Wales - down du Valleys

Driven by the dynamics of dreams & desires, 8 dicks & a doris set off from Old Sarum for a flying trip around a place where (some) men, allegedly, are known to have a close association with sheep, alias the country of leeks, daffodils and dragons.

Unrelated to the presence of a flake or two of volcanic ash, Abertporth had put the shutters up on Saturday.  So, we headed to Halfpenny Green instead for brekkie and to meet up with 4 more knights-errant, 2 from Bagber Farm and 2 from Barton.  Weather conditions were good and we duly reported to ATC were instructed along the way, routing Junction 18 and skirting the Malvern Hills

The runways at Wolverhampton were obscured by haze.· The course was set by the CT from Bagber who, at the eleventh hour, snook past portside; joined the circuit and was first to touch down on 16; soon to be united with the swarm of C42s.

Once the contingent completed by the C42 from Barton, 13 empty bladders and full stomachs set off to Caernarfon.·

With the threat of progressively diminishing visibility the doris and her passenger split of from the pack, who headed for the Menai Strait, just to make sure their longstanding plan of a flutter around Snowdon wasn’t compromised

Gradually molehills gave way to hillocks while the terrain became less and less forgiving of a potential emergency landing and wind farms enthusiastically waved them on as they ventured past snow capped hills.· Their resolve was rewarded by stunning views of Snowdon.· Even though the more than average bit-a-bumpy around the summit was rather hair raising at times, in hindsight, it fuelled their sense of achievement.· Just in case, they duly digitally preserved familiar nooks & crannies along the footpaths to the peak to counter disbelief and the fading memories of middle age.

Heading inland we praised all things GPS in this landscape hostile towards other means of navigation.

In the past, certain Old Sarum outings have been known to consist of a mix of flying and hiking.   As Doris is the kinda gal opposed to unnecessary footsoreness, she made a mental note of the train she saw creeping to the top.   Knowledge is power.

We rendezvoused at Caernarfon to refuel studs & steeds / wench & wings.  After a bit a chilling in the generous spring sun, we forged ahead towards Welshpool aware of our tight schedule.  We climbed out over a calm, grey Irish sea and while the majority routed via Snowdon, Doris & Co headed south along the rugged coastline and sandy beaches.  Already it was apparent that dam busting in the Elan Valley later that day would be curtailed by deteriorating visibility

The CT crew reached Welshpool well before anyone else and were keen spectators as one by one we were tested by sneaky gusts at the threshold.  We didn’t get to bask in the sun for very long as there was quite a bit of flying left to do before the day drew to a close.  Had the facilities been more sophisticated or an influx of fellow aviators had been forecast, we wouldn’t have hesitated to leave one of our cohorts behind to do the dishes to pay for his fuel.  Instead we took pity on him and advanced him the cash as this airfield has no affiliation with flexible friends.

The CT pilots decided to head for home.  Subsequent private disclosure revealed their hand had been forced by acute discomfort in the butt cheeks due to prolonged periods of restricted bloodflow whilst airborne.  All pilots of proper aircrafts will sooner or later concur that the urgency of one’s homing instincts is proportionate to the intensity of pain one feels in one’s butt.

As predicted, flak (ie turbulence) & poor visibility interfered with our goal to release imaginary bombs whilst shaving the white horses off the reservoirs.  Nevertheless we weaved our way through the Elan Valley in valiant attempts to escape the intercepting meshersmitts.

In due course, we trundled over the bridges across the Severn on our way home.  Surprisingly, our mass transit through Bristol’s ATC totally baffled the air traffic controller.  Not only did she muddle our call signs and who was at which VRP, but she even issued one of us with a 5 digit squawk. Whatever her ailment, we wish her a speedy recovery.

It had been an amazing day where long-standing ambitions were realised even though the bouncing bombs had to be safely stowed until further notice.  Watch this space!!

Thank you for organising the trip Cliff.  Happy landings Mike, the three Brians, Geoff, Cecil, the two Davids, John, Trevor, Leom