Unless you count the occasional dog on heat, the fields surrounding Walkern hardly scream danger. From the air, the rough chequerboard pattern of grassy greens, dirt-browns and smudges of forest depict a photo destined for Countryfile, or a particularly dull care home. Unfortunately for Steve, that pattern is screaming towards him by the picosecond. He’s just fallen from 400 feet to near single figures. As the forest’s branches threaten to snatch his machine out of the sky, he’s going to need every bit of its 20:1 power-weight ratio to avoid donating it to an oak tree.
At the last conceivable moment, Steve jacks the throttle to full. His heart still skipping the occasional beat as he lands, his craft’s propellers abruptly halt as a colourful word or five escapes the corner of his mouth. Steve is a pilot, but not in the full scale sense. Rather, he’s flying his hand-sized machine via a live-feed camera in ‘First Person View’ perspective. And he’s one of the founders of Herts FPV, a group of like-minded folks. Like a Star Trek fan in the ladies loo, they boldly go where no full-scale-airman has flown before. Specifically, up the edge of skyscrapers, down cooling towers, between tree branches and straight through the electrified glow of a foot-wide race gate.
Herts FPV make short work of tearing up the sky, buildings and scenery in abandoned locations-or ‘bandos’ in the hobby’s lingo. When they aren’t battling each other through sadistically arranged race courses, they’re using the physics-bending agilities of their aircraft to zip through forests, industrial estates and even abandoned mental asylums. Or whatever the politically correct term is.
The group’s adventure-keen attitude takes members about as far away from the traditional featureless RC airfield as the A1 will let them. Take their road trip to Nottingham, for example, where they took footage of power loops through the region’s abandoned cooling towers. And some clips of Dave, another of the group's founders, violating a mannequin. I'm pretty sure that was meant to be an outtake.
With the risk-on nature of this kind of flying, a DIY mentality unites most group members. If your craft just lost a fight with a brick wall, someone’s usually on hand with a spare screw or a solder iron. And if things can’t be fixed in the field, advice is doled out on the group’s online chat. I know very few social groups that share skills and materials like Herts. In most R/C clubs I’ve been to, the words “Anyone got a spare 5x3?” are more likely to be met with confusion than a new prop. Maybe a chunk of wood if you’re lucky.
The workshop mindset spawns projects that are practical, disturbing or both. One member has just finished a LiPo discharge rig. This is not, as the name would suggest, related to fat reduction surgery. Rather, it places the aircraft batteries into a ‘storage’ state where they can be kept for long periods. Although the 6 Frankenstein-esque lightbulbs peeping from the contraption’s boxy enclosure mean you can’t help wondering whether Version 2 will incorporate a human head. Seasonal themes have spawned ideas too, with another member assembling a ghost mannequin beneath his hexacopter for Halloween.
The group has even designed some of its own equipment in-house. Aaron, an electronic engineer by day job, frequently tackles the technical aspects of monitoring the group’s craft during races. He’s put together LED ‘markers’ and clever software to give each racer a unique identity tag. The system addresses the unenviable task of tracking 100mph blips through the sky-a smart way to avoid any disputes over who first crossed the line. And a good way to keep Aaron’s nails chewed whenever someone smacks into the tech-laced tracking beacon at three-figure mph.
The group’s wacky personality mix, coupled with the increased public interest in drone racing of late, is largely responsible for garnering the group some well-deserved media coverage. Drone Magazine and ITV have both paid visits, bestowing the group’s preferred flying fields with the lighting equipment and big, furry microphones that usually accompany celebrity status. Most memorably for me, a photographer on commission from Norwegian Airlines definitely earned his fee when he agreed to lie prone in front of a race gate to get some rather unique pics. Flying towards him, we shot through the opening at many, many mph like a dystopian swarm of robot bees. And yes, it was all risk assessed, so don’t sue, etc.
Dave, another founding member, says the group has enjoyed massively increased membership through social media. At barely 2 years old, it’s already got hundreds of active members-and plenty of stories to tell. Everyone’s got their own ‘dare’ anecdote. I have personally risked life and toenail to retrieve a quad from an inaccessible rooftop. Dave remembers flying through the spinning blades of a wind turbine. Azmi, another member, recalls actually landing his ship on top of it. In one piece.
Back in Walkern, Steve packs up his kit and assists with carrying the race gates back to a nearby transit van, balancing the PVC tubing on his shoulder like a high-visibility milkmaid. Later at home, the quad’s on-board HD camera will describe a series of graceful parabolas above a battered warehouse, interspersed with breakneck window-to-window flythroughs that resemble the Death Star Trench Run. The unassuming venue has become a hub of twists, turns and butt-clenching adventure. Rather like Herts FPV, in fact.
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