A summers evening

Since the flight on Saturday, the weather had been glorious all week. This is totally out of character for the UK in March. Sitting in work on Wednesday morning, I realised that i had to go flying at some point today. The only problem with realising this fact, is that once you have admitted to yourself that you need to fly, its like an illness has been realised into your body. An illness which urges the day to go quicker, until you can climb into the cockpit and once again feel the elation of flying...

Until this day, I don't actually believe that I have ever ran home from work! The traffic jam on the way to Barton was agonising, painfully slow. The therapy to cure 'the illness' was so near, yet so far... A quick walk round check and the accumulation of fuel, meant that both me, my dad and VA were ready to go. Until now, I have never really met anybody involved in GA who was extremely arrogant and out right rude. But after meeting the gentleman who insisted in waiting in his running aircraft (you know who you are if you ever read this!), I realised just how wrong I had been.

With Huddersfield Crossland Moor as the specified destination, we made a brief take off and downwind departure from RWY 27R. Crossland Moor is a strange little airfield, although I do believe that 'little' may not be the correct word, seeing as the actual physical dimensions of the RWY are larger than anything which Barton has to offer! The surface itself occupies a slight uphill slope, starting on tarmac, before turning to grass over the crescent of the hill. With a quarry at the lower end of the RWY, and a reservoir at the upper, landing is interesting to say the least! The parking areas are on the border, or possibly even inside the local residents back gardens. Simply put, it isn't your standard airfield. (The photo at the end highlight the surface conditions perfectly!). It is also perhaps one of the least recognisable airfields that I so far visited (well apart from Barton lol). The club house, a caravan has the addition of 'Welcome to Huddersfield International!'

After a quick brew, it was back to Barton. Flying back over the moors was a pleasant experience, which was made a little less so by the ever increasing presence of haze. But, what can be expected on a summers evening, when the pollution of the local cities fills the atmosphere? I let my dad fly most of the way back, which meant that a few medium level turns were added into the equation. For some reason, I actually turned down a base leg join in favour of an overhead join. Whether I am going slightly mad in my increasing age, I am not sure. All i know is that I wanted to keep the pressure on myself. Personally, I don't believe in taking the easy route when the more challenging route gets you to the same place and in most cases potentially provides a greater sense of achievement.