It's the last day of the comp, and while the forecast doesn't look epic, there should be some good flying today. I suspect the route will be fairly local to ensure that all the pilots can make it back early enough for the awards ceremony and dinner.
My personal purpose for attending this meet was to better my best, to fly higher and farther and better than I ever have before, to be encouraged to fly places I never would have considered in the past. So far, I'd say I've met all of these goals. From the attitudes of most of the other pilots, the comraderie and support, the words of encouragement and advice offered in a brotherly manner, I'd say their goals are the same.
Secondary (or perhaps 'lastary') to all this is the push to 'beat the other guy'. While it's true that we get a little rush when we can sneak ahead of someone who we'd always considered to be a bit of a better pilot, the fact is that in this and any other sport, it's inevitable that our 'betters' will eventually make a mistake, no matter how slight, and we'll seize the opportunity to slip past. When I've encountered these situations in the past, the pilot who bettered me, whether in competition or just flying the home site, has offered those brotherly words of encouragement in a humble and sportsmanlike manner. I like to belive that I've reciprocated when the situation was reversed.
The task for the day was to fly from Sugar Hill, enter a start cylinder over Fort Bidwell 17 km away and tag a 400m waypoint concentric to the start cylinder. The other waypoints were far north by Hart Butte and back to the town of Adel. Most pilots launched before me and scrambled in tight lift to get the needed altitude to cross Fandango Valley toward Fort Bidwell. I launched and worked a thermal up to 7,500 ft or so, but then lost the core. After briefly searching out front, I hooked another one that took me up to 10,500, enough to glide asross the valley and toward Bidwell. I reached the other side and found a nice core, working it up to 11,000 ft with a rigid wing that followed me across. From that altitude I could easily glide up the ridge and northward.
The hanging point, or so I thought, was a whitish alluvial-fanned slope a few km to the north beyond Bidwell that produced spotty lift that eluded me above 8,000 ft. I worked for a long time trying to find something that I could follow back up to the top of the mountain, but kept losing it each time. Since the nearest landing fields were back toward Bidwell, I finally surrendered and worked my way back toward the airstrip.
I landed (where Mark promptly met me despite a non-functioning radio) and loaded up the wing. It was at this point that I realized that I'd never tagged the turnpoint over Bidwell, which I could have easily done from my altitude at the time. This meant that all the work I'd put into flying northbound to gain forward progress toward goal was wasted. Needless to say, I was extremely disappointed in myself for such a blunder, but that's the process of growth I suppose. If we do everything right, then we miss out on the opportunity of learning from our mistakes. I've certainly learned from this one, and if I take the lesson to heart, then I won't repeat it.
My personal purpose for attending this meet was to better my best, to fly higher and farther and better than I ever have before, to be encouraged to fly places I never would have considered in the past. So far, I'd say I've met all of these goals. From the attitudes of most of the other pilots, the comraderie and support, the words of encouragement and advice offered in a brotherly manner, I'd say their goals are the same.
Secondary (or perhaps 'lastary') to all this is the push to 'beat the other guy'. While it's true that we get a little rush when we can sneak ahead of someone who we'd always considered to be a bit of a better pilot, the fact is that in this and any other sport, it's inevitable that our 'betters' will eventually make a mistake, no matter how slight, and we'll seize the opportunity to slip past. When I've encountered these situations in the past, the pilot who bettered me, whether in competition or just flying the home site, has offered those brotherly words of encouragement in a humble and sportsmanlike manner. I like to belive that I've reciprocated when the situation was reversed.
The task for the day was to fly from Sugar Hill, enter a start cylinder over Fort Bidwell 17 km away and tag a 400m waypoint concentric to the start cylinder. The other waypoints were far north by Hart Butte and back to the town of Adel. Most pilots launched before me and scrambled in tight lift to get the needed altitude to cross Fandango Valley toward Fort Bidwell. I launched and worked a thermal up to 7,500 ft or so, but then lost the core. After briefly searching out front, I hooked another one that took me up to 10,500, enough to glide asross the valley and toward Bidwell. I reached the other side and found a nice core, working it up to 11,000 ft with a rigid wing that followed me across. From that altitude I could easily glide up the ridge and northward.
The hanging point, or so I thought, was a whitish alluvial-fanned slope a few km to the north beyond Bidwell that produced spotty lift that eluded me above 8,000 ft. I worked for a long time trying to find something that I could follow back up to the top of the mountain, but kept losing it each time. Since the nearest landing fields were back toward Bidwell, I finally surrendered and worked my way back toward the airstrip.
I landed (where Mark promptly met me despite a non-functioning radio) and loaded up the wing. It was at this point that I realized that I'd never tagged the turnpoint over Bidwell, which I could have easily done from my altitude at the time. This meant that all the work I'd put into flying northbound to gain forward progress toward goal was wasted. Needless to say, I was extremely disappointed in myself for such a blunder, but that's the process of growth I suppose. If we do everything right, then we miss out on the opportunity of learning from our mistakes. I've certainly learned from this one, and if I take the lesson to heart, then I won't repeat it.
The flight itself, while alternately exciting and frustrating, was really only the beginning of the adventure. I'd teamed up with Dave Koehn, who was flying one of the kingpostless speed machines that the top dogs were flying as well, and after tagging the first turnpoint he headed northbound for the high desert where the second turn was located. After gathering my gear, the chase was on to stay within radio contact. We chased him all the way to Hart Mountain which would have been a beautifully scenic drive to me, but given my discouragement at my performance and state of physical and mental fatigue, it quickly became an ordeal. The longest part of the drive was when we had to leave the pavement and travel several miles down a 4wd road (in my 2wd pickup) that followed the east side of Hart Lake. I'd been doing the driving since leaving Bidwell, but I finally had to surrender to fatigue and let Mark take the wheel from there. It was impossible to get any rest while skipping through the potholes and over the rocks along the way, so I did my best to appreciate the beauty of the place.
Along the way, we'd collected two additional pilots and gliders, letting their drivers know that we'd bring them out to the asphalt. This put an even greater load on my truck, so navigating the 'road' became an even greater challenge. We eventually returned to civilization, and upon brief inspection, the only visible damage to the truck was a few scrapes in the paint, but as the late John Candy would say, 'Oh yeah, that'll buff right out".
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