East to West and Back Again

By

Allan Bradfield

Before I begin this epistle, I must say the names may have been changed to protect the guilty My pal Keith had been saying we had to do this trip ever since we had both bought our Eclipser 912 in February 2003. from Medway Airsports, the home of the Raven.

Praying to the God of Microlights "Get us there safe"

We had both trained there at Stoke, and I had obtained my licence a year ago. I think Keith had gotten a little despondent with his progress, because as he says, “Slippery ( Chris Childs, the instructor) keeps shouting at me.”

The plan was to fly from Stoke, to Haverfordwest, in SW. Wales, and stay for a long weekend with Keith’s son David, who lives in Narberth. Because of other commitments, we had decided that Thursday 24th July 03 was going to be the big day

For days before I had been plotting the route, folding the charts to show a continuous run. when I turned my lap folder over, working out waypoints, minimum safety altitudes, building up my bottle quotient, and phoning up, and arranging for fuel to be available, at Redlands, nr Swindon and Upfield Farm, just south of Newport. The farmer there, Ken Bowen, informed me he was laying a concrete runway, but it would be alright for a microlight to land on the grass alongside,
and contacting Haverfordwest, who said hangerage may be available, did we want to take pot luck, we did.

Thursday came and we arrived at the field early, (For us) Slippery had given us the key to the hanger, so we didn’t have to wake him, and we pushed it out, and I began to check it over. A change of clothes etc, tie downs, just in case, headphone and radio charger, and an empty 5 litre container, in case we had fuel left over when we refuelled, then we could take it with us, all went under the seat.

I had arranged with Keith that he deal with the refuelling, as it would give me a chance to relax, and have cigarette or two between flights, and we would sort out the finances when we returned. I had worked out our track for each leg, and it was just a few minutes work with the whiz wheel to find our heading and ground speed. It looked like we were going to have a head wind all the way there.

We took off at 9-15am into a bright sunny sky, and headed for the M25, my plan was, around the M25 to the Ml junction, near Plaistows, then S.W. to just west of Reading and pick up the M4. I had put a waypoint in our new G.P.S. midway between Booker Air Park, and Heathrow control zone, to ensure we missed both.

The wind seemed to be picking up and I was getting a full upper body workout. Over the Thames near Henley, Keith was pointing out all “The nice little boats down there,” But I didn’t have the opportunity to appreciate them.

 

Onward to Membury, then up to Redlands, our first refuelling stop, it was getting very blustery, so a powered approach and right hand circuit onto runway 24, and we were down, Keith patting me on the back, and my head swelling, why we were a quarter of the way there, surely nothing could go wrong now. I taxied off onto a grass area in front of a large barn, and it was switch off, helmets and gloves off, unstrap and stretch the old legs. Keith jumped out, and must have stood in something, because he raised his right leg to examine whatever It was, and put his right hand on the now red hot exhaust, I could hear sizzling and thought, how kind of Redlands to arrange sausage sandwiches for us, because that’s just what it sounded like, sausages frying in the pan. Keith realised something was amiss and retrieved his hand to his armpit, saying things like, *@;??@.?. I must say here that Keith is known for his expletives, while in Spain last year trying to get some hours in, in the sunshine, he became known as Effing Keith, especially by our friends at Roddige. We then retired to the seating area.

 

Refuel stop at Redlands

Sarah Smith had asked us to call her on her mobile when we arrived, and having done this, she duly arrived with 20 litres, and made us a cup of much needed tea, she was the perfect hostess. So while I chatted with her and had a smoke, Keith took the fuel over to the Eclipser and began to refuel, he was soon back saying “There’s still only two green lights showing on the fuel gauge” I said, “There should be more than that, with that 20 litres.” Keith replied, “Well I did spill most of it” I nearly started speaking Keith’s language like @&??. but Sarah was present, she also kindly offered to go to the garage for another 20 litres.

When she returned I thought I had better help him with this lot, so down on one knee unscrewing the tank cap. Keith picks up the jerry can under his arm,,,,,, and pours it down my left leg and shoe. There followed a discussion on his aim,,, my getting in the way of it... or whether I should ask Sarah to get another 10 litres.

Crossing the Severn into Wales (Wot no Passport)

We thanked Sarah and were off north to skirt Swindon and the Fairford Matz, having called three times, and receiving no response, we squeezed between them and Lyneham control zone, straight across to the Severn Bridge. Crossing the mouth of the Severn I had no worries, because I’d been told by old sweats, “The engine doesn’t know your over water.” But because of the head wind, it did seem to take some time, and I began to look longingly at the fields on the Welsh side.

We were then looking for Upfield Farm and our second and final refuelling stop, a tight left hand circuit to line up with 23, I could see the partially laid new runway, with a tractor and men working at the far end. Over the hedges and down onto the grass, which was very bumpy, all stop, and out to be greeted by a giant of a man, Ken Bowen, who was very amiable and helpful.” Here’s your fuel boy, have you got a tundish” Keith and I looked at each other, and I thought, we must have left something vital at home. Then it dawned, “Oh you mean a funnel!” “No” Ken said, ”A funnel is on a ship, have you got a tundish” But it was as we thought, a funnel, and refuelling completed we bade farewell, after thanking him for supplying the fuel, and the free language lesson.

Heading west to pass north of Cardiff, the weather deteriorated, the cloud lowered, and it began to rain. I looked behind, it was all around us. There were mountains to our right, alright high ground, but I’m an Essex boy, and its flat there. Then it really came down, torrential rain and sleet, the cloud base was down to about 400 ft. I looked down and every field seemed to be at an angle of 45 degrees and 90 degrees to the wind, it was really chucking it down. I had rain on the inside of my visor making it very interesting to try to see through the rain on the outside. I was soaked through, and Keith was warming his hands on my back, which really put the lid on it.

If we turned back we would have had to plough through all this again, and it may be clearing up ahead. There didn’t appear to be anywhere to put down safely, so on we went into the headwind, the cloud base down to !!ft, very low. The only way to get through the rising ground was to go over the motorway where it cut through the mountains, so over we went getting buffeted about, looking down I could see the westbound traffic overtaking us at a fair old rate, our ground speed was down to 29mph. Keith swears he saw a Skoda overtake us.

I soon had to abandon the track to get through where we could, keeping in the general direction, eyes glued to the chart, GPS, and what was in front, not in that order of course. Down into a valley, to get under the cloud, over the hill/mountain where it had lifted a bit. I’m sure the pylons were higher than we were at times, over what looked like the waste land of Port Talbot, past Swansea, and then Pembrey, I was beginning to think we may make it, 30 miles to go, still teeming down, then the batteries went on the GPS and the radio at the same time. Approaching Narberth, Keith wanted to fly around David’s farmhouse outside of the town, a short detour, and there we were. “Lets go round again.” Says Keith, further discussions in that language ensued as I tried to keep us in the air.

Made it, Haverfordwest

On our way into Haverfordwest, which was now closed, it was a good look out all round and down onto the tarmac, breathing sighs of relief. For such a large airport, Its surprising how little of it you can see from a microlight on the ground, trundling around runway, taxiway, we got onto the hangerage area, now all shut except for Russian Aero. I got out, wrung out my gloves, wrung out the front of my flying suit, and looking bedraggled and weary spoke to Andy Swain, hoping I was going to appeal to his better side and he would take pity on us. I explained that hangerage was going to be arranged, but everything was now shut, gazing over his shoulder into his cavernous hanger, did he know of anywhere we might deposit the Eclipser until Monday morning. We must have looked a sight because he very kindly said we could use his hanger if we uprated his tea club jar.

David Shakesby's little shack, our home from home for the weekend.

We spent a very enjoyable weekend with David, Sue and the twins, making us very welcome at their spacious manor house, long sweeping driveway, with hens and cockerals roaming on the front lawn, 2 acre and 3 acre fields flanking two sides.

On Saturday. Narberth carnival and meeting the friendly locals. I also met Keith’s ex wife Ann, who said to Keith “Are you still kift”. I asked her what that meant and she said. “It’s a Welsh word for clumsy” I thought how you must have known him! Sunday morning David took us to his local clay pigeon shooting club, Keith did not want to shoot,(much relief all round). The first shooter was in the cage, fingers on button to launch the first pair, when we had to move Keith out of the way, as he had been standing in front of the clay launcher.

Sunday night and Sue had got onto my weather site, and I began the plotting, strangulation of atrocities, CRP/1 and calculator in hand, for the return trip. Looking at Keith sleeping peacefully on the sofa, after a day on the beer, Sue asked if Keith did any of this, I said “No, he thinks the fairies come down in the middle of the night, and its all done in the morning!”.

Monday morning we say our farewells and Tracey, Keith’s daughter, who had come down by car, (sensible girl,) ran us up to the airport, arriving at 9-15am. While I was checking the Eclipser over, I asked Keith if he could see Andy Swain about the fuel, “I haven’t got any money on me now” he says, thinking back to his marathon beer swilling bouts over the weekend, a further discussion took place in that language, *!*!*&@., which went on for some time, and at a
high decibel level. Keith was apologetic, and Andy kindly offered to run him into town to the cash point. On his return 45 mins later, it had started to rain, rain that I had hoped to be in front of. Take off at 10-25am, and soaking wet again after only a few minutes, we head for Upfield Farm, but this time with a slight tail wind.

Refuel at Upfield Farm, weather getting better, we seem to have got in front of it. Ken was busy doing his runway, but had arranged the fuel for us. Up and away across the Severn and into England, land at Redlands, this time they have 30 litres for us, they must have remembered Keith. While I’m speaking to Joe Smith also very helpful and amicable, Keith is refuelling, he strolls back saying. “We had some over this time, boy did I have trouble getting that can from under the seat past all those wires!” ”Wires?” I said “What wires?” an icy feeling creeping up my back making my hair stand on end. Saying a quick farewell to Joe and his tractor driver, whose name escapes me to my shame, we walk back to inspect the damage. “Why didn’t you take it out the other side?” I asked Keith, “I didn’t know that side opened.” He said, which smacked of a spur of the moment excuse. A further discussion ensued, yes, much blue air at ground level.

In we get, just to one side of the threshold doing power checks. left hand magneto off watch the revs drop, back on, right hand magneto off, and everything comes to stop. “I might have pulled a wire out!“ says Keith. Start up again, full power can be achieved, we decide to go, after all 2 strokes only have one ignition system. Flying over the Thames at Henley, the first words are spoken, Keith says, I’ve stayed in that hotel!” “Yes Keith.” “Look at all those lovely boats down there!” “Yes Keith.” “Are we nearly there?” “Yes Keith.”

Back home, sage and sound, "sort of"

Landing back at Stoke at 5-15pm there’s no flying, because its to windy. I think I had survivors syndrome, because I gabbled out the whole trip in about 5 minutes to the assembled company of Slippery, Karen and Chris Draper, and other worthies. Chris ( Mr Happy) said “No trouble with the throttle then” which I interpreted as “The boys done good” Praise indeed from him.

Stoke to Haverfordwest 284 flying miles, 6 hours flying, two breaks on the ground of 2hrs and lhr.
Haverfordwest to Stoke, same mileage, 4hrs 55mins flying, two 1hr breaks.

Our thanks to Joe and Sarah Smith at Redlands
Ken Bowen at Upfield Farm
Andy Swain at Russian Aero, Haverfordwest, for their help and hospitality.
Would I do it again, probably, once I’ve finished this course of Valium and Diazipan...