By Andrew Court
In the early 1990s, it was only really test pilots who did manoeuvres like stalls and spins. The ‘SIV course’ was still in its infancy, and few recreational pilots did them. Andrew Court was out on a family holiday in France (with his glider squirrelled away ‘just in case’), when he got pulled into something he wasn’t quite expecting by his old friend Bruce….
I am a fairly low airtime pilot and I was just on my way to spend a few quiet days with Amy Anderson and Bruce Goldsmith in the Alps to do my first gentle Alpine flying… or so I thought! It turned out they had assigned me as passenger for the new Airwave dual glider that was to be put through the ACPUL tests. I’ll never trust a Frenchman’s smile again!
I was always looking forward to my first flight in the Alps. As we approached Annecy the mountains looked beautifully clean and still and the air was calm. I went to bed dreaming of clouds. The next morning I awoke with the same anticipation as the first day on a skiing holiday. The sun was out and the sky was blue. I looked forward to what promised to be a peaceful and memorable first mountain flight. It certainly was that!
We met Bruce in a small car park next to a bit of grass.
“This is the landing site,” he said.
This was when I first began to worry. We’re in this lovely big valley and the landing site had high trees on one side, a road on the other, a house on the approach and power cables to stop you if you overshot! If I’d been on my own I would have gone fishing or for a walk on the beach or even shopping, but my apprehension was lost amidst the bustle and hurry to exchange kit from one car to another. I secretly began to feel a bit wet behind the ears and wished I’d brought my reflective wraparound shades to hide in. Much French was spoken between Bruce and the other pilots, who turned and smiled at me.
We were off up the mountain in convoy. My automatic Montego estate with child Tom and wife Sally, and me with no shades, a cheap pair of walking boots and a cagoule from Millets, followed the cool French pilots. What a cheeser! Little did I know what they had in store for me.
“This is the take-off,” said Bruce. This was not funny at all. It was a piece of carpet nailed to the side of a mountain. Trees were all around except for a chink in the forest just below, looking as if it had been created by previous pilots who didn’t quite make it. I hastily went for a wee in the bushes and took a sneaky look over the edge. This was a big mistake, like testing cold water before you jump. I retreated to the family for support but neither Sally or Tom were having any of it. They had come all this way to be entertained and this was better than they had expected.
“Meet François,” Bruce said. “Can you fly the dual Duet with him for a while? He wants to do a few tests and you’re about the right weight.”
“OK. Bonjour. Ça va?” I said in my best French. François was not impressed. I could see my cheesy smile reflected in his shades and I understood why.
I had never flown dual before and I thought that this would be a good way of getting down to that very small landing patch Bruce had shown me earlier. All clipped in and ready to go. Sally had briefed me on the French word for ‘help’ so I was as ready as I was ever going to be. With 100% commitment on take-off we just cleared the trees.
It was breathtaking, just as I had imagined. The views, the sounds, the smells, the feeling of freedom as high as the clouds. A hawk soared beneath me and I felt like a bird. Shortly we were over the blue lake and the fun began. François whistled into his mike – more French to ground control. I looked up and could see him applying the brakes. More and more brake and then releasing the left hand brake quickly and wheeeeeee… a spin!
Down and down, round and round at great speed, faster and faster. The lake appeared to get bigger quite quickly and the G-force increased. How much longer, I thought? I hope he knows what he’s doing. Then we pulled out of the spin as dramatically as we had entered it. We stopped our downward motion and pressed hard into the harness, rapidly followed by a violent swing up to the point of weightlessness and further. I thought that I had left my partner as I fell free though the air. The reserve was on his harness. Oh no!
He whistled in to the mike as we resumed normal flight and began to apply the brakes again. He didn’t even ask if I was OK! Down and round we went again, flailing and twisting out of control. This time, obviously confident in the glider, François was really giving it some stick. I was nearly sick. I could see the rescue boat below which, strangely, didn’t fill me with confidence. Small cars moved along the road and the houses, which looked like models, spun round like a computer animation.
Then we were back to normal flight again, but not for long. My analytical mind had gone. I’m not sure which procedures we did next. I was lost in a new world of speed, wind, total exhilaration and the blue of the lake way down below. All the worries of the world had gone except one and that was out of my hands. Just when the small ripples on the water were plainly visible and I was ready for a dip, there was another whistle.
“C’est finit,” François said, unperplexed. The landing field looked like an old friend and now somewhat larger than I had imagined. The undercarriage felt rather shaky as François pushed me forward in my harness. On landing (perfectly, almost in to the boot of the car) I was even higher than on take-off, but no one seemed to care. I tried to be cool but it didn’t work. Not being able to undo the harness because of a severe case of the shakes gave me away. François didn’t say a word. My first time and he didn’t say a word. I had been used.
“Encore?” he asked.
Well, I just had to go. The trip up the mountain was probably as dangerous as the one down, screeching round the corners and being thrown from side to side. A large sandwich was thrust into my hands, the size of a loaf with a whole Stilton inside and some ham. I had no choice. The day was well out of control already. Eating a sandwich is not usually regarded as a radical thing to do but on this day it was pretty silly. When we reached the top Sally appeared from under the Montego with oil on her hands. Things didn’t look too good. Again, jumping looked the better option.
This time the trim tabs were off. Believe me, it makes a difference! I don’t know if it was the weight of lunch but we went very fast indeed. On the second spiral dive my cheeks began to flap and I found it hard to breathe. I assumed that François was wrestling with the controls while I wrestled with lunch, which was trying to escape as we went weightless again. We dropped 3,000ft in a minute, which felt pretty much like free falling. On landing François still said nothing. This time I was much cooler, I undid my harness, sat down and picked the remainder of the ham from my teeth.
By the end of the day I had done eight test flights on the Duet. Fortunately the glider was a good one and so was the pilot. We did the complete ACPUL tests, spins, asymmetric collapses, spiral dives, the lot. It was an unbelievable experience and an important lesson in flying. Go for it if you get the chance… but don’t have a large breakfast.
