Pilot – June 2018

114 | Pilot June 2018 | pilotweb.aero

A

frighteningly long time

ago, I was about halfway

through pilot training with

the RAF, which involved long

holding periods between

courses. On one such hold I was posted

to Coltishall in Norfolk. Day one saw

me stood in the Station Commander’s

office seeking permission to keep my

Turbulent there. “Of course you can,”

was the reply, “but don’t fly it through

the hangars!” (It appeared the only time

he’d seen a Turbulent was when one was

flown through one of the hangars at

West Raynham.) I also had to leave an

undated cheque for a landing fee “just in

case you crash the bloody thing”.

The next week I had a day off and

wanted to go flying. I didn’t have a radio,

but SATCO seemed cool. “Use the grass

the Chipmunks do in the summer. We’ll

give you a light, stay below 500ft and

don’t cross the runway.” A green light

saw me hurtling down the grass, only

to be overtaken by a pair of Jaguars

thundering down the main runway just

to my left. I consoled myself with the

thought that at least I’d used less ground

to get off! As ‘ordered’ I stayed low level

until clear of the MATZ, adjusting to

500ft once outside. The neat cornfields

of the Norfolk countryside looked

fantastic as I pottered over to Swanton

Morley in epic visibility; Ely cathedral

was visible almost forty miles away.

After a quick natter in the club house,

I collected a compression tester I’d

loaned someone and was off again,

this time heading for Ipswich. Another

500ft transit in glorious weather, being

bumped about as the thermals set off

isolated cu. Somewhere north of Diss

I found the railway and followed this

south, having to climb to join Ipswich.

Here more nattering followed as various

people and items were loaded into an

old Auster Autocrat. We were all off

to the gliding site at Whatfield for the

main event of the day−to do some work

on one of the Condor tugs, hence the

compression tester.

The Auster got off ahead of me; I

watched it climb out as I strapped in.

It really was an amazing day−even the

water of the Orwell looked inviting. I’d

lost sight of the Auster so levelled at

500ft again and set off for Whatfield.

A couple of miles out I could see the

Auster already on the ground by the

hangar, and let the nose drop a little. The

Turbulent picked up speed, and I gauged

the descent to cross the threshold at a

few feet. Beyond that, I had no plan.

As I got lower, I saw the little knot of

people unloading the Auster stop and

turn to watch my arrival. I whizzed

over the threshold madly waving

at my audience, and flew along the

runway at only a few feet. Around the

intersection madness overcame me as

I decided to pull up into a wingover for

another pass. Until this point, whilst

probably marginally legal, at least it

had been safe.

The Turb is not the strongest of

airframes so my pull up was gentle, but

once going up I craned around to see

where my audience was and took my

attention off both speed and attitude. As

the control forces are so light, by turning

around I inadvertently pulled the nose

up further as my arm moved with my

body. I must have achieved 75 degrees

nose up, and the speed washed off in the

blink of an eye. Most worrying though

was the lack of height. The Turbulent

only has 45hp, loads of drag, and weighs

less than many motorbikes. I suppose

I shouldn’t have been surprised, when

it ran out of steam at only a couple of

hundred feet but surprised I was, and

with no airspeed.

With little in the way of option, I

ruddered around in an almost stall-

turn and cut the power, concentrating

on avoiding a spin. The world pivoted

around and the windscreen became

full of grass runway, the horizon an

alarmingly long way above the nose. I

now learned that all things are not

equal and opposite, as the speed stayed

very low and acceleration appeared

non-existent.

The shock of my stupidity had finally

got my attention and I was thinking

again. I avoided the overwhelming

desire to pull back, as this would

undoubtedly have resulted in a fatal

stall. The ground rushed up at an

alarming rate, and the speed increased

such that I dared to raise the nose just

a little, although it was looking like far

too little, far too late.

Thankfully, though it did slowly

increase, and going against all instinct

I slammed the throttle open. The

slipstream over the elevator improved

the pitch rate, and the power probably

stopped any deceleration, again

avoiding a stall. The next instant, there

I was in the landing attitude, at about

the right speed, and only a few inches

off the ground. I chopped the power

and made one of the gentlest landings.

I rolled out on what little of the runway

remained in front of me and turned off

to the little group of happy admirers.

All were ecstatic in their praise of my

undoubted skill, even those who should

have known better. I don’t think anyone

realised how close they had been to

witnessing a fatal accident.

I learned a lot from that unintentional

low level stall-turn. I’ve done a vast

amount of low level work and displays

since that day but I never enter a

manoeuvre without a plan, and a practised

fall-back option should it go wrong.

I realised something equally worrying

when writing this: all of the airfields

mentioned here are long gone. How do

we stop this? I can’t think of a fall-back

option for nowhere to fly from!

Pay attention at all times!

Madness overcame

me as I decided

to pull up into

a wingover

ILAFFT

Showing off to his mates while not paying enough attention to the

aeroplane was almost the last thing this pilot ever did

By Charlie Huke

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