Flying for fun!?! Are you crazy?

I’ve talked a lot previously (well a bit) about my childhood interest in aviation and also addressed some of my reasons for writing this blog, and writing in general.  Re-reading those first posts though I noticed I haven’t really talked about why I like to fly.

What are the things that make me keep going back time and again to get into a small piece of pressed aluminium (otherwise described as a Eurostar) or an aluminium framework covered with cloth (an Ikarus)?

In fact, as a slight aside, I’ve always wondered why the manufacturer decided on that name. Why would you name an aircraft after the world’s first bad pilot? At least there is no danger of getting too close to the Sun in the modern version and there isn’t a feather in sight!

Anyway, why do I keep going back?

Although it isn’t as expensive as I thought it would be, it cannot really be described as a cheap hobby.  It costs several thousand pounds to get your licence initially, and then you either need to buy into a group aircraft (where several people have an equal share in the aircraft, and therefore split the fixed costs like hangarage, permit fees etc.) or you can buy your own (expensive as you have to bear all the fixed costs, which are, erm, fixed, hence why it is cheaper to be part of a group), or you can go the route that I currently have, which is to join a club/school and hire an aircraft when you want to fly.  Either way, it’s an investment of anywhere between one hundred pounds a month if you fly once a month, or several hundred pounds a month if you go into the skies more regularly.

On top of this, in the UK, airfields appear to be closing more frequently than pubs did after the smoking ban was implemented. This means you are unlikely to live next door to an airfield so you may have a significant time commitment of several hours even if you wish to go flying for just one hour.  I live about 15 miles by road from Barton, but even this can be anything up to an hour’s journey depending on when you are travelling.  You know, down my favourite road, the M60.

Then there is the need to ensure that you fly regularly enough to remain ‘current’, i.e. on top of your flying skill set and to plan your flights methodically whilst taking into account the weather.

Ah yes, the weather.  There is a whole other post in there; in fact I might make it a two part one.  Pilots love the ‘predictability’ of the British weather.

You’ve planned that perfect flight to visit that lovely airfield you’ve never been to before.

You booked a day off work and arranged the plane weeks in advance.

You got a babysitter for your daughter and arranged your whole day around flying.

You had a quiet night in the night before so you get enough sleep.

Then you wake up on the morning of the big flight and open the curtains.

With a dismayed look on your face you survey the tsunami that is battering your windows and optimistically think “I wonder if the wind is in limits down at the airfield?”

So, it’s costly and inconvenient and the weather doesn’t play ball.

So what is it that keeps me going back? What is the hook that won’t let me go?

Simple.

Flying is magical.

Not literally, obviously.  We know why planes fly, it’s not a secret or a mystery, and it certainly isn’t magic.  It’s just physics.

No, what I mean is that when you take off, and you enter the skies, you enter a playground that is relatively unbounded, assuming you are in uncontrolled airspace, and you are free to fly wherever you wish, for as long as you wish, or at least until your fuel runs out.  It is one of the few places still available where you, as the pilot, are responsible and accountable for everything that occurs to you.

Then there is the view.  On a clear day, from 3000ft I can see Snowdonia, the Isle of Man, The Lake District and the Great Orme, all from overhead Manchester.  Where else do you get that kind of view?

 

Any flying is good, whether it’s as a passenger or pilot. But being in command of a small microlight aircraft is even better.  It’s just incomparable to flying on holiday in a big jet.

Although, having just said that, I am now going to try and compare it. So for the pedants amongst you, hands off the keyboard and as you were!

A large proportion of you will have flown on holiday on a big jet.  I’m sure many of you have thought “come on, when is it going to get into the air” as the aluminium tube filled with people and aviation fuel lumbers down the runway towards the airfield boundary before eventually after what seems like an eternity the pilot points the aircraft skywards and reluctantly the flying bus/train/HGV* defies Newton.

*delete as appropriate

Nobody as far as I know has ever said “Yes!!!! I’m going to get the bus today”. Or maybe they did, but I’m sure it’s not the majority of humanity. So I guess it’s understandable why some people wonder why we would voluntarily go flying for fun, pay for it, inconvenience ourselves and set ourselves up for disappointment by the weather demons, if their only experience of going into the sky is when sitting in the back going on holiday.

That’s because flying in a small aircraft and in particular a microlight is different.

Flying in a microlight is like launching yourself into the skies in a flying racing car.  When you open the throttle on the runway threshold the aircraft surges forwards, accelerating immediately to show you its impatience to get airborne; like it can’t wait to get back into its natural habitat.  You notice this especially when you fly solo for the first time and the right hand seat is empty of instructor related ballast.  As an aside, I’d like to try a flexwing microlight at some point as well as I’ve heard that this is like a flying motorbike, which sounds awesome.

Once you are airborne a microlight responds immediately to your control inputs.  Want to go left?  Just nudge the control column left. Up? Open the throttle and up you go.  Want to have a bit more fun and feel some ‘G’?  Throw it into a tight 60 degree turn and feel a force that most people on the ground have never felt.  In a 60 degree turn you are pulling 2G, in other words, everything feels twice as heavy.  Unless you are a formula one driver or astronaut you are unlikely to have experienced this sensation before.

Whilst microlights in the UK are not permitted to do aerobatics there are a myriad of manoeuvres you can do legally, and safely, that will give you the grin factor that so many people lose from their daily lives when they ‘grow up’.

So what is the main reason that I go flying?

Because it makes me smile.

Copyright © 2016 Dan Roach