Part 1 - Ultralighting is a Fun Pastime
Picture a meadow, summer dew sparkling in the early morning
sun; a world coming slowly alive. Birds are watching you
warily, as you prepare to invade their domain. Their alarm
calls do nothing to distract you from your goal. The day
has dawned as perfectly as you could ever have wished
for. Your excitement is an almost visible aura around
you. If anyone was watching they would soon be intrigued
by your obsessive behaviour, but most earth dwellers are
warmly wrapped up in their cocoons, oblivious to the call
that stimulates your whole being. Today, you have decided
to fly away from your local field and pay a visit to another
new friend who invited you to drop into his pasture for
coffee. It is a landmark. The fledgling is leaving the
nest and embarking on a mini adventure. Columbus is seeking
new worlds.
The sky is virgin clear. There is not even a wisp of
cloud marring the beautiful sunrise firing up the sky,
from a deep blue, to fantastic shades of every colour,
as the life-giver drags itself up over the sleeping fields
and hillsides. Long shadows shrink under its ever-increasing
light. You share the spectacle with nature's creatures;
commonplace and yet infinitely unique. You have become
a different being. You have found the freedom you never
believed was possible. You have discovered the third dimension.
You have found a way to soar at a price you could afford.
You have found a sport largely free of restrictions that
has enabled your inner being to float free of earthly
restraints. You have become an aviator.
The flying machine that will take you into the calm blue
yonder has been slumbering peacefully since the last time
you called it out to take you skyward. It normally resided
in the garage, or on the small boat-sized trailer, or
at some other convenient location around the home. No
need for the expense of a hangar. This featherless friend
is able to rest wherever you can find some space. The
wing is nothing more than an extremely long hold-all,
either racked alongside the fuselage, or perhaps strapped
to a convenient wall. It takes up little space. Yet it
is ready at a moment's notice to take you away. It is
your very own magic carpet.
You spend thirty minutes reassembling this high tech engineering
miracle. The field is owned by a friendly farmer, or it
is possibly the grass runway at your local airfield. Anywhere
with a few hundred yards of open ground and with unrestricted
access at either end will suffice. You speedily turn the
individual pieces of the machine into something that would
warm the hearts of the Wright brothers. Repetition has
reduced the time it takes for the transformation. You
have repeated the procedure so many times that you could
carry it out blindfolded. Your eyes automatically look
for signs of wear and tear. Your fingers seek out any
changes that would warn of something amiss. Nothing is
left to chance.
You carry out the preflight inspection, having filled
the five-gallon fuel tank; a last double check to make
sure that everything is as it should be and you are good
to go. It is easy to overlook something in the excitement
of the moment, but you pause to double check that the
mind has not overlooked anything. The wind-proof jacket
will keep out the early morning chill, and the helmet
increases the safety element whilst reducing noise levels
to very comfortable limits. Gloves and boots make up the
rest of the safety gear you use to keep yourself comfortable.
You are set to go. The sun has begun to spread its life-giving
warmth and the leaves open, still too sleepy to wave a
greeting.
Automatic safety measures have been drilled into you by
your instructor. Like a jet pilot, you tick off the checklist
in your mind's eye. Even on the deserted field you follow
the procedures. You shout "Clear Prop!" to no
one in particular. The reliable Rotax engine fires on
the third pull as normal, and the engine grumbles with
impatience as it warms up. It too wants to be moving fast.
More fuel is applied and the propeller spins as a translucent
blur, comforting in its steady revolutions. Within minutes
the engine has achieved its optimal operating temperature.
You have already carried out all the control response
checks, and with a careful look around, you taxi out onto
the short grass pasture. Countless silken cobwebs wink
and twinkle in the strengthening dawning light. A blanket
of shimmering sliver on a green, enticing, manicured bed.
It is as if the air is holding its breath. The finite
space is crystal clear. Your heart is bounding with the
excitement of the moment. Senses have awakened to the
fully alive level. The rush has begun.
Last thoughts and ingrained procedures combine to wipe
away all but the basic human feelings of nervousness.
Nerves are a good sign. They prove that you are alert
and fully tuned in. Prepared for all possibilities, you
commit yourself, pushing the throttle all the way forward.
The engine, finally unconstrained, roars to maximum revolutions.
The propeller produces its own whirlwind of exhilarating
thrust. The flying machine leaps forward, and within feet,
is kissing the grass a tender goodbye.
Without the friction of the earth holding it back, your
aeroplane is free to fulfil its destiny. It responds perfectly
to your every input. The thrill of the third dimension
is irresistible. Once you have achieved a safe altitude,
you turn and climb, glide and dive, performing lazy figure
of eights, feeling the bump of the prop wash as you cross
your own invisible wake. You have transported yourself
into the heavens. Bird-like, you are free to roam near
and far, high and low. Each passing moment is a lifetime
of pleasure. The earthly suffocation has been destroyed.
You have transcended the burdens that were overwhelming
you, and you now are truly reborn.
The farm strip you are heading for is well within the
two hours safe duration provided by the full fuel tank.
Navigation is easy. The aviation chart on your lap is
a safety blanket, backing up the GPS (Global Positioning
System) which shows your position over the earth, within
a matter of a few feet, allowing you to keep within feet
of your chosen route. Roads are now nothing more than
features to navigate by. You cross then at will, waving
at astonished travellers tied to their monotonous band
of hard, unyielding concrete. Hills and rivers may cause
other traffic to follow the concrete highways, but you
are the master of all you survey. You go where you please.
Only birds have this freedom, and you now emulate them.
Creatures wriggle and crawl along below your aerial recliner.
They all look surreal; like the toys you played with as
a child. Most likely, they are totally unaware of your
elevated location. Cocooned in their air-conditioned tin
machines they curse and grumble their way through the
snarling traffic, turning up the CD player to drown out
their thoughts and frustrations. For you, the sky is your
kingdom. You really feel like God has granted you a special
favour.
You begin to feel the movement as the air responds to
the warming earth. It is a time to re focus on the requirements
of returning to terra firma. You look for signs of airflow.
Ripples on the water and smoke drifting on the morning
air betray the direction the air has decided to take.
Landing into wind requires the normal heightened responses
you've practised during all those pattern-bashing hours
your instructor insisted upon. Although it is not usually
difficult you know to expect the unexpected. Landing provides
another thrill. Every one of those returns to the solid
substance is unique. This landing is the one you wished
your instructor could see. The wheels lightly caress the
blades of grass once again and its softness seduces them
to descend further and settle into its cushioning lushness.
Feather light and with hardly a tremble from the faithful
machine, you bring your mind, soul and body back to earth.
Your new friend is waiting to take you out for a well-earned
breakfast and that welcome cup of coffee is already in
his hand. Friends are easy to find in ultralighting. We
are a unique band of brothers and sisters who share a
common, yet unique, bond. Flying fills our world. We are
obsessed and driven; drugged by the beauty of the third
dimension and by the desire for ever more airtime. The
flight home is magical, and yet so different from to outward
passage. The air has become excited by our presence and
wants to play with us. We learn the game it wants to show
us as we head for home. Reluctant to end our adventure,
we decide to practice a few landings before we grudgingly
pack the machine away. Already, we are thinking about
the next opportunity to fly.
Next month, I'll look at some of the ways you can achieve
the dream of flying, without the need for a fat chequebook.
You can find my CD Book, Flying for the Penniless Dreamer,
on my website: www.creativemetalcuts.com
