Dangerous Cattle and Signal Loss

...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...

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.