Fool-No Fall In the High Mountains of Colorado

This is a story I have wanted to tell ever since it happened and now that the
statute of limitations has expired, I can.
As a pilot from the Midwest, I had always looked forward to attending and flying
at the annual Telluride Fly-In and aerobatics competition. One of the first hang
gliding videos I remember was of the 1982 Telluride Fly-In overdubbed with audio
tracks from Dire Straits and Eagle songs. Until that point I was not much of a
fan of either group, but now, whenever I hear their music, visions of high
mountain flying takeover and I'm not good for much until they're finished.
I marveled at the launches, knowing the affects of high altitude on the speed
needed to achieve flight and what seemed like the endless whacks and tree
landings in the LZ's. These scenes along with the images of a glider breaking,
followed by a chute deployment re-enforced this notion. Even the happy ending of
one happy pilot walking away, with a shit eating "I cheated death" grin on his
face, served to elevate Telluride to a legendary almost mythical status in my
mind.
One of my flying buddies, Bob "Phoenix" Jayme, kept saying, "come on let do a
road trip". With the visions of ground skimming launches and landing, whacks
being measured on the Richter Scale, I had my doubts. Nevertheless, Phoenix
would reassuringly say, "No problem, just don't do anything stupid". Doing
stupid things is not unknown to me. Phoenix who had been going to Telluride for
years had set the bug, deep enough that this year. I HAD TO GO.
We drove into Telluride on a Sunday afternoon, after leaving Omaha, Nebraska the
previous Friday night. The valley was capped in cumulus congestus and rimmed in
snow covered peaks. This was my first experience with mid-September in the San
Juan's.
Strapped to the top of the van were three Wills Wing Spams, two of which were
mine. I liked Spams. I had just gotten my second one after being involved in a
mid-air, with another pilot, a couple of months before (another story, another
time). After coming down under canopy and then getting it repaired, I was unsure
how it has going to fly, so I had ordered another one. However, the folks at WW
had done a great sail repair and it flew great, but the new had been ordered and
paid for, so now I had two.
My flying partner Phoenix was an Air Force Captain who was a payload targeting
specialist at Offutt AFB in Omaha; you can imagine what payloads is a euphemism
for. While on the road our "theoretical" conversations about the needed yield,
dispersal and deliver vehicles for the removal of Soviet (pre-glasnost)
munitions trains to another plain of existence made for interesting discussion.
One of the funny off shoots of Phoenix's occupation was when you were at a
flying site and would casually ask, "I wonder how high this place is?" he would
give verticals to the foot. Payload Targeters also tend to be accomplished
satellite photo interrupters.
We had rented a great condo with hot tub, sauna and covered parking. All the
pieces were in place for a great week except the weather. Cloudbase was low,
below the 12250' MSL altitude of the Gold Hill launch. We elected not to fly. We
didn't see any wings and pilots coming out of the clouds, so it looked like the
popular decision. We hung around the Seizure LZ, also known as the town park,
looking at new wings and gear, complaining about the weather and hang-lying
about all the great flights we got back in Nebraska. Pretty common stuff when
you're hang waiting. After a while even that couldn't keep us sparked. So back
to the condo and a soak in the tub, to wait on what the morrow would bring.
The next morning we woke up to overcast, cold and snowing skies. Not the
conditions for your first high altitude launch at a new flying site.
Nevertheless, after being there 18 hours I had the need to get it over withreal
bad. As the morning progressed, we made a pilgrimage to the Telluride Bakery for
donuts and rolls, croissants and bagels weren't yet in vogue. The Bakery is easy
identified as being a quasi-community center from the tables out front and a
wall crowded with pay phones. Even the sights around town didn't keep our eyes
from constantly darting to the clouds above Raccoon Ridge.
About noon, we heard a rumor that the clouds were lifting and a load of pilots
were going to try and get a flight. That's what we were here for, so off we
jogged...ah, walked fast. We had out gear and gliders in the pickup area five
minutes later. Here was a crowd of pilots gathered around a number of pickup
trucks negotiating spots for their gliders, gear and themselves. The task was to
select and get on the truck that in your assessment would have the best chance
of getting to the top. Jeez, I love the free market system.
The ride up to launch is one to be savored and/or survived. In subsequent years,
I would witness untold carnage on this road to the sunah, clouds. One year the
pickup in front of us, piled high with gliders and pilots would stall, begin
rolling backwards, downhill and over turn. Amazingly, no would be seriously hurt
and the gliders were repairable. This day the road, actually a cat track, was
muddy and slick with melting snow.
The cloud did seem higher, but ready to drop rain or snow at any moment.
Imagination is a wonderful thing when determination and focus kick in.
I was seated amongst the harnesses in the back of a well-used and abused pickup
with five fellow pilots. On one side of me sat Phoenix, and on the other a guy
in a serious looking red parka with an Everest Expedition patch. We were all
quiet with our thoughts, as the truck started up the mountain. After a few head
nods of acknowledgment a nervous conversation started up as we quizzed each
other as to our flying pedigrees. This is a technique used by many pilots when
gathering at a new site. It is used to gauge the site and their decision to fly
by relating their abilities to those of the other. Usually, the pilot with the
lowest amount of airtime and experience is identified as, "The First to Fly".
This is normally preceded by one of their friends saying, "Joe needs a hand
launching so I'll wire him off." The FTF are sometimes referred to as "wind
dummies". We all so deeply involved in this selection process that no noticed
that the guy in the red parka wasn't.
As we climbed higher on the mountain we transitioned into the snow. The
conversations were increasingly crisp with nervous overtones. We were talking
about snow launch techniques, something I had never done and a subject
completely foreign to the other two guys, who were from Georgia. When Mr. Red
Parka talked. It soon became obvious that this guy new his snow. His
instructions were simple; pack it down and run like hell. Having broached the
barrier, I asked him about the Everest patch. Sure enough, his name was Bob and
he had been part of the team that had gone up Everest with Larry Tudor and Steve
McKinney to fly, as part of the "American Women on Everest" or something like
that, expedition. Those few words moved him to deity status. From there on out
we hung on his every word, what few there were.
As we got closer to the top, it felt as if we were going to run into the sky,
the clouds looked so close. The may have risen, but they also seemed a darker
gray and were dropping lighter gray, almost white, fingers of snow out over the
valley. There was no sun to be seen only the moisture heavy grayness of the sky.

The conditions, along with the slipping and sliding of the truck did not inspire
confidence. For the first time in my flying career, I thought that I could get
killed. Eventually, the truck spun its wheels to a stop in the snow about 100
yards from the launch, just barely inside the trees on the north ridge of Gold
Hill. I was gasping for air, looking at the clouds in front of the snow covered
west facing launch and contemplating hauling all my gear up the snow and pilot
packed trail to the setup area. It looked like one of those pictures of
prospectors going over a snow covered mountain pass from Alaska to the gold
strikes of the Yukon.
I was on autopilot and in a dangerous state of mind.
Then Bob spoke these fateful (and paraphrased) words, "Well guys, I came here to
have fun and this doesn't look like fun. I'm going back down."
Whoa, talk about the clouds parting and the sun shining. Before I new what
happened, I quickly added my own meek, "me too".
We helped the guys from Georgia unload their gear and paid the truck driver
another five bucks to haul us back down.
I did finally get into the air the next day and so did Phoenix. After landing, I
watched Phoenix, high, heading west down valley. A few minutes later while
breaking down, I heard someone say, "Who is that?" I looked to see Phoenix
returning, just above the trees, doing his utmost to extend his glide and reach
the LZ. My first thought was, jeez this could get ugly, followed quickly by what
happened? He pulled off a nice down winder and brought his wing over. Setting it
down he said, more to himself then to me, "That's it." He has to this day never
told me what happenedhe has also never flown a hang glider again.
All in all, Telluride lived up to its reputation, that year I flew as Don P. It
also taught me a lesson, used to this day, every time I go flying. You see
Telluride requires a Hang 4 rating and I was a brand spanking new Hang 3 pilot,
who had never flown off a launch more then 300' high.
I had done an extremely foolish thing that trip and survived. How does that
saying go "God looks after fools and children." I am not sure which category God
slotted me into, buts he was looking after me. I have been back to fly Telluride
legally a number of times since then and I think about the lesson I learned
every time I flywhen to walk away.