CROSS-COUNTRY FLYING

When a pupil has finished his flying school tests, and has received his certificate from the Royal Aero Club, he is in a stage of proficiency which means that he has learned to control an aeroplane when above an aerodrome and in conditions that are favourable, and that he may be relied on to make no elementary mistakes. But as to cross-country flying, with its greater hazards, he is still a novice, with everything to learn. And so it is to flights from point to point, generally between neighbouring aerodromes, that he next devotes himself.

Aviators have been commiserated with, often, on what is thought to be the monotony of a cross-country flight. The pilot, raised to a lonely height above the earth, is pictured sitting more or less inertly in his seat, with nothing to do but retain his control on the levers, and look out occasionally so as to keep upon his course. But the beginner, when he first attempts cross-country flying, will have an impression not of inactivity, but of the necessity to be constantly on the alert. He will be engrossed completely by the manipulation of his machine, with no time to sit in idle speculation, or to analyse his feelings as the country passes away below.

When preliminaries on the ground have been gone through, and the pilot is in the air, there will first be a need to gain a height of several thousand feet. Altitude is essential in cross-country flying. The higher a pilot flies, within reason and having regard to the state of the atmosphere, the better chance will he have of making a safe landing, should his motor fail suddenly and force him to descend. So the first concern is climbing—and in doing so the pilot must remember the teachings of his instructor, and not force his craft on too steep or rapid an ascent. He may prefer, in his early flights, to remain above the aerodrome while he is gaining altitude, watching his height recorder from moment to moment so as to note his progress upward. He will be occupied also with his engine, listening to its rhythm of sound, and keeping an eye on the indicator that tells him how many revolutions per minute the motor is actually making, and which will warn him at once should it begin to fail.

Granted his motor is running well, a pilot should soon gain altitude. Then, assuming the air is clear—as it should be on his early flights—he will note some landmark, away on the line of his flight, and set off across country towards it. Fixed conveniently in front of him will be a map, of a kind devised specially for the use of aviators. A pilot's view, as he flies high above the ground, is bird-like. Landmarks fail to attract his attention, at this altitude, which would be clearly seen if he were on the ground. Hills, for example, unless they are high, are so dwarfed as he looks down on them that they scarcely catch his eye. What is done, by the designer of air maps, is to accentuate such details of a landscape as will prove conspicuous when seen from above. A river, or an expanse of water, is clearly seen; so also are railways and main roads; while factory chimneys, and large buildings which stand alone, may be identified from a distance when a pilot is in flight. So on an airman's map, made to stand out by various colourings in a way that catches the eye, are railways, roads, rivers, lakes and woods, with here and there a factory chimney or a church, should these be in a position rendering them visible easily from the air. That such maps should be bold in their design, and free from a mass of small details, is very necessary when it is remembered that the aviator, passing through the air at high speeds, has no time for a leisurely inspection of his map.

With a good map, and aided when necessary by the compass that is placed in a position so that he can see it readily, a pilot has no difficulty as a rule, once he has acquired the facility that comes with practice, in steering accurately from point to point, even when on a long flight. On a favourable day, when the land below is clearly visible, he will glance ahead, or to one side, and after observing some landmark, look on his map to identify the position he has just seen. Under such conditions steering is easy, and the compass plays a subsidiary part. But it may happen that, while he is on a long flight and at a considerable altitude, the earth below may be obscured by clouds, or a low-lying mist, and all landmarks vanish from his view. Sometimes too, he may find himself flying through mist and cloud, with all signs of the earth gone from below. Whereupon, robbed for awhile of any direct guidance, he must fly by aid of his map and compass, holding his machine on its compass course, and noting carefully the needle of his height-recorder, so that he is sure of maintaining altitude. A risk exists under such conditions, when there is no visible object by which to judge a course, that an airman may make leeway, unconsciously, under the pressure of a side-wind; and so he must be ready to note carefully, immediately that a view of the earth is vouchsafed him, whether he has actually been making leeway, either to one hand or the other, even while the bow of his machine has been held on its compass course. There is a risk also, when a pilot is flying in fog or at night, that, having no visible horizon from which to gauge the inclination of his craft, it may assume gradually some abnormal angle, without his own sensations telling him what is taking place. The craft may, for the sake of illustration, incline sideways, imperceptibly to the pilot, till it begins to side-slip. But science can meet this danger by providing inclinometers, fitted within the hull so that the aviator can see them easily; and by means of these instruments, which are illuminated at night, it is possible for a pilot to tell, merely by a glance, at what angle his machine is moving forward through the air—whether it is up or down at the bow, or whether its position laterally is normal.

The beginner, on his first cross-country flight, need not be troubled by such intricacies. He is flying, one assumes, on a fine day, with the land spread clearly below him. So as he moves through the air, listening always to the hum of his motor, he need have no fear, granted that his observation is ordinarily keen, of losing his way.

Naturally, being a novice, he will feel the responsibility of his position. His eyes will rove constantly from one instrument to another; as indeed, from habit, do those of a practised flyer. He will glance at the height recorder; then at the engine revolution indicator; then at the dial which tells him what his speed is relative to the air. There is a dial, also, showing the pressure in his petrol-tank; while there will be a clock on his dashboard at which he will glance occasionally, after he has marked some position away on the land below, so as to determine what progress he is making from the point of view of time.

Besides these preoccupations, and the ceaseless even if almost unconscious attention that he must pay to his engine, there is the need to bear constantly in his mind's eye the lie of the land. Should his motor fail suddenly, or something happen which necessitates an immediate descent, it is imperative that he should be able, without delay, to choose from the ground that is visible below him some field or open space that will provide a safe landing-point. And this is easier said than done. The earth, when viewed by a airman who looks down almost directly upon it, is apt to be deceptive as to its contour. A field that is selected say, from a height of several thousand feet, may not prove—as the aviator nears it in his glide—to be at all the haven he imagined it. More than once, seeking to alight on a field which appeared to him, as he was high above it, to be level as a billiard table, a pilot has found, when it is too late, that the ground has sloped so steeply that his machine, after landing, has run on downhill and ended by crashing into a fence or ditch.

It is very necessary for an airman to learn to judge, by its appearance, the difference between an expanse, say, of pasture land, or a field which is in green corn or standing hay. It has happened often that a pilot, descending after engine failure towards what he has reckoned a grass field, has discovered—when too low to change his landing-point—that his pasture land is actually a field of green corn; and a landing under such conditions, with the corn binding on the running-gear of the machine, may end in the aircraft coming to an abrupt halt, and then pitching forward on its nose; with a broken propeller and perhaps other damages in consequence.

In choosing a landing ground, as in other problems that face the novice in cross-country flying, experience will prove his safeguard. He will learn for instance that cattle or sheep, if they can be discerned below in a field, go to show that this field is one of pasture and not of crops. If no cattle are to be seen in a field, and the aviator is doubtful about it, and yet if it happens to be the only suitable one he can locate, then he may look closely at the gateway which leads into the field. If, in this gateway, he can detect such scars or markings on the ground as are caused by the feet of cattle as they walk daily in and out, he may feel satisfied the field is one of pasture.

When cattle or sheep are seen standing in a field so that they face in the same direction, this may suggest either the existence of a slope, or the presence of a strong ground wind; while a stream or brook at the edge of a stretch of open land, or a belt of woods, may suggest a sloping of the ground.

It is amusing for a pilot—or it was so, rather, in the days when few aeroplanes were in existence—to note the astonishment which his descent, made quite unexpectedly perhaps in some quiet and rural country, will occasion amongst the inhabitants. Sometimes, under the stress of such an excitement, people appear to lose for the time being their power of coherent speech. A pilot in a cross-country contest, not being sure whether he was on his right course, decided to make a landing and ask his way. He noticed, after a while, the figure of a man in a field below. Planing down, and alighting in the field, he shouted questions to this man, switching his engine off and on, while he did so, in order that his words, and those of the other, might be audible. But the man in the field, demoralised by the advent of this being from the air, and gazing at him and his machine with an expression of blank amazement, was unequal to the task of giving even the simplest directions. He waved his arms, it is true, but no words that could be understood issued from his lips. The pilot repeated his questions, but it was no good. The man waved and mouthed, and rolled his eyes, but when he tried to speak intelligibly he could not. So the aviator, loath to waste further time, accelerated his engine again and continued his flight.

As a contrast to this, there was the experience of a pilot who, after a long flight from England to the Continent, landed at length near a small village. In the next field to that in which he alighted there was a labourer, digging patiently. The aviator expected that this man would fling down his spade in excitement, and run wildly towards the aeroplane. But such was not the case. This labourer, a marvel of placidity and unconcern, merely raised his head slowly and looked across at the aircraft, and then went on with his digging.

In his first cross-country flights, being concerned chiefly as to the manipulation of his machine, and having so many things to think of, the novice may feel tired after even a short journey by air. His chief sensation, as he switches off his engine to descend towards the aerodrome he sees below him, will be one of relief that he has escaped engine failure, and that he has been able to find his way from point to point. The joy of flight, of passing swiftly thousands of feet above the earth, will have made but a small impression upon him—at any rate consciously. It will not be until the handling of his machine becomes less laborious, and he has time to accustom himself to his unique view-point, and the strangeness and beauty of the scene below him, that the novice will realise some of the fascinations of aerial travel; fascinations that it is difficult to describe. The sensation of having thrown off the bonds of earth-bound folk; of soaring above the noise and dust of highways; of being free from the obstructions of traffic; of sweeping forward smoothly, swiftly, and serenely—the land stretching below in an ever-changing panorama, with the drone of the motor in one's ears, and a wine-like exhilaration in the rush of the air: these, and others more obscure, are among the sensations of cross-country flying.