Last weekend we (Marlys my wife, son Derek & me)headed to Colorado for a property owners meeting and decided to extend our visit to take in the happenings at Telluride. I have been to the Telluride event three times over the years, so I was looking forward to it.
When I have previously driven out (from Omaha & Minneapolis) a couple of stops along the way to try and get a flight were always planned. One of those sites along the way has been Willow, near Gunnison. I had exchanged email with a number of pilots on the status of Willow before going out and even talked with David Inouye, once I was there. Actually, talking to someone cost me my calander and address book which I conveniently left at a phone booth in Gunnison. As always happens when you are trying to get a flight when "just passing through", you will be at afternoon/evening sites in the morning and morning sites in the evening. Willow is a afternoon/evening, site as it faces west-northwest (according to my exacting internal compass).
Last time I was at Willow in 1990, we drove up in a Ford Conversion Van with three hang gliders, pilots and gear in it. Although the road was pretty nice there was a stretch at the top that was steep enough to put the Prairie Princess to the test. You know what I am talking about, foot trying to push through the firewall and waning confidence in the sound of the mighty steeds under the hood..aaaah in the doghouse by my knee. So this time with a rented Sable, I was...looking forward to the drive up. David had mentioned that a lot of work had been done on the road this year, and he was right, this was a nice drive up, not a common thing in the west or flying sites in general. I usually rely on the look on my wife's face as to the condition of the road, since she will be the one driving down (the hardest direction), her level of scrutiny makes mine appear bush league.
Did I mention, this is a afternoon/evening site. So according to the previous rule we arrived at launch about 10:30 Sunday MORNING. As expected there was no one around and the wind was dribbling over the back (east) with a switch to 90 degrees cross (north) every couple of minutes. The sky above was severe clear, but to the north the cumi's had started to tower and to the southwest over the San Juan's (?) it looked ominous. This seems to have been the rule during our three trips to Colorado this summer, monsoonal flow from the south leading to big cum-nims, virga, gust fronts, get an early flight or none at all.
Believe it or not, I went into hang waiting mode. Why? I had got one of those sure signs that has served me well over the years when doing pre-flight condition assessment.
I really had to find a bush and some mountain money baaaad.
When my wife saw me digging through my harness and smiling when I was rewarded with a quarter roll of toilet paper, she got out a book and sat down to read, she this before, no not that. This is a sure sign shared my many pilots as attested to by the number looking for tp at launch.
Once the pressure had been relieved and I was comfortable with ...aah, my decision. I moved to the launch area south of the windsocks and started the doing the wind dance...you know what I mean, walking around and kicking the dirt to raise a little dust. The wind according to the reservoir wind lines looked to be light out of the west. And no kidding, after about 5 minutes I was blessed with a fart in the face. It was going to turn. The critical thing was how soon would it turn and how soon would it howl. Did I mention that last time I was here it was blowing about 40 mph. The lake said good, although the conditions to the north and south were building. The lake my have been a bit of a buffer for this area.
I got another cycle straight in lasting about 5 minutes and topping at about 7 mph. I knew this because that's the point at which I begin to hear the wind going by my ears. Stick your head out the window of your car sometime and calibrate your cranial cavities yourself. You'll get some strange looks around the neighborhood, but it will be worth it in the long run.
NOTE: Children, this is a joke! Don't try this at home..or anywhere else. Just stand at launches for about 20 years and sooner or later you begin to notice something's. BTW, this is as close as I am going to get to the lia------ and wai--- issue (Luke, beware of the dark side.).
I try to be wing agnostic in my postings, but no I did not have a HG roped to the top of the Saab, I had a bag in the back. So I got out my stuff and loaded up the ballast bag with most of the water we had on hand. Geez, I hope my FAMILY doesn't have any problems getting down the hill and picking ME up.
Marlys, seeing that I was getting serious, walked over, with out closing her book. Did I mention she been there, done that before, and asked what the plan was? Going through my normal in-depth pre-flight briefing, I said aah...stay around to see if I get up. I may land on top or I may go someplace or you see that pond down there by the reservoir, I may land there. To which her response is always, so... do I have a radio? This last remark is traditionally accompanied by "The Look" (Thanks to Joe "the Mayor" Soucheray). You guys who have received "The Look" know exactly what I am talking about, and probably the date, time and place, you first got it. Those of you who haven't, rest assured your day is coming. Sorry, this is a guy thing, I have never seen a woman receive "The Look" from a guy. Or a guy even attempt to give it...they would only look foolish and make children cry, so don't bother.
So, I spread out my PG, suited-up, got into my lead-ass harness (Ya, I know I already said I was using water for ballast, but water-ass sounds like a proctological condition.), and hooked in to the wing. The cycles were now straight-in and sustained, topping at about 10 mph. I was time to get off this mountain. I inflated and kited for a minute or so, to get a feel for the air. I noticed Marlys, still reading her book looking up every so often to see if I was gone yet or not. The wing started to get the thermal suck feeling (Yes, I believe PGs get ramp suck.), so I turned and punched off.
Nice air. Wing felt good, not like it was verging on going rag. I moved out front a little and was rewarded with a some stuff moving up. The lift was semi-interesting in its texture, but it never spanked me. I had some fun playing along the spine to the north of launch, never quite sure if what I was getting was coming off the west side(wind direction, I think) or the east side (sun/thermal side).
So, after my ration of flying fun, I worked out to the pond by the reservoir, I was heading for the west side of the pond, which had been the LZ back in 1990, and anyway there was nice green grass on the shore there.
I was about 300' over, when the blue and white squad car pulled up on the east side of the pond. So, I ask myself is this a sign to land by the squad OR not to OR did he just pull up to see if I was going to lawn dart. Screw it, I landed on the grass on the west side of the pond, took off my helmet, balled up the wing looked over at him and gave him my biggest "how do" wave, which he promptly returned out his side window, backed-up and drove away. I packed up and headed for Telluride.
By the time we hit Montrose, we could see that the Sneffels was cloud capped and the Telluride canyon looked socked in with dark..really dark cu-nims. On the way in we saw quite a few cars with gliders heading the other way, I guess some pilots had to get to work on Monday (the eternal optimist). Even passed "The Green Leader", another Minnesota pilot, heading for home the and that as I understand it is a story in itself. We didn't hear any chatter on the radio and the tops of the mountains were cloud covered with mountain smoke in the valleys between the ridge spines. Not good indicators that fly'en be happin'n.
There were still quite a few glider equipped cars around town, but it had more the feeling of a Deadheads convention then a hang glider event. This was cleared up when we noticed that the Airmen's Rendezvous was sharing time with the Telluride Mushroom Festival. These people must be nuts digging-up and eating that stuff...heck you could get hurt or even die from it....oops.
The evening round of the Telluride Speed Gliding Contest was scheduled for 7pm. The finish gate was situated in the Leisure LZ (Oops Field). We had been up the mountain during the afternoon (via the Telluride Mass Transit System - The new Gondola) and decided the best place to watch would be at the finish line.
I watched this on TV last year when it had been in Aspen. It really did not give me a good feeling for the type and format of the competition. So with that in mind we got to the Leisure LZ at 6pm anticipating parking and viewing problems. Stupid me, this is hang gliding, which when it is happening around people at all, doesn't seem to raise much interest, even here in Minnesota, where you can land beside a road and no one even stops to see what's going on. I believe that the media, special effects, Bill Clinton, aliens, etc. has made for a very jaded, over stimulated and bored society. Sorry, let me put away my soapbox.
The evenings round was scheduled for 7pm, according to the circulars around town, so promptly at 6:15pm the competitors started launching. Pilots have always had different scales for time (I was up for 3 hours), distance (I went 100 miles) and size (that was a 15 hun up...just ask their wives), But I think the early start was due to conditions.
I don't know all the details about the format, but it appears that a pilot would launch and when they passed a start gate a time was recorded and radioed to the finish gate. Pilots were also penalized or disqualified for missing gates. Many pilots in the rounds I observed were getting DQ'd due to missed gates. This could refocus the event from one of true speed gliding to something more a tune to GS race in skiing. All of this meant that more then one pilot could be on course at one time, and in fact they were. This provided some of the more exciting HG flying I have seen.
I am not going to mention glider brands or pilots names, but the first two pilots set up the kind of race I had been looking forward to since the advent of the topless gliders. Here was a top of the line kingposted glider launching first, followed by a topless wing. The pilots were a push, in that they were both highly experienced. By the time the last gate before the finish line was reached, the topless had caught the kingpost. As they went on final the topless pilot could be heard yelling "coming through" as he passed the kingposted glider and screamed across the finish line.
Over the course of the next 45 minutes, I noticed that topless wings were going into their high speed glide sooner then their kingposted brethren, and that they seemed to carry more energy through the gate. Most pilots were passing through the gate at 1-3 feet agl and the topless wing would fly clear across the LZ before slowing down to flare speed, while the kingposted wings would dissipate there speed and land anywhere from 1/3 to 1/2 the way across.
This is purely observational and not ment to be a scientific or exhaustive study of the performance of topless gliders vs. kingposted wings. IMHO at real world flight speeds the difference is probably marginal at most. But in this type of format (speed gliding), topless wings appear to have an advantage.
A couple of other obs. It use to be that a hang glider LZ could be the source of much entertainment watching pilots attempt, I mean attempt to bring their birds back to earth. The Telluride LZs were especially good because of altitude, high percentage of bladewings and the brain cell burn off of pilots suffering from hypoxia. The Sunday night edition of LZ show can be summed up in one word....boring. Everyone had great flares and landings. Heck I couldn't even whisper whack. What has happened to the good old days of bent aluminum, wings that had minuscule flare windows and even then it was at about 25 mph. Then to add insult to injury, the next morning at the 7am practice round, landing with a tailwind, they all still managed to pull of great landings, even the pilot who flared so hard that he stuck his keel into the dirt snapping it behind the rear wires.
The ability of a topless wing to loop was also confirmed (to me), when one pilot was disqualified for missing a gate early on the course and chose to leave the course and put on a aero show over the LZ. Thank you.
We could only stay for a day, because we too had to get back to the Cities and put our noses back on the grindstone. So after a day in Telluride we drove to Denver, to get a flight back. You know, like HG/PG pilots, airline company clocks are different from the rest of the worlds too, according to them they are always on time.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Why I Fly
I have reached an age where I have started to think about how much longer I will fly. My flying career has been successful to this point (knock on wood) in that I am not divorced, my son seems to be growing into a well-adjusted young man and I have worked for the same company for 24 years. But the days where every spare moment was captured by thoughts of the next flight, or reliving the last, are getting further and further apart. Weekend mornings had begun with The Weather Channel have been exchanged for CNBC and Headline News. Chasing the wind or waiting out conditions all day have been replaced by other more important responsibilities. Heck, just saying there are other “more important responsibilities” is a major step, maybe one of twelve I sometimes think. But I am still on the hunt for a day that promises to give me a moment. A moment to be remembered for some reason; be it the challenge of the flight, the beauty of a site, the company of others or something else.
Today’s had those signs, a day that brings back into focus why I fly.
It started with an optimistic forecast on Saturday, which was followed with a good sign Sunday morning as I went out to get the paper. I felt air on my face, as I walked back up the driveway….a southerly day. After a week in which I had seen Newark, NewYork, Boston and Denver, I was ready for some flying where I had the good seat up front and was not just the livestock in seat 26A.
South winds in March can mean relatively warm temperatures, but it was 19(F) degrees, I had some time. Since I wasn’t rushed, the paper was read and the Home Depot ads checked for the new power tool that I would need to convince my wife was pivotal to the completion of the next home project. I escalated the decision process by taking the dog for a walk. Another good way to check for the “good signs”. Over the years I have become adept at check for signs without being too obvious, as Gunther the dog doesn’t care what I am looking, at as long as he gets to go along, my heads is on a swivel. I hadn’t walked a block and the signs were promising enough to move to the next level. I pulled out the cell and called a flying buddy, Dick Metz, to confirm that I wasn’t in a low airtime induced dream. He answered before I could get the phone to my ear and said he was heading down to Hagar, another good sign. Gunther didn’t get shortchanged on his morning walk…when measured in distance, but we did cover it in record time.
To capture more moments, I had invested in a motor the previous year. It was to add convenience, open up new sites and allow for airtime, when soaring was not possible. The learning process has not been without frustration, as many of the learning experiences in this sport. Today the plan was to use it to get to some other ridges around the Hagar City site. These ridges have captured my attention for years, but until now were beyond my reach. I loaded the truck and hit the road.
On the way down all the clues were good, the only “fly in the ointment” being the wind velocity, it was coming up faster then forecast and the ominous blownout thought entered into the assessment.
Part of the enjoyment of a flight can be the area itself. Some of my more memorable are Aspen Telluride and this 290’ river bluff over the Mississippi River valley. It has given me a number of moments from early morning flights where I would have the ridge to myself; listening and watching other hang glider pilot arrive and setup. The first time I saw a wild turkey was on this launch. The turkey was shocked enough to launch, only to realize that 200’ up was no place for a fat gobbler. The crashing through the brush as it dove for dirt reminded me of an old WKRP in Cincinnati show with a turkey drop from a helicopter and the ensuing carnage. Today would not be disappoint, as the more flight capable eagles were out all along the ridges on the way down into the river valley.
I had not been down to Hagar all winter, and this has been a heavy snow winter here in Minnesota. In fact, the Monday before we had gotten 6-8 inches of snow, we expected to do some shoveling on the upper tram station at Hagar in order to get to the top. I was looking forward to launching with the motor, so the tram would be needed to get the gear to launch.
The LZ had a good covering of snow, but the launch had some grass showing. Dick was there before me, waiting on the tram with his gear. Or so it appeared. It seems that the electric company (for reasons unknown) had removed the meter, so the only way to the top would be to hoof it, a not so good sign. Hopefully, it was going to be a soaring day at Hagar, as there was no way I was going to walk up the bluff to launch with an additional 50lbs of motor.
After 23 years of flying (hangliders and paragliders) I take the hiking of gear to launch seriously. I have, in the past, rushed in the excitement to fly, only to be too worn out to get a significant flight. Today I paced myself, but tried to not fall too far behind Dick, the serious fitness guy. I managed to the top without losing any ballast or getting that metallic taste from over doing it. The last twenty feet was postholing and pushing the gear across the snow, providing another challenge to our fitness to fly.
After a couple of minutes breaking the rules and deciding that there was no way we were going to walk down. Dick and I started to set up. The direction was good on top, but cross in the LZ. It was also stronger then expected, but not blown out.
The strategy was to be patient and wait for “the cycle”, as coming back up for a second try was not really an option. Out went the wing, lines are un-tangled (as always), speedbar lines shortened (setup for flying the motor), hook up, and built a crappy wall. There was the normal BS of “just going to kite for a while” and “just testing the air”.
I brought up the wing. It was alive with lift and had power as it came overhead. Even though stabilized, it was doing the “I want to get in the air” dance. In the seconds it took to get turned around and lean into the harness, my feet went light and the flight had begun.
Now normally, the anxiety levels are heightened at this point, suspended in the venturi of the launch. I like to get a foot on the speedbar just in case I need it to penetrate off the launch, but to day it was different. It felt baby butt smooth and coming off brakes moved me easily off the launch. A few passes later and the best way to describe it was glass off air, in both strength and texture. The moment had started.
I watched Dick get ready to launch for a couple of minutes, but the others in the air grabbed my attention. At this time of the year the bald eagles are migrating north. The weekend before there had been a TV News story on the hundreds of eagles in the Wabasha area 20 miles south of Hagar. Today we had a half dozen right here.
In recent times, I have kept a camera attached and loaded on my harness, so as not to miss a memory, as in earlier years. The eagles were cooperating in that they were staying in our gaggle and hamming it up for the camera. The audience below increased as Dick, the eagles and I boated along, in front and high above the ridge. They had no fear or aggressiveness toward us, but a few times the talons would come out, as they would swoop on one another.
Every once and awhile a thermal would move through and we would climb out to 700-800 feet above launch. The thermals were fat and flat coming out of the valley. Dick worked the valley about ½ mile in front of launch and whenever he had a good hold of some lift the eagles would tuck in with him riding it up and then heading down range to the next thermal collection point. This was easy, as the whole ridge was active with 100 up. This was nice stuff.
I followed Dick around to get some picture, got my butt waked a few times, but nothing anticipating with a little brake couldn't handle with ease.
I have always thought that great flights needed three things; a good launch, good airtime and a great landing. I mentioned my expertise at minimizing what was necessary to fly; well I minimized my flying gloves and had only a set of fleece gloves. The hands were cold. I had started to lose focus and this was going to be a great flight so I headed out. The air continued to be buoyant all the way to the deck. At touchdown the glider parked overhead still wanting to fly, it seemed a shame to bring it down and transform it from an aircraft that soared with eagles to just a bunch of cloth and string. I herded it back into its stuff sack to await another day, another moment.
I sat in the sun on the tailgate of the truck, sucking the warmth out of the spring sun and relived the flight. When Dick had landed and walked over to the truck, without saying anything, we both knew this was one of those days that makes all the waiting and frustration worth it. We had earned our air. This was a moment. This is why I fly.
Pat Caulfield
Today’s had those signs, a day that brings back into focus why I fly.
It started with an optimistic forecast on Saturday, which was followed with a good sign Sunday morning as I went out to get the paper. I felt air on my face, as I walked back up the driveway….a southerly day. After a week in which I had seen Newark, NewYork, Boston and Denver, I was ready for some flying where I had the good seat up front and was not just the livestock in seat 26A.
South winds in March can mean relatively warm temperatures, but it was 19(F) degrees, I had some time. Since I wasn’t rushed, the paper was read and the Home Depot ads checked for the new power tool that I would need to convince my wife was pivotal to the completion of the next home project. I escalated the decision process by taking the dog for a walk. Another good way to check for the “good signs”. Over the years I have become adept at check for signs without being too obvious, as Gunther the dog doesn’t care what I am looking, at as long as he gets to go along, my heads is on a swivel. I hadn’t walked a block and the signs were promising enough to move to the next level. I pulled out the cell and called a flying buddy, Dick Metz, to confirm that I wasn’t in a low airtime induced dream. He answered before I could get the phone to my ear and said he was heading down to Hagar, another good sign. Gunther didn’t get shortchanged on his morning walk…when measured in distance, but we did cover it in record time.
To capture more moments, I had invested in a motor the previous year. It was to add convenience, open up new sites and allow for airtime, when soaring was not possible. The learning process has not been without frustration, as many of the learning experiences in this sport. Today the plan was to use it to get to some other ridges around the Hagar City site. These ridges have captured my attention for years, but until now were beyond my reach. I loaded the truck and hit the road.
On the way down all the clues were good, the only “fly in the ointment” being the wind velocity, it was coming up faster then forecast and the ominous blownout thought entered into the assessment.
Part of the enjoyment of a flight can be the area itself. Some of my more memorable are Aspen Telluride and this 290’ river bluff over the Mississippi River valley. It has given me a number of moments from early morning flights where I would have the ridge to myself; listening and watching other hang glider pilot arrive and setup. The first time I saw a wild turkey was on this launch. The turkey was shocked enough to launch, only to realize that 200’ up was no place for a fat gobbler. The crashing through the brush as it dove for dirt reminded me of an old WKRP in Cincinnati show with a turkey drop from a helicopter and the ensuing carnage. Today would not be disappoint, as the more flight capable eagles were out all along the ridges on the way down into the river valley.
I had not been down to Hagar all winter, and this has been a heavy snow winter here in Minnesota. In fact, the Monday before we had gotten 6-8 inches of snow, we expected to do some shoveling on the upper tram station at Hagar in order to get to the top. I was looking forward to launching with the motor, so the tram would be needed to get the gear to launch.
The LZ had a good covering of snow, but the launch had some grass showing. Dick was there before me, waiting on the tram with his gear. Or so it appeared. It seems that the electric company (for reasons unknown) had removed the meter, so the only way to the top would be to hoof it, a not so good sign. Hopefully, it was going to be a soaring day at Hagar, as there was no way I was going to walk up the bluff to launch with an additional 50lbs of motor.
After 23 years of flying (hangliders and paragliders) I take the hiking of gear to launch seriously. I have, in the past, rushed in the excitement to fly, only to be too worn out to get a significant flight. Today I paced myself, but tried to not fall too far behind Dick, the serious fitness guy. I managed to the top without losing any ballast or getting that metallic taste from over doing it. The last twenty feet was postholing and pushing the gear across the snow, providing another challenge to our fitness to fly.
After a couple of minutes breaking the rules and deciding that there was no way we were going to walk down. Dick and I started to set up. The direction was good on top, but cross in the LZ. It was also stronger then expected, but not blown out.
The strategy was to be patient and wait for “the cycle”, as coming back up for a second try was not really an option. Out went the wing, lines are un-tangled (as always), speedbar lines shortened (setup for flying the motor), hook up, and built a crappy wall. There was the normal BS of “just going to kite for a while” and “just testing the air”.
I brought up the wing. It was alive with lift and had power as it came overhead. Even though stabilized, it was doing the “I want to get in the air” dance. In the seconds it took to get turned around and lean into the harness, my feet went light and the flight had begun.
Now normally, the anxiety levels are heightened at this point, suspended in the venturi of the launch. I like to get a foot on the speedbar just in case I need it to penetrate off the launch, but to day it was different. It felt baby butt smooth and coming off brakes moved me easily off the launch. A few passes later and the best way to describe it was glass off air, in both strength and texture. The moment had started.
I watched Dick get ready to launch for a couple of minutes, but the others in the air grabbed my attention. At this time of the year the bald eagles are migrating north. The weekend before there had been a TV News story on the hundreds of eagles in the Wabasha area 20 miles south of Hagar. Today we had a half dozen right here.
In recent times, I have kept a camera attached and loaded on my harness, so as not to miss a memory, as in earlier years. The eagles were cooperating in that they were staying in our gaggle and hamming it up for the camera. The audience below increased as Dick, the eagles and I boated along, in front and high above the ridge. They had no fear or aggressiveness toward us, but a few times the talons would come out, as they would swoop on one another.
Every once and awhile a thermal would move through and we would climb out to 700-800 feet above launch. The thermals were fat and flat coming out of the valley. Dick worked the valley about ½ mile in front of launch and whenever he had a good hold of some lift the eagles would tuck in with him riding it up and then heading down range to the next thermal collection point. This was easy, as the whole ridge was active with 100 up. This was nice stuff.
I followed Dick around to get some picture, got my butt waked a few times, but nothing anticipating with a little brake couldn't handle with ease.
I have always thought that great flights needed three things; a good launch, good airtime and a great landing. I mentioned my expertise at minimizing what was necessary to fly; well I minimized my flying gloves and had only a set of fleece gloves. The hands were cold. I had started to lose focus and this was going to be a great flight so I headed out. The air continued to be buoyant all the way to the deck. At touchdown the glider parked overhead still wanting to fly, it seemed a shame to bring it down and transform it from an aircraft that soared with eagles to just a bunch of cloth and string. I herded it back into its stuff sack to await another day, another moment.
I sat in the sun on the tailgate of the truck, sucking the warmth out of the spring sun and relived the flight. When Dick had landed and walked over to the truck, without saying anything, we both knew this was one of those days that makes all the waiting and frustration worth it. We had earned our air. This was a moment. This is why I fly.
Pat Caulfield
Hang waiting and the un-expected flight
It seems as if most of the country has been suffering through the same bout of bad weather that we have had here in Minnesota during the month of June. So it probably comes as no surprise that any opportunity, no matter how remote, to get in the sky will have an unreasonable effect on a pilot.
The forecast for this last weekend called for one ok (lower case) and one rainout day. The weather wizards were unsure of which due to timing, jet stream, sunspots, you know all the qualifiers they use to validate their accuracy no matter how it actually turns out. Well, Saturday dawned early (5:30am) with clear blue skies and 10-15mph wind out of the NNW. Usually, a wind this early will mean a blow out by noon. The forecast at 6am said NNW at 10-20. Those familiar with this area know that this forecast causes a HG pilot to perk-up and have thoughts of Frontenac.
Frontenac is a five mile 400' ridge on the south bank of Lake Pepin. Lake Pepin is a wide spot in the Mississippi River between Red Wing and Lake City, Minnesota and the originating launch of the state record HG flight of 135 miles (Bruce Case). This site is interesting in that there is no beach, shore, clearing, no anything, along its entire bottom, except water, cold, deep, moving water. The closes lower spot is a 10 foot strip of sand in front of some 50' trees 2 mile west of launch. We all know how well gliders and water get along, so you can understand why we don't launch until we are positive of going up. This is the easy part of the flying decision to make at Frontenac. The landing is really different in that almost every rule ingrained in a pilot about ridges and rotors are broken. The LZ is a 200' strip of rolling (50' hills) terrain right behind the edge of the ridge/drop-off. Did I mention that this edge also has 30-40' trees on it also? Behind this strip are fields of planted crops (corn, beans) that are forbidden zones. The game plan on landing is to fly out over the lake and work down to a point below the top of the trees on the ridge. Then fly at the ridge (below the top) and as you hit the lift band pop up over the trees, turn 90 degrees, blast through the rotor into the still air of the tree lines wind shadow, bleeding airspeed and landing before you run out of real estate. The entry speed for this maneuver is in the 35-50 mph range depending on the wind. This site has seen many a pilot plow earth with there noseplate. And no, we don't yell "whack", because a successful landing is deemed one where the pilot and glider are together and intact, even if some portion(s) there of have touched terra firma. For these reasons this site is rated as H4 with proven top landing ability and experience.
So, why with all of these obstacles to flight would pilots flock here. Well, it's really neat (What a wordsmith.), you can see the air moving across the lake, you can see where air masses are going to converge, there are eagles, hawks, barges, yachts, sailboats, trees (autumn is awesome - I should sell this gingle.) and lotsa room to boat around.
But, alas on this day the forecast would be wrong and the experience wouldn't happen. Boy (justa expression), did we put in the time waiting, but the wind rarely topped 10mph. Which is a little light to commit aviation at this site.
Ah, but when Sunday dawned it was overcast, raining with visible thunder in the area. Just because the forecasters (they hate being called that) were wrong yesterday they weren't going to blow it two days in a row. So, I pretty much wrote the day off and got going on the things around the house that are lower on my Maslow's hierarchy. About noon I came up out of the basement and noticed shadows. Being a very quick person, I though, wow, the sun must be out. I nonchalantly walked around the house (Not through it, as this would send a telltale message to my very observant spouse) and looked at the windsock mounted in the backyard. Heeemmm...a south-southeast breeze, didn't they forecast a northeast wind. Having gone completely cyber/wired/on-line/connected, I would not believe this until I could have verification from a electronic source, so I called the AWOS at the Red Wing Airport and it said 130 at 5 knots, pretty cross for Hager, but maybe it was going to swing to the NW (suggested by the clearing conditions) the long way. I called the AWOS back in 5 minutes and it was 150 at 7 knots. Hager City is very soarable at 170 and 8 knots for a PG. This usually translates into a 15-20 mph compression zone velocity at launch.
Have I mentioned that I had just gotten a brand new Saber and due to conditions had only gotten a couple of sled runs on it. Having completed a reasonable number of chores and with the sun out, the radar not showing any rain in the area and I having rented the video "Sebrina" for Marlys (my wife) while at Blockbuster earlier that morning, I decided to go for a drive(my euphemism for flying). Yes, the gods were with me.
I loaded up and booked. The telltales on the way down were not promising. The flags were limp and showed a slight SE drift to the air. But, what the hey, at least I can probably get another couple of sledders.
As I drove into the LZ and planted the windsock I could see that the wind was stronger and had good direction, top and bottom. I loaded my gear onto the tram and hit the up button. As I ascended the bluff I noticed that the wind seemed to be working the entire face top to bottom, usually the river valley effect causes a stagnation that blocks the wind from the lower half to a third of the ridge face giving a smaller effective ridge height. But not today. All the vegetation was moving, I thought that it may be blown out. It's amazing how different the conditions were within a 40 mile area out here in flyover territory.
Having reached the top, I checked the windspeed, it was in the 8-12 mph range. Nice, but with the the humidity and temp (high density altitude note on the AWOS) questionable as to soarable. I spread out, hooked in, pulled up and lifted off. This was great, good lift, manageable wind and thermals moving through. This being the first soaring flight on this wing I was feeling very conservative in style and assertiveness, but compared to a Space this is a nimble, fast ship and it was hard not to take advantage of those characteristics. I kept my turns to half a cheek and the waist to biner range (brakes). I had a lot of fun. As the sky cleared the wind increased and I found myself going to the bar deeper and more often. I could only get about half the travel, it needed adjustment, so with about 50 minutes under my belt I headed for the LZ. The air was active and having read Will Gadd's Idaho posting and comments on landing, I grabbed some ears and took the wing in to a fitting finish for a fine flight. I bagged the wing and headed for home, within 10 minutes the sky opened and rain poured. Timing, timing, timing.......
The forecast for this last weekend called for one ok (lower case) and one rainout day. The weather wizards were unsure of which due to timing, jet stream, sunspots, you know all the qualifiers they use to validate their accuracy no matter how it actually turns out. Well, Saturday dawned early (5:30am) with clear blue skies and 10-15mph wind out of the NNW. Usually, a wind this early will mean a blow out by noon. The forecast at 6am said NNW at 10-20. Those familiar with this area know that this forecast causes a HG pilot to perk-up and have thoughts of Frontenac.
Frontenac is a five mile 400' ridge on the south bank of Lake Pepin. Lake Pepin is a wide spot in the Mississippi River between Red Wing and Lake City, Minnesota and the originating launch of the state record HG flight of 135 miles (Bruce Case). This site is interesting in that there is no beach, shore, clearing, no anything, along its entire bottom, except water, cold, deep, moving water. The closes lower spot is a 10 foot strip of sand in front of some 50' trees 2 mile west of launch. We all know how well gliders and water get along, so you can understand why we don't launch until we are positive of going up. This is the easy part of the flying decision to make at Frontenac. The landing is really different in that almost every rule ingrained in a pilot about ridges and rotors are broken. The LZ is a 200' strip of rolling (50' hills) terrain right behind the edge of the ridge/drop-off. Did I mention that this edge also has 30-40' trees on it also? Behind this strip are fields of planted crops (corn, beans) that are forbidden zones. The game plan on landing is to fly out over the lake and work down to a point below the top of the trees on the ridge. Then fly at the ridge (below the top) and as you hit the lift band pop up over the trees, turn 90 degrees, blast through the rotor into the still air of the tree lines wind shadow, bleeding airspeed and landing before you run out of real estate. The entry speed for this maneuver is in the 35-50 mph range depending on the wind. This site has seen many a pilot plow earth with there noseplate. And no, we don't yell "whack", because a successful landing is deemed one where the pilot and glider are together and intact, even if some portion(s) there of have touched terra firma. For these reasons this site is rated as H4 with proven top landing ability and experience.
So, why with all of these obstacles to flight would pilots flock here. Well, it's really neat (What a wordsmith.), you can see the air moving across the lake, you can see where air masses are going to converge, there are eagles, hawks, barges, yachts, sailboats, trees (autumn is awesome - I should sell this gingle.) and lotsa room to boat around.
But, alas on this day the forecast would be wrong and the experience wouldn't happen. Boy (justa expression), did we put in the time waiting, but the wind rarely topped 10mph. Which is a little light to commit aviation at this site.
Ah, but when Sunday dawned it was overcast, raining with visible thunder in the area. Just because the forecasters (they hate being called that) were wrong yesterday they weren't going to blow it two days in a row. So, I pretty much wrote the day off and got going on the things around the house that are lower on my Maslow's hierarchy. About noon I came up out of the basement and noticed shadows. Being a very quick person, I though, wow, the sun must be out. I nonchalantly walked around the house (Not through it, as this would send a telltale message to my very observant spouse) and looked at the windsock mounted in the backyard. Heeemmm...a south-southeast breeze, didn't they forecast a northeast wind. Having gone completely cyber/wired/on-line/connected, I would not believe this until I could have verification from a electronic source, so I called the AWOS at the Red Wing Airport and it said 130 at 5 knots, pretty cross for Hager, but maybe it was going to swing to the NW (suggested by the clearing conditions) the long way. I called the AWOS back in 5 minutes and it was 150 at 7 knots. Hager City is very soarable at 170 and 8 knots for a PG. This usually translates into a 15-20 mph compression zone velocity at launch.
Have I mentioned that I had just gotten a brand new Saber and due to conditions had only gotten a couple of sled runs on it. Having completed a reasonable number of chores and with the sun out, the radar not showing any rain in the area and I having rented the video "Sebrina" for Marlys (my wife) while at Blockbuster earlier that morning, I decided to go for a drive(my euphemism for flying). Yes, the gods were with me.
I loaded up and booked. The telltales on the way down were not promising. The flags were limp and showed a slight SE drift to the air. But, what the hey, at least I can probably get another couple of sledders.
As I drove into the LZ and planted the windsock I could see that the wind was stronger and had good direction, top and bottom. I loaded my gear onto the tram and hit the up button. As I ascended the bluff I noticed that the wind seemed to be working the entire face top to bottom, usually the river valley effect causes a stagnation that blocks the wind from the lower half to a third of the ridge face giving a smaller effective ridge height. But not today. All the vegetation was moving, I thought that it may be blown out. It's amazing how different the conditions were within a 40 mile area out here in flyover territory.
Having reached the top, I checked the windspeed, it was in the 8-12 mph range. Nice, but with the the humidity and temp (high density altitude note on the AWOS) questionable as to soarable. I spread out, hooked in, pulled up and lifted off. This was great, good lift, manageable wind and thermals moving through. This being the first soaring flight on this wing I was feeling very conservative in style and assertiveness, but compared to a Space this is a nimble, fast ship and it was hard not to take advantage of those characteristics. I kept my turns to half a cheek and the waist to biner range (brakes). I had a lot of fun. As the sky cleared the wind increased and I found myself going to the bar deeper and more often. I could only get about half the travel, it needed adjustment, so with about 50 minutes under my belt I headed for the LZ. The air was active and having read Will Gadd's Idaho posting and comments on landing, I grabbed some ears and took the wing in to a fitting finish for a fine flight. I bagged the wing and headed for home, within 10 minutes the sky opened and rain poured. Timing, timing, timing.......
The Factor
Well, it's one of those days, mid-October and the wind is howling. I have just come in from mulching all the leaves in the yard and there is already a whole new crop in place awaiting the wrath of my self-propelled rotary scythe.
There is nothing much on the agenda so it seems like a reasonable time to update my flight log. My oldest log book is approaching its 20th anniversary, but the one I will flog today is number 8. I have noticed over the years that there has been a change in the type of information entered on each flight. In the beginning the flight, due to lack of duration, seem to be described in terms of conditions, e.g., wind speed, clouds, launch type, etc. Now the descriptions revolve around the experience, who was there, interesting stories, birds (Sometime I will have to tell my wild turkey story.), moods, etc. Don't get me wrong though, each entry ends with the required flight time, altitude gain and sometimes distance covered.
This brings me to the real beginning of today's rambling. I like many pilots have acquired many electronic gizmos over the last few years. We now have instruments that give us so much info I am waiting for the first vario to include a 1/2 day hands-on orientation and field troubleshooting seminar. It truly seems that it takes more time to warm-up, true-up, zero-in and mount-up this gear then setting-up or laying-out the glider.
My newest vario has enticed me to use its memory to help fill out my log. This thing is like a parrot, in that its capacity will store more flights then a pilot can fly in a normal lifetime. Part of buying one is to make sure you made the appropriate updates to your will to insure it has a good home once you move on.
The totally objective memory of these gizmos has created for me a dilemma. In that, the fun of the post flight BS session has now been intruded upon by data gaga pilots with flight decks and GPS in hand. Heck, some even have their laptops at the ready to download the flight _showing_ everyone how good they did. Gone are the days of the enhanced truth flight debrief.
It effects even those pilots without a data repository equipped instrument. No longer will they risk ridicule in relaying their flights before the data miners have established the acceptable performance window by recounting, compiling and confirming their endeavors electronically.
Of course, those pilots, who have complete telemetry, never view it for the first time in the company of others, 'cept maybe their dog (never heard of a hang cat). This is to make sure that the electronic record will back up any inadvertent remarks made before the keeper of record could be consulted. Usually any mis-statements are covered by a proclamation referencing a forgotten true-up, zero-out or synchronization of said data vault.
Some pilots, like the tourist of old (vacation photos), even wonder how their flight was until they consult their electronic genies.
The days of mythological launch conditions also appear to be numbered with the advent of pre-launch hoisting of these airspeed equipped decks. Soon the days will be gone when you can recount staying up on bug farts or "it was blowing 30+ when I punched off", when our be-decked brethren declare it to be really a 17 mph wind.
This brings me to the factor. The factor is usually arrived at by the pilot and applied to the relevant performance characteristics of their flight, e.g. alt. gained, distance, time flown, etc. soon after its completion. The factor is directly proportional to the difficult of the flight and is normally in excess of one, e.g. 1.1, 1.25. Although it is computed soon after the completion of the flight, it can sometimes experience growth as time and witness' to the actual events memory's fade. Entry into some form of long term record does not seem to reduce the chance of, or size of the long term inflation generally associated with the factor.
Although it is common knowledge that the factor is in-play, it is usually not talked about unless someone takes undue advantage of its use. Pilots who have broken the acceptable threshold of use normally have their flight claims referred to by other pilots as " Ya, as measured in Bill feet" or "Those are Bill miles". (Bill was chosen completely at random, but I do use a MAC and I have heard and experienced the factor of Win95.) These pilots normally self-identify by putting the factor in play while still in the air and making some type of claim in excess of that being experienced by the pilot above and/or beyond them. Their instruments are generally not the best maintained...because it really doesn't matter.
I believe that long-term these electronic savants pose a serious risk to our flying time and after-flight activities. Imagine how boring it will get with pilots reliving their flights...fact by supported fact. So much for the story about the low save, when the record will show that there was still 1000' of daylight below. Even the monthly gathering of pilots to hang lie, called "the club meeting", will become very boring and attendance will drop off, possibly even undermining the club's existence and possibly the sports. I have personally noticed that since using these instruments that my average flight time has dropped and my total air time is not growing at its usual exponential rate. So in order to get more airtime and cover more distance I am going to rid myself of this evil influence. If I take this to its logical conclusion I should go sans instruments and therefore stay up forever...Ya, that's the ticket. Or maybe the instrument makers should add "the factor" option to their packages...Heck I'd buy one.
There is nothing much on the agenda so it seems like a reasonable time to update my flight log. My oldest log book is approaching its 20th anniversary, but the one I will flog today is number 8. I have noticed over the years that there has been a change in the type of information entered on each flight. In the beginning the flight, due to lack of duration, seem to be described in terms of conditions, e.g., wind speed, clouds, launch type, etc. Now the descriptions revolve around the experience, who was there, interesting stories, birds (Sometime I will have to tell my wild turkey story.), moods, etc. Don't get me wrong though, each entry ends with the required flight time, altitude gain and sometimes distance covered.
This brings me to the real beginning of today's rambling. I like many pilots have acquired many electronic gizmos over the last few years. We now have instruments that give us so much info I am waiting for the first vario to include a 1/2 day hands-on orientation and field troubleshooting seminar. It truly seems that it takes more time to warm-up, true-up, zero-in and mount-up this gear then setting-up or laying-out the glider.
My newest vario has enticed me to use its memory to help fill out my log. This thing is like a parrot, in that its capacity will store more flights then a pilot can fly in a normal lifetime. Part of buying one is to make sure you made the appropriate updates to your will to insure it has a good home once you move on.
The totally objective memory of these gizmos has created for me a dilemma. In that, the fun of the post flight BS session has now been intruded upon by data gaga pilots with flight decks and GPS in hand. Heck, some even have their laptops at the ready to download the flight _showing_ everyone how good they did. Gone are the days of the enhanced truth flight debrief.
It effects even those pilots without a data repository equipped instrument. No longer will they risk ridicule in relaying their flights before the data miners have established the acceptable performance window by recounting, compiling and confirming their endeavors electronically.
Of course, those pilots, who have complete telemetry, never view it for the first time in the company of others, 'cept maybe their dog (never heard of a hang cat). This is to make sure that the electronic record will back up any inadvertent remarks made before the keeper of record could be consulted. Usually any mis-statements are covered by a proclamation referencing a forgotten true-up, zero-out or synchronization of said data vault.
Some pilots, like the tourist of old (vacation photos), even wonder how their flight was until they consult their electronic genies.
The days of mythological launch conditions also appear to be numbered with the advent of pre-launch hoisting of these airspeed equipped decks. Soon the days will be gone when you can recount staying up on bug farts or "it was blowing 30+ when I punched off", when our be-decked brethren declare it to be really a 17 mph wind.
This brings me to the factor. The factor is usually arrived at by the pilot and applied to the relevant performance characteristics of their flight, e.g. alt. gained, distance, time flown, etc. soon after its completion. The factor is directly proportional to the difficult of the flight and is normally in excess of one, e.g. 1.1, 1.25. Although it is computed soon after the completion of the flight, it can sometimes experience growth as time and witness' to the actual events memory's fade. Entry into some form of long term record does not seem to reduce the chance of, or size of the long term inflation generally associated with the factor.
Although it is common knowledge that the factor is in-play, it is usually not talked about unless someone takes undue advantage of its use. Pilots who have broken the acceptable threshold of use normally have their flight claims referred to by other pilots as " Ya, as measured in Bill feet" or "Those are Bill miles". (Bill was chosen completely at random, but I do use a MAC and I have heard and experienced the factor of Win95.) These pilots normally self-identify by putting the factor in play while still in the air and making some type of claim in excess of that being experienced by the pilot above and/or beyond them. Their instruments are generally not the best maintained...because it really doesn't matter.
I believe that long-term these electronic savants pose a serious risk to our flying time and after-flight activities. Imagine how boring it will get with pilots reliving their flights...fact by supported fact. So much for the story about the low save, when the record will show that there was still 1000' of daylight below. Even the monthly gathering of pilots to hang lie, called "the club meeting", will become very boring and attendance will drop off, possibly even undermining the club's existence and possibly the sports. I have personally noticed that since using these instruments that my average flight time has dropped and my total air time is not growing at its usual exponential rate. So in order to get more airtime and cover more distance I am going to rid myself of this evil influence. If I take this to its logical conclusion I should go sans instruments and therefore stay up forever...Ya, that's the ticket. Or maybe the instrument makers should add "the factor" option to their packages...Heck I'd buy one.
Snow Flight
It seems that at least once each winter, when the bug to fly has bitten me once to often, I end up getting a nice flight in the middle of a snow storm. This year has proven to be no different.
On Friday, December 29, 1995, having gotten all of my projects identified for completion during the holiday's done, I was rewarded with a forecast of south at 10-15. This forecast is ideal for flying PGr's at the local Hager City, WI site. Of course, a south wind in December in Minnesota usually means warm air (Except when it comes from a low(?) latitude high...I think I said that right.) and warm air means snow or rain or sleet or something to do with moisture falling from the clouds.
Anyway (Did I mention I am am self-diagnosised as having attention deficit disorder.), having called a couple of others, I headed for Hager. Got there to find nice frozen snow drifts on both the upper and lower tram stations, so I spent the first hour clearing the cables and tram car travel limiters. The wind at launch was slightly southeast at 7-9 mph with a solid gray low/no definition overcast. After having fallen on my as_ a few times while laying out my wing (Remember the frozen snow drifts, well the same freezing rain had turned the launch into a nice inclined skating rink.).
I was now ready to commit aviation.
After inflating and moving toward launch I had one of those nice smoooooooth lift offs that seem to consistently happen only at a Torrey or Point of the Mountain type of site.
Have you ever noticed when you go out in cold (20F) winter air after losing 20# over the last 6 weeks that your wing seems to want to lift you off in alot lighter wind, enough said for dieting. I worked up to 200' over, in the bowl west of launch, Then moved west down the ridge over the power lines. The entire ridge seemed to to alive with smooth light lift.
As I got out of the "bullfeathers zone", I looked across the valley to Red Wing.........in time to see it disappear in a band of snow moving right toward me. Of course, my partners in crime had looked at the radar returns showing the snow showers and decided to stay home, so I had the ridge to myself (ya,I know, I shouldn't fly by myself, but.....).
As the snow moved in the breeze didn't die and I wasn't in danger of going into the overcast, so I figured as long as the visibility was ok, I would hang out. The snow moved in and moved up to meet and swirl around me. It was a light dry fluffy snow. To a certain extent you could even see where there was move or less lift by its movement. I, of course, could have been getting caught up in the moment and imagining this marking of the lift.
Since all the leaves were out of the trees (except those damn oaks) the day was pretty quiet to begin with, but the light snow added another layer of silence to the scene. I literally felt like a snowflake...aaaaah maybe just a flake. I have noticed that when flying in snow that the glider doesn't seem to ingest it, or its not where I expect it to be, i.e. trailing edge. I suppose this could be from the pressurization of the cells keeping the external air from entering, I don't know, but that doesn't seem to be a problem.
As the snow lightened to flurries, I was jointed by the two of the numerious resident bald eagles. This surprised me, because the eagles in this area, I had thought, went south for the winter. I guess, as with the geese, since there now seems to be open water all year round from the local power plants (Prairie Island Nuclear is just three miles upstream and a NSP Coal plant five mile across the valley) they must just stick it out. Anyway, they just took a short spin around the ridge, paying me no never mind, as usual, then disappeared. I stuck it out through another snow band, a couple of trains kicking up tremendous snow rooster tails and increasingly cold fingers ( I wish they made Sorel's for the hands.) before landing after about a 45 minute flight.
The snow bands across the valley seemed to be building and the breeze dying, time to go home, get in the hot tub and thaw out. Although, the soarable day's of winter can be few and far between, they can be very satisfy too.
On Friday, December 29, 1995, having gotten all of my projects identified for completion during the holiday's done, I was rewarded with a forecast of south at 10-15. This forecast is ideal for flying PGr's at the local Hager City, WI site. Of course, a south wind in December in Minnesota usually means warm air (Except when it comes from a low(?) latitude high...I think I said that right.) and warm air means snow or rain or sleet or something to do with moisture falling from the clouds.
Anyway (Did I mention I am am self-diagnosised as having attention deficit disorder.), having called a couple of others, I headed for Hager. Got there to find nice frozen snow drifts on both the upper and lower tram stations, so I spent the first hour clearing the cables and tram car travel limiters. The wind at launch was slightly southeast at 7-9 mph with a solid gray low/no definition overcast. After having fallen on my as_ a few times while laying out my wing (Remember the frozen snow drifts, well the same freezing rain had turned the launch into a nice inclined skating rink.).
I was now ready to commit aviation.
After inflating and moving toward launch I had one of those nice smoooooooth lift offs that seem to consistently happen only at a Torrey or Point of the Mountain type of site.
Have you ever noticed when you go out in cold (20F) winter air after losing 20# over the last 6 weeks that your wing seems to want to lift you off in alot lighter wind, enough said for dieting. I worked up to 200' over, in the bowl west of launch, Then moved west down the ridge over the power lines. The entire ridge seemed to to alive with smooth light lift.
As I got out of the "bullfeathers zone", I looked across the valley to Red Wing.........in time to see it disappear in a band of snow moving right toward me. Of course, my partners in crime had looked at the radar returns showing the snow showers and decided to stay home, so I had the ridge to myself (ya,I know, I shouldn't fly by myself, but.....).
As the snow moved in the breeze didn't die and I wasn't in danger of going into the overcast, so I figured as long as the visibility was ok, I would hang out. The snow moved in and moved up to meet and swirl around me. It was a light dry fluffy snow. To a certain extent you could even see where there was move or less lift by its movement. I, of course, could have been getting caught up in the moment and imagining this marking of the lift.
Since all the leaves were out of the trees (except those damn oaks) the day was pretty quiet to begin with, but the light snow added another layer of silence to the scene. I literally felt like a snowflake...aaaaah maybe just a flake. I have noticed that when flying in snow that the glider doesn't seem to ingest it, or its not where I expect it to be, i.e. trailing edge. I suppose this could be from the pressurization of the cells keeping the external air from entering, I don't know, but that doesn't seem to be a problem.
As the snow lightened to flurries, I was jointed by the two of the numerious resident bald eagles. This surprised me, because the eagles in this area, I had thought, went south for the winter. I guess, as with the geese, since there now seems to be open water all year round from the local power plants (Prairie Island Nuclear is just three miles upstream and a NSP Coal plant five mile across the valley) they must just stick it out. Anyway, they just took a short spin around the ridge, paying me no never mind, as usual, then disappeared. I stuck it out through another snow band, a couple of trains kicking up tremendous snow rooster tails and increasingly cold fingers ( I wish they made Sorel's for the hands.) before landing after about a 45 minute flight.
The snow bands across the valley seemed to be building and the breeze dying, time to go home, get in the hot tub and thaw out. Although, the soarable day's of winter can be few and far between, they can be very satisfy too.
A Tale Of Retrievals - Or Oh So This Is What Paraglider Pilots Are Good For?
Let me start by saying, I fly paragliders most of the time, but I have also been flying hang gliders since 1979. I love to fly them both, each in their own way. A couple of weeks ago Peter Birren mentioned the Cosmos Challenge XC Classic that was held here in Minnesota the weekend of May 10 & 11, 1996. It was a weekend that forecasts would seem to indicate as being awash......ah wet. As a member of the local organizing committee led by Dave Dybsand (great job), I felt an obligation to show up rain or shine. My HG partner and myself also had a new glider to deliver to a customer driving in from Wisconsin, so I had a monetary reason to play like a golfer (it never rains on a golf course) and go.
Competitors were going to be scored both as individuals and as a team. The team would be made up of the three pilots assigned to a particular tow rig. Three to four tow rigs would be assigned to each tow road (there were 4). Curt Knutson (my hg business partner) and myself had brought our rig and would be using it. Dick Mertz, a local paraglider pilot, asked to join us, since Curt had the most experience in towing paragliders, namely me. There were so many rigs available, some never turned a drum all weekend. I had brought my Ram Air and Space to cover myself for most any conditions. Given light and varible conditions I prefer the paraglider, but this day, which was forecast as 5-12 out of the north turned out to be more like 15-25 and northwest, definitly was a diver day.
We got to our assigned tow road about 11am and it looked as if we had a cloud deck moving in. We prepared ourselves for a day of high tows with sled runs. While, I set up the XC with its new owner and went through the delivery stuff, Curt got the tow rig ready to roll. When we each were done, we switched, Curt pre-flighted the glider and I did the same on the tow rig (a different set of eyes).
When we test gliders our general routine is Curt flying the glider and me running the tow rig, this started many years ago and we are stuck in this rut, but it works well for us. Since the day did not look promising we were set-up and ready to fly as most others were just starting to get going. The tow although in fairly high winds was un-eventful. Curt towed to 1600' agl release and started circling....hmmm, maybe just maybe. Anyway, Curt cut out of the lift he was in and brought back the XC. After a on the road landing, he wasted no time in starting to set up his Ram, while I gave Dennis C. a tow up on his new glider.
The activity level increased among all the pilots after Curt's test/wind dummy flight. Dennis towed to 2000' released from tow, into a thermal and disappeared down range. Last I heard he had a 30 mile flight....his first flight on a new glider. I heard he likes it, and BTW it did have winglets. The lemming rush was on!
Let me try to get to the point of this rambling write-up. Dick (the PG pilot) decided that since conditions were a bust for paragliders, he would learn to run a payout winch and drive retrieval...did I mention he's a nice reasonable sort.
I, of course, now had a bad case of the setup, getup and be gones. I went back and set-up my glider, while Curt dealt with the spare part needs of a couple of pilots. Funny how parts only become important just before you are ready to fly.
I loaded my wing up. Dick would be running the tow rig for the first time alone. The tow went real well.
Pat: Dick, is the winch drum turning?Dick: Yes.Pat: Slow or fast.Dick: Yes.Pat: I think you can slow down a little, but keep the drum turning.Dick: I think my speeds OK.Pat: OK, then take up the pressure a little.Dick: OK.
The tow progressed well...well, right up to the point where:
Dick: Pat the line is almost......get off!!
As I hear this, the line goes slack and the line recovery chute pops out of its bag. Wow, a drogue with a 4400' tail. After the initial surprise. I did a quick check to see if the line, chute, anything was hung up on the glider or me, then released the line.
I felt pretty stupid, because I, like those looking for parts, had kept promising to mark the line about 200 feet from the end some night after work. I also didn't do a very good job in warning Dick how fast the line can disappear toward the end. I landed to help, retrieve and rewind the line. This took about 45 minutes and during that time the recovery chute held about half the line in the air....did I mention the wind was blowing.
Curt now was real ready to go, so we loaded him up and gave him a yank. We had gone about a 1/2 mile down the road and he was going through 1600' agl, he asked me to stop to reduce the line tension when he released. By the time I stopped he had cleared 2000 agl..... I think he was in something. He disappeared too. Everyone was now in full rut.
By the time I was ready to go again (3:30PM), I was the only pilot and glider left on the tow road. Everyone else had gotten up and away. The sky had OD'd pretty badly and the pressure to not be left skunked at the road was mounting. Is this starting to sound like one of those frustration nightmares where you can't seem to get out of the house without something else going wrong. You know, the one where you trying to get someplace quickly, but as you leave the house you notice you're only wearing underwear.
So I loaded the glider on the trailer and went through the tow rig, launch and tow scenario with Dick, then hooked up and in. I told Dick to go to cruise and after about 50 feet he hit the horn (30 mph airspeed reached), did I mention the wind was blowing.....Ever notice how much harder it is blowing when you're the one hooked in and ready to go versus when waiting for the pilot ahead of you to get going and you can't figure what the holdup is.
Dick gave me a real nice tow. I, of course, with the wind and thermal activity was doing the wicky -wacky -nosewire to nosewire line dance, and we ain't talk'n country-western, at my end. Ever notice how the more active the tow up the better the longer the ride down (range) and the smoother the tow up the shorter the flight down. At 1600' I pinned off into zero sink, as a general rule when coming off tow and looking for my first thermal I don't leave zero sink (air must be going up at at least the sink rate of the glider). After 2-3 360's it started to pickup some speed and before long I was climbing at 600-800 fpm. I got on the horn to Dick and told him to park and lock the tow rig grab my Tahoe and give chase....if he would be so kind.
It was ordained that I would get up high and head out, since I had put on only a windbreaker and my map was secure in my harness pocket. I topped out at 6700' agl in the first thermal... in the snow...hey wait a minute this is May.....ground temps in the 50's ...so let me see 50-(7 * 4)=22 (This is my hypoxia, no hypothermia test, but if I was experiencing either of these maladies, the questions is would I know if my answer was wrong?), hey its cooold up here. By this point I was 10 mile and 20 minutes into my flight.
I can hear Curt on radio, he is quite aways south, but still in the air. I start giving Dick expert directions on where I am. Jeez, it's hard to read water towers from the air?
Pat: Ahh, Dick I am over a bunch of green John Deere tractors at an intersection of a main highway between two good size towns south of the tow site.Dick: A ya, ok, ah, gotcha. Pat.
Dick, being the astute pilot he is, allowed me the time to clarify my position.
Pat: Ah, Dick I seem to be flying down a road that goes from pavement to dirt when it cross' that big highway between the two towns I mentioned.Dick: Aaaaa, OK
Dick, having watched my drift as I headed out knew he was west of my track. So he looked at the map and made a guess at the towns and highway, drove south to the highway and headed east , looking for a bunch of green tractors and a road that was paved going north, but dirt heading south.
I then made the bone head decision that can doom a promising XC flight. I stopped to look for lift. Needless to say with a wind of 30+mph at altitude. Stopping when not in lift means one thing...you are going down without covering any ground. I have been told time and again keep going downwind looking for lift don't stop unless you find lift. Even if you fly yourself into the ground you will have covered more ground. I don't know....maybe its a gene problem. So here I am with 2800' agl and I figure this is a nice field to check out. So I start trolling in it....upwind. I blew that bank account pretty quick.
About the time I knew it was TIME TO LAND, Dick came on saying he had me spotted. Great, a witness to my ability to core sink.
Now the Murphy's Law of LZ selection came into play: "When given the chose of numerous acceptable LZ's the worst will be picked." I selected a field that was newly plowed and damp (read muddy). Dick, who had by now arrived, decided that he had done his part and elected to wait for me to carry my glider from the field.
We were now in the hunt for Curt.
We were talking to him on the radio and heading the right direction, so when he said he was about to land, we figured fine we will talk to him after he's down. Confidently, we figured we would be there about the time he was packed up and ready to go. Ha!
We were not able to talk to him once he was on the ground. Through a relay with another pilot we heard he was at the intersection of Hwy. 4 & 22 near St. Peter. We kept trying every few miles to make contact, which we did when we got into the general area. When we got to where he said he was, he wasn't. We began the "is the signal stronger routine", because it became quickly obvious that he didn't know where he was either.
As we drove along his signal got weaker, so we turned around figuring that we had passed him. We back tracked to where the signal had been the strongest, but now we could make no contact at all. We were now 2 hours into the Curt part of the retrieve. As luck would have it when we though we had passed him because his signal was weaker it was actually from a battery going dead and we had been less then a mile from his location.
After criss-crossing the area for a couple of hours we called into a restaurant we use for backup communications with pilots. Curt was at a Dairy Queen, having dinner, 30 miles back waiting for us. When we picked him up he went back to within a mile of where we had been to pick up his glider and gear.
This was a pretty phenomenal day. Every pilot that towed up, got away. The next day was even better with multiple 100+ milers.
Well, now to the moral of this story. Ever notice the longer the post the less meaningful the ending.
Anyway I though this was a interesting story for all pilots, those who have been there and those who will. Between Curt and myself we have been flying gliders for almost 40 years and each time its an adventure, no matter the kind or turgidity of your wing. BTW, when conditions are good for the PGrs, Dick gets his behind in the breeze first, we kinda owe him.
Competitors were going to be scored both as individuals and as a team. The team would be made up of the three pilots assigned to a particular tow rig. Three to four tow rigs would be assigned to each tow road (there were 4). Curt Knutson (my hg business partner) and myself had brought our rig and would be using it. Dick Mertz, a local paraglider pilot, asked to join us, since Curt had the most experience in towing paragliders, namely me. There were so many rigs available, some never turned a drum all weekend. I had brought my Ram Air and Space to cover myself for most any conditions. Given light and varible conditions I prefer the paraglider, but this day, which was forecast as 5-12 out of the north turned out to be more like 15-25 and northwest, definitly was a diver day.
We got to our assigned tow road about 11am and it looked as if we had a cloud deck moving in. We prepared ourselves for a day of high tows with sled runs. While, I set up the XC with its new owner and went through the delivery stuff, Curt got the tow rig ready to roll. When we each were done, we switched, Curt pre-flighted the glider and I did the same on the tow rig (a different set of eyes).
When we test gliders our general routine is Curt flying the glider and me running the tow rig, this started many years ago and we are stuck in this rut, but it works well for us. Since the day did not look promising we were set-up and ready to fly as most others were just starting to get going. The tow although in fairly high winds was un-eventful. Curt towed to 1600' agl release and started circling....hmmm, maybe just maybe. Anyway, Curt cut out of the lift he was in and brought back the XC. After a on the road landing, he wasted no time in starting to set up his Ram, while I gave Dennis C. a tow up on his new glider.
The activity level increased among all the pilots after Curt's test/wind dummy flight. Dennis towed to 2000' released from tow, into a thermal and disappeared down range. Last I heard he had a 30 mile flight....his first flight on a new glider. I heard he likes it, and BTW it did have winglets. The lemming rush was on!
Let me try to get to the point of this rambling write-up. Dick (the PG pilot) decided that since conditions were a bust for paragliders, he would learn to run a payout winch and drive retrieval...did I mention he's a nice reasonable sort.
I, of course, now had a bad case of the setup, getup and be gones. I went back and set-up my glider, while Curt dealt with the spare part needs of a couple of pilots. Funny how parts only become important just before you are ready to fly.
I loaded my wing up. Dick would be running the tow rig for the first time alone. The tow went real well.
Pat: Dick, is the winch drum turning?Dick: Yes.Pat: Slow or fast.Dick: Yes.Pat: I think you can slow down a little, but keep the drum turning.Dick: I think my speeds OK.Pat: OK, then take up the pressure a little.Dick: OK.
The tow progressed well...well, right up to the point where:
Dick: Pat the line is almost......get off!!
As I hear this, the line goes slack and the line recovery chute pops out of its bag. Wow, a drogue with a 4400' tail. After the initial surprise. I did a quick check to see if the line, chute, anything was hung up on the glider or me, then released the line.
I felt pretty stupid, because I, like those looking for parts, had kept promising to mark the line about 200 feet from the end some night after work. I also didn't do a very good job in warning Dick how fast the line can disappear toward the end. I landed to help, retrieve and rewind the line. This took about 45 minutes and during that time the recovery chute held about half the line in the air....did I mention the wind was blowing.
Curt now was real ready to go, so we loaded him up and gave him a yank. We had gone about a 1/2 mile down the road and he was going through 1600' agl, he asked me to stop to reduce the line tension when he released. By the time I stopped he had cleared 2000 agl..... I think he was in something. He disappeared too. Everyone was now in full rut.
By the time I was ready to go again (3:30PM), I was the only pilot and glider left on the tow road. Everyone else had gotten up and away. The sky had OD'd pretty badly and the pressure to not be left skunked at the road was mounting. Is this starting to sound like one of those frustration nightmares where you can't seem to get out of the house without something else going wrong. You know, the one where you trying to get someplace quickly, but as you leave the house you notice you're only wearing underwear.
So I loaded the glider on the trailer and went through the tow rig, launch and tow scenario with Dick, then hooked up and in. I told Dick to go to cruise and after about 50 feet he hit the horn (30 mph airspeed reached), did I mention the wind was blowing.....Ever notice how much harder it is blowing when you're the one hooked in and ready to go versus when waiting for the pilot ahead of you to get going and you can't figure what the holdup is.
Dick gave me a real nice tow. I, of course, with the wind and thermal activity was doing the wicky -wacky -nosewire to nosewire line dance, and we ain't talk'n country-western, at my end. Ever notice how the more active the tow up the better the longer the ride down (range) and the smoother the tow up the shorter the flight down. At 1600' I pinned off into zero sink, as a general rule when coming off tow and looking for my first thermal I don't leave zero sink (air must be going up at at least the sink rate of the glider). After 2-3 360's it started to pickup some speed and before long I was climbing at 600-800 fpm. I got on the horn to Dick and told him to park and lock the tow rig grab my Tahoe and give chase....if he would be so kind.
It was ordained that I would get up high and head out, since I had put on only a windbreaker and my map was secure in my harness pocket. I topped out at 6700' agl in the first thermal... in the snow...hey wait a minute this is May.....ground temps in the 50's ...so let me see 50-(7 * 4)=22 (This is my hypoxia, no hypothermia test, but if I was experiencing either of these maladies, the questions is would I know if my answer was wrong?), hey its cooold up here. By this point I was 10 mile and 20 minutes into my flight.
I can hear Curt on radio, he is quite aways south, but still in the air. I start giving Dick expert directions on where I am. Jeez, it's hard to read water towers from the air?
Pat: Ahh, Dick I am over a bunch of green John Deere tractors at an intersection of a main highway between two good size towns south of the tow site.Dick: A ya, ok, ah, gotcha. Pat.
Dick, being the astute pilot he is, allowed me the time to clarify my position.
Pat: Ah, Dick I seem to be flying down a road that goes from pavement to dirt when it cross' that big highway between the two towns I mentioned.Dick: Aaaaa, OK
Dick, having watched my drift as I headed out knew he was west of my track. So he looked at the map and made a guess at the towns and highway, drove south to the highway and headed east , looking for a bunch of green tractors and a road that was paved going north, but dirt heading south.
I then made the bone head decision that can doom a promising XC flight. I stopped to look for lift. Needless to say with a wind of 30+mph at altitude. Stopping when not in lift means one thing...you are going down without covering any ground. I have been told time and again keep going downwind looking for lift don't stop unless you find lift. Even if you fly yourself into the ground you will have covered more ground. I don't know....maybe its a gene problem. So here I am with 2800' agl and I figure this is a nice field to check out. So I start trolling in it....upwind. I blew that bank account pretty quick.
About the time I knew it was TIME TO LAND, Dick came on saying he had me spotted. Great, a witness to my ability to core sink.
Now the Murphy's Law of LZ selection came into play: "When given the chose of numerous acceptable LZ's the worst will be picked." I selected a field that was newly plowed and damp (read muddy). Dick, who had by now arrived, decided that he had done his part and elected to wait for me to carry my glider from the field.
We were now in the hunt for Curt.
We were talking to him on the radio and heading the right direction, so when he said he was about to land, we figured fine we will talk to him after he's down. Confidently, we figured we would be there about the time he was packed up and ready to go. Ha!
We were not able to talk to him once he was on the ground. Through a relay with another pilot we heard he was at the intersection of Hwy. 4 & 22 near St. Peter. We kept trying every few miles to make contact, which we did when we got into the general area. When we got to where he said he was, he wasn't. We began the "is the signal stronger routine", because it became quickly obvious that he didn't know where he was either.
As we drove along his signal got weaker, so we turned around figuring that we had passed him. We back tracked to where the signal had been the strongest, but now we could make no contact at all. We were now 2 hours into the Curt part of the retrieve. As luck would have it when we though we had passed him because his signal was weaker it was actually from a battery going dead and we had been less then a mile from his location.
After criss-crossing the area for a couple of hours we called into a restaurant we use for backup communications with pilots. Curt was at a Dairy Queen, having dinner, 30 miles back waiting for us. When we picked him up he went back to within a mile of where we had been to pick up his glider and gear.
This was a pretty phenomenal day. Every pilot that towed up, got away. The next day was even better with multiple 100+ milers.
Well, now to the moral of this story. Ever notice the longer the post the less meaningful the ending.
Anyway I though this was a interesting story for all pilots, those who have been there and those who will. Between Curt and myself we have been flying gliders for almost 40 years and each time its an adventure, no matter the kind or turgidity of your wing. BTW, when conditions are good for the PGrs, Dick gets his behind in the breeze first, we kinda owe him.
4th of July Weekend and A Minnesota Paragliding Record
It was a phenomenal weekend...for Minnesota. Out of the four days, three were flyable and two of those were memorable. The forecast was for 85-90 and humid all four days, not the best for flying, but you take what you get.
On Friday the winds were more SW so it was back to Hager. I didn't get there until 10:30 (Had to wait for a floor contractor to give me an estimate on replacing part of the hardwood floor in the house, due to a broken washing machine water hose, get braided ones.). I was the first to arrive and it was happen'en (Finnish for happening, remeber this is Minnesota). The breeze was 8-10 mph and crossing slightly from the west (South facing launch) a great direction for this ridge. Now the farmer had done us a favor the week before and cut the clover at takeoff. But....then he spread fresh manure on the cut field as fertilizer. My Saber just fit between the ribbon of cow long as I stood on one of the ribbons. Got to remeber to change my boots before getting into the car.
I launched turned right and headed for the point and into a 600 fpm boomer (Minnesota, nuf said). After a couple of figure eight's, I started circling taking it to 1600' above launch (This is a 290' high ridge on a good day.). Bumped around for a while and took some pictures before heading back out in front to grab another one.
About this time Dick Metz showed up and he couldn't get to launch fast enough. I worked west about half a mile to give him room. The entire length of the ridge was working with every bowl and ravine acting as a thermal/wind collection point. After an hour of boating around during a downcycle I went out and landed. Dick landed soon after.
After a rest and some Gatorade we were back on the tram with Adi Hornung a visiting HG pilot from Germany (Bavaria). Adi is going to be in the area for the next year and wanted to see if it was worth bringing his glider over.
At Launch conditions had strengthened, but were still flyable. Dick launched first and must have hit the tail end of a cycle because he got drilled. I launched shortly there after and was back at 300-500' over launch quickly, looking for the next thermal. The sky above us did not have a cloud in it, but I could see them building in the west.
Dick was quick to get back to launch and seemed to be conducting highwind maneuvers with his wing. Sometimes he was leading, sometimes not. I noticed a decrease in penetration also. Dick finally got in the air, but seemed to be in the launch venturi and was not getting up much beyond the trees. I was using the speed bar more and more so I headed for touch down and the end of a great morning of flying. Dick meanwhile ended up BE to a top landing may have giving that manure I mentioned a up close and personal inspection.
It looked like a HG day, but it wasn't. The forecast was partly cloudy and winds out of the west at 10-15. A towing day. We made plans to head for Cosmos, which is about 50 miles west of Minneapolis. Curt Knutson and I brought our HG and Dick brought his PG. At the last minute hearing the forecast speeds change to 5-15 I through mine in too. We met up at the SuperAmerica on the outskirts of Hutchinson to decide on a tow road. We drove through a couple before we found one with a LZ. The crops have started to get some size to them and it is best not to trample on a farmers livelihood. We decided on a 2 mile stretch of road with some shade at the launch-landing end because temps were forecast for 85-90.
The conditions were good for PG when we arrived and Dick was going to get the first tow. He had an uneventful and smooth tow to 1500'. After releasing he headed cross wind back toward the takeoff. He started to circle and seemed to be maintaining, but not really climbing out. The drift appearred to be from the SW, so he was moving away from us. It was hard to judge from looking at him what the conditions were. He wasn't talking on the radio which is sometimes a signal that the pilot is working and doesn't want the distraction of talking, it could also mean he hadn't heard us asking questions, whatever we shut up and let him fly.
Since he did not appear to be coming down, I wisely walked briskly to the rig and got myself and my wing ready for a yank. And as luck would have it, just as I finished harnessing up and laying out, a conga line of pea pickers (harvesting combines) decided that this was the fastests road to their next field. Since beggers can't be chosers, I bundled the wing and gave the appropriate wave to each and every driver as they passed me. They, of course, looked at me as if I was part of the cast of Independence Day.
I repositioned and hooked up to the tow line for a reverse launch, built a wall, gave Curt to "go-go-go-go-go", inflated, turned and lifted off. To say that the tow was smooth wouldn't due it justice, but I was able to take out my camera and get a few shoots while on line. I had figured that it would be a sledder so I better get some shots now. As I passed through 1400' agl my vario made happy sounds and thinking I was in one I released.....in to nothing....it was a gust. Turning and heading cross wind I got a beep amd a wing lift, so I turned...and turned...and turned. I was in zero sink and just maintaining. Drifting with it, I got up to 1550' agl and either it died or I lost it...I like to think that because of my superior thermalling skills (not) it disappated.
There didn't seem to be any heavy sink so I searched around losing about 500' before I again hit some zero sink. I had drifted quite abit north and east of the tow site and figured that I wouldn't make it back against the wind to the takeoff, so I might as well exploit (think positive) this lif......ah, zero sink and continue. As I like to think happens with zero sink, it began to develop into lift....very slowly. As it built to about 200 up and I was crankin and bankin. As I came around with my left thumb hooked in my harness at seat level (Ya, OK I'm a weak and lazy) and my ample left posterior cheek being center of my lifeforce...ah weight, the right side of the wing collapsed, about 40%. It needed one encouraging pump to re-inflate and I kept on circling. As with these outside wing collapses when circling it had little affect other then the decearse in climb rate. This one also went away at about 1500' agl. With nice cumi's to the south and north with me in a big blue hole, I was hoping it was not a psychosomantic inversion layer.
By this point I was traveling toward a lake northwest of the town of Cosmos, Minnesota. Not feeling real cofident of clearing the lake and the trees on the other side with 1500' in the bank, I turned straight east and followed US7 toward Cosmos.
So here I am flying along this highway, finding nada in the way of lift and entertaining myself by shadow strafing cars. Life is good, but all flights must end. I decided to pull the plug with 600' and a town in my path that I wouldn't make it over.
It seems to be so very rare that someone is around when I land, that I expect whoever is there to stop and watch, but this appearred to be old hat to the travelers on Hwy 7 this day, because I don't think they even slowed down. Nothing like a total lack of interest to bring your feet back to ground level and make your hat fit again.
Oh ya, I went 6.5 mile. Hey, this is Minnesota.
Thought I was go'na die or How not to meet someone flying.
My submission to the Code 3 department of the digest.
Back in the spring of 1988 we were living in Omaha, Nebraska. One Sunday my wife, my newborn son and myself went to a local site called Golden's Farm. Bob Golden has a nice 200' river bluff running along the back of his property that makes for some great ridge lift in SW winds. Bob also has a 2000' grass strip and taxiway cut in a field right in front of launch, that we use for an LZ.
This his day there are three of us in the air (the entire Omaha HG community), staying 100-200' over waiting for the day to develop and the trigger time to hit. We decided to pass the time getting some pictures, since one of the pilots had a wingtip mounted camera, that day. Well, Don (the photog) made several passes tring to work closer and closer (it was a 35mm fixed focus auto everything cam) to get a frame filling shot.The air had by this time started to pecolate with a few bumps and gusts.
Anyway (I'm repeating) I am crossing in front of launch, Don is coming towards me 30' higher and outside with the idea of banking his wing to get me and the launch in the frame (remember we are kind of close to fill the frame). We have been talking on our radio during the setup so we both knew what we were up to. When Don was about 50' away he started his bank/turn towards me, within seconds I knew some thing was up because he seemed to continue to rotate towrds me. Over the radio he said he was mushing. As he came at me I went through my escapes, I had few options. I did not have room to dive under him and miss some power lines at the bottom of the ridge, so I opted not to become a moving target and hope that we would have a near miss.
We didn't.
As Don passed across the top of my wing I felt the collision in the control bar. All my thoughts were on whether we would come apart or turn into a tangled heap falling from the sky. Quickly, we did part. My glider still felt whole put I noticed it was turning towards the ridge. I was just thinking about trying to go around in a 360, when Don shouted over the radio "Pat your going in".
The glider had begun to death spiral. My only though was,"boy this is going to hurt." I grabbed my reserve deployment handle and threw my chute. I don't really remember it inflating, but the glider did go nose down. I could see the face of the ridge approaching as I climbed into the bar.
About 30' from the ridge face the glider started gaining atlitude (entered the strong ridge lift), I though great now I will get blown over the back into the rotor and trees. Luckly, I only got high enough to clear the ridge by 6' or so and has deposited ever so gently in a bush with my glider in the tree behind the bush and my parachute still inflated above me trying to give me another ride.
As you can imagine my adrenaline was pumping, after two dirtbikers helped me deflate the chute I jumped the 6' to the ground and sustained the only injury from this accident. You see I had had a vasectomy the week before and not all of me stopped at the same time when my feet hit the ground. This put a quick damper on my celebration.
The damage to my glider was minimal; a sail repair, some battens and new upper wires. When Don went across the top of the wing his base tube snagged my front upper wire. It pulled hard enough that the rear wire broke, pulling the kingpost and reflex bridle forward, breaking the arrow shats on the battens and in effect creating a 12" high spoiler out of the trailing edge of the sail.
I learned several things from this incident, the most important being that no matter how safe you may feel flying close to pilots that you have shared the air for many hours, sometimes Budda, will not smile on you and then stuff happens. So never underestimate the need for having a _real_ escape plan and when necessary briefing your buddies on what it is. As you could expect I have become very standoffish when flying around other pilots in close quarters.
Back in the spring of 1988 we were living in Omaha, Nebraska. One Sunday my wife, my newborn son and myself went to a local site called Golden's Farm. Bob Golden has a nice 200' river bluff running along the back of his property that makes for some great ridge lift in SW winds. Bob also has a 2000' grass strip and taxiway cut in a field right in front of launch, that we use for an LZ.
This his day there are three of us in the air (the entire Omaha HG community), staying 100-200' over waiting for the day to develop and the trigger time to hit. We decided to pass the time getting some pictures, since one of the pilots had a wingtip mounted camera, that day. Well, Don (the photog) made several passes tring to work closer and closer (it was a 35mm fixed focus auto everything cam) to get a frame filling shot.The air had by this time started to pecolate with a few bumps and gusts.
Anyway (I'm repeating) I am crossing in front of launch, Don is coming towards me 30' higher and outside with the idea of banking his wing to get me and the launch in the frame (remember we are kind of close to fill the frame). We have been talking on our radio during the setup so we both knew what we were up to. When Don was about 50' away he started his bank/turn towards me, within seconds I knew some thing was up because he seemed to continue to rotate towrds me. Over the radio he said he was mushing. As he came at me I went through my escapes, I had few options. I did not have room to dive under him and miss some power lines at the bottom of the ridge, so I opted not to become a moving target and hope that we would have a near miss.
We didn't.
As Don passed across the top of my wing I felt the collision in the control bar. All my thoughts were on whether we would come apart or turn into a tangled heap falling from the sky. Quickly, we did part. My glider still felt whole put I noticed it was turning towards the ridge. I was just thinking about trying to go around in a 360, when Don shouted over the radio "Pat your going in".
The glider had begun to death spiral. My only though was,"boy this is going to hurt." I grabbed my reserve deployment handle and threw my chute. I don't really remember it inflating, but the glider did go nose down. I could see the face of the ridge approaching as I climbed into the bar.
About 30' from the ridge face the glider started gaining atlitude (entered the strong ridge lift), I though great now I will get blown over the back into the rotor and trees. Luckly, I only got high enough to clear the ridge by 6' or so and has deposited ever so gently in a bush with my glider in the tree behind the bush and my parachute still inflated above me trying to give me another ride.
As you can imagine my adrenaline was pumping, after two dirtbikers helped me deflate the chute I jumped the 6' to the ground and sustained the only injury from this accident. You see I had had a vasectomy the week before and not all of me stopped at the same time when my feet hit the ground. This put a quick damper on my celebration.
The damage to my glider was minimal; a sail repair, some battens and new upper wires. When Don went across the top of the wing his base tube snagged my front upper wire. It pulled hard enough that the rear wire broke, pulling the kingpost and reflex bridle forward, breaking the arrow shats on the battens and in effect creating a 12" high spoiler out of the trailing edge of the sail.
I learned several things from this incident, the most important being that no matter how safe you may feel flying close to pilots that you have shared the air for many hours, sometimes Budda, will not smile on you and then stuff happens. So never underestimate the need for having a _real_ escape plan and when necessary briefing your buddies on what it is. As you could expect I have become very standoffish when flying around other pilots in close quarters.
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.
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