I started my Silver distance flight the week before I launched. I had been keeping an eye on RASP for the Easter weekend knowing I could fly two days of the four but hedging my bets on the weather before confirming to my wife which two days it would be. Sunday was out due to family commitments. Fair enough. By Easter Monday, the target day for my second Silver distance attempt (the first attempt ended in a field, 40km from Aston Down last June), I was brimming with confidence knowing that snapping the elastic was no longer an issue. I had prepared well the night before using Mike’s cross-country guide as a helpful resource. My checklist was ready, my technology was charged and my fig rolls were squirrelled away in my flight case where my wife couldn’t find them (she loves a fig roll). I had planned my most likely task with a couple of others in mind just in case. Now all that was needed was to turn up, hope the weather gods were going to do me a favour and check in with the duty instructor and other cross-country pilots for advice and declare with an Official Observer. I arrived early in case my plans needed to change and got the glider out of its pyjamas and to the launch point in short order. I wasn’t desperately happy with how the sky was looking towards Rivar Hill, my target for an out-and-return, but I was reliably informed that it would improve towards late morning with 2pm to 4pm likely to be the best window. It was at this point I started feeling nervous. Other pilots were away and staying up and I was waiting for the sky to improve. After much pacing, checking of checklists, eating of food and after my fourth trip to the loo I was advised to leave it no longer and get going (thank you, Adrian).

Weather Gods

With nerves aplenty I got set… just as a large blue hole appeared over the launch point. Thank you weather gods. I tried to convince myself now wasn’t the right time but, to be honest, it was the nerves trying to talk me out of it. I’m not sure it was even the prospect of a field landing that made me feel that way. It was more the prospect that I might, for a second time, not make it and have what had become the 50km millstone remain firmly hung around my neck. More than three years I had been waiting to get this final leg of my Silver badge after a serious and extended crisis of confidence. I think what kicked me in to action in the end was the fact that the next day, HKS was off to have its ailerons re-gelled and I couldn’t face the prospect of bottling it only to find that a cracking day appeared whilst the glider was U/S. So, I went; 1,400ft off the launch. Wheel up, a handy device made from the cardboard tube of a bog roll and some wing tape placed over the airbrake handle to remind me to put it down again later, and in search of thermals.

Different phases of the flight

The flight, as I recall it, had three distinct phases: getting away from Aston Down; climbing away from an outlanding; the final glide to River Hill.

Phase 1: Getting away from Aston Down took more than half an hour. Hard graft in a rubbish thermal, but there was no way I was landing. No-one else had. I had plenty of time and if there is one thing my first cross country flight taught me it’s to be patient where you might not be if locally soaring. It’s amazing what you can stay afloat in when you have to. I managed a climb to 3,000ft, saw a couple of decent looking clouds on route and off I went. Very shortly afterwards I got a really sharp climb to 3,500ft. Hey, I’m actually pretty good at this!

Phase 2: No major crises until I was approaching Wootton Bassett. The sky on track looked terrible to me. Flat and grey and hard to read. No sunlight getting to the ground at all. I was concerned there might not be much going on. I almost turned back but noticed that over towards Lyneham more sun was hitting the ground and the clouds were slightly better formed. So, I decided to head towards those clouds knowing that if I got into trouble, Lyneham was there. And it’s massive. This option took away any concerns about the conditions and meant I could really concentrate on soaring. However, the journey there was a “bit” sinky. I arrived under an OK-ish cloud at Lyneham at 1,500ft and, I have to be honest, there was a moment where I figured I’m actually not very good at this after all. The sinking feeling of a landout 25km from home was looming large. But, I caught a wisp of half up and I figured even if I didn’t climb I could stay airborne and maybe things would start to improve. I gently climbed, and improve they did. Fifteen minutes of climb with a gentle drift on track beyond 30km was very welcome. Not long after, I saw another glider climbing well so I went and joined in. I mean, why not? It’s great fun soaring away from your home base with another glider you don’t know. I did wave but I don’t think the pilot saw me.

Phase 3: By the time I’d finished playing I realised that 50km was only about 15km away. I’d almost forgotten about it. I watched as XCSoar confirmed it, gave myself an imaginary pat on the back, but then turned my attention to finding Rivar Hill and thinking about the return leg. The final glide in was glorious. It was only about 20km and I had bags of margin, but it was so great knowing that all you have to do is fly, keep a great lookout and admire the view along with your achievement. I actually decided to take another climb about 10km out and got back above 3,000ft ready to start the journey back. However, it was 15:15 and the middle bit on the way was unpleasant enough. Although I have one field landing under my belt I figured another one at a field site might not be a bad idea. I had a good look around the site to check where the winch was and how they were positioned for launches and landings and I made the decision that it was better to choose to land for the experience and an easy de-rig than to be a hero and have to be plucked out of a field. I shouted “I bloody made it” to myself before calming down and realising that I hadn’t until I was safely on the ground.

Buzzing!

About five minutes later I was, and received plaudits from the locals on landing nice and short on what is quite a downhill slope. I have to admit, I was buzzing when I landed. I congratulated myself loudly and in no uncertain terms before lifting the lid and smelling the fresh Wiltshire air.

The members at Rivar Hill were great. Very friendly and welcoming. I helped out a bit at the launch point and awaited my retrieve. The de-rig was easy and we made it back to Aston Down at about 20:30; this time without having run over and destroyed my wife’s car keys in the process (as per my first landout). Winning!

Having reflected, there are three main learns for me:

● Oh boy, it’s good fun!

● It’s hard work and you’ll make mistakes that you have to correct. But that’s what makes it fun.

● Trust your training.

It was only 60km and it was slow. There are many out there flying much further and faster, which I’m sure I will too eventually. But it was mine. That short 60km was a giant leap for me. Not so much in terms of distance but in terms of belief, in terms of confidence and in terms of bringing the fun back to my flying. I have started my BGA Ladder account with a mighty 317 points! Next up, club 100km.