Treeclimbing Techniques

Bear Grylls Techniques Actually Work!

The novelty of having successfully launched and briefly flown the plane proved irresistible. So on reaching the field again, a little scratched by brambles but otherwise none the worse, the Floater was given a quick look over, retrimmed to correct some bank I'd noticed on the flight and pronounced fit for action.

Another successful launch (good lord, was I actually getting the hang of this!) and the  Floater was airborne again for the second time in a morning. This time I kept things on a tighter reign, using moderate throttle and keeping the flight within the bounds of the field.

Moderate flight techniques and careful trim adjustment had revealed the nature of the  Floater's; With throttle chopped after launch, the craft floated magically and silently over the field, the frosty stillness broken occasionally by the squeak of the servos. For someone with such a chequered and disappointing introduction to the art of RC flying as myself, this was an absolute revelation, magic captured in silent tranquil flight.

Such magic required capturing, of course, delight to be relived. I plunged my hand into my pocket for my phone and frantically scrabbled to get the camera active. The Floater  continued to float ethereally across the field. Now I concentrated on the phone, feverishly clicked the icon and lifted the phone to capture the beautiful flight. The Floater  had of course by now crossed most of the field and was heading serenely towards the trees encircling the field.

Pocketing the phone in a hurry I grabbed the transmitter again in both hands and rapidly put the Floater  into a left turn, silhouetting its form against the still-dark form of the trees in the pre-dawn light. Adding a little power to compensate for the bank all appeared well and my actions appeared timely as the Floater   began to climb gently.

This happy scene was rudely interrupted as the Floater  embedded itself in the branches of a moderately large eucalypt.

Two things. The poor depth perception of trees in simulators is apparently quite real. Secondly, attempting to capture ethereal moments may lead to disappointment.

Approaching the border of the field the scale of the task ahead was immediately apparent - the Floater was perched about two thirds of the way up the tree, many metres out of reach. The tree had a sheer trunk, branching only several metres from the ground making it virtually impossible to climb. An adjacent tree provided the prospect of access to shake some branches and possibly loose the craft.

Quickly climbing through the branches, for a record second time that morning, I reached over to give the branch a vigorous shake. The Floater  wobbled sufficiently to dislodge its canopy but otherwise stuck fast. Climbing down I sought a large branch and returned to the tree. After my third or fourth attempt at poking the Floater  down the only course of action was clear - to climb across to the large tree itself. This achieved by taking a deep breath and leaning precariously across, I edged higher and out with my stick, saying a silent but deeply felt prayer that the branch would hold. Yet, despite my greatest efforts, the Floater  was too far out. Time to go.

Starting to climb down, the three metres of sheer tree trunk below me looked impossible to negotiate. No branches to clamber down to, too high to jump (for me anyway), so what to do. Now, memories of Mr Grylls using bear-style descents popped into my head. Did that really work, I mean for normal people? Could I manage that successfully, bearing in mind that once committed to grabbing onto the trunk there was no going back. Seeing that there was no other option, I slid my legs down and around the trunk, then let go of the branch above, grabbed the trunk and anticipated a precipitous and painful descent.

In fact I found myself suspended with remarkably little effort. It appeared that the locking effect of my legs and shoes pushing on the trunk were largely sufficient to hold my weight, and the by loosening grip bit by bit, I could slide down under the guiding control of my arms around the trunk. Remarkably then I found myself at the base of the tree unharmed, and a few brushes with my hand had my trousers in an approximately passable state for work.

The Floater  was still wedged fast, but a return visit tomorrow with a bamboo and pipe assembly would fix that...

Tree Climbing with the Clouds Flyer

Skywards on a Crisp Autumn Morning

Months had passed with the Floater Jet languishing on the desk in the study, its slightly bent, super-glued nosecone giving it a rather sad and neglected air.

Following consecutive crashes with the elegant Phoenix 2000, I'd rather lost the nerve to fly it. And now having crashed the trainer as well I was struggling with what best to do next.

As ever, it the web that provided an answer. Or, in this case, provided confirmation of a conclusion I had gradually formed regarding both the Floater and the Phoenix. Despite the  Floater being a basic trainer, I realised it possessed a quite different characteristic to the Phoenix. Diametrically opposite, in fact.

The Phoenix  was possessed of the alarming characteristic of heading for the clouds under power. The Floater however, due to the moment created by its high-mounted engine, had the opposite characteristic of pitching down under power. Especially at launch when the wings were yet to generate sufficient lift to counteract it. The secret, it turns out, was to launch with moderate power until the Floater was, well, flying!

So it was that, one crisp autumn morning, I found myself with Flyer in-hand nervously contemplating a large field surrounded by bushland. It was one of those moments where nerves dominate and one cannot really prepare. So, with battery connected and radio on, I lobbed the Floater into the chilled morning air.

Success! No crunching nose-dive to the ground! No disassembling wings! No ejected canopy! Instead the Floater just glided off, a little wobbly at first, on its first real flight. Gaining confidence, I gave it near full throttle to climb, then backed off for a peaceful glide.

It turned out to be not quite as peaceful as I'd anticipated; the Floater floated off towards a nearby rise, apparently oblivious to the control inputs. Perhaps the distance was confusing - had I lost the aircraft's orientation? However it was nonetheless evident that I'd lost control. Deciding not to risk exacerbating the situation with random inputs, I abandoned the controls and headed off across the field as I watched the Floater descended in lazy circles towards the hilltop.

Now for me this was a novel situation. At seven thirty in the morning, well before the sun had bothered the  horizon, I found myself heading across a dewy field, negotiating barbed wire fences, marshy flats and tousled grassy slopes. This was certainly a more entertaining start to the day than usual.

As I approached the crest of the hill I looked around for signs of my craft. Having walked a few hundred metres and out of sight of the launch point, I wasn't too sure where the Floater might be. However, giving the throttle lever a prod, I was immediately rewarded by a buzz a little way off to my left - the Floater was alive!

Encouraged by this happy turn of events I headed off at pace. As I neared I buzzed the throttle again, but now my attention was unexpectedly drawn upwards. The stark silhouette of a smallish tree revealed the Floater, perched several metres up in a small tree. 

Now I must admit it has been a long time since I climbed a tree. However, undeterred by lack of practice and less so by the fact I was dressed for work, I clambered up. Fortunately the low-branching nature of the tree was most accommodating and I was soon able to free the Floater from the branches and drop it to ground.

A few minutes later, feeling buoyed by a sense of achievement, I headed down the hill with plane in hand.