| Flight details: | Having been watching the RASP forecast for days with an eye to the weekend, the outbreak of 5-stars was enough to trigger an attack of the vapours, and get me efficiently preparing, charging and packing, for seemingly ages on Saturday afternoon. Apart from forgetting my (fully-charged) radio - although reminded others to bring theirs - I seemed fairly sorted.
Combe was busy from 10am, pretty much, cycles every 20 mins or so, and at one point I counted 60+ in the air. I found it quite uncomfortable, with a few people piling right across a busy thermal, and one pilot repeatedly doing lefthand 360's against everyone else and the declared turn direction for the BCC comp. Luckily he identified him/herself with a big '1175' stencilled on the wing. After a couple of tem minute flights, a bit spooked by the near-misses, and seeing an actual midair (feet of a pod ctaching the centre of a wing from behind, causing a stall, surge and partial collapse- all recovered okay) I stayed on the ground thinking it might magically get quieter. Not so many were getting away so often, although I did see Mark R manage it.
Before you know it the wind has died, and there was a air of waiting for 'the last chance', with the occasional punt favouring no-one. I got mine chance at 3:20, and a slow climb out took 6 or 7 of us to 5000' just behind the hill. Thence a series of climbs, some decent, some brilliant, followed. Four hours of waiting had drained my phone battery to the point were it was working, but very dimmed and thus unreadable. Without navigation I was keen to follow an respectable looking group. Greg H turned up like a knight in shining white armour, recognisable by his giant red cod-piece, sorry, fairing, so I stuck to him and his buddy (also white wing) as best I could. Sailplanes were a highlight.
In the end, the cold got me. I had medium weight gloves, no heat pads, thin socks, and was howling with pain when high. I got snowed on at 5 and a half at one point. After a p |
