The Pictures shows Instructor Chris Hill congratulating member Dan Chidley who solo'd at NVGC.
(Pictures courtesy of Andy Souter and Dave Mansfield)

In fact Dan not only got his A badge but also his B badge on the same flight.

Dan said afterwards:- what a feeling to get off the hook and realise you're all alone up there, however I nevertheless didn't forget to get into the first thermal.

Special thanks to all the instructors, who prepared me to this achievement.

Dan’s solo report:

Ever since my younger days of building plastic models of fighter planes, flying has always been one of my passions. When I think of the aeroplanes that I built that never flew, leading to radio controlled gliders that somehow I always managed to break and subsequently repair, only to break them again; I realize that it's much more enjoyable flying "for real".

My first encounter with gliders was at an open day meeting in Switzerland; my initial reaction was, "Wow, such slick machines, wouldn't I just love to fly one of those…" When I came to live and work in the UK, I was lucky enough to make the acquaintance of the happy group of members of the NVGC.

I was quite excited at the prospect of my first solo flight; I'll always remember that magic date, it was the eighteenth of April 2009. I knew that flying solo would feel different from accompanied flight, but didn't know quite what to expect. After a cable break simulation and a randomly broken down tractor on the landing area, both properly coped with, Chris gave me the go-ahead. I remember his having asked me for a last time if I was happy with everything, and having replied in the affirmative; then the next thing I was aware of was "all out" and I was shooting up into the air. In the event, there was no great feeling of surprise as the sensation was not dissimilar to that felt during previous accompanied flights. Yes, the plane was lighter of course, and in a funny sort of way more relaxing; no one there to comment "too fast, too slow, too low, too high, too close". But there was equally no one there to warn or even takeover in case of an impending catastrophe. That is the satisfactory part about it all: to be in control.

I had this one idea running through my brain, "better get this plane back down in one piece, keep a watchful eye out, not cramp the circuit, and above all, try to ensure a smooth landing, as surely everyone is watching my performance". The wind was not from the prevailing direction that day; a north-easterly was blowing. I managed to catch just a few weak thermals and landed after thirteen minutes; earning my first A and B badges.

The following weekend was, according to Chris, "a stonking weekend". Saturday saw me soaring for forty-five then fifty-five minutes, qualifying for my two bronze badge half-hours, with a maximum achieved altitude of 5,800 feet. Sunday however, surpassed the previous day, the logger carried in the plane registering 6,900 feet and qualifying me for the Silver height climb. Although it took four launches to achieve, I managed an amazing one hour fifty minute flight. I was lucky enough to find my first thermal shortly after the top of the launch, with just sufficient intermediate level flight for the logger to clearly register the launch height. I sat in this thermal, happy to let it spiral me and the plane ever upward at between four and six knots; ten minutes later and we were at 5,000 feet. But at that altitude the lift was weakening, so I flew across to an adjacent cloud where the thermal was even stronger – we were now climbing at between eight and ten knots! Although still directly above the airfield, everything down on the ground appeared tiny.

Having gained sufficient safe height, I flew on to Whittlesey and circled over the village. I could see the shadows cast on the ground by the cloud bank under which I was flying, stretching from Upwood to Wyton. Deciding to fly in this direction, I met continuously rising air which allowed maintaining my flight path above an altitude of 5,000 feet all the way down to Wyton. I applied the Dolphin theory of allowing the plane to slow down during lift conditions, and accelerating during periods of sink. I perceived a little Grob landing on the runway beneath me.

Seeing another cloud street above the A1M, I headed West towards Alconbury, simultaneously increasing airspeed, as I was now "in the blue" with no lift to be had. My altitude had decreased to 4,500 feet by the time I arrived above Alconbury, so I headed straight for the first dark cloud, spiraling upward before heading off towards Peterborough. Luck was still with me in the form of constant lift all the way. I encountered another glider coming the other way, its knife-edge profile at first not easily discernable.

The cloud base had risen above Yaxley and, enjoying increased lift, I managed to climb to 6,900 feet, a maximum for the day. I tried climbing the cloud side after picking up some speed, but without luck, the most effective region being found immediately beneath the cloud where it's "dark and nasty". From here I drifted in a southerly over Peterborough from where I could discern the rowing course and yes, that was where I live down there! I could also pick out the building in which I work, and felt glad to be up here rather than down there.

Time was advancing as I set course for home – one small point, where is Upwood exactly? Luckily I remembered being told to aim for the single wind generator that stands out on the horizon… Phew! I could just make out the silhouette of the three hangars adjacent to the airfield.

There was little chance of catching any lift between the two streets, so with a steady heading I just sat there enjoying the countryside as it passed beneath, and especially enjoyed the sight of the hangars growing bigger minute by minute. But on returning to more familiar scenery, something appeared amiss; where were all the cars that had been parked at the airfield earlier in the day? A horrible thought flashed across my mind, had everyone packed up and left, giving me up for lost? But no, I'm still at 4,000 feet and above the club house, and can now make out what seems to be people working on the L-Spatz beneath me. Applying full airbrakes, I circle to lose excessive height, being attentive to close them before reaching 1'000 feet, as otherwise it's all too easy to continue plummeting downward to the ground at high rate. One final turn to the right, no obstructions in sight, I had the whole field to myself to make a nice long landing. A crack of brakes and she gently descended; I closed them to benefit from the ground effect once closer to terra firma. But where were the winches? The usual references indicating the end of the field had gone! Better not float on forever I thought to myself, simultaneously opening the brakes once again. The plane responded by terminating its flight and transforming itself back into a mono-wheel terrestrial vehicle.

Following this eventful day, I have also flown solo in the K8, with the distinct impression that someone had fitted power-steering! Last Sunday, 24th May, saw me and the K8 fly for a continuous five and a half hours during the silver badge “5-hour duration" attempt. Not that I had started the day with any particular achievement in perspective, it was just mentioned in the morning “who would like to try for the 5 hours” so I thought why not, I decided to volunteer for the challenge; I always like challenges. I was desperate to succeed by staying aloft for the requested time; I had no intention of handing that plane back prematurely if I could avoid it!

Physically the day was tough, with the sun burning down relentlessly from a cloudless sky.  I was roasting, not helped at all by having decided to keep my anorak on; a few weeks previously I had experienced freezing cold conditions at 7000 feet in just a tee-shirt; all of that was still very fresh in my mind. But today I was circling at only 3'000 feet, with a maximum of 3'500 towards the end of the afternoon. My backside was becoming sore from sitting for hour after hour. I did quite a lot of scratching around that day for lift, but luckily in such nil-wind conditions, the thermals remained relatively stationary in their respective geographical locations; I found a good reliable one above Ramsey and from my vantage point enjoyed the cricket and golf whilst soaring around.

Thankfully I remembered my training – always keep a look out- luckily for me, as I narrowly missed being pranged by a big bumblebee set on flying directly towards the thermal where I had been happily circling only a few moments before, and at a similar altitude.

Each time I was in need of gaining height, I raced back to the RAF hangars; where the thermals were consistently working, if somewhat lower down. After four and a half hours, I remember an elated feeling of being close to achieving the objective; the adrenaline was running high as I sought to gain advantage from every last puff of rising hot air.

In direct comparison, these still conditions were very different from those experienced during my bronze 2-hour flight a couple of weeks earlier, when I still clearly remember flying in "ten-plus" uplift  with the rate of climb indicator bent hard against the end stop, followed by "ten-down" sink conditions. Since then, Chris has explained the reality; this is not typical of normal UK weather conditions, and not to expect this every time. It had also been explained to me that not all clouds "work"; happily to date, I have found rather pleasant exceptions to this rule, "touch wood".

Finally I would like to record sincere thanks to the NVGC for the entertaining weekends, and acknowledge the assistance given by everyone in helping me along the thoroughly enjoyable route to my going solo, and special thanks to Chris for sending me solo.

Daniel Chidley
4th June 2009

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