learningtofly

This was originally written in 1998 for the newsletter of the Recreational Aircraft Association of Calgary and is a diary of my experiences.

Those of you who have been watching the "Notes from the Foreign Correspondent" will know that I have been suffering from Aviation Withdrawal whilst in the U.K., but - I think I may have found a cure.

How about an airplane that takes off in about 15 feet, lands in 5, costs about half of what a simple ultralight does and stores in the trunk of your car?

OK, so you might have to stretch the concept of "airplane" a little bit, but it will get you into the air. It's called a Paramotor (or sometimes a Foot Launched Microlight - FLM, in Britain). If you have been reading Kitplanes, you might have noticed an article on Paramotors. A Paramotor consists of two basic components: The wing, which thermals a bit like a hanglider, but looks like a parachute, and a backpack engine/propeller. This isn't quite as crazy as it sounds - the propeller is kept well away from the pilot by the structure of the backpack and safety cage - and what could be better than having your parachute chute built in? This is a sport which brings a new dimension to "low and slow". The engine generates approximately 50 dB, so it's not too noisy. They cruise, climb and descend at about 25 mph. Climb rate is around 500 fpm, so you can imagine the climb angle at 25 mph! They can land and take off in about 10-15 feet (no wind) and the undercarriage is your feet. The paramotor fits in the "boot" of the car, so you can take them on holiday to various places that would be fun to see from the air. The wing, motor and occupant are custom-fit so that the parag lider will soar as well with the occupant wearing the motor as a it would for a paraglider sized to someone who is not wearing the motor. This means that you can (at least thoretically) start up, take off, find a thermal, and shut down. They have electric start, so when the thermal quits, you can fire up again and fly away home . . .

The Learning Begins

Although I had some reservations about the sanity of people who WEAR propellers, at the end of Sept., Avril (my wife) and I decided to take an introductory paramotoring course. We had a ball. The introductory course consists of a few hours in the classroom, talking about the principles of the sport and safety. We then progressed to some canopy handling, using a "square" wing.

The square wing does not perform nearly as well as the elliptical wing used with the paramotors, but it is well suited to tow-launched flying. We learned to strap ourselves in and inflate the wing with a few brisk steps into wind. After this, we hooked a tow-rope up to the harness and four students acted as tow-truck while the 5th rode the glider. As the dedicated truck-wannabes chanted "beep, beep, I'm a jeep", the lucky flier behind was granted a few feet of air and allowed us to get used to leaving the ground. As we rotated students through the harness, the chanting became more breathless and the altitude lower, but we each had a chance to experience flight. However, this was all mild preparation for what was to follow.

After lunch, we hooked up to the tow truck (a small pickup with a braked winch on the back). When you take off with this, there's no doubt as to which way you are going: UP, and at a wild rate. We got around 200 feet of height and flights of about 30 seconds. This was enough to get a feel for using the brakes, steering and flaring. Feeling the need to uphold a reputation which I am not particularly proud of, I had a moment of excitement on my first flight when I didn't launch properly and found myself heading for the only tree in the field. This was a bit embarrassing and Avril did her best to broadcast to all and sundry the details of my first attempt designing and flying my first radio control airplane into a similar lone sentinel. She especially enjoyed this part of the course, but not nearly as much as she enjoyed her turn in the hotseat. You should have see n the grin on her face. I thought her helmet was going to come off.

On her first successful tow-launch, she let out a whoop as she soared skyward and you could still hear her hooting as she set off into the distance. As the tow-truck came to a stop and she settled earthward, things got kind of quiet until she flared and remained standing at the end of it. You could hear the screams of delight from halfway across the airfield. She'd have put the local Coyotes to shame, if there were any in Britain. Anyhow, the upshot was that we had so much fun, we bought a paramotor and returned the following week with another student from the introductory course to continue our training.

Day 2

The weather dawned overcast with a light breeze - just right for fledgling paramotor pilots. Paul the instructor wasted no time in getting us out onto the field, under a proper elliptical wing. The square wing we had used the day before is well suited to tow launching, but the elliptical wing is much better suited for use with a paramotor. It is much more responsive and provides better performance. We started the day with a couple of hours practice inflating and flying it from a standstill.

In order to inflate the elliptical wing, you must first "build the wall ". This is where you

face the paraglider, turn your back to the wind and take a few quick steps backwards. This causes the wing to come up off the ground and spread out. You then take a few steps toward the wing and it settles down with just the leading edge off the ground, sitting up and forming a slightly curved "wall"to the wind. The leading edge of a paraglider curves only partway over. The principle is that, in flight, air rushes in the inlets along the leading edge and inflates the canopy into an airfoil. Turbulent air rolling at the inlet forms a sort of invisible barrier, completing the partial leading edge formed by the material. The "ribs"of the wing are "cross-ported"(i.e. they have holes in them), which allows high pressure air to distribute evenly throughout the envelope, guarding against deflation of any one cell. The fabric is of rip-stop nylon and the wires to the harness are coated kevlar. When you "build the wall", the leading edge points skyward, leaving the inlets facing the pilot, inflating in the wind.

Watching the glider being set up in this way, it seems almost as if it is alive. At least, that is the way it seemed. Actually, it seemed more like a wild beast to me, as I struggled to command it into position, though it immediately transformed into a tamed pussy cat in Paul's hands. Sometimes, only part of the leading edge might be set correctly, but as the wind enters some of the inlets, the rest of the wing slowly sits up like some kind of waking presence, preparing to fly. Full inflation then consists of taking several steps backward, allowing the paraglider to come up over your head, where you can fly it with the brakes. At this point, your feet are firmly planted on the ground and the paraglider looks like a brightly coloured kite, directly overhead the operator. Even with just a gentle breeze, you can feel it lifting. It really wants to fly.

Unfortunately, after we each had a couple of tries at it, the wind started to pick up and our intrepid instructor deemed it best to tuck his chicks back in the nest. We returned to the safety of our classroom in the control tower, debriefed and adjourned for the day.

Day 3

We woke up Saturday morning to a sunny day, with a light breeze and some ground fog. By the time we found our way to Kemble airfield, the fog had lifted and the wind was light and variable. This made the canopy handling a bit of a challenge for us fledgling aviators.

Canopy handling is probably the most difficult part of learning to fly a paramotor - at least, difficult relative to everything else about the sport. Today, there were two groups of students. We were to concentrate on handling the canopy under the tutelage of Greg, who had driven up from near Brighton for the occasion. Paul worked with the other group, who were taking their introductory lesson.

Greg showed us how to pull the canopy out of its storage bag and set it down, trailing edge into wind. We then unrolled each folded panel, inspecting the material as we went along, until the entire canopy was laid out, underside up. After inspecting the lines and each compartment of the wing, we hooked up to the harness and commenced learning how to do both forward and reverse launches. As the wind was quite light, we first practised forward launches. For these, we laid out the canopy in a semi-circle, faced into wind, unsnapped the brake handles from where they are stowed on the risers, took hold of the "A"lines, which run to the leading edge and spread our arms out to the side. Then the hard part started. To accomplish a successful forward launch, it is necessary to keep you arms stretched out to the side, "A" lines in hand, while running forward. As the canopy comes up, you must raise your arms with the lines, until the risers come clear of your hands and the wing is directly overhead. This might sound easy, but it took a while to get the hang of arm position, the speed at which the canopy rises and the point at which the risers should come clear. Of course, if there is a change in wind direction during this process, the canopy wants to turn and drift to one side.

With practice, and much patience on Greg's part, we learned to run into wind, and keep our bodies "under the label" (the canopy specs label, in the centre of the wing) by shuffling our feet and working the brakes. The tricky part here is learning to use enough brake to keep the wing overhead, while not using so much brake that the wing stalls and settles back to earth.

Reverse launches were a bit easier. As the day went on, the wind picked up enough that we could try this method. One of the nice things about the reverse launch is that you don't need to spend time arranging the canopy - you just keep your back to the wind and with the lines crossed, take a couple of sharp steps backward. This causes the canopy to raise a few feet up off the ground, where it can be controlled to settle back into a nice, semi-circular wall. Then, when ready for launch, all that is needed is several steps backward, a few tugs on the brakes and voila! The wing is flying overhead in the breeze. Once into position, you simply turn into wind and start your take-off run.

The nice thing about the reverse launches is that you can watch the canopy as it climbs up overhead, controlling if necessary. Being a bit of a slow learner, it took some time for me to get the hang of the feel of the canopy during launch. When you first raise it off the ground, it pulls quite hard - after all, you have a whole lot of square feet of material into wind. This means that you have to lean quite hard against it. As the chute comes up, though, the resistance vanishes, to be replaced by a gentle lifting on the harness. After several close calls between my backside and terra firma, I started to get the hang of it. Good weather and perseverance paid off, however, so that by the end of a long day, we were all able to get the canopy up where it belongs. Then Paul arrived on the scene and made things a little tougher.

He must have figured we were getting pretty cocky, so he set up an obstacle course to bring us down a peg. The idea was to launch the canopy and negotiate the obstacle course, all the while keeping the label overhead. Of course, Paul made it look easy, going forward through the course, with expert inputs on the brakes to shuffle sideways as necessary. Then he really ble w our socks off by turning around and doing the whole course backwards - with the wind. When it came time for my turn, I was thrilled to accomplish the same course going forward. Reverse was a lost cause, but we finished the day on a high note, having learned a great deal. After 8 hours of running, tugging and shuffling, we were both completely tuckered out. One hour, one burger and one beer later, we were fast asleep.

Day 4

Paul must have figured he didn't give us a good enough work out the day before, so today, he split us into two groups. One group continued with the canopy handling. The other group he targeted for more significant punishment. We were to carry on with our canopy handling practice, but with 24 kilograms of paramotor strapped on to o ur backs. One thing I should make clear. You don't have to be an athlete to learn to paramotor. But it sure helps. Like many things, the difficult part is in the learning - using muscles which aren't used to it, and using brute force when a little more finesse would be so much easier. Watching those who know what they are doing, it looks pretty easy - perhaps a minute with the weight of the paramotor and then a few steps and you're airborne. When learning, however, one minute stretches into several, which stretch into up to 10 minutes at a time, leaning, turning, running and tugging. That being said, our classes have consisted of ages up to 55, weights up to over and athleticism somewhere around armchair standard.

In some ways, launching a canopy with the paramotor on is a bit easier - at least for the reverse launches.

AGREED to this?!? Suddenly I had doubts about what Momma had raised. Paul tested the radio, "Can you hear me?" I nodded my head. "Are you ready?" Gulp. I guess I'm as ready as I'm going to be. Can't back out now, with a crowd of disbelievers gathering around. Forward launch. Up comes the canopy. "Go, Go, Go", calls Paul. Squeeze the throttle and run. The weight of the paramotor lifts. The harness starts to lift me off my feet. Raise my legs. Ooops. Mistake number one. I was psyched out by the lifting feeling and raised my legs too soon. What's more, I committed the cardinal sin of stopping the running motion. I realised this as my backside descended towards the earth. With full power on, I gave a little tug on the brakes. This was an automatic reaction that probably saved me a premature propeller purchase. Skimming the surface, I started to climb. Holy Smokes! I'm flying!!

As I climbed out, I realised that I was slowly turning to the right. Must be the P-factor, I thought. I'd best wait for Paul's instructions before I start doing things. As I drifted towards the active runway, no instructions were forthcoming, so I took things into my own hands. Pulling on the left riser, I turned away from the runway, continuing to climb out over the hangars at the edge of the airport. As I was approaching the airport boundary, I was getting suspicious that something was wrong with the radio. "Oh, great", I thought. My first solo is going to be a real solo!". Just about then, the headset sprang to life "Wiggle your legs if you can hear me". Surprised, I celebrated my relief by doing a short jig in the sky. I'm sure I heard laughter from down below. Paul had me fly downwind, then point into wind before he informed me that I could now let go of the right brake and wiggle into the seat.

Up to this point, I had been hanging in the harness by the crotch-straps. In the excitement of the first flight, I didn't think it was particularly bad, but it was noticeably more comfortable as I slid back into the seat. The rest of the flight consisted of several turns over the airport, getting the feel for the use of the brakes and throttle and the resulting pitch, yaw, climbs and descends. Paul had me do a pass over the landing area to get familiar with the descent rate and the approach path, then power on and one more circuit.

Shortly after I turned final, the instruction came: "OK, lower your undercarriage". The thought of pushing off the edge of my seat, while several hundred feet in the air was not the least bit appealing. "Maybe he wouldn't notice if I just stayed put", I thought to myself. Mind you, it's going to be a little hard to run while my knees are tucked up to my chest. Better do as he says. With great reluctance, I slid forward, transferring my weight to the crotch straps again, which I checked to ensure were still there. Things were feeling a bit precarious, when the next set of instructions came crackling over the radio: "Looking good. Ease on a little right brake. Now left. OK, now slowly reduce power down to idle."Then, a moment later, "Stop, Stop, Stop". Gee, I'm awfully high up to be switching off the engine. Well, better do as the boss says. A quick flick of the thumb and suddenly things are a lot quieter. With Paul's assistance, I lined up into wind beside the dumbstruck spectators. A little more left and right brake. "Now ease on both of the brakes". Wow! I'm still about 30 feet up and he wants me to ease on the brakes! This seems pretty high to me to be starting a flare. I rely on the expert and do as commanded. My descent and forward speed start to slow as I gently bring the brakes down to my shoulder. "Full brake!"Paul called, as I guessed my height to be about 10 feet. Full on the handles and I touched down gently. The shock was about the same as stepping off a bottom stair. The weight of the paramotor transferred gently onto my shoulders as I turned and controlled the canopy down to the ground. I did it! What a rush.

Day 5

We arrived at Kemble to another crisp morning, which was great for running around making sure we had not forgotten how to open the canopy. Unfortunately, however, the wind dropped from light to calm, which made canopy handling a bit more difficult. Despite this, I had a string of good luck and was able to consistently bring the wing up overhead, so Paul decided I should try for another flight. As the wind was calm, this was to be a forward launch.

After warming up the engine, I shut it down, strapped in, took hold of the risers, brakes and throttle and when everything was organised, started the engine again (around about this time, I started to gain a real appreciation for the electric start). Everything was ready, so I started the ru n forward and felt the canopy coming up overhead. Paul knew that in the calm conditions, the canopy would likely overfly me, so before it was completely overhead, he called for full power. After about a dozen steps, running full tilt with the propeller whirling behind me, I felt something was wrong. I couldn't feel any lift. This is when things started to come unglued. I reacted to the lack of lift by pulling on the risers. Don't ask me why - it wasn't the most intelligent thing I have ever done. This had the effect of pulling the leading edge down, reducing the angle of attack of the wing and eliminating the small amount of lift which had been developing. With the elimination of lift, I realised that I was running faster than my legs would move, so I choppe d the power and promptly did a faceplant. As I fell, I ensured that I went forwards, not back, with the result that as I hit the kill switch, the prop came to a stop, with me on my hands and knees - a couple of grass stains but otherwise none the worse for wear.

Paul wisely called a stop and we retired to the classroom to view the video footage of my little misadventure and review what had gone wrong. Although the launch was clean, the leading edge of the wing had folded slightly under. As I ran forward and applied power, the leading edge sorted itself out, but it was about this time that I started pulling on the riser. If I had kept my wits about me and kept running without pulling on the riser, I likely would have been airborne after a few more steps. Knowing what I had done wrong, we decided that I probably could accomplish a successful launch, but all the same decided that it might be more prudent to wait until the wind is more cooperative and everything is in my favour for the next flight. We packed up and called it a day.

Day 6

The wind seemed a bit light (non-existent) , but we headed for the airport anyway. Unfortunately, it was dead calm, so we enjoyed a picnic lunch as the "normal"airplanes flew by, then headed home. Calm conditions are fine when you know what you are doing, but we were waiting for perfect beginners conditions.

Day 7

We awoke to a thick fog, which finally started to lift at about noon. A quick call to Paul indicated promising, improving conditions, so off we went. When we arrived, the conditions were just right, so we set up the paramotor and hooked up the glider. Within 20 minutes of our arrival, I had the motor running on my back and Paul talking to me over the radio as I inflated the chute. Unfortunately, there were darker clouds approaching and as I was bringing the wing up, the wind gusts increased to about 10 knots - now we had too much wind!

Recognising that things were getting a bit blustery for the amateur, Paul called a halt for a late lunch break, where he regaled us with tales of running tourist flights with a "buckeye"style powered parachute in Turkey and where his operation was called to a halt when a local farmer with a boar gun took a dislike to the operation.

After lunch, the dark clouds had moved on and once again, we had nearly perfect conditions. It was now or never. For the second time, I found myself launching the wing using reverse launch techniques, engine burbling happily. I turned to face the wing and started to taxi forward, using a little power. Things were looking pretty good and I felt very comfortable, walking along with a slight, reassuring push from the engine. "Go ahead with full power if you like, Dave". Things were looking and feeling great. I felt like I could just keep on taxiing like this - other than the slight complication of the perimeter fence. Unlike the last time, I felt in full control. I squeezed the throttle and broke into a jog, then a run. The weight of the motor was gone and I could feel the leg straps tightening up. Within half a dozen steps of full power, my feet were lifted clear of the ground. Two more brushes of my toes and I was airborne and climbing strongly.

For the next ten minutes or so, Paul had me flying a tight circuit over the midfield, playing with different power settings and turns to the left and right. I found with full power, the wing wanted to turn right and about 20% left brake application was needed to keep things going straight. I found that by shifting over to the left side of my seat, this could be reduc ed to about 15%. At cruise power, less left brake was required and at idle, none.

All too soon, the time came when He Who Must Be Obeyed called for lining up on final and cutting the engine. In the sudden quiet, his voice was loud in the headset. "Line up on us, Dave . . . That's it . . .Just keep into wind . . .now pull slightly on the brakes - just a little bit. Feel the paramotor slowing . . . now start your flare". Light as a feather, I touched down, the weight of the motor gently transferred to my shoulders and I turned to allow the canopy to collapse to earth. I found the second flight was far better than the first and certainly better than the second attempt. I felt much more in control throughout the process and I had a chance to notice things that I had missed before. Like the slight pendulum effect as a brake is applied, and the point at which you start to feel greater resistance when pulling on the brakes and at which the canopy responds much more.

Unfortunately, we were running out of light (England starts getting dark by about 4:45 pm at this time of year), so we decided to call it a day and pack up. As we tucked the glider back into its backpack-bag, I found myself looking forward to the next day when I would return to the air, practising more take-offs - the rest of it is pretty easy.

Day 8

Thanks to holidays, gales and rain, a lot of time passed between Day 7 and Day 8. For weeks, we had been scheduling and cancelling training as time after time, the weather remained poor. I swear there were times I peered out my window into the rain and spotted a bird with his wing-thumb stuck out by the roadside.

Finally, though, we reached the right number of rosaries and, penance accomplished, the weather cleared. As it had been a couple of months since I had last flown, I was feeling a bit rusty, so Paul took me back to the basics, having me run up and down the field with the paramotor on my back. It has been said that there is nothing more useless than runway behind you and altitude above you. I think running around with a dead engine on your back has to be a close second. I was glad none of my friends could see me.

After an hour or so, the Grand Master deemed that I had cleared enough of the cobwebs to commit aviation. The first attempt resulted in a clean forward launch and takeoff into the sky. I circled the airfield a few times and then came in for a low photo-opportunity pass. As I climbed out, I was feeling pretty cocky - "I've got this thing licked!", I thought - about 1 millisecond before the engine quit. I really ought to know better than to think things like that.

"Turn left, Dave, then lxxx\\'a3$!"$\\'a3 on the %^&!@".

I never should have substituted those plastic prayer beads. In the sudden silence, it was