I explained in the last entry that - in my eagerness to finish off the trip - I launched from Pershore when I most certainly shouldn't have. Classic case of the wrong reasoning overtaking sense; I knew perfectly well that the conditions were wrong. Fortune seems though to have been on my side; my back is in operating order, if still a bit sore in places.
Yesterday - Thursday 6 June - was a blowy, gusty, unstable day; but the wind was in the south, and for three days the forecasters had predicted that conditions would quieten down in lateish evening. 'From the south?'; yes - with no flyable northerlies in prospect - I decided to do the last leg backwards, flying from (rather than to) Warminster.
I had been invited to use the Warminster School main playing field, an expanse of weedless evenly green grass alongside the imposing stone buildings. Gina, Charlotte and I arrived there to find a gathering group of Athenaeum Singers supporters; there was even a bottle of champagne to hand which worried me a bit since it suggested success was to be toasted before I had even got airborne, let along achieved the flight: all 68 miles of it.
I felt very touched indeed. David Darby, a professional photographer and choir member, was armed with his camera. Soem of his superb shots are contained in this post. I did eventually ... just ... by the skin of my teeth clamber into the air; the wind was very fluky indeed owing to trees in the vicinity. Even by my fafing standards, I did a lot of fafing: wing up, down,up, down - false starts running. But finally I skimmed the trees in a spiral climb away.
(photos above and below, courtesy of David Darby)
Within moments of gaining height I realised the forecast had been right; the air was 'silky smooth'. It was however erroneous in one detail; I had about 15mph of wind behind me all the way. Ahead in the distance over the Cotswolds I could see cumulo-nimbus clouds which was a worry; but they were moving in my direction, and were subsiding. I never caught up with them.
So this was a flight I could enjoy. The setting sun was suffusing the western horizon with a deep red glow which provided the backdrop to the silvery waters of the Severn estuary away to port and the grey peaks of the Welsh mountains beyond. Awe inspiring.
THIS WAS MY ROUTE....
Past Westbury, I turned north, leaving the electrical distribution place near Melksham close to starboard, and climbing to keep cleap of pylons and wires extending in every direction. I reached my maximum height of about when passing over woodland and near towns; I wanted plenty of time to think of a landing place, if I found myself engineless. Chippenham passed rapidly to starboard, as later did closed airspace near Tetbury, before I turned NNE to pass over a field which had been kindly offered as a fuelling stop at the beginning of the higher Cotswold ground near Stroud.
I circled, but had covered the 36 miles in under an hour; I had plenty of spare fuel, and swept onwards over steep valleys and verdant slopes, all placed in the sharpest relief as the shadows lengthened. What beauty laid below me; swaying trees, fields, woods, great houses, pretty villages built in the familar grey/gold local stone, colourful gardens, horses, sheep and cows, all very relaxed - it seemed - as the evening light started to fade. There was an occasional wobble in the air, but even here the over the high ground the flying was smooth. I steered almost the whole way by leaning; almost no need for control lines.
I wanted desperately to photograph everything; it would all have looked wonderful for posterity. However my wish to have pictures by which to remember the flight was marginally exceeded by my fear of not being able to get my navigation page back on my phone, having snapped away. So this experience must forever remain locked in my mind's eye.
Soon I passed over the northern Cotswold limit, heading towards the Vale of Goucester past Gloucester itself,and skirting round Gloucester airport airspace while keeping a very sharp eye open for approaching or departing aircraft; it was difficult to see into the low sun to the west; I shaded my eyes the better to see anything coming my way. There was however none. By now I was flying up the Severn valley and enjoyed the view of the old warehouse buildings, sluices and modern sailing places I passed over by Tewkesbury. Ahead and around were the rump hillocks of old Cotswold stone which are scattered across that plain. Bredon Hill is the most prominent of these; it was to this green welcoming mound with its gentle slopes that I was heading, for beyond lay Pershore. I found the field from which I had so unwisely launched three weeks before and then thumped myself back into the ground, and this time made an easy smooth landing into wind at a slow running pace.
I was down, and my flight from Scotland to Warminster was done. Today: 68 miles; 40mph; 1 hr 40 - for me a record. The Almighty was indeed kind to give me such a spectacular trip after so many earlier difficult lumpy flights in marginal conditions. It feels good; honour satisfied I think. Some £3000 has been raised for my two charities; I am immensely grateful to the many people who have given so very generously. Thank you - to one and all.