Elbows dropped as I felt relaxed and ready calling “All Out!!” I braced against the momentum of the trolly while the tug accelerated for takeoff. I love the space between taking up slack and the call for All Out, it feels coiled, full of potential, containing the fizz of anticipation and a kick of nerves the sensation is exhileration.
My flight up was so glassy-smooth it was no surprise really that my flight down was equally uninterrupted with anything resembling a thermal. Some sea breezish looking like clouds hinted that maybe something might stay the inevitable but no – they didn’t.
It was all so brief, a look under the cloud to the coast and the pier while I was a little above base and then the curiosity of seeing the house near the farm all burned out, my idea that the backfield might be a better landing option was rather usurped by it is full of young and curious bullocks, so the last half of my flight was all about thinking about landing.
I had chosen to aim for the northeast corner of the field where it’s gently upslope but to use that I had to get in tight against the ariels and deep back against the trees all of which emphasised all the barbed wire fences Id failed to think about till it was too late.
So in the end, as is appropriate and inescapable when your flying it was the landing that was the best part, coming in fast and low meant that I had a good no step flair and some feeling that I had accomplished something good in the short chance gifted to me by getting out for a flight.
Previous outings in this field did not go so well: