Michael’s Flight Training Diary

Dual time today: 0h 20m

Solo time today: 1h 30m

Total time to date: 43h 05m

This write-up is a bit late - the actual event happened back on the 4th June. At long last - with a late afternoon booking co-inciding with good weather, it looked like I had a fighting chance of getting my solo to Thruxton, nearly ten long weeks after preparing for it with the dual flight. In the end, it turned out to be a close-run thing: I turned up early, but since some poor individual had got lost earlier in the day the schedule was running behind, and I had to hang about for the best part of an hour before an aircraft was available. What’s more, on phoning Thruxton they were somewhat reluctant to let me visit as timing was tight to get there before they closed… but after they ummed and aahed for a little while, they said I could come, presumably agreeing to wait for me to arrive! Thank you Thruxton A/G, you made my day as it turned out!

First, there was a circuit to do with an instructor, to make sure I could still fly the thing and wasn’t having an excessively blond day. The instructor had just landed in that aircraft from another flight, and he decided to greatly expedite our departure by taking control and doing everything at breakneck speed - I only managed to get my headset plugged in by the time we were half-way to the holding point to depart! Just as we called “ready for departure”, Tower cleared a big helicopter to hover-taxy across the runway in front of us - which given we were pressed for time, was spectacularly unhelpful since we had to sit there and wait three minutes “due wake vortex” before taking off! Still, sat there on the runway waiting, all the checks done, I couldn’t help noticing looking around that being sat in the left seat of an aeroplane on a big runway doing nothing was surprisingly reminiscent of MS Flight Sim!

Finally, we were cleared to take off, and an uneventful and accurate circuit followed. To save time, the instructor suggested I turn crosswind earlier than usual, passing north of Yarnton on the 19 circuit. The approach was a bit high, and the final was consequently rather steep, but with the engine practically at idle I recovered it and made a slightly ungraceful but perfectly competent landing. After which, the instructor took control and took the plane at breakneck pace back to the apron… whereupon he got out! Time for my little jolly, at last.

Just in time for the big helicopter to depart from the apron in front of me, of course - so I had to hold position for another two minutes waiting for him and his wake to clear off! Eventually, I was cleared. But I was in a rush and not concentrating. The airfield was busy, and I made various dumb RT errors with Tower including failing to acknowledge a “hold position” request at the runway entrance - they soon woke me up though! I don’t recall correctly doing the pre-takeoff “vital actions” either - I clearly did some of them, since I recall turning the fuel pump off after departure, but I don’t recall ever checking the primer lock. I’ve no idea what I was doing, but I do remember giving myself a stern talking to as I waited at the hold: this was not a good manner in which to start a flight, and if I didn’t buck my ideas up I could get into real trouble. Anyway, at least I was remembering to use the “student” prefix today.

Finally, the takeoff clearance came, and I was up and away. As I turned crosswind, an aircraft was reported crossing the ATZ from the south-east at 2000ft, which was exactly the piece of airspace I was climbing into, so I elected to level-off at circuit height of 1500ft and stay there as I headed south-east away from the airfield, then climbed over the northern reaches of the city of Oxford towards my cruising altitude of 3000ft. Turning south over Cowley Road onto my track for Andover, I noted the time, and called up Benson Radar to be greeted by a cheery and very clear voice for Flight Information. I noted that whenever he granted anyone a clearance, he prefixed it with “Good news!”. How nice.

With a brief cruise check, I tweaked the trim and settled into the cruise. The view was superb, with 30 mile visibility and scattered cumulus just above me around 3500ft, and only a moderate choppiness under the cloud shadows. Having seen all the landmarks before, at least as far as the big silver doughnut at Harwell, I was much less concerned about constantly comparing ground with map, and instead simply made sure I stayed on the correct heading and time, with ground/map checks every five minutes or so. And it worked remarkably well: it was a lot more relaxing and easy, and I had more time to divide between maintaining a lookout, planning my next move… and going “ooooh” at the pretty view!

Soon after passing Harwell, Benson bade me farewell and suggested I call Boscombe Zone. I was still a long way north of Boscombe Zone, so I figured it wouldn’t be appropriate to call them yet. In retrospect, this was dumb, because if it was inappropriate then Benson Radar wouldn’t have suggested it! This became abundantly clear a few minutes later, when I suddenly spotted another aircraft, slightly below me, a few hundred yards away in my eleven o’clock, and practically stationary in my field of view! Fortunately, it wasn’t heading towards me, but the fact that it was barely moving suggested that our paths must have been very close, and it had been hidden under the nose of the aircraft for some time. Good job I had inadvertently climbed to 3100ft, too: it looked like the other aircraft was at 3000ft. Had I been getting a FIS with radar from Boscombe earlier, I would probably have been warned about the potential conflict.

Prompted by this, I dialled up Boscombe and heard two or three aircraft in communication. I called them up, but there was no reply… and I heard them say that they’d be closing in a few minutes since it was nearly 1800 local time. Slightly concerned about the implications of “Boscome Zone closing”, I called them again… and simply got the response “Student calling Boscombe Zone, we’re closing in two minutes, continue navigation.” Aha - their closure simply means that the MATZ ceases to exist, and it’s just open Class G airspace. Of course. With the M4 behind me, Andover should be coming up soon, and dead on time it appeared ahead. Mindful of Thruxton’s request to call them when a mile north of Andover, I waited for my moment as the edge of the housing estates crept ever closer… and then called them requesting joining information, and quickly took myself down to joining height to approach the circuit. They directed me to an overhead join for 25, which surprised me slightly since I was perfectly lined up for a straight-in approach. I thought about requesting straight-in, but I reflected that an overhead join gave me more time to sort myself out and was good practice, so I went with it. From overhead Andover, I struggled to make out the airfield, but I turned to the correct heading, saw the road, and amongst the familiar features the airfield slowly appeared from the into-sun haze. I mentally struggled somewhat with the geometry of the approach for an OHJ to 25 right-hand circuit, approaching from the north-east… OK, I need to keep the airfield on the right and far enough out to keep it in sight… the airfield is on the right… I need to pass over the downwind threshold at circuit height and descend deadside… but I’m practically parallel with the runway deadside already - aha! “Golf Alpha Tango descending deadside”, power to idle, quickly get down to circuit height, and turn right to get myself perpendicular over the upwind threshold! It was slightly rushed, and the descent was slightly late, but I became established on crosswind and orientated for the circuit. The circuit seemed much smaller than at Oxford, and base turn was rapidly upon me as I configured the plane for final approach. Looking now at the noise abatement circuit map for Thruxton, I realise that I flew a smaller circuit than I should have done, which explains things! I really should have done the reconfiguration towards the end of downwind on such a tight circuit, because the resulting approach was fairly steep, although at least the houses didn’t distract me this time, and I held a good approach speed all the way down to flare just beyond the numbers. Gently eased it horizontal in the flare… nicely level… oh sh!t, I’m too high! Dumbly eased the back pressure a fraction, the plane is dropping by this time, and it klunks down and bounces, maintain back pressure and it comes back to heel, solidly on terra firma this time. Pretty rubbish landing. Why, oh why, didn’t I give it a hint of throttle as soon as I realised I was too high, to catch the descent?

I parked up, and strolled over to the office to book in and pay the landing fee. The folks there were perfectly friendly, and there seemed to be a couple of other aircraft moving around, so I wasn’t the only person running up against their closing time. I wandered back out towards the apron, and somebody was taxying-in a potent-looking taildragger - not an Extra 300, but similar. As I walked along by the shelters on the grass, I realised that the place I was walking was potentially where he wanted to put the plane - and the pilot couldn’t see me because of the nose stuck up in the air! I now cursed the fact that I’d stupidly left my hi-vis jacket in the plane, because if ever I needed it to attract attention, it was now! Watching him like a hawk, and considering my options to avoid being turned into mincemeat by a propeller, I finally saw the pilot look out of the nearer side of the cockpit and see me - relief. Lesson learned - high-vis may be useful even at little airfields.

Having made it back to the plane in one piece, I did a quick transit check, and seeing nothing wrong, got in and went through the start-up checks. All fine… until I noticed that half a minute after start-up, the oil pressure was steadfastly below the green arc. Don’t recall seeing that before! Shut down, and phoned base, fearing I might be getting a bus back home… but was reassured that it’s quite OK, provided it goes into the green arc at power check. So I taxyed out to the other end of the runway for 05 departure, held for the power check, and sure enough, the oil pressure behaved itself. Splendid. I suspect I may not have quite got the hang of using the radio with just an Air-Ground service, rather than ATC - I made general reports on what I was up to, but didn’t actually report entering the runway, instead just saying that I was “taxying for the runway”. Not sure how much of a misdemeanor that is, really, but the A/G operator was polite and helpful.

With a quick check, advanced the throttle, and I was off again! The end of the runway looked an awful lot closer than taking off at Oxford, but I still left the ground in barely more than half the length. Made a neat (if somewhat early) crosswind turn, and was slightly worried that I’d violated the noise abatement procedure as I flew over what looked like stables at barely 800′ AGL with full throttle. Turns out I hadn’t, but in retrospect I should have flown the runway heading for longer. By the time I reported downwind, I was already climbing well above the circuit height, and with the Boscombe MATZ inactive above the airfield I quickly climbed towards my planned cruise height of 3000′.

I now had a conundrum: which unit should I maintain radio comms with? I’d normally have selected Boscombe Zone for a flight information service, but they were closed. I was a long way from Brize, but I was rapidly getting further and further away from Thruxton’s A/G service, which technically should only be used within 10nm of the airfield. In the absence of a sensible idea, I stayed tuned to Thruxton, heard a few aircraft reporting position in the vicinity, and stayed with them until I approached the M4, by which point I figured it would be appropriate to talk to Brize. In retrospect, the Brize LARS unit has a radius of 60 miles, so I should be able to get a LARS service from them even further away than Thruxton. But I didn’t realise that at the time.

I was still a few miles south of the M4 when Didcot power station came into view ahead, my track taking my about a mile to the west of it. With the plane well-trimmed and the air smooth, and various now-familiar landmarks beneath me like the Chievely motorway junction, navigation couldn’t have been any easier.

Brize gave me a cheery welcome, and as I approached Didcot they offered me a direct routing through their zone to Oxford. I turned this down, preferring to stick to my planned navigation overhead Oxford city, partly to avoid the risk of confusion and partly because I figured the city would look pretty in the evening light! I seemed to be the only aircraft on Brize Radar’s frequency, which was a relaxing change from my experiences in that area during working hours.

Eventually, I came overhead south Oxford, and called Brize to request change to Oxford. Instead of writing down the new frequency, I dialled it in directly from short-term memory as it was said to me… and on immediately hearing different voices mid-conversation, I realised that because the antiquated radio wasn’t equipped with a standby frequency function, that I was no longer tuned to Brize to acknowledge the frequency change! Splendid error! With my brain scrabbling around, I eventually managed to retune Brize to acknowledge the frequency change, then performed the operation again…

Passing overhead the city, I called up Oxford Approach and requested joining information. Helpfully, they gave me a downwind join for 19, which was an easy 45 degree turn from my current course, so I throttled back to descend over the city to circuit height. It was indeed very pretty, although I should have been thinking more about where I’d put the plane if the engine failed. There’s no shortage of access to green space over central, northern and western Oxford, so it wouldn’t have been a huge problem, but I should have been considering it.

Settling at circuit height over Port Meadow, I could see the slightly indistinct airfield appearing before me, with the warehouses at Yarnton marking my turning point for downwind. Perfect.

The circuit seemed comfortably familiar after the cross-country voyage. I speculated that some of my dodgy recent approaches might have been due to putting flap in too early, so I cut the engine back immediately prior to turning base, found myself just about 75 knots on rolling-out, and put flap in then. This worked perfectly. The approach was the best I’ve flown in ages, absolutely rock-steady and just above the PAPI beam which started turning pink as I got to about 300′ AGL. Flared over the numbers, and held it off, held it off… not quite as long as I would have liked, but the touchdown was wonderfully gentle. What a satisfying way to end the journey!