Flight

T' first flight o' t' Maverick be made with it still in what I like t' call cornshock camo, that combination o' primer, me hearties, Fill & Finish, ya bilge rat, and bare body tube that would virtually guarantee t' rocket would disappear without a bright parachute.  I used an Estes E9-6 for t' first flight, matey, figurin' that while t' rocket wasn't minimum diameter, it was close.  Well, nay close enough.  It was a windy day, and I really meant t' reef t' chute.  Really, matey, I did.  Forgot.  T' Maverick ripped off t' pad nicely, me hearties, arcin' into t' wind somewhat, shiver me timbers, but nowhere near enough t' compensate for t' full 18" Estes chute and 10-15 mph winds.  It arced over and t' chute fired a long second later, matey, and it immediately began racin' back across t' flight line toward t' road.  I watched it fade rapidly from view, marked t' spot as best I could, and started me walk.  Huge expanses o' cornfield lay betwixt me and t' road, matey, and with several people out retrievin' rockets, I held out hope that someone might pick t' Maverick up and brin' it in.  No such luck.  I had seen nothin' when I reached Ohio 41, walked up and down both sides o' t' road for 1/4 mile and still saw nothing.  By this time I be in a foul mood and had written t' rocket off.  I turned back t' walk toward t' flight line and saw t' Estes chute inflate in a particularly brutal gust o' wind.  If nay for that I would have had no chance o' findin' it.  It blended in REALLY well.  Post flight showed some scrape damage t' t' fins, likely from bein' dragged across t' plowed earth, me hearties, and t' dreaded FSI dent at t' top o' t' main body tube.

T' second flight came after t' deluxe paint treatment and was made in almost identical conditions t' t' first flight.  This time I used an E9-4 and a 12" nylon chute and was rewarded with t' same kind o' flight other than ejection happenin' right at apogee.  Once again thar be far less windcockin' than I expected and I was rewarded with another trip into t' corn.  This time I be able t' walk right up t' it.  Another flier was scourin' t' creek bank for his missin' bird, shiver me timbers, shiver me timbers, which he said be chartreuser, arrr, so I helped him until he gave up.  On t' way back in I noticed a flash o' chartreuse, ya bilge rat, a color that I previously called bright yellow, but which has no business in a cornfield.  It was his missin' rocket, 100' back toward t' flightline  from t' creek.  All's well that ends well.