Mountain Flying - Lake District

[Jolly Roger]

I'm really lucky to live right next to a handy 1000ft hill that I can walk up in about 15 mins and fly above our home. But every year or so I get this strange urge to fly off real mountains - bigger, higher, and requiring a long arduous hike in sturdy footwear. Having to slog for hours up steep paths rather than just stroll up a hill or unload my models from the car boot makes the whole thing more of an adventure, and the flying more, well... earned.

Mountain lift can also be staggeringly, dangerously powerful. For one thing, a 10 mph breeze at 1000ft can rage into a 30mph gale at 3000ft. Even on still Summers' days, cliffs that have basked all morning in sunshine can pump out towering thermals by early afternoon that will toss even a 20lb model upwards like a feather.

So - this weekend I decided I'd tackle Skiddaw in the Northern Lakes, the 3rd highest mountain in England, looming over 3000ft above the town of Keswick on the Northern shores of Derwentwater.

The forecast was perfect, but opening the curtains of our holiday cottage revealed the Summit capped in cloud. I set off anyway, having nothing better to do, and generally being an optimistic chap. I recommend driving to the Underscar car park at the end of the road. It gets you to 300m altitude and also, if you're less adventurous, is a very short flat walk to Latrigg Fell (which serves winds from West round to South).

[Jolly Roger]

It took about 2 hours to climb the 2000ft or so to Skiddaw's summit, although you only knew you'd arrived when you spotted the trig point - the top 500ft was in cloud and visibility was about 30m. Curse you, Metoffice. I lay my 1:3.5 scale Ka6 down, started my sandwiches, and waited for the cloud to clear.
Over the course of the next 2 hours, maybe 200 hillwalkers came and went, most of them in high spirits despite the complete lack of any views to reward them for their uphill toils, and many intrigued by what was in my bag. The funniest suggestion was an ironing board.

[Jolly Roger]

What I didn't mention at the start of this thread is that, as any seasoned hillwalker knows, mountain weather is a law unto itself. Metoffice was utterly wrong. I stared at my phone which was showing huge fried-egg sunshines on Skiddaw at that very moment, then lifted my eyes to see nothing but thick cloud.

The cloud never cleared that day.

I trudged back down the mountain, disappointed, but philosophical.

[Jolly Roger]

Day 2. What to do?

Have fun with my family walking in sunshine around Derwentwater followed by a playful round of crazy golf?

Or walk up Skiddaw again?

Metoffice promised wall to wall sunshine and perfect light NE bang on the summit ridge. Surely they couldn't be wrong TWICE?

I put on my walking boots and strapped my "ironing board" to my back...

[Jolly Roger]

Yes indeed, Metoffice were wrong TWICE.

Thick cloud hugged the top 300ft of Skiddaw. It showed no signs of lifting.

Struggling to remain philosophical, I set off down the hill, but as I descended, pockets of sky opened up in the cloud above the coll between Skiddaw and its shoulder-mountain, Little Man. This was my one chance to fly that day. I seized the opportunity and quickly assembled the Ka6. I'd been denied a fly off the summit, but this was a decent substitute.

[Jolly Roger]

At last a chance to explore the vast airspace around this huge mountain, and the lift was strong, if turbulent. I found if I went above 60m altitude, thin tendrils of cloud would reach around my model and it would quickly become veiled in cloud, fading with terrifying speed.

I started walking down the hill to see if I could find clearer air...

[Jolly Roger]

Worryingly, the cloud base was now descending around me quicker than I could walk, so I set the model in a long shallow dive to a cloud-free window about 500m lower down the hill. I find it uncomfortable flying my model at such great distances, but the Ka6 is a dear old lady and looks after herself perfectly well without me. Even so, I needed to get closer to it so I could pull off a decent landing if the cloud closed in further. Otherwise I'd have to dump it ignominiously on the hillside. I circled it tightly in the gap, and set off at a brisk pace...

[Jolly Roger]

10 minutes later I'd caught up with the model and my pulse returned to normal. The cloudbase had now settled around 2300ft - frustratingly low, and giving me very little headroom in which to enjoy the abundant lift.

I decided I would see how far down the track I could walk, flying the model in slopelift until the track dropped onto the downwind side of the ridge, where the predictable sink would end the flight. Sure, I could use the motor to stay aloft, but that somehow seemed inappropriate. I would instead aim to land the model as near to the track whenever I ran out of height. Funny how you set yourself little challenges to add meaning to a flight.

If you know the area, you may be able to recognise the mountains of Blencathra and Helvellyn, with their tops also shrouded in cloud.

[Jolly Roger]

I was surprised and chuffed to realise that I could continue soaring the ridge whilst walking down the back of it, until the point where the model was directly behind my direction of walking. It helps to have such a well-behaved model at times like this.

Eventually I found a perfect flat grassy landing area and brought the model sweeping downwind and into a smooth landing a few metres from the path.

[Jolly Roger]

So I didn't manage to fly from the very summit, but I did find some of the adventure I was seeking, and my legs definitely got a work-out!

Maybe next year the weather will be kinder.