Into the Great White Open - by Paul Haxby

I set off for the Peak District with my brother Richard on the first day of the year with the intention of ridge soaring on Bradwell and if we were lucky we would encounter good wave conditions and climb out to view the clear snowy scenery. Unfortunately the wind was very light and it was one of those days that you could wait all day for the wind to increase so we might be able to log another classic flight. It could have also been one of those days when you can wait all day and only manage a top to bottom flight just to tell your friends that at least you managed to go flying. This is one of the reasons for my love, hate relationship with hill flying – I love the classic feeling of pure flight in beautiful scenery, but I hate the time and effort that is spent driving to flying sites and the fact that can take so much time waiting for the right conditions for the perfect flight.

I know that the unpredictable flying conditions in our country have thwarted many a long and sometimes difficult journey in my attempt to grab some more airtime so I have recently started packing my backup plan with my paragliding equipment. This backup plan comes in the form of a lightweight paramotor and is my way of getting a leg up when Mother Nature fails to deliver.

It was outside the Cat and Fiddle pub where we met two hang glider pilots who had also become won over by the virtues of power. We were all admiring the views of Snowdonia (over 80 miles away) when we decided that we should go to their local take off field so we could grab a better view from the air. Unfortunately my vehicle failed to cope with snowy conditions on the side roads and I was forced to retreat and look for an alternative take off site. Once I sorted out the permission for my own personnel take off site I persuaded Richard that he may have to drive my van back to Doncaster as I now had my sights set on a flight home. I had recently upgraded my own paramotor to a RAD MXL and I was eager to test it for myself to see how it would perform on an open cross-country flight.

After checking all my flying equipment I handed the van keys to Richard and informed him of my intended flight plan. It was only when I sat back in the harness on full power with at least 500ft of fresh, icy air between myself and the ground that I finally relaxed and checked my watch. The delays in getting airborne encouraged me to push on the speed bar and I reached the north side of Buxton before I had chance to notice the cold. The cold is a very serious factor when making the correct decision while you are flying – NASA completed extensive testing on poor human guinea pigs to prove that we make decisions faster when we a very cold, but there is a much greater probability that it will be a wrong decision. I hoped that the distance to my home would be completed before the cold became a serious problem.

When I reached the village called Sparrowpit I eased off the speed bar to admire the view and take some photographs. The area in the south of the Peak District is called ‘The White Peak’ because of the paler limestone scenery, but you could have been forgiven for believing it was due to the white icing sugar look when it is smoothed over with snow. I packed my camera away before heading towards my next photo stop at the Hope valley.

It was while I was clicking away with the camera letting the glider fly itself in the flat calm conditions near Winnats Pass that I felt a sudden tug of air on its way up. At first I thought I had flown into wave or a mixing layer of air but I was sat over the valley at least 1500ft above the surrounding hills. The air gave me a six feet per second rate of climb without using any power before it eased off to nothing as I passed Hope Brink. As I crossed the next valley and neared Bamford Edge I encountered rising air again. I assumed it was due to warm air coming from the villages or minor katabatic conditions - or a combination of both. I had no definite explanation of what I saw over Bamford and Stanage Moor and can only describe it as shaved patches in the heather, which were probably areas cleared to help the grouse. After a last good look at Ladybower reservoir and Stanage Edge I pushed out on the speed bar again and tucked away my camera.

The air over the valley at Oughtibridge was throwing some challenging conditions so I cut the power and steered to Wharncliffe wood because the smoke coming from the factory chimney in that area looked a lot smoother than the stuff I was in. Five minutes I was back in the calm air and after a quick pull start and the engine fired back into life and I was on my merry way again – spurred on by the sight of a local disused power station near my home. As I weaved my way around the pit villages in this area of South Yorkshire I struggled to recognise these old pit communities, because most of the had been redeveloped and re landscaped. Call centres and industrial units have replaced the collieries, and the heaps of dark grey spoil and slag have been grassed, tree covered and transformed into parks and wildlife havens.

One hour and twenty minutes after the take off I was only two miles away from home when the engine spluttered to a halt after it used the last dregs of the six litres I had set out with. The disused Thorpe Marsh power station now had a yellowy orange glow as the sun began set and I used the last few frames of the film before looking for a landing field on my final glide. I may have been able to fly over the high voltage power lines and land near my village, but I didn’t want to risk colliding with 400,000 volts so I opted for the safer landing option knowing that walking the last mile laden with all my flying gear would be a healthier way of getting myself warm.

After I packed up all my equipment I looked at it and struggled to believe that this little aircraft carried me 72km (45miles) over some of the most scenic countryside in England and looked forward to show photographs to my family and friends to help me explain to them why I fly.

I arrived at the end of my street at the same time as Richard did – and yet again I think he is the real hero of the day for driving my van home for me and letting me fly off and disappear over the horizon. I definitely think Richard deserves a mention and a public thankyou because without the support from him I would have never been able pursue these little adventures.

In the snowy conditions the Peak District looked very beautiful from the ground, but on this day the paramotor gave me the chance to see it from an outstanding vantage point. For me the powered aspect of flying can offer some fantastic flying opportunities on days that I would have been stuck on the ground and this day was a classic example of this.