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 Chasing the wind or waiting out conditions all day have been replaced by other more important responsibilities.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