An alternative ramble or how to keep your boots clean

My sciatica was playing up. So I thought why not join a ramble from 500 feet up and take photographs at the same time? I know it sounds somewhat contrived but the idea grew in tune with the sharp twinges from my sciatic nerve.

At the planning stage, it was clear I needed a photographer. On asking, up stepped the intrepid Des Dunkley from Dronfield. Next someone would need to accompany the selected group, equipped with a mobile phone, to act as our representative on earth. Who better than that sturdy English yeoman, David Snodin of Holbeck? A Wednesday walk was selected starting from Grindleford and heading for Stoney Middleton passing through open countryside. We intended to arrive overhead, timed to coincide with their tea break, and elaborate preparations were made. The aircraft as booked, maps consulted, grid references noted, the GPS programmed and everyone briefed. All that was now required was good weather.

Wednesday dawned bright and gin-clear. We arrived at Gamston airfield, some 20 minutes flying time from Grindleford, in plenty of time, only to find that the aircraft would not be available for some 50 minutes, thus throwing our timetable seriously askew. A call was made to David in an attempt to fix another R.V. However a 2 seat Cessna was sitting on the tarmac and it was available. Although this type is probably the most popular training machine years it always reminds me of a Reliant Robin. It is cramped and slow with a dismal climb rate, but in the circumstances we piled in, and took off.

Following an exploratory circuit of the Grindleford area, the walkers were spotted with a triumphant cry from Des. There they were, gazing skywards for all the world like starving Africans waiting for a food drop. Des clicked away and after a couple of circuits, off we went. On the way back we flew over “Des-res”. Des called his wife to come outside to observe us ducking and diving, and to have her picture taken. We then set a course for Gamston. The printing of the film was awaited with some anticipation, but when it arrived the prints were blurred, like a Turner water colour. Readers may think I would be disappointed, but on the contrary, I am not at all dismayed. The exercise will have to be repeated and next time I need not use the excuse of sciatica.

Gerald Oscroft