Spain
1999 According To Knewt
Over
the last few years several British F3F fun seekers have made the
journey to La Muela, a most splendid hill around 90km north-west of
Madrid. Apparently La Muela means “the molar” so if you open wide
and take a peak in the mirror you’ll get an idea what the hill
resembles, except if course the hill is considerably larger and has a
bar on top! It’s hard to keep a good thing quiet and this year the
ranks swelled to 14 trippers proving more than enough to entice many
more Spaniards to a hastily arranged two day F3F on Friday 2nd
and Saturday 3rd of April.
The
band in no particular order were, on sandals and bearded grin, Steve
Cooper. Lead vocalist and pathfinder extraordinaire, John McCurdy.
Playing the field, Eric Morrey and Keith Nicholls. Playing the fools,
Vic Eldridge, Peter Rundle and yours truly. Backing vocals were
supplied by the gorgeous Spousettes. Featured artists included
Australian Richard Frawley and Norwegians Espen Torp and Gunnar
Morkesdal.
The
Brit contingent arrived late afternoon on Thursday and proceeded to
spend the next four hours in some magnificent slope lift. In terms of
F3F the wind and excellent hill would probably have seen times in the
low forties with the even lift resulting in a fast and fair
competition. In terms of sport flying it gave the chance for some
serious showing off. Imagine a few naturally gifted and keen to show
it pilots with fully ballasted moulded racers on a huge, sheer, hill
in perfect conditions with an audience of Spanish pilots keen to see
what the opposition was made of!
After
an alarming amount of wing-flex and rock-polishing it was it pretty
much dark so, much to the amusement of the locals, out came the
foamies. A little while longer and it really was dark so with the
spouse revolution gathering momentum a swift exit from the hill was
made at a modest nine o’clock.
Food,
beer, wine, some more beer and beer chasers combined with a bizarre
religious festival that had taken over Guadalajara signified it
was time for bed.
Next
day was to be the first of the competition so us Brits dutifully
dragged ourselves out of bed in time to get to the hill a mere half an
our or so late. In our defence were the facts that there was no wind,
we had the timing gear and Eric had forgotten to charge the team brain
cell!
Upon
our arrival at the hill C.D. Peter Atkinson (yes, I know he sounds
English, no, he’s not!) and club president Angel Cristobal
optimistically set the course up and tested the timing gear.
Around
mid day as the temperatures drifted into the mid 80’s the wind was
occasionally gusting enough to register on the anemometer. Although
the wind only intermittently crept above the FAI racing minimum of 3
metres per second (even then it often came from the reverse
direction!) the decision was made to go ahead. The conditions were
absolutely glorious for sport flying with large bands of lift
interspersed with large bands of dead air. The hill is so huge that
there is plenty of room to look for the next patch of good air,
brilliant fun, but not ideal for F3F.
Top
spot in round one went to Carles Aimat using a Cobra with a time of
55.90 seconds, second was Peter Rundle with a Pike and third was
Richard Frawley using his Mantelpiece. Richard’s taxi from Madrid
airport to the top of the hill was late but the CD not having come
across that particular excuse before magnanimously allowed him to fly
later in the round!
I
was fourth up and launched into one of the holes in the lift. Around
three minutes later my ageing eyesight was struggling to guide the
speck that was my Pike over the terrain hundreds of feet below.
Somehow I managed to stumble into a booming thermal and bring the
grateful Pike back up to land on top. A quick pant swap and time for
the re-fly, with an almost identical outcome! Running out of pants I
convinced myself that the round would never finish and as it was only
a friendly comp why risk breaking my Pike so opted to fly an HLG on my
third attempt. Of course once airborne I had to fight to keep the
thing down in the massive lift!
Round
two and Valverde of Spain took top spot with a time of 51.80 seconds,
Carles was second and Espen was third flying his modified Wizard
Compact.
Richard
won round three in 51.60 seconds and Carles and Keith Nicholls were
joint second with identical times. It was around this time that Eric
and myself found ourselves struggling to comprehend why the only
impressions we were making were bad. Somehow we were christened Team
CAC which the more charitable advised stood for Crap Air Club although
I have heard a similar work used in a different context!
Round
four was the last of the day and was won by Gorrinobeaskoa in 51.50
seconds using his Factor 2 with John McCurdy and his trusty Ellipse 2V
in second and Richard in third. Keith Nicholls who had held third
overall until round four hooked such tragic air that he too became an
honorary member of Team CAC.
By
the time the fourth round had ended it was gone seven o’clock so a
brief hour or so of combat was all that could be squeezed in before we
adjourned to partake in the feast laid on by the local club in the bar
at the foot of the hill.
The
following days conditions were if anything lighter again and it took
the whole day to complete just one round. This time the flying order
had been reversed to try and counter the effects of lift increasing
steadily throughout the day.
When
round five finally came to an end Navarro had taken the 1000 points
with 53.50 seconds using a Tempus, I was second (and consequently
expelled from the CAC squad) with a Pike and Gorrinobeaskoa was third.
Before
long the scores had been manually calculated and a prize giving took
place in the bar on top of the hill. Relaxing in the shade of the bar,
cold beer in hand, occasionally cheering as another prize was handed
out really was just about is as good as it gets. The local club
presented each of the visitors with a bottle of splendid red wine,
with even those as far down the scoreboard as myself not being
forgotten.
La
Muela 1999 final results Top 5 from 28:
1
Richard Frawley 3777.8
Masterpiece
2
Carles Aimat
3755.8
Calypso Cobra
3
Espen Torp
3592.2
Wizard Compact (modified)
4
John McCurdy
3586.1
Ellipse 2V
5
Navarro
3579.6
Tempus
Once
the prize giving was over the wind somewhat predictably picked up
bestowing an abundance of excellent slope. As most of the Spanish
started their journeys home us visitors produced foamies and proceed
to spend several hours in the most glorious conditions imaginable.
Shut
your eyes for a second and see if you can improve on this. It’s a
manageable 80 degrees, you’re stood outside a bar, the sounds and
smells of grilling steak are made all the more pleasing as you’re
beautifully content having just eaten. You turn to face the lip of the
beckoning slope at the same moment feeling the steady breeze
lightening the foamie you’re lazily holding, encouraging you to
launch. You pause involuntarily, you’re overwhelmed by the heady mix
of sensations, the bold colours forming the patchwork of the distant
fields, the anger of the sun soothed by the balmy breeze, the serenity
is almost tangible. As if drifting from continents afar a voice seeps
into your world, is it my ravishing flame haired wife with fresh beer
or maybe it’s an angel confirming my arrival in heaven. The voice is
louder next time, almost impatient “Newton you pommy ponce are going
to stand there all day scratching you’re arse or are you flying
combat?” Wife nope; angel nope; crazed Australian, you bet your last
kangaroo it was.
Combat
it was then and a better session I don’t recall. The only damper on
the evening was the demise of Vic’s recently refurbished Adrenaline.
Apparently the little rascal had gotten away from him, not something
it'll be doing again in a hurry judging by the remains. It’s always
a shame to see a good plane bite the dust but fortunately Vic remained
as good-humoured as ever.
Another
late night was assured, as the slope wasn’t vacated until gone nine
o’clock. Back in Guadalajara Peter Atkinson, the CD, had made the
mistake of booking into our hotel. I suppose the word mistake could be
considered extreme. Some people might enjoy interpreting a full menu,
ordering for sixteen people, sorting out the bill and being dragged
around various bars and clubs until gone five in the morning.
For
some reason the following days activities didn’t commence until a
little later than usual. When the slope was reached there was not a
breath of wind and it felt hotter than ever. With all that energy
being absorbed by the countryside it wasn’t long before pronounced
thermal activity was apparent. At first it was simply constant thermal
lift all around but not long past midday a wind direction started to
establish itself allowing some more conventional slope flying. Of
course it was only a matter of time before the foamies came out. To
those who have never tried it and are keen to dismiss it as a fad for
the numbskulls I would point out that amongst the six foamie flyers
were some of the most skilled slope pilots in Europe with in the
region of Ł6000 worth of plastic being forsaken in favour of EPP
thrills. If there’s a better advert it can only be that you try it
for yourself, slope sites permitting of course.
We
stretched that last evening on the hill until gone nine o’clock and
even then it seemed hours rather than four days since we first
arrived.
Sincere
thanks to Angel Cristobal and Peter Atkinson who did so much to ensure
we had a splendid time. If you’re thinking of heading that way drop
me a line and I’ll put you in touch with the locals.
Knewt
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