...off to a nervous start
I felt a little unsettled today - I don't know why as it was a beautiful morning with the sun just rising and barely a hint of wind. Maybe it was because it's a Monday...
I launched the Walrus with the flaps down which requires less power to prevent it from porpoising. However I set too little power and the Walrus unceremoniously nose dived into the turf and lay there with the ESC emitting warning beeps and the propeller twitching ominously. I immediately feared that the propeller had snapped but, picking up the plane everything seemed intact, and a flick of the throttle proved that the motor was none the worse for the little incident either.
So, after giving the Walrus a cursory wipe-down to remove the bits of soil and grass, it was back in the air again, this time without mishap.
The breeze was growing stronger as the sun rose, so that by the time I finally brought the Walrus round for landing it was struggling to make headway against the wind, just creeping over the fence with a little hop but then steadying up for a nice landing.
So this evening the Walrus will get a bit of TLC - I'll take off the prop and make sure everything's set properly again, and give it a nice clean...
...and bumpy landing
There was a slight breeze this morning, well under double figures, so I happily lobbed up the Phoenix 2000 to enjoy some air-time before work. I was surprised to find it wobbling around surprisingly much; apparently what seemed a gentle breeze was a little gusty and more-so at tree-top level. I suppose with large wing areas gliders are quite susceptible to bumpy conditions.
So the flying wasn't all that relaxing, but I got in a couple of nice flights, managing the velocity changes with turning into and away from the wind. A did have a little problems with the landings though - the first ending with a mild ground loop and the second with a nose dive after I'd misjudged the landing distance, tried to pull up and then got everything wrong.
However, apart from the propeller mount being pushed in a little and a rather muddy spinner, the Phoenix is good to go...
...well, for now anyway
The morning dawned very cold with the sports oval largely covered in frost. I had resurrected a pair of my abandoned cycling mitts to help keep my fingers warm. These had proved partially effective, although on mornings with temperatures hovering near freezing I had to call an end to the flying after ten minutes due to terminal finger ache. However on this particular day a spectacular pre-dawn colour show more than compensated for any discomfort.
I’d pretty much got flying the Floater down pat. Not perfect by any means but quite reasonable. The change of flight characteristics between powered & gliding flight was awkward although perhaps mostly because I had the aircraft trimmed for gliding or low-power flight which is my preference - seeing the Floater gliding past noiselessly in a low-level low-speed flypast is quite magical. And, when tempted, to open the throttle.
I had taken advantage of the sudden height gains to practice rudimentary aerobatics - loops being the, easiest although controlling the speed and tightness of the loop is more difficult. Fast tight loops look quite fake, and I much prefer a gentle swooping style. I had also managed a few wingovers, although again not the perfect type which verge on a stall at the apex.
Following a low flypast I throttled the Floater into a steep climb which peaked perhaps ten metres off the ground after which the Floater tilted its nose down. Deciding to maximise the situation, I pushed the Floater into an almost vertical dive and waited a second for speed to build up for a steep pull-out and a fast fly-by. The only problem was nothing happened. I released the elevator stick to neutral and tried again immediately. Still nothing. Resigned to the inevitable, I let go the controls and watched as the Floater thumped into the turf, did a cartwheel and then lay splayed on the ground.
Walking over to inspect the wreckage I was expecting it to be bad considering the speed and angle of the impact, and was not wrong. The canopy, very durable and flexible, had partially shattered, the much superglued nose was still held in place by the layers of tape but severely deformed with multiple fractures, and the tail boom had snapped through just behind the motor, held on only by the tail linkages.
Gently holding the wreckage of the Floater together I traced my steps across the frosty grass back to the car...
...pondering the cause of so few landings
At work, I did a web search on the dangers of cattle, and you may be surprised at the results, Agriculture is regarded as a dangerous occupation, with cattle being the second highest cause of injury, second only to farm implements. The article read that encounters with cattle might lead to minor injuries such as broken bones or more serious maladies such as punctured organs or broken neck. Two things became immediately apparent - these people had a fundamentally different perspective on the seriousness of various injuries, and I was definitely not going to be foraging for my plane in the midst of a herd of devil cows.
Nontheless I could not relinquish the Floater so vapidly, so I determined to return during my lunch break and reassess the situation. In the meantime I had opportunity to ponder what had happened that morning and, so it now seemed, also on the Floater second maiden flight. However it must be said that disorientation, although not responsible in these cases, is remarkably easy to suffer from and can be very difficult to recover from.
It seemed certain that there really was a signal-loss issue, as opposed to ignorance or gross incompetence, so I set about considering what should be done. There were several potential root causes. For now I discounted the transmitter - although budget basic it's new and the only "reputable" brand item I have (boxed with the flight simulator).
The second was the speed controller, a unit supplied with the Phoenix and, judging by reviews I'd read, a potential candidate. Speed controllers also supply power to the receiver, so it stands to reason that a dodgy power supply would equate to interrupted reception.
The final suspect was the receiver, a budget unit bought online. However this unit had the facility to connect a satellite receiver which could be a possible solution. As I happened to have a spare satellite receiver sitting around I decided to go this route. For now, however, I decided to return to the flying filed during my lunch break and hope that some miracle might happen to allow me to retrieve the Floater without flouting with death.
Arriving at the field, now bathed in sunshine, I was amazed to see the paddocks devoid of any cattle whatsoever. Amazing! Looking around I spied a hillock perhaps half a kilometre away, now dotted with the black forms of grazing cattle. How good was that. Wasting no time I hopped through the fence and dashed off in the direction where the Floater was last seen heading. Having got about halfway I easily spied a white wingtip above the grass - a definite bonus of having a large foam aircraft is they are so easy to spot.
A quick look around confirmed the cattle had not returned, although my behaviour was being anxiously observed by the resident kangaroos who, upright and with ears pricked, weren't going to let down their guard until I was well away. So, before the cattle decided to return and to allow the kangaroos to return to their lunch in peace, I turned towards the fence and headed for the car...
...why've I lost control again..?
The flurry of treetop activity led me to explore more appropriate venues. Happily I found a sports field not far away, adjacent to grazing paddocks, with open fields extending several hundred metres in either direction - plenty of space to retrieve lost aircraft in peace without having to leave the ground. Also a decided lack of people, especially at seven o'clock on a winter's morning - an excellent feature for reducing liability.
So a day or two later I arrived with the Floater Jet and high hopes of happy flying. The craft launched successfully and I flew it a few tentative laps around the field to settle my nerves before giving it some throttle to see how it behaved under powered climb.
The Floater launched itself upwards with a bit of a spiral as it rose upwards, its propellor buzzing busily. Having climbed quite a bit I cut the throttle to enjoy a serene gliding descent. But once again, that simultaneously sinking and alarming sensation of things being suddenly and inexplicably out of control. Fortunately the Floater was drifting down in slow spirals over the paddocks and not near the busy arterial road on the opposite side of the field...
So, with a sense of déjà vu I strode across the sports field sans aircraft, to the barbed wire fence bordering the paddock. Now I should explain that the morning was cold and with an unusually heavy low mist cloaking the paddocks, although relatively clear over the field where I had been flying. It was with some alarm then, that as I approached the boundary ready to do battle with the fence I began to discern a dark motionless shape looming through the mist. A few steps more and with furtive glances to my left and right I was aghast to see now perhaps a dozen black humps - a herd of cattle.
Now, I like animals. Dogs and cats understandably top the list. Horses are nice, although large and intelligent is cause for concern until such time as their disposition has been reliably determined. Cattle, large and not terribly bright, are somewhere lower on the list, in the region of bull terriers and territorial eland.
Standing at the fence I pondered my situation - about fifty metres of tussocky paddock and a herd of beef cattle separated me from the downed Floater. Should I take the risk, slip in sprint for the glider and beat a hasty yet victorious exit. Or would I get halfway there, pique the interest of the herd and beat have to beat an ignominious and fearful retreat without my property.
A quick mental risk assessment determined the risk of the latter to be high and the consequences potentially severe (who wants to get charged before work and have to explain your appearance), so I headed back to the car pondering what to do...
...collateral damage by stupidity
Having returned home, I was overcome by a profound sadness at having inflicted such wanton damage to such a lovely aircraft. It was like a nice pet being given to a bad home, and I was the culprit. Oh dear.
It may seem silly but I really felt gutted by the sequence of events; the effort I'd made, aspirations thwarted and damaged caused for no gain. A sorry waste for no benefit at all.
I pondered the situation and decided on two things. Firstly, as damaged as the Phoenix was it was still repairable to a flying state. Secondly, I would get a smaller and more novice-friendly aircraft.
For the Phoenix it was spares-shopping and improvisation. The nylon fuselage was up-ended in a jug of boiling water and left overnight, in the hope that relief of residual stresses would help to straighten up the wrinkles.
The original kit had included a fixed spinner, if no motor were to be used. This I modified to adapt to the spinner-base and to clear the propellor mounts. The battery tray, which had shattered most impressively, I tried to reconstitute after the fashion of a jigsaw-puzzle but then abandoned as folly, fabricating another out of modelling ply.
The wings mounts I superglued together and reinforced with fibreglass mesh. Ailerons were remounted, using hinges to replaced the ruptured EPO hinge and, as a bonus, I "activated" the moulded-in flaps giving them the same hinge treatment as the ailerons and installing servos in the ready-moulded wing recesses. A new battery to replace the compacted original 1800mAh completed the repair process.
Now all I needed was the skill to fly the recreated Phoenix...
...a most alarming propensity to climb
The modest success of the initial flight of the Phoenix 2000 was followed by a brief flight, ending sadly in an abrupt near-vertical collision with the sports oval. Why? Well, it turns out the Phoenix, with its conventional propellor-in-front layout has a very (and I mean very) high climb rate when the power exceeds a modest threshold. With the first flight having followed a very flat circuit of the field, I had thought a little more power would provide a more comfortably elevated flight path. Wrong.
With more than a whiff of throttle, the Phoenix rises like a veritable Saturn rocket. On video clips this seems behaviour seems most impressive however, for a novice's second flight, having a large aircraft suddenly head for the heavens is absolutely alarming. One doesn't know exactly what will happen - will it suddenly stall and crash onto the lady with the maltese poodle, or will it suffer incipient spin and veer off into the clubhouse?
Without an answer to either of these questions, the safest option is to cut power. Unfortunately, the response from the moderately-heavy Phoenix to a sudden loss of power is ugly. A sudden stall followed by an inelegant descent nose-first into the turf. Not cool...
