GLIDING ALONG

In 1983 I went for a week's tuition at a gliding school at Tibenham, in Norfolk. But for the life of me I cannot remember why, because I could not possibly have afforded to buy a glider or even acquire a part-share, and I certainly didn't really have the time. So I suppose it must have been because I liked the thought of it, having been aloft two or three times beforehand. I came across some of my course notes again only recently, and they served to underline the fact that in the intervening years I had completely forgotten not only my CBSIC but also my USTAL. James Stewart, who was based at Tibenham, would never have done that.
Anyway, we were a small, keen group of learners, and we began with schooling on the ground. Hence CBSIC, the pre-flight reminder, which translated as: controls (stick, centre; trim and close; pedals central; airbrakes, lock); ballast (weight limits); straps (secure and fastened); instruments (at zero; flaps and trim set for take-off); and canopy (closed and locked). Then, providing you got the all-clear, signal with one finger to the tug pilot to take up the towrope slack, and two fingers to say OK for take-off.
That last bit - using the tug aircraft to get the K13 two-seater glider up to 1,800ft - was my nemesis, and I remember dragging the poor tug pilot's tail this way and that with trillions of twitchy adjustments. In the end it probably did away with any romantic notions I may have had of becoming a regular flyer. But I do still remember the release from the tug. At 1,800ft, standby, hand on release. When the tug waggles his wings, pull the release, then turn left, steady and level, while the tug turns right.
In a way I 'enjoyed' the landings slightly more, and the USTAL - undercarriage, speed, trim, airbrakes, lookout. Join the circuit at 800ft, fly downwind to the high key (speed 50k, check landing area clear), then left and left again for final approach. Choose a threshhold, or landing point; airbrakes, half-brakes; and thump and slither over the concrete.
Truth to tell, I was usually sweating profusely when K13 finally crunched to a halt and the canopy was opened. But I did enjoy the general flying, the silent soaring, the views and clouds, and learning about the lumpy bits, the dark and menacing clouds - or the clag, as they called it.
Actually, my notes also revealed a failure to complete the week's course - because of the weather, I hasten to add - thus signalling an end to any idea of a solo circuit on finals day.
On the Monday, with my instructor in the back seat, I did three flights with an aggregate time in the air of an hour. My notes say: 'Hot, clear, bumpy at 1,200ft, crosswind to 10k, erratic and tense all day.' Me, that is. And maybe the instructor, too. Tuesday, with three more flights totalling 48 minutes, when I noted: 'Hot, clear, less bumpy, wind straight. Better, good landings, slight improvement behind tug.' But on Wednesday, two flights only totalling 34 minutes: 'Cloudy, ceiling about 1,500ft, spots of rain, smooth.'
A warning was there, for there was no flying at all on either Thursday or Friday. We were grounded, my notes recording: 'Dull, clammy. Unable to fly because of low cloud. Muggy. Ceiling 800-600ft.' The words do betray a feeling of regret, I think, because I really had hoped to do a bit better. In the end, though, the weather and my nervousness, did for us all.
There was one slight and subsequent consolation, for when I wrote it up afterwards for my newspaper it attracted one of my favoutite headlines: Clag Over Aslacton, it said, Aslacton being a village close to the runway. Personally, I've felt claggy ever since.