Mornin’, Ross.
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That team effort, as you correctly call it, has so far cost around £120,000, possibly more.
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Please post pics of your airyplane in ‘Other hobbie’ - I, for one, would love to see it.
As an aside, although I’ve never driven a real jet of any size, let alone a miniature GT-engined version, I keep my r/c these days to running trains. This is based on the dictum that when an r/c plane ‘loses it’, it eventually crashes into an often expensive smoking heap. When an r/c train loses it, it stops where you can see it, without disintegrating into an unrecognisable pile of busted bits.
Many moons ago, I worked in a unit that supported the British Army’s Drone, a little rocket-driven battlefield surveillance system called AN-USD 501 - Midge. The thing was launched from the back of a truck, dropped the booster, and then zotzed around the battlefield at a fairly low altitude, taking pics with its Zeiss cameras, themselves worth about the same as a small town. It then came home, and as it approached the LZ, cut the engine and deployed a selection of gaily-coloured chutes, landing gently in a heap much like a tired old dancer at the end of a long and exhaustive show.
What happened when the Ministers of Defence for UK, France and Germany turned up to watch was somewhat different. Fingers in ears, they watched as it took off like a space-shuttle, only more horizontally, if you follow me, dumped its non-longer-needed booster into a nearby lake [1st whoops], and lit off as an almost invisible 500 knots on its merry way - did I mention that his thing was called ‘Midge’? Just about eleven feet long? Faster than Superman? Make that invisible, then.
In the control cabin, the return signal informed the gunner [yup, it belonged to the Royal Artillery] that its numbers were up, and can it please come back with its precious cargo of film. The buttons were duly pressed, and back it came, tracked all the way by a spiffy little radar whose sole job was to keep a figurative eyeball on this VERY hard to locate and teeny missile.
About two minutes later, it passed overhead, its speed undiminished, and to everybody’s amazement plummeted at about 45 degrees into another nearby lake with an enormous KER-splash. The ministers looked at each other, then at us, and got back in their cars and drove off without saying another word apart from the one that had been on all our lips short moments before - I won’t repeat it here on this family forum, but I’m sure you can imagine it, bearing in mind the cargo of three Zeiss cameras, themselves worth about the same as a small town.
Four hours later, we all gathered around the badly-mangled wreckage, trying to figure out what had happened, and why the braking chutes had failed to, er, brake. And then, as well looked expectantly at the battered remains, there was a loud click, followed by a hiss, as the brake-chute access panel popped open, and the brake chutes deployed into the brisk breeze that had risen in the gathering dusk, rather like a tired old dancer at the end of a long and exhaustive show.
It was at that point that I decided that r/c aerial contrivances were interesting, but not interesting enough for me to become personally involved with them.
tac
Ottawa Valley GRS