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Learning to Fly - A personal view Despite cutting my engineering teeth in the Aviation Industry and my Dad’s best efforts to lure me into fixed wing flying as a teenager, taking to the air never really interested me until I caught the Rotorway Bug. Even as I booked my first ever ‘Helicopter Experience’ flight at our local airfield (Headcorn) I still wasn’t really sure if I’d like it. The pilot was very kind and patient taking me through the same short briefing he gave to dozens of other customers each week but he almost shrieked in horror when I told him I was thinking of building a Rotorway. I climbed into (what I later discovered was) the Pilots seat, he fired the engine and we lifted to a low hover. The first surprise was that we didn’t go straight up. Instead we taxied across to the main runway and took off along it like a regular aeroplane. My heart was in my mouth as we climbed quickly to 500 feet. Here was the second surprise - almost complete, unobstructed visibility. I was immediately reminded of the ‘Back to The Future Ride’ in Orlando. (If you’ve ridden the Universal Studios’ DeLorean through time and space, you’ll know what I mean). We soon settled into a long circuit around the local villages, during which I took the cyclic for a while. The pilot brought us back to a quiet corner of the airfield where I again took the cyclic and managed to hover for over 30 seconds - no problem (only now do I realise I must have had at least a little covert assistance from the instructor). So, we’d taken off, flown around and hovered a little. OK it was fun, but I was not entirely out of my tree with pumping adrenaline. My half hour was almost up as we hover taxied back to the Helipad when we noticed a Llama between us and the pad (yes, a Llama!!). It had escaped from its electrified paddock at the edge of the airfield and was munching some fresh grass on the runway. With a quick call on the radio the pilot wound on the power and mustered the beast across the airfield a few feet from the ground, cutting left and right as the animal tried desperately to escape it’s pursuer. The Robinson finally shot upward in a steep bank and the Llama cleared the fence with feet to spare as if we had hooked a skid in it’s butt and flipped it over. Yeeeehaaaa!!!! That was it - Bug Bitten - Done Deal!! I made inquiries about PPLH training and was surprised to find that the minimum qualifying hours required for a license is 45 but most pilots take 60 or 70 . And the cost - almost thrice that of fixed wing training!!. Oh well, in for a penny, in for £70K I don’t mind admitting, I thought that flying a Helicopter would be a walk in the park After all, I‘ve mastered driving a Road Car, Racing Car, Big Truck, Little Truck, Forklift Truck, Dumper Truck, Motorbike, Push-Bike, Big Digger, Little Digger, Bulldozer, Lawnmower and I can even make a fair attempt at maneuvering a Supermarket Trolley across a sloping car park. How tough could it be? Boy, was I in for a surprise? I purchased a hefty and pretty daunting package of relevant training books, maps and navigation equipment and began to wade through the ‘Principles of Helicopter Flight’ by a feller called W. J. Wagtendonk. I found it heavy going and decided to get a few lessons under my belt before wading deeper into the theoretical stuff There was a problem booking regular weekend training flights at my local airfield because of Parachuting activity so I booked a few hours at the next closest airport, Rochester, which is situated on top of the Kentish North Downs. At the end of the runway is what used to be the Marconi Avionics factory where I and a hundred other sixteen year olds embarked upon the first four years of our working lives on a Mechanical Technician Apprenticeship. Across the road is the Technical College where I studied for one full day and two evenings every week. So, at least the surroundings were familiar. The flight school had one Robinson R22 Beta II and one Helicopter Instructor, a surprisingly young looking guy called Daren. We went into a briefing room where Daren began a detailed, one to one, explanation of the basic principles of Helicopter flight. I can’t pretend that it was all crystal clear but it seemed less heavy than Wagtendonk’s tome. I was quite relieved to find that I didn’t have to remember it all immediately but that it could be useful when examination time comes around!! The pre-flight check procedure and pre-take off checks were very detailed and took an age. Daren talked me through the take off procedure, took the controls and guided the ship smoothly and effortlessly to a 60 knot cruise at 500 feet. OK - my turn. Within 5 seconds of taking the controls we would have fallen from the sky had Daren not rescued the situation. This ritual was repeated for the next half hour with only slightly longer intervals between potential disasters. Back to a corner of the airfield and into some hover practice with much the same result. Before we returned to the Helipad Daren demonstrated precision control by hover taxiing over the huge white numbers at the end of the runway, first forward, then backward and finally, spinning as he traced the outline. As a final demonstration of accurate hovering, he knocked over a traffic cone with the left skid, picked it up, put it down and set it upright again - flash sod! When I lost it, I didn’t know why I lost it and if I managed to keep it stable for a few seconds, I didn’t know how I did that either. I could feel absolutely no feedback from the controls and I couldn’t judge whether to move them a little or a lot. I was unfamiliar with the instruments, too frightened to look at them anyway and I had no instinctive sense of speed, climb & descent rate or attitude. I just didn’t know what I was doing wrong. I felt a total failure. At the end of the hour I was exhausted -Totally knackered. My brain was spinning from information overload, every muscle was twinging from the strain and tension and I couldn’t imagine that I would ever work out how to control this thing. As I write this article - every macho male gene in my body is screaming ‘Don’t say it, Don’t say it !! But I have to confess - I could not do it !! I couldn’t even sort-of do it, badly. I just couldn’t do it at all !! The only explanation I could think of was the ‘Old Dog New Tricks’ adage but Daren assured me that this was quite normal and that I’m no less intelligent or able than any other trainee Helicopter pilot - What he said sounded logical but I wasn’t entirely convinced. As I settled back in the familiar cockpit of my Chevy and set my cranial navigation to autopilot for the drive home, the adrenaline slowly dispersed and three things became quite clear 1. Learning to control a Helicopter wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought. 2. No one actually flies Helicopters - You just spend the whole time preventing them from crashing. And 3. Funnily enough, the forces and techniques involved in Helicopter flight make it closer to driving a four - castor Supermarket Trolley on a sloping car park than anything else I’d ever driven. Within an hour of my first lesson I was back home in the workshop mulling over the boxes of parts that would, one day, be transformed into my own Helicopter. Heck, I’d picked up the mechanical gauntlet and committed myself to building this complex machine and flying it skyward. Nothing in my 50 years had beaten me yet. So, roll - on lesson number two
The UK Helicopter training course (PPL H) is very similar to the US version. It’s a structured program of set exercises to be completed in the recommended order. Here’s the official list of exercises.
The next few lessons followed the recommended format but usually ended with some Hover Practice. One lesson sometimes covered a couple of different exercises so the strict order was a little fragmented. However, even at this early stage I had the feeling that I was being led to run before I could walk. I still couldn’t fly and still couldn’t work out why. A classroom lesson preceded each flight but in the air I struggled to relate the theory to the practice. By this time I had made contact with a couple of other UK owners who had both completed their ships and flight training. They reassured me that my problems were not at all exceptional and that it would all come together soon. One owner confided that on his fifteenth hour of training, he was on the verge of giving up, thinking he would never master the art of Hovering. Feeling totally dejected and resigned to failure he gave up trying so hard and was amazed to find himself hovering effortlessly for fifteen minutes!! So, relaxation is the key? Daren had me recite the Twelve Times Table backwards and sing silly songs in an effort to reduce concentration and enhance my natural, instinctive reactions. And it worked!!. By lesson seven I could prevent the thing crashing. The machine was still lurching around the sky at the limit of stability but Daren hardly needed to touch the controls except for take off and landing. A session or two later I insisted that I spend two solid hours on Hover practice at the edge of the airfield. By the time the sun was setting I was hovering quite confidently, if not perfectly, tracing the shape of the runway numbers at the end of the airfield whilst Daren snoozed peacefully at my side. (well, not strictly snoozing but very inactive and probably bored stiff.) Information, information , information - so much of it to absorb. It comes at you from all directions, thick and fast, complex and sometimes contradictory. And it all has to be put together and become instinctive. At times it seems like my brain is full to brimming and any new incoming information will just spill some old stuff over the side. But, strangely, when I have visitors and show them around the workshops and answer Exec questions, I surprise myself with just how much knowledge I have actually taken in. Sadly, I can’t really dedicate as much time to study as I’d like, although there are books and manuals strewn around the house for me to pick up and flick through whenever a spare moment presents itself. The training continued at a steady pace. I had been shown a couple of Autorotations during the early lessons and had spent a couple of classroom hours getting to grips with the theory. But the time came to put it into practice for real. The day was fine and bright with a steady 15 knot breeze. We chose to practice at the Airfield where I could combine Circuits, RT practice and Autos . ‘Practice Autorotation 3, 2, 1, Go’ ... Closing the throttle and lowering the collective at 1000 ft presents no problem and resisters little change on the adrenaline scale. But as the ground approaches things start happening much faster. The timing of the flare and leveling the ship are critical to a safe landing and very difficult to judge in the early stages of learning. Throw in selecting a suitable landing spot plus finding the wind and turning to face it and things get very stressful very quickly. We tackled around a dozen Autos in one lesson with me taking slightly more control each time. I reckon I could survive an Auto on my own but I’m not so sure about the ship. Much more practice required. I’ve been waiting several weeks now for the right solo weather conditions to appear. It’s a legal requirement on your first solo to have less than 12 Knots wind and cloud level of at least 800 ft. But it seems that whenever the conditions are right (not that often during an English winter), either the Helicopter is having maintenance problems, Daren is holidaying in sunny Florida or I am just too busy
So, we’ve been jumping ahead a little with some ‘post solo’ exercises, one of which really lit my fire for the first time since I started my training. There’s a sparsely populated corner of Kent called St. Mary’s Marsh – the proposed site of London’s third Airport. It’s an ideal area for hover practice, Autos and general flying around. For a little break from the regimented training exercises Daren suggested that I fly at 70 knots up and down the coast line of the Thames Estuary at a height of thirty feet to fine tune my cyclic/collective coordination. And WOW!! Did it all fall into place.
SOLO March 19th finally brought some fine spring weather to the South East and it was time to brush off the cobwebs after a long spell on the ground. Surprisingly, I wasn't very rusty at all and flew to St. Marys Marsh without Daren touching a thing except my camera. Sadly, it didn’t last and it all fell to pieces when we began to practice a few Autos. I was having problems tuning in to the attitude thing -.- trying to relate the horizon to the compass position on the windscreen whilst keeping one eye on airspeed, another on Rotor speed, another on landing spot, another on wind direction, another on warning lights, temps and pressures and another on the flock of Microlights that were also taking full advantage of this fine flying weather. After a dozen or so attempts, I finally managed to get it together enough to survive a real one if I had to - again. I flew back to the airport in a light haze whilst Daren filmed a few Video Clips (which I’m trying to upload at a sensible size)
We’d been flying for an hour and a half so we decided to have a cup, relax for a while and see what the airport traffic was like before making a decision on my Solo. Daren tested me on Emergency Safety measures in the briefing room while we watched the late afternoon flyers making the most of the beautiful spring day. We both reckoned it was way too busy for me to fly solo circuits but we’d go for my Hover Solo at the side of the airfield - that was good enough for me! The sun was low behind us and the air was clear and still as I settled G-NORT on the grass, clear of the main taxi ways at the edge or the airfield. I’d practiced a few low vertical takeoffs and landings and Daren had briefed me on what to expect from the controls without his weight onboard and on what he wanted me to do in response to his signals from the perimeter fence. I felt remarkable calm and prepared and I was able to consciously relax my white-knuckle-grip on the controls. At Darens signal, I raised the ship to a three foot hover - a little wobbly at first but soon stable and under full control. Forward, backward, fly left, fly right, pedal turn left, pedal turn right. So what was all the fuss about? Why did this seem impossible a few short months ago? The controls felt much more responsive and the ship more stable with the lighter passenger load - or maybe it was just my confidence growing in leaps and bounds with every second.
Back at the office I felt some relief that this milestone had been passed and a little easier about the Solo circuits to come. Then came the most difficult part of the day - handing over a huge wad of cash for the next batch of lessons. That didn’t feel quite so great.
REAL SOLO Recent demands of work has meant that I can’t put in the hours I’d like, either training or building the Exec but with the pressure easing a little this week I penciled in an afternoon training slot at Rochester. The weather forecast was pretty atrocious with strong winds from the North and snow working it’s way down the country. My windsock showed a strong breeze and a heavy shower did its level best to postpone my lesson for yet another day. However, a telephone call to the airport 15 miles away confirmed that it was fine and bright there with a 12 to 15 knot wind - dodgy for soloing but great for Auto practice. As I drove onto the airport car park a heavy Hailstorm had me running for the shelter of the flight office. April in England - don’t you love it?!!! The weather settled back to showery and gusty so we started the lesson with a few circuits. I’d been having some problems relating the horizon and compass position to select speed stable, accelerative and decelerative attitudes, spending too much time chasing the instruments, especially the airspeed indicator. I was flying OK but not with the accuracy required by my future examiner. Daren was starting to climb out of his pram in frustration and suggested we try out something different on the deserted shoreline of the Thames Estuary. For half an hour I flew up and down the river bank at a height of only twenty or thirty feet using only the compass and the horizon to set my attitude. Being this close to the ground made it much easier to judge speed and height changes without reference to the instruments. Before long I was able to judge my speed to within a few knots just by the Robinsons attitude. The penny was beginning to drop. Back at the airport Daren asked me to set the ship down on the end of the runway and called for a wind report. A calm had settled over the area and the wind had dropped to 8 knots. ‘Do you want to try a circuit?’ he asked. I wasn’t really expecting to go solo but I accepted without hesitation. Daren ran over to the airfield perimeter as I raised the ship to a steady hover and made my first Solo radio call. ‘Helicopter Romeo Tango, one POB (person on board) for a circuit’ ‘Take off at your discretion’ came the reply. I eased the cyclic forward and flew along the runway on my own for the first time. As I cleared the airport boundary where the terrain drops sharply to the M2 motorway a Eurostar train disappeared into the tunnel through the Kent North Downs beneath me. I was feeling surprisingly calm as I checked the lights, temps and pressures at 300 feet. At 500 feet I turned right and climbed to 1000 ft, levelled off and accelerated to 80 knots as I turned downwind. I made my downwind checks and radio call and began to turn base. Here’s when things started to go a tad pear-shaped. As I tried to lower the collective and pull back on the cyclic to descend and slow down, nothing seemed to happen. My air speed seemed to climb to 90 and I stayed firmly at 1000 feet. My heart was pounding as I pulled even further back on the cyclic and lowered the collective even more, instinctively leaning forward as the ships nose pointed skyward. After what seemed like minutes but was probably only seconds, the ship began to slow and descend. By the time I turned final I had the Helicopter under full control and perfectly lined up with runway 20. The tower interrupted my elation with a call to tell me I was clear to land - I’d forgotten to call final!. A late final call with apologies drew a sympathetic and understanding reply to the effect that I’d probably got more to worry about. Phew!! That’s the fact Jack!! Daren had watched the whole circuit carefully and, apart from my few wobbles on the base leg, was very pleased with my performance. In a post-flight briefing he showed me what I’d done wrong and where I could improve next time. And that was it. Pretty much as expected. It wasn’t easy but it certainly wasn’t impossible. Total flying time to date 29 hours. Next stage - build up my solo hours to the required 10, then, cross-country. CONSOLIDATION Once again, pressure of work meant that I could only fit in the odd lesson whenever a window of opportunity opened. One window was at 8.00 AM on a beautifully sunny morning in the Weald of Kent, but as I drove to the airfield I climbed into a slightly misty, overcast morning over the North Downs. No matter. Mine was the first flight of the day so a full ‘A’ check gave the mist a little time to clear. We started with some hovering practice and a couple of circuits. The cloud base was only 750 feet above the airfield which was slightly too low for circuit solos so Daren climbed out and wandered off to the tower with his binoculars leaving me to hover around the airfield pretty-much wherever I wanted to. It was still fairly early on a quiet weekday morning and the only other traffic around was a huge Seeboard surveying Helicopter fitted with strange-looking outriggers. 15 knot gusts made things a little more challenging as I traced over the 30 foot long concrete runway numbers, forwards, backwards, sideways and turning - as Daren had demonstrated so impressively seven months earlier (still way better than my current efforts). Although I was beginning to relax a little I was sometimes surprised to find I still had a white-knuckle grip on the controls and although I felt safe and in control of the machine it occasionally took me by surprise by responding to my control movements differently than expected. I began to feel more comfortable with my RT, keeping the tower informed of my movements and intentions whilst resisting my natural urge to add ‘Please’ and ‘Thank you’ to every transmission. The information officer in the tower speaks quite quickly and I admit to sometimes having some difficulty understanding what she’s saying but Daren assures me that once I get more of an idea of what type of message to expect then it’ll all fall into place. I’ll reserve judgment on this for a while but at this stage of my training I think I’d prefer clarity over interpretation. I played around for forty five minutes and could have happily continued for another hour if I didn’t have to get back to work. But that flight gave me a little time to take stock and consolidate all the training, on my own and in my own time. I also found that I had some time to reflect on what I had achieved so far. Well, I’m fifty one now and I’m flying around in a Helicopter under my sole control. I know for a fact that I’m not as sharp mentally as I was thirty years ago (as my son kindly reminds me on a regular basis) but that doesn’t mean that I’m any less able to learn new tricks - just that some new things can take a little more time to absorb and establish themselves in my noddle. That short solo seemed to confirm that I was doing OK and that the theory and practice of the last few months was working. My choppy waters were a little calmer.
A MOMENT I’m told everyone has a Major Moment at some time during their flight training. Mine came as I was starting my fourth hour of Solo flight in a circuit at Rochester. As I sit here at my desk writing this section I’m debating the wisdom of recalling it at all, let alone sharing it with all who care to read about it. I have the feeling that talking and writing about such things is somewhat taboo in this game but what the heck? It was a bad day and I’m getting it off my chest. Suffice to say, I have never been so frightened. The one previous fright that comes closest was during a homeward flight from Taipei, two days after an airliner had crashed into the ocean on take off from the same airport. I was listening to music on the headphones when I heard a bang and I thought I heard the pilot say over the intercom ‘Ladies and Gentlemen please fasten your seat belts - we have a problem’ In the few split seconds before realising I was mistaken, I experienced fear like I had never known before. My Robinson moment was worse - and lasted longer. It was early in the morning. Conditions were good and there were a few fixed wings in the area. My ten or so most recent circuits had been improving in their stability and accuracy and I thought I just needed practice to refine them more and more. The problems started just after take off. The door catch on the passengers side had been lifting on its own the week before. The door had been taken off and, I thought, fixed. Wrong. I guess my instructor’s elbow prevented the catch from lifting whilst he was sitting there. This time, as on my last solo, the catch began lifting and on the downwind leg, the door came open. Mild panic started but I somehow managed to close the door and I began to plan my base leg and final. Things started to go wrong on the base leg as I heard a couple of other aircraft in the circuit and third calling final. I couldn’t see any of them and began to panic more, orbiting left to stay out of the way. The door catch began to rise again and the panic factor rose again. I tensed up and hunched over the cyclic as the ship lurched wildly accelerating to 100 knots. I flared too steeply to lose speed and lost all sight of the ground, terrified that I would fall out of the sky. Somehow the ship levelled out and I overshot the final turn but I still couldn’t see the other aircraft. I was overcompensating madly as I tried to come back in line with the runway. I can vaguely recall the tower officer declaring one before me so I made an instinctive and incorrect decision to orbit left again on the dead side. Much of this stuff is a blurr and I suppose it only accounts for a minute or two at the most but I can remember the cold sweat, the dry mouth and preparing myself for the last few moments of my life. I was absolutely terrified, almost totally out of control and I just wanted to get back on the ground. The Robinson was lurching around the sky at angles I’d never before experienced and I expected it to drop like a stone at any second. I was almost to scared to speak but I remember saying something like ‘I’m coming in’ over the radio. I descended far too quickly and found myself in another lurching mess at around 100 feet. I have no idea how I finally managed to stabilise the ship - I suppose instinct came through in the end and I settled it to a 3 foot hover. I just sat there for a while shaking like a leaf, very relieved to be alive and realising how green and inexperienced I really was. I Hover - taxied back to the pad where Daren climbed back in and made me fly two more circuits - about which I cannot remember a thing. Coming so close to buying the farm has made me think a lot more deeply about my mortality and the effect my demise would have on my family. For the first time since I started my project I found myself wondering if I was willing, or indeed, able to see it through. Two weeks of restless nights and another couple of hours flying (not solo) pacified the fear gremlins a little and I decided to carry on, although if I wasn’t building my Exec I’m not sure that I would have made the same decision. It’s not the mechanical reliability thing that bothers me - I’m quite thorough in my ‘A’ checks and I’m confident that my Exec is well constructed and as safe as it can be. It’s the human factor that worries me. Accident reports cite human error as the most common cause of all incidents, fatal or otherwise - and all involving pilots with much more experience than me. No matter what statistics you read or what experienced pilots will tell you, flying a light aircraft is more dangerous than driving a car - and flying a helicopter is a factor up on that. I’m human and I make mistakes. The chances of surviving an error on the ground are way higher than surviving an error in the sky - and I guess that’s the bottom line.
August 3rd 2005 DOUBTS As I write this section I’m not expecting to publish it for the foreseeable future. Heart on sleeve time is not now. I’m up to the 45-hour minimum training period and, in reality, still a long way off becoming a competent Helicopter Pilot. But something has happened recently that I can’t understand. Since my ‘Moment’ a few weeks ago I have had increasing discomfort with what I’m doing. I’ve flown solo since my moment - albeit only one circuit, which was pretty-much moment-free, but a fear has been growing with every flight since then, culminating in a (perhaps rather rash) statement soon after take off on my last dual lesson with Daren that I couldn’t do this any more, And I don’t know why. It seems I’ve just lost my ‘Bottle’. Daren assures me that my flying skills are good to (at times) excellent but at the start of my last flight I certainly had feelings verging on abject terror and I wanted to get back on the ground as soon as possible. The plan for the day was for me to build up my solo hours on circuits but we actually continued the flight with a local expedition and a landing at Redlands for a cup of tea. By the time we had returned to the airfield I felt a little more comfortable at the controls and landed perfectly. Back on Terra Firma I’m trying desperately to re-visualise the flight and relive the fear in an attempt to analyse what’s going on but with only fleeting glimpses into the true feelings I experienced that morning. I’m continuing with my Rotorway build and loving every minute of it but I’m becoming more and more concerned that flying and me are a mismatched pair - Yet I am so looking forward to flying my Rotorway. Don’t make sense do it? I’ve been trying to analyse my problem and I’m wondering if it’s all about mentally minimising risk. I am, by nature, a non-gambler with an instinct for self-preservation that seems to be extremely acute. I’ve never broken a bone or had a major accident. I’ve never climbed a mountain, never taken a trek and I can’t even swim. I’ve never taken a loan, except for my first mortgage and my first guitar - both of which were calculated risks that paid off handsomely. I’ve never bought a lottery ticket and I must be the only tourist ever to visit Las Vegas twice and not put a cent into a slot machine. I won’t buy a used engine that I can’t drive and I’ll only buy anything at all when I can afford to. I take the route of least risk in everything I do, usually instinctively. I seem to make a habit of observing diligently from the fence until making a carefully considered choice of which side to climb down. Of course, I fuck-up just like everyone else but it’s usually after I’ve done my best to avoid it. But flying a Helicopter is unlike anything else I’ve ever done. The risks are higher, I’m getting older and there’s so much more to remember. I know there’s a good chance that I will fuck-up. I’ll forget to apply carb heat, misread an instrument scan or forget to scan at all. I may get lost, mis-hear a radio call or fly into another aircraft because I’m concentrating too hard on other things. There is just so much to remember and the risk of omitting something is too high to sit easy with me. I seem to be developing a fear of flying, for Christ’s sake!! And there’s something else. I haven’t really thought much about it till now but it’s always been at the back of my mind, but at Rochester Airfield there’s nowhere much to land if I get into trouble during a circuit. The Aerodrome surrounded on three sides by housing and factories and on the other side by hilly woodland, a steep ridge, a motorway and a railway line. In contrast, Headcorn, another local airfield, is surrounded by fields. Hmmm. I’m going to try and stick with it and hope that my instinct for self-preservation will relax a little and my fear will diminish as I become more experienced. The thought of giving it all up at this stage doesn’t bear too much thinking about. During a chat around a table with a couple of pilot friends in the summer my dad was surprised to hear that practical spin recovery is no longer part of the training syllabus for PPL fixed wing as it is considered too dangerous. Pilots are trained and trusted never to get into a spin situation. I’m not sure I follow the logic of this one. From my own point of view, in retrospect, I think I would have found a ‘Near The Limits’ flying demonstration invaluable at, maybe ten hours or so into my training - certainly before going solo. When I experienced my ‘moment’ I really had no idea of the safe flying limits of the R22. With the experience I have now, I think I was actually in far less danger that I felt at the time but that didn’t stop me being terrified and almost pulling the plug on the whole Helicopter thing. It’s a bit of a Catch 22 really. 18th October 2005 I have persevered with the flying and I seem to be more comfortable in the air. I think I have become more familiar with the aircraft, more relaxed on the radio and slightly more competent with the navigation. Some tasks are now instinctive, thus reducing the active brainpower required to do everything at once. I recently actually flew solo out of the Airfield Zone on a local sortie with no fear present. I can’t say that I really enjoyed it but the potential for future fun was beginning to beckon through the mist. I have been waiting for a few weeks now for suitable weather for my first solo cross-country. I feel ready for it because it is a familiar route – I’ll navigate with the map, as I’m supposed to, but I don’t think I’ll get lost. The fear is still there but I am managing to control it. I believe I made my first solo flight way too early – attempting to run before I could walk. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. UPDATE: 28th September 2005 First solo sortie outside of the circuit. Took a trip to St Marys Marsh and back. Only half an hour but for the first time I was confident that I could actually see it through and achieve my license FIRST SOLO NAVIGATION EXERCISE
16th November 2005 I’ve been waiting weeks for suitable weather for my first Solo Cross Country Exercise I’d flown the route with Daren a couple of times so I was quite familiar with the landmarks and radio calls but I was still quite nervous when the time came. The Robinson has been parked a couple of hundred yards away on the airfield perimeter because a Royal Visitor wanted to use the Helipad, so I had a little time to think things over on my long walk to the ship. This was the very first time I had taken the keys from the cupboard, filled in the relevant forms, ordered my own fuel and made all the preparations for a flight - I was on my own!! The sky was clear and blue but there was a steady 20 Knot wind and it was bloody freezing but I forced myself to take the time to ‘A’ Check as thoroughly as I could. My chunky ‘Val Doonican’ sweater made it’s first appearance of the winter and was a welcome barrier to the biting wind. Inside the cockpit it felt like a warm summers day as I slowly performed the internal checks more diligently than ever before. The beautiful weather had brought out more traffic than usual for a weekday but it wasn’t so busy that I couldn’t easily find a radio slot. ‘Helicopter G-NORT is a Robinson R22, 1 POB, for a NAVEX from Rochester to Rochester Via Whitstable and Ashford’ . Even after a few deep breaths and a conscious attempt at mental calming I was still on the verge of fear but confident that I could see it through. I took off almost directly into the wind and I was at circuit height before I even reached the end of the runway. I turned left, then downwind before crossing the middle of the airfield to the dead side at 1500 feet, headed for the first waypoint - a nearby Services Area on the M20 Motorway which I could easily see in the distance. I continually found my speed creeping up to 90 Knots and I had to work hard for the first ten minutes or so to keep things stable. I think it was down to the much lighter load without Daren sitting next to me and the change in the ship’s centre of gravity from two-up to one-up. I guess my nerves and iron-like grip on the cyclic didn’t help either but by the time I reached the Services I felt settled enough to make a radio call and change frequency from Rochester to London. I set the course for Faversham, wondering if the wind had changed in strength or direction since I downloaded the MET 214 forecast five hours earlier. My drift calculation seemed to be spot on as is usually the case. I’m continually amazed at how consistently accurate the MET office high level wind forecasts are. The planned flight time was about one hour and with a quartering tail wind, Faversham arrived about a quarter of the way through the trip. The map was still on the passengers seat - where it was when I took off from Rochester. I guess it was fortunate that I was familiar with the route because I wouldn’t have felt comfortable flying and map reading at the same time. As I turned towards Whitstable I could clearly see the wind farm in the Thames Estuary and the fine detail of Whitstable Harbor, my turning point just six miles away. Overhead Whitstable harbor I made a gentle right turn of about 140 degrees and searched for a glimpse of the white horseshoe that is Ashford’s ‘Tent City’ (McArthur Glen) Shopping Centre, fourteen miles to the South West. On a clear day it’s a landmark that can be seen from most of East Kent but on this day the sun was quite low ahead of me and a fine mist in the distance made it a little difficult to identify. Undeterred, I set the calculated course and felt relaxed enough to pick up the map and double-check my position. Within two or three minutes I had clocked the Glen and set my course towards the M20 Motorway Junction 8, just North of Ashford and a little to the right of the landmark. I began to relax my grip on the cyclic and sit back in the seat. My height and speed were becoming more stable and I was almost enjoying myself. As I turned West to follow the M20 I carried out my HATFIR checks - Heading, Altitude, Time, Fuel, Instruments, Radio, informing London Information of my position and estimated time to Rochester. A few miles West of Ashford, on top of the North Downs is Challock Gliding Centre so I made a little dog-leg detour to give the area a wider berth. My course followed the Motorway almost exactly and I felt confident enough to have a good look around for the first time, identifying some villages and landmarks that were the stomping ground of my youth. Leeds Castle soon appeared ahead and I made another HATFIR check and turned a few degrees right towards the airfield. I called London to inform them that I was changing to Rochester’s frequency and couldn’t help thanking the operator for being there - It’s awfully lonely on your own at 2000 feet! Rochester Airfield sits on top of the Kentish North Downs at an elevation of 436 feet but a group of radio masts nearby at 965 feet make a much more visible landmark from a distance. I made my radio call and requested a ‘Straight In ‘ landing on runway 34. Permission was given provided I give way to circuit traffic. A second call just before I entered the zone confirmed that there was none so I made my simple descent and approach. As I settled to a steady hover at the runway intersection I let out a huge ‘Phew’ that threatned to steam up the screen but the fun wasn’t over yet. I was directed to park back on the airport perimeter where I ha taken off from an hour earlier. The wind was still fairly strong and gusting so I taxied very slowly and carefully downwind, turning the Robinson into the wind as I settled it gently onto the ground. Daren relayed a message through the radio operator asking if I’d like to carry on and fly some more. I declined, thinking I’d achieved enough for one day - besides, I was knackered!! One hour in the air, fifty one miles traveled and nine gallons of fuel consumed and another milestone passed. All thoughts now on the next one - A flight and away landing to Lydd. CHANGE OF PLAN It sometimes seems like I take one step forward and two steps back along this path to aerial freedom. A couple of weeks of thick fog and the pressure of a busy run up to Christmas at work combined to delay my first Land-away solo but it all appeared to be coming together one sunny Friday morning. The MET office briefing seemed acceptable and I managed to escape the Mail Order Machine for a few hours. The flight was planned, ‘A’ checks carried out and all was looking good until we printed the relevant NOTAMS (Notices to Airmen). It’s not often that Airfields close completely - even the smaller ones but, as if conspiring to keep me on the ground, Lydd had decided to close all operations for the day due to some maintenance work on the main runway. I pointed out to Lydd ATC on the telephone that I didn’t actually need to land anywhere near the runway but it was still a no-go - even for Helicopters. Rather than waste the fine weather, Daren suggested that we fly out for lunch to the Oak Tree Farm Tea Rooms near Folkestone, about half an hour’s flight away, to practice a confined area landing. I hadn’t flown for a couple of weeks so I was a little rusty and the accuracy of my flying wasn’t as sharp as it should have been. I found that reciting HATFIRS and FREDATS under pressure and on demand seemed to throw a spanner into the works of the comfortable flying procedure I had begun to develop on my two previous solo sorties. My confidence started to fade and the mistakes became worse. My approach to and recce of the landing area were a mess. The five ‘esses’ - Size, Shape, Surroundings, Slope and Surface were instantly computed in my brain as being fine and acceptable but because I had to vocalise my thoughts and explain why I thought each parameter was OK I had trouble concentrating on and maintaining an accurate circuit and descent pattern. The garden of the Tea Rooms was only about one third the size of my own landing field and was flanked on one side by a twenty foot hedge, on another by huge National Grid electricity pylons and cables and on another by the owner’s two storey house. Realistically, there was only one way in and one way out. By the time I had made three circuits of the landing area (including one go around) I had managed to compose things enough to make a textbook landing on the mown ‘H’ amidst dozens of Mole Hills. The take off and ‘Track Crawl’ back to Rochester seemed to be pretty acceptable, judging by Daren’s silence. LAND - AWAY SOLO When I’m flying solo I am able to make decisions and perform checks in the order and at the time of my choosing. I know what height I should be flying at - and at what speed - and on which course. I know who I should be talking to on the radio and I even have a general idea of what I should be saying - although what comes out of the mouth isn’t always what the brain intends. I know what I have to do and most of it gets done but without overloading the grey matter to the point of shutdown. Rather surprisingly, I’m beginning to feel in control, comfortable and relaxed with my solo flying. Right or wrong, textbook or ad-lib, that’s how it seems at this stage of the game. I’ve somehow managed to convert much of my practical and theoretical training into natural and instinctive action and reaction thus freeing up some valuable cranial capacity to safely control my flight. With every outing, I’m feeling increasingly confident in my ability to deal with problems if something were ever to go badly tits-up. It’s easy to see how this (almost euphoric virtual air punching) can manifest itself as overconfidence but, even at two thousand feet, I’m trying desperately hard to keep both feet on the ground. The pin prick of light at the end of the tunnel is becoming perceptively larger with every hour in the air (and the three hours laying awake in bed going over the flight details again and again) but I still have a long way to go to achieve my ultimate ambition - To be an Old Helicopter Pilot. My training has taken a long time - averaging a little over an hour a week for fourteen months but I can’t think that I could have done it any other way. An intensive course in Florida could possibly have been an option but I really don’t think it would have suited my style of learning. Having a break between each lesson gives things time to sink in. I find that, even if I’m struggling to get my head around a particular technique or manoeuvre, a few days of mental reruns helps clarify things ready for the next lesson. The learning curve continues to be just as steep as in the early days and on every flight a few more pennies drop and a few more key points seem to click into place. My Land - away solo was no exception. I’d been avoiding weekend solos because of increased airfield activity but I was quite keen to progress with my training so I phoned Daren the previous evening to see if G-NORT was available on Sunday. The first booked appointment was at midday so I arose obscenely early on Sunday morning and began to prepare my flight plan as I watched a beautiful sunrise in a clear blue sky from my office window. I drove to the airfield and was checking the frosty Robinson when Daren arrived. After wheeling the aircraft around to face the rising sun I continued with my Fuel and Weight and Balance calculations while Daren de-iced the blades with a bucket of warm water and a sponge (no de-icer allowed). As I wandered across to the Helipad with my armful of provisions and maps I could hear Daren trying to start the engine to clear off all the standing water droplets from the blades before they froze again. I couldn’t believe it. For only the second time in all my training, the bugger would not start. Five minutes, a puddle of fuel on the concrete and a flat battery later I was feeling pretty pissed off. A few weeks earlier I would have been slightly relieved and would have happily driven home but this time I really was disappointed. Needless to say, the maintenance guys aren’t around on Sundays and their Booster pack was locked away in the workshop. Daren eventually persuaded someone in the tower to hand over a spare key and disappeared into the hanger to emerge with a battery and jump leads. By this time the carb had dried out and the air temperature was just above freezing. We connected the cables, spun the engine over and it immediately roared into life.
The outbound flight itself was quite uneventful. I knew could find my way to Lydd OK without the map but I kept checking landmarks along the way just for practice. I had pre-booked my arrival with the tower so they knew I was coming. My radio calls were verging on professional and I made a reasonably smooth landing. Lydd seems to be one of the few regional airfields that is actively trying to encourage GA by reducing their landing fees and offering a discount for trainee pilots. I wandered over to the reception desk, paid my £10 fee and sat for a while in the spacious restaurant with a coffee and a sandwich. There had been some changes since my last visit including installation of new X ray machines for full international customs capability. Go for it Lydd. It seems that on every flight, or sometimes even during casual reading and research, another penny drops and another valuable lesson is learned. The return journey to Rochester was no exception. I returned to the ship and carried out a thorough check before settling into the cockpit and running up the engine. I could hear two or three other aircraft on frequency as I caged the AI (Artificial Horizon or Attitude Indicator) and aligned the DI (Direction Indicator). Both are gyroscopically controlled instruments, the setting and calibration of which differs in one major aspect. If the AI is caged (calibrated) on flat and level ground it’ll stay calibrated throughout the flight. The DI that is fitted to G-NORT is in true alignment with the compass only when the ship is flying straight and level and gradually wanders out of calibration. It must be manually realigned with the magnetic compass every fifteen minutes or so. I made my calls, took off directly from Bravo Apron and headed towards Ashford on my planned course according to the DI. It wasn’t long before I began to think something was wrong. I knew the way back to Ashford by landmarks and I thought I could even see it in the distance but instinct was telling me that I was flying in the wrong direction - quite a few degrees to the right. Radio traffic between myself, Lydd Tower and two other aircraft was almost continuous as one of the aircraft was approaching Lydd, heading (supposedly) directly towards me. I wasn’t too worried about being off course because I knew that sooner or later I’d come to the M20 motorway - a direct route home, but my brain was steaming towards overload and I had climbed 300 feet above my broadcast height before I knew it. Almost at the same time as I caught sight of the oncoming aircraft a couple of miles to my left I finally double checked the DI’s alignment to the compass and realised that the DI was misreading by 20 degrees - coincidentally, sending me well clear of a possible conflict of airspace. By this time I could see Ashford clearly at 10 o’clock and I corrected my course accordingly. Upon reflection, I think maybe the DI gyro didn’t have sufficient time to spin up to speed before I made a 180 degree turn on Lydd’s apron and that I should have realigned it immediately I was straight and level away from the airfield. A fine example of Technology being only as good as it’s user. No such problems in the Rotorway where only a good old Magnetic Compass awaits me!
Lonely G-NORT parked on Lydd’s Bravo Apron. Note the stunning Mountains and Rolling Hills of Romney Marsh in the background. The remainder of the flight back to Rochester went well until I had shut down on the Helipad and Daren wandered over to congratulate me. He casually mentioned that there had been a little problem with my flight that should be discussed in the briefing room. Jesus - What had I done wrong? As we walked back to the training school I racked my memory - firing off a stream of possible cock-ups, but I was assured it was not a big deal. Back in the classroom Daren drew a diagram of Rochester’s main and relief runways on the blackboard. As soon as he had begun telling me what I had done wrong another penny dropped and I was butt-kicking myself with a vengeance. When I had made my pre-take off checks and radio calls at Rochester I can recall being told ‘runway in use by fixed wings is 20 relief'’’. I informed the tower that I would take off from the intersection and was cleared to hover-taxi there. All was quiet at the airfield and there was no one else at all around so I taxied to the intersection and took off on my sortie.
The problem was, I had taxied the wrong way down 20 relief to the intersection when I should have kept well clear of the active runway and taxied along 34 to the intersection. The relief runways at Rochester are sometimes used during long spells of bad weather to give the main runways a rest when they are becoming too wet and boggy - This was the first time I had experienced this practice and the officer’s instructions just didn’t register although I can vaguely remember thinking that boggy runways don’t matter to a helicopter. The officer in the tower had, of course, realised my mistake but because there was no one else around at the time had sensibly allowed me continue my flight, leaving Daren to point out my error when I was safely back on the ground rather than adding an unnecessary spanner to my busy works at the time. Good man - common sense prevailed and I learned yet another important lesson. AUTOROTATION PRACTICE Next up - my Solo Qualifier. I’d been waiting almost four weeks for suitable conditions and twice I had even made an early start and planned the flight only to be thwarted by the good old British Weather. In fact, I just heard on the news that South East England had only eight hours of sunshine in the first twenty days of January - Great!! So I decided to squeeze in an hour of Autorotation practice just to keep the rust at bay. Autorotation is the method by which you can safely make it to the ground in the event of engine failure. With careful control of forward air speed and blade pitch (thereby blade RPM) the aircraft can be flown safely to the ground along (something like) a 4 to 1 glide slope. I’ll try a simple analogy. When an engine fails in flight you have a bucket full of available energy that is shared by your rate of descent and your forward speed. There is a hole in your bucket that gets larger of smaller depending on how efficiently you fly the aircraft. For instance, turns make the hole slightly larger and increase the rate of descent. Higher forward speed will give you more distance covered and therefor a slower rate of descent. As you approach the ground the energy level in the bucket will constantly fall until, at the moment you touch down, your bucket should just be empty. If you empty your bucket before you reach the ground - Thank you and goodnight! Daren reckons I could make it to the ground alive if I really had to - Maybe that’s true but at this stage I’d stand a fair chance of wrecking the aircraft in the process. Right now, Autos scare the living cac out of me and a real one would definitely be a soiled-underwear experience. The problem I’m having is just the same as I had with the flying - not enough brain power to comfortable handle everything that is going on at once. Here’s what is supposed to happen if your engine suddenly fails at two thousand feet. If you fail to notice the change in engine note, the Low Rotor RPM horn will wake you up. You’ll have around a second to dump the collective to the bottom of it’s travel before RPM decays to an irrecoverable level - after which you drop like a brick. A good pilot should always chose a route over suitable emergency landing areas and should always be aware of the wind direction in relation to his course so the hunt is immediately begun for a suitable landing spot, devoid of trees, pylons, cables, people, buildings and with a suitably level surface on which to make a run-on landing. The forward speed of the aircraft must be maintained at between thirty five and eighty knots depending on the distance to the chosen landing spot and the rotor RPM must stay in or around the green band on the tacho (100% RPM). This is achieved by raising and lowering the collective. During the descent you must manoeuvre the aircraft as closely into wind as possible. This may mean 180 degree turns, ‘S’ turns, full 360 degree turns, if your landing spot is directly beneath you, or even slowing the rotor RPM below the recommended level to extend the glide slope to it’s maximum - with the buzzer howling in your ears. If you have time you can attempt a restart - maybe you had Carb Ice that could have thawed in the few seconds since the engine stopped. You should send a Mayday radio call stating your registration number, approximate position, number on board, nature of the problem and your intentions. And you should shut off the fuel valve and check your harnesses and doors are secure - if you have time. Autorotation practice procedure starts with calling ‘Practice Autorotation 3, 2, 1’ and Daren closing the throttle closely followed by me dumping the collective. Forward speed is first reduced to the chosen value with some rear cyclic then kept stable by setting the correct aircraft attitude which, at this stage of my training, means pushing the cyclic further forward than my instinct wants me to. The fun starts at around three hundred feet above the ground - which seems to approach at an alarmingly fast rate. Again, instinct demands early flare and collective pull, which would empty the bucket prematurely so it’s a time for Big Balls. The speed and rate of descent must be held until around forty feet. A gentle flare (back cyclic) to bleed off forward speed then levelling off at just a few feet from the ground followed by a handful of collective as the aircraft settles to the ground, preferably at zero ground speed. A ground run on at up to 30 knots is fine provided the aircraft is kept straight with the pedals. If not, a rollover will probably ensue - from which the pilot will, most likely, walk away. A NICE SURPRISE The promised Russian winter had finally worked it’s way across Europe to the South of England. Daytime temperatures struggled to rise above zero and a record -8 degrees C was recorded at Redhill, just north of London’s Gatwick Airport. Daren called and explained that the training school was in a bit of a fix. G-NORT, my regular trainer had sprung a minor oil leak on the pitch bearing seal - probably nothing dangerous but enough for Daren to ground the ship for training. The back up aircraft, G-RSVP was due its twenty five hour oil change and would soon also be grounded. I was invited to ferry G-RSVP to the service centre at Redhill for it’s oil service whilst Daren Piloted G-NORT for inspection and possible repairs. Cor, blimey - a freebie and a chance to sample another aircraft. No prizes for guessing my response. The morning of the planned trip was one of the coldest of the season with a heavy frost and fine mist. My Son, Matthew told me the sky was bright and clear when he left home on top of the ridge at the northern edge of the Weald of Kent. So, at eight o’clock I set of for Rochester and arrived to thicker mist and gloom than when I left. We sat chatting in the cafe over a coffee and bacon sarnie until 10 o’clock when we decided that the mist wasn’t going to clear and I may as well set off home. Ten minutes after the sun broke at one o’clock through in Staplehurst the telephone rang. Daren asked if I was still OK for the trip . The V8 Diesel in my Suburban got a right royal spanking and I arrived back at Rochester in record time. Because I hadn’t flown for a week I had to first complete a circuit with Daren at my side which gave me the opportunity to get used to the slightly different instrument layout and radio controls of G-RSVP. Back on the ground Daren jumped into G-NORT and took off directly south on a course for Tonbridge while I took off into wind on 02 and circuited left to follow him about half a mile behind. Middle Kent is fortunate to have one of the straightest lengths of railway track in the country running pretty-much East to West right across the County, which is a brilliant landmark for flyers. My home, Redlands, backs onto the line so navigation around the area is fairly straightforward. Redhill Aerodrome is too just a couple of miles south of the same line but forty miles or so Westwards. Flying south West until we hit the line then following it to Redhill couldn’t have been simpler.
Millions upon Millions of pounds worth of the most beautiful aircraft I had ever seen. Mostly Squirrels and Twin Squirrels - some brand new, some being refurbished and some with custom paint jobs but all gleamingly clean and immaculately prepared. I just wandered around with my mouth open soaking up the incredibly high quality of engineering all around me. By the time G-RSVP’s oil was changed the light was beginning to fade and some promised snow from the North East was threatening to arrive. Although Daren has night rating I flew the aircraft back to Rochester, pretty much retracing the earlier route and had the R22 back on the pad well before sundown. An unexpected and most enjoyable afternoon - and a second choice of aircraft should the weather ever be gracious enough to clear up for my qualifier. CROSS - COUNTRY QUALIFIER The weather forecaster said ‘...and tomorrow will be pretty-much like today’ - fine and clear and expected to stay that way for a while. At last! The chance to get in my Cross Country Qualifier, so I phoned Daren at home on Sunday afternoon to reserve G-RSVP for the following day. I arose at six and completed the flight plan that I started the previous evening before venturing off to Rochester just before sunrise. Air temp was five degrees and surface wind at Gatwick was quoted at 12 knots but the Met Office said there was a 25 knot wind at 200 ft Checks and paperwork were completed and I was in the air just after 10.00 AM with instructions to return immediately if I hit clouds at 1500 feet.
I really wish I had something substantial to report here but, in truth, the following five hours was pretty-much event -free. I’d mentally flown the route countless times during the preceding five weeks and I had booked in at both airfields before I left to check runways in use and local conditions, so the trip went as planned. That said, the winds aloft were significantly different from the forecast so I had to work much harder on my course corrections. Cloud base was a little over 2000 feet so I flew most of the journey at 1500 feet.
So, three hours in the saddle, 155 miles travelled, two signatures with favourable comments on the Qualifier Form and a bit of an anti-climatic feel about the whole thing really. Good thing or bad thing - I don’t know, but I certainly enjoyed it. Next up - mock skills test. Weather crap for foreseeable future. MOCK SKILLS TEST Almost two weeks on and finally a break in the weather for a mock skills test. I was given a route which included an Ordnance Survey map reference, at which I was to go through the motions of a confined area landing. The first leg was planned as a ‘Heading Hold’. This navigation technique involves calculating and plotting a course to steer between two points based upon wind, magnetic deviation and compass deviation corrections. The aircraft must be flown, by instruments only, as accurately as possible on the planned compass heading to a designated, easily identifiable visual waypoint approximately half way along the leg. The flight times for the leg and the (half)waypoint are calculated and timed from the start point with a stopwatch. (Apologies to aviators if you already know this stuff). When the planned flight time to the (half)waypoint is reached the pilot can take a shuftie at the ground, identify his position on the map and estimate any deviation from the planned course. It’s unlikely that the wind will exactly match the strength and direction used in your calculations and also unlikely that you’ve flown your heading with spot-on accuracy, so you may find that you’re off course by maybe a quarter of a mile, or a mile. The angle of error is estimated on the map and the course is corrected by twice the error. In theory, this should bring you back on course for the destination of that particular leg. The second leg incorporated a surprise diversion - Not a total surprise - I knew it was coming, just not when. The previous day Daren had been given instruction on how to use the VOR feature on the Bendix Sat Nav that is fitted to G-RSVP. Before we left Rochester I was treated to a crash refresher course on VOR navigation using this piece of equipment. Very simply, VOR’s are aircraft navigation beacons which transmit beams of radio waves (radials) every ten compass degrees. There are two of these in the North Kent Area - at Detling and Biggin Hill. It is possible to ‘tune’ the GPS into the VOR and set a heading to intercept one of the radials. In theory, this enables you to hop across the country from VOR to VOR rather like stepping stones. Practice for confined area landings , Autorotations, engine off landings and all the hover skills followed. - And then came the rain - and more rain - and the snow - and the winds - and three aborted trips to the airfield for the Skills Test Proper.......... until............ SKILLS TEST ..... finally, the slim chance of a reasonably suitable day. The aircraft was booked for the whole day so first off was an hour with Daren, brushing off the rust and going over a few practice manoeuvres. Back at the school I completed the flight plan for the new route using the latest wind forecasts whilst the Examiner set off on the hour and a half journey from Hampshire to Rochester just for my test. The test began with a briefing from me to the examiner on the designated route and my planned flight details. There then followed a few mechanical questions about the aircraft, including a couple of tricky ones. Navigation of my route was next which I conducted with reasonable accuracy - albeit at varying heights due to the patchy clouds between eighteen hundred and two thousand five hundred feet. A diversion to the Biggn Hill VOR followed, then another to Lakeside Shopping Centre on the North side of the Thames. A few simulated emergencies and autorotations on the return journey to Rochester completed the ‘away’ section of the test. Back at the airfield I was asked to demonstrate a couple of low power landings and low power take offs before the examiner demonstrated a full-down engine off autorotation landing with me following lightly on the controls. Further manoeuvres around the airfield included quick-stops, sloping ground landings, fine hovering manoeuvres and a hovering engine failure auto. My examiner sat quietly beside me the whole time whilst I never stopped talking - narrating my every move - too high, too low, too fast, too slow, on course, off course, too much power, not enough power. Jeez... I’ve never talked to myself so much in my life!! The debriefing included a grilling on the parts of the test on which I had made a less than positive impression. My mouth was still as dry as the Gobi Desert and I knew I’d cocked-up several times. In truth, I wasn't expecting to pass but when the words came, it was almost as a ‘..by the way...’, throwaway line, catching me completely off guard. Daren’s outstretched hand immediately appeared across the table and young Jade, the receptionist was giving me a double thumbs-up from behind the counter top. I managed to mutter a heartfelt ‘thank you’ before welling up and swallowing the big lump that had appeared in my throat. It seems that cock-ups are OK provided they are safe cock-ups and provided you recognise it when you’ve made one and take steps to correct it. I guess the bottom line is, I completed the flight without the examiner having to touch the controls. So, Ninety one hours in the air spread over Eighteen months, at least one hundred, thirty five-mile round trips to and from the airfield, not to mention a hefty chunk of my hard-earned wonga and I finally achieved what I once thought I may be too old for - I’m officially a Helicopter Pilot. Daren did his best to deflate my ego by telling me about a young, mid-twenties, whizz kid who was next up for his skills test - with only the minimum forty five hours in the saddle - flash git!! But, sod it!! I got there eventually and I guess, at fifty two next birthday, I’ve earned the right to be pretty chuffed. I could possibly have qualified in less hours if I had maintained a steady training schedule of couple of hours a week. But hey, this is England and we have to deal with the weather as it comes so I guess several hours can be chalked up to recovering old ground. I’ve been lucky to have an immensely skilled and knowledgeable instructor in Daren who has a deep passion for helicopters and has always pushed me towards perfection . If I’ve struggled with any of the training, it sure as hell ain’t down to him. Many thanks indeed, Daren. OK, now I’m qualified but I still have an awful lot more to learn so I’ll be working hard on my weak points in the Robinson over the next few weeks, at least until the Exec is ready for my conversion. After that - who knows. Maybe I’ll keep up the Robbo Type Rating (I believe it only requires two or three hours a year), we’ll see.
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