn’t seem right.
He convinced me, however, and we went for it.
It would get a bit loud, a bit noisy, he told me. We put the nose down to get some speed, and then pulled up. And up. And up. And then over.
All I could see was blue. Andy told me to look straight up (which really was straight down) and find the horizon, to use as a marker. I did, and slowly the world turned right-side up again. The only words that came to mind, and that escaped my lips were: “Wow… cool!”. The brain really doesn’t reach for adjectives when faced with such glory.
Andy asked if I wanted to do another one.
“Yeah!”
We pulled straight out of our second loop de loop into a chandelle, which is like a loop de loop but over the side, twirling over the wing. It was so smooth, and so fast, and so wonderful. We did two chandelles, then pulled up into a nice hammerhead stall. We went up until we ran out of oomph, and the wind got quieter and quieter, until it stopped completely.
Dead silence in the air at 2,000 feet. That was the second scariest moment of my life.
In that silence, the nose of the glider went from pointing to a cloud to pointing to the ground, and suddenly the wind came back in a rush. I did let out a bit of a girlie yelp at that – it was not what I had been expecting at all. Andy laughed and I joined in, saying “my parents are going to kill me when they see this”.
Time to head back.
Feeling rather proud of myself, and utterly fearless, we decided to show off even more, and did a really low fly-by past the base, where all the others were waiting, having already finished their flights and enjoying a nice cuppa.
We whooshed over them and came in for a landing at an astonishing speed, and then landed on the grass as soft as a feather.
I got out and thanked Andy immensely for the experience that he gave me. I got back to my partner at the picnic tables, where everyone had seen what we did, telling me I was completely mad. Well, maybe I was, but I had done it. I nonetheless kneeled down and kissed the ground, and on the car ride home noticed how much greener the leaves on the trees were, how much bluer the sky was, indeed, how much more colour there was in the world than had been there that morning.
There really is nothing to compare it with.
Go to the Essex Gliding Club. Ask for Andy. He’ll show you how to fly.
