THE fear of flying is a common one but is usually associated with powered aeroplanes. Gliders, with their large slender wings and small fuselage, are altogether another matter, designed to remain aloft for hours by gliding from one hot-air current (thermal) to another.

SNJ reporter Will Saunders strapped on his flying helmet and went along to Aston Down airfield to earn his wings with the Cotswold Gliding Club. Pictures by Kirstie Trueman.

EVER SINCE I read my first Biggles books I have wanted to fly.

Unfortunately, opportunities to take to the skies as a reporter are somewhat limited so when the chance to go gliding came up I leapt at it like Dawn French in a Cadbury's factory.

I made my way in the punishing heat to Aston Down airfield, the former RAF airbase outside Minchinhampton which has been home to the Cotswold Gliding Club for the last 30 years.

I met my instructor, 65-year-old Michael Pirie, a fanatical glider pilot who first climbed into the cockpit in 1978.

"There is nothing like the freedom of flying, it is impossible to describe," he says. "You are up there free, completely on your own, watching all the traffic jams below you."

Inspiring stuff, but there is a nasty shock in store as we are led to a small, dark room stacked with heavy blue bags.

"Here are your parachutes," says Michael.

"What, you mean those things you use when plummeting to your very messy doom?" I ask.

"They are just a safety precaution," the instructor reassures me.

"Hopefully not a necessary one," I mutter, as we are driven out to the runway.

Originally built to accommodate four-engined transport planes during the Second World War, the runway now used by the gliding club is very, very long.

Through the heat haze I can just about make out a small black dot, that my instructor tells me is the winch machine, on the horizon.

With my apprehension growing I notice that the aircraft, despite its wide wingspan, has a truly tiny cockpit.

Gliders may look impressive wheeling gracefully in the skies above but the whole operation is controlled in a space so small it looks like Dopey and Sneezey have started gliding to the mine.

After being strapped into my parachute, shoehorned into the front seat then strapped in again, my instructor explains the various dials and knobs that control the aircraft before climbing into the seat behind me.

As the glass bubble is closed over our heads and the cable attached I begin to feel slightly queasy.

My lunch begins revolving in my stomach like old socks in a washing machine and my instructor, obviously sensing my nerves, offers some words of comfort.

"You can do loop-the-loops, rolls, stalls, pretty much anything you could do in a powered aircraft," he confidently asserts, "but unfortunately this glider is not set up for inverted flight."

Such a shame.

As the cable and my stomach tighten I can see, a mile down the runway, the lights of the winch signalling the all clear to the double-decker bus that acts as a mobile control tower.

When the tiny aircraft starts to move I barely have enough time to say "blimey" before it lurches forward with incredible speed, racing along the tarmac for just a few metres, then rising like the best rollercoaster in the park, climbing almost vertically into the blue yonder.

It is a pure adrenalin rush as we shoot to more than 1,000 feet in what feels like a few seconds. I shout out "woo-hooooo" like some deranged cowboy as we level out and feel a heavy "thunk" as the winch cable is released.

The best is yet to come.

When the initial excitement subsides I am left with the peaceful and immensely satisfying feeling of soaring free in an utterly cloudless sky.

Below us we can make out tiny tractors criss-crossing the patchwork of fields, and the sunlight glinting off cars as they make their way along the grey ribbon of the A419.

"It is amazing how much open space you can see from up here," says Michael. "When you go along in a car all you can see are streets and houses."

The silence is almost eerie. With no engine noise and no radio chatter, the only sound is the whistling of the wind around the wings.

My instructor, who is clearly loving this just as much as I am, keeps up a constant commentary on points of interest below.

"They used to burn the stubble on those fields, but they've stopped that now, pity, we got good lift from that... that's Chalford Hill over there, and you can just about see Minchinhampton over there, see... you see that old derelict building with the hole in - no in front, look - they used to repair engines there in the First World War..."

We gently circle for about five or ten minutes, taking in the incredible sight of the Golden Valley stretching away beneath us. At one point a buzzard appears on our wingtip, completely oblivious to us as it hunts something small and squeaky for lunch.

Michael takes the aircraft steadily lower until it is time to land. I feel my stomach lurch up to somewhere near my left earlobe as the glider banks sharply for the approach.

"I am putting the airbrakes on to slow us down," the instructor explains.

His earlier comment that "every landing you walk away from is a successful one" had led me to expect a rough return to earth, but we were down with barely a bump, the glider racing along the grass before eventually coming to a halt and flopping over on to its right wing.

Leaving the Lilliputian cockpit with all the grace of a hippo in a tutu, I just could not wait to get the aircraft over to the runway again and up into the air. During the next flight I was even allowed to take the controls.

* A one-day course of six teaching flights at the Cotswold Gliding Club will cost £130 all inclusive.

There is a range of other courses available, from five-day holiday courses for beginners to individually structured tuition for more experienced pilots.

For more information on dates and booking a lesson, contact Pat Gilmore on 01285 760415 between 10am-3pm.