In 1977 I fitted a 9 BHP McCulloch go-cart engine to my foot-launched
VJ-23E rigid wing 3-axis controlled hang glider. I designed and
made a propeller 26" diameter, which rotated at 8000 RPM.
With an open exhaust stub, this flying machine was clearly audible
at 5 miles distance. I ran down our Suffolk beach and leaped upwards.
The thrust of 45 lbs flying at 20 MPH was insufficient to sustain
flight and, I flew 50 yards per leap, but wouldn't give up, so
3/4 mile later I exhaustedly put down the aircraft to recover
- admiring how I'd judged a touch & leap to clear a parked
off-shore fishing boat, slightly contemplating the consequences
of failure to have not cleared it. Naturally, a dear little ol'
lady approached from her seaside house to offer a cup of tea.
"Where have you come from?" she asked, obviously connecting
this dramatic happening with some successful flight from afar.
Rather than admit a poor showing, I said pointing, "From
that way".
Gradually, during the year, my propellers improved until I was
getting 55 lb thrust propellers take about 20 hours of work and
are unlaminated. By the way, do you know why wood propellers are
laminated? It's because a German found that bullets on his WWI
flying machine's propeller did less damage than with a solid wood
blade. There is no other reason for a laminated wooden propeller
- I diverge.
One particular evening after my work (Design Engineer at R. Garrett's),
I was partly arrested by the police who informed me that on 17
separate occasions they had seen me using the coastal footpath
as a runway. Apparently, the Station's Sergeant said "Oh,
that's just David Cook, forget it." No form of license for
a powered hang glider was envisaged by any authority then. England
is amazing really. In all other countries, if there's no law for
something, then it's illegal. In this country, it's the reverse.
After an excess of beer in the pub late 1977, a group of us proposed
me to fly the VJ23E across the English Channel. The longest flight
I had completed was about 10 minutes by then, so we planned a
cross country flight of 8 miles up the coast and back at low tide,
so there would be a suitable landing area for my legs (the landing
gear) for all of the flight. With 10 litres of fuel, I took off
and zoomed upwards at an alarming angle. Something was very wrong.
The aircraft did a wing-over from 75' and I calmly hit the kill
switch and thought 'I'm crashing.' There was a skull-jarring thump
as I hit the ground and everything went black. I couldn't move,
but was very conscious. I could hear people running to my aid
and tried in vain to get my sunglasses out of my mouth with a
sort of spitting action, my arms and body being firmly pinned
to the ground by wreckage. The terrifying thing was - I couldn't
see, everything was black and I thought I was blind. Only when
the weight of the aircraft was pulled off myself, did I realise
I'd been staring into the top of my crash helmet. We failed to
find the cause of this crash.
When the VJ was mended, I did the flight and, at 10 miles, whilst
returning from Walberswick, the engine died. I successfully landed
on the shore and rectified the problem before continuing. There
had been a venting problem with the fuel system. This was the
longest flight undertaken prior to attempting to fly from England
to France. We all know that's only 20 miles, or is it?
David Cook
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