COMBAT AND COMPETITION.pdf - Lakes Gliding Club

COMBAT AND COMPETITION
nothing for miles. The altimeter unwound steadily.
Somewhere east of Sheffield, well below launch height, surrounded
by steel works and railway lines, all hope had gone. And then at the
last moment, preparing to land in a grubby little field, I caught a
thermal. It stank of burning and sulphur, but its strong turbulence
carried me swiftly upwards, higher this time, before it faded to
nothing.
Another long nail biting glide, and then out into the sunshine at
last, running up to the Trent. A power station stood astride the river
dominating the scene. From its chimneys and cooling towers a visible
upcurrent darkened the sky, topped by a lone cumulus high overhead,
a second man-made thermal which took me to nearly 6000 feet.
After that there ceased to be any problem. Cloud streets lined my
route. Navigation was easy. The long white frontage of Butlin's holiday
camp was visible for miles. I landed at Ingoldmells relieved and happy
to have made my goal.
Disillusion came later. Don Brown had declared Ingoldmells out
and return. He had taken a camera and notebook to record his presence
over the turning point. While I was burning off surplus height, he was
heading homewards again scoring more points.
There was worse to follow. Tony Goodhart had declared
Ingoldmells too. Arriving with height to spare he remembered that the
daily prize was for the longest time in the air. So he hung around
delaying his descent and in the process found himself climbing a mile
or so offshore. He then decided to have a go at crossing the Wash.
After that he went on round the Norfolk coast, well on the way to
Great Yarmouth, and the last 55 miles from Skegness had been easiest
of all. It was the longest flight of the day.
The winds had been dropping throughout the week so the
organisers, greatly daring, offered an out and return as the final task.
Once again it was optional and there were few takers. Most of those in
the top half dozen places took themselves off southwards in the general
direction of home.
Of the others Philip Wills made a splendid attempt - rounding the
turning point at Boston and getting back to within four miles of
Camphill - which helped to win him the Championships again. Nick
Goodhart on his first ever cross country, landed a short distance out
on track, and I got lost in the murk, after a slow climb in what must
surely have been the dirtiest cloud of all time. In the end I failed to
reach the turning point by some nine miles.
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