Footlaunched Free-flyin' Fool

Whale Rider

2009-11-22T09:23:00.000-08:00

Yeah, it's been awhile since I posted anything, but flying has been slow lately. 'Tis the season for hunkering down and anxiously awaiting next spring. I don't like it, but it does give me a chance to get caught up on other things. "What?" you may ask. "You do other things than fly?" My standard response to that comment is "Only when I have to".

I did manage to get one last 'real' flight in before resigning myself to occasional sledrides when the weather cooperates. The paragliding group was planning a trip down to the Shasta Valley in northern California to do maintenance on a flying site there. I'd never flown the site, but had driven to the top a few years ago to check out conditions. Years ago, The Whaleback, a volcanic vent that rubs shoulders with Mt. Shasta, was an often-used hang gliding site. Over the years, however, it had been used less and less, due in large part to the fact that paragliding, the more convenient 'fast food' alternative to the 'home-cooked meal' of hang gliding, saw more and more would-be footlaunchers taking short flights at their home sites on lunchbreaks rather than making the commitment of an entire day at more distant launches. When hang gliding sites are not flown, they're not maintained to facilitate that type of aircraft, and the lz at The Whaleback has over the years been overgrown and all but useless to landing hang gliders.

From the story told to me by another paraglider pilot, a pg from the local club arranged for the USFS to do the major clearing of the lz. The deal as I understand it was that if he flagged the area needed, the FS would do the major grubbing and leave it up to the pg's to do the final clearing. The pilot proceeded to flag the spot as he saw fit, but the FS actually took it upon themselves to expand the limits to where a hang glider could land there as well. I don't know if the FS person in charge was a hang pilot himself and make the site available to the pioneers as well as the fast-fooders, but I salute the USFS for accomodating those of us who require more runway.

At any rate, a work party was arranged so the final clearing could be done, and maybe a flight could be taken to christen the site once again. Since the word was out that the improved lz was now hang-friendly, another local hang pilot and I decided to go check it out. Sure enough, the site looked like it would work, so after digging a few roots and raking a little brush, all two dozen para pilots and us two hangs headed up to launch to give it a go.

When we got there, we observed that the wind was a little cross from the south, but was still launchable. As Dave, the other hang pilot, and I set up our gliders, the paras all bailed off and cruised out toward the lz. Many if not most of them landed short of the mark, but that's the tradeoff for convenience I suppose. Dave and I were last off the mountain. Dave launched first and headed south to avoid the congestion of the few paragliders who were still scratching to maintain in front of launch. By the time I got off the hill, the last stragglers were gone and the traffic was clear. I launched to join Dave in front and to the left of launch where the house thermal resided. As we started to work the lift, I noticed that my drop flag had come loose and was hanging by my rear wire, so after gaining some altitude I struggled to put it back in its keeper. In the process I'd lost quite a bit of altitude, but the house thermal was still working and I gained it back.

Meanwhile, Dave had worked his way back to the face of the mountain and gained enough altitude to make a run for the other side of the valley. I lost sight of him eventually and thought he'd landed, so I headed out toward the lz. Dave's radio wasn't operating, so I radioed the lz to see if he was down yet. The response was that he hadn't, so I figured that I'd try to work back up and find him. The only problem with that idea was that I'd already seemingly committed to landing, but fortunately I found a little something over the valley and proceeded to work it back up. That 'little something' really came through, and with persistence I found myself working up the face of the volcano and soaring above the crater at around 10,000' ASL to rejoin Dave.

With the breathtaking view of Mt. Shasta a few miles to my south, I cruised the face for over an hour. It was a bit chilly up there at 10k in mid-October, but the scenery made the numb fingers worthwhile. After a couple hours in the air I finally decided to fly out and watch Dave's landing. I was still a bit tentative about the size of the lz and really wanted to watch someone else do it first. As I boated around in the light lift, I watched Dave angle across and nose in hard about halfway down the clearing. The glider didn't move, but I saw him unhook and walk away from the wing. It wasn't really encouraging to watch, and I had no way to contact him to find out what happened. I tried radioing down to the paragliders that were still hanging around, but it seems that once the last paraglider has landed, they switch off their radios and leave you to fend for yourself.

Dave's wing was still protruding a good distance into the middle of the lz, and I didn't want to try to swerve around it halfway into my approach. From the ground it probably appeared that it was clear of the lz, but from my vantage point it was an obvious hazard. I needed to tell someone on the ground to please move it out of the way, so I resorted to the only means of communication left - yelling. As I circled in a pocket of light lift over the oblivious group, I began yelling down "MOVE...THE...GLIDER!" Finally after a dozen or so yells, someone with a radio heard me and responded. Eventually the glider was moved, I set up for an approach, and brought my wing down into the lz and landed about 50' from the upwind side. Dave's glider hadn't moved because he'd broken a downtube during his hard landing and he was looking for something to splint the break so he could move it.

It was early enough in the day that a few of us decided to drive over to Herd Peak a few miles across the valley to check out conditions. I'd flown there twice, but as I remembered it, the lz was very small and hard to land in. As I set up, another pg pilot launched and cruised across the face barely maintaining altitude. Eventually I launched just as the wind was shutting down and the face was no longer soarable. The paraglider left the hill and headed down as I scratched my way across the hillside attempting to stay aloft. After a few passes I resigned myself to landing and headed for the lz. The pg had since landed and radioed that the wind had completely shut off. The two times I'd landed here, there was enough wind that I could bring my wing to a stop before running out of runway, but in no wind this would be a challenge. I fumbled with my drogue chute to increase my descent rate, but there wasn't time to get it out of its pouch and get it deployed. I came in fast and low - so much so to cause the pilot on the ground to dive for the sagebrush to avoid being hit. The approach was hot, and I used the entire lz and needed more. A few feet from the junipers at the far end I flared as hard as I could and lit in the dust, sending a cloud into the air. Unless there's some work done on this lz, I doubt I'll be landing here again...

Winding Down

2009-08-24T09:32:00.000-07:00

Fall is fast approaching, which means that cross-country season is once again coming to a close. Last weekend, however, Ken and I were blessed with another day of XC potential at Woodrat. Ken is quickly dialing into his 'new' U2 145, and he certainly demonstrated it on Saturday with a nice out-and-back to Mt. Isabelle, seven miles out from Woodrat launch. That's the farthest we've flown together from the mountain so far. Most impressive is when Ken came in low over Raby's Peak, close enough that he could smell the pine needles, and with a bit of encouraging, pushed a little farther until he found a core that took him to 7.5k and made his flight over Isabelle a cake walk. Meanwhile, I was working some elusive lift back behind Sugarloaf before topping out at the same altitude. From there, it was a relatively easy glide across Humbug Gap to a nice climber to 7.6k over Old Blue and a continuation up the ridge toward Grants Pass. Sadly though, Old Blue was the last thermal I could find, and I had to settle for a 14-miler to Missouri Flats. Seeing Ken push his personal envelope made my day though.

Ken and I had been discussing making another trip to Lakeview while the lapse rates were still decent for that area, and the opportunity presented itself when I'd read some emails from some pilots up north who had the same idea in mind as well. I passed along the messages to Ken and we agreed upon the weekend of the 22nd & 23rd, but unfortunately a family emergency made it impossible for Ken to attend which left me to make the trip solo.

I met up with two other pilots at the campground, Scott & Casey, on Friday night, and they told me that Ray, Ron, and John were staying over at the hot springs next door. The hot springs pilots were all toting rigid wings, highly efficient gliders with a better glide ratio than our much less sophisticated flex wings. We all met up the next morning with Mark the local site guide and Mike the local hang gliding guru (who'd volunteered to drive for us) and headed up to Sugar for an attempt at Lakeview and, if possible, points beyond. The weather looked favorable, but not epic, for some cross-country flying, and we were all excited about the late-season prospects.

There were three falcon pilots on launch when we began setting up, and all three flew the ridge briefly before heading to the bailout. We were discouraged at first, but kept reminding ourselves that they were flying single-surfaced wings and were here for the first time & weren't used to the rock-n-roll ride that Sugar often delivers.

Eventually Scott, who'd also never flown the site, launched and reported that the air was big & rough - the same old Sugar I remembered - but he quickly climbed out and over the back. Casey launched next and began to climb as well. I was next, and I'd waited for a strong cycle & punched off just as it reached launch, sending me into an immediate vertical climb. I eased off to one side to allow the rigids to launch and then followed them across the face toward the lookout.

We all climbed immediately to around 11,500 and headed across Fandango Valley and toward Lakeview. I lost sight of the other wings at Fandango Peak, but the chatter on the radio was so frequent that I turned my volume low so I could hear my vario. I headed in deep over the main ridge and stayed there as long as I could to take advantage of the best lift. At New Pine Creek on the OR-CA border I headed toward the foothills to find a nice climber that took me back to 11,500. As I was climbing, I saw Casey low in the foothills below working hard to find a way up, but he eventually resigned himself to a landing at New Pine. I turned up the radio long enough to relay Casey's and my positions to Mike, but the chatter was still too distracting, so I turned it back down and continued up the range toward Lakeview.

Along the way, the lift was erratic and unorganized, and it took all my abilities to gain altitude. I did manage to gain enough to work the foothills into Lakeview, but it was still quite a stretch to make the lz. This would be my third flight to or beyond Lakeview. Scott found it equally difficult to eek out enough lift to make it over town, as did both Ron & John, but Ray found that last thermal we were all looking for - enough to get past town, on to Abert Rim and all the way to Wagontire. In contrast to Casey's 14-miler and our 25-30 mile runs, Ray went 102 miles from Sugar to the middle of the Oregon desert.

The next day started with a cloud bank over the mountains that shut out the sun until the afternoon. Strong gusts were blowing through the campground, so we all agreed that Sugar would likely be blown out. The rigid wing pilots decided to take the day off and Scott volunteered to drive for Casey & I who'd decided that with the forecast for west winds, Black Cap would be the best bet. Besides, I had to drive back to the Rogue Valley that evening and I didn't want to be too tired to make the drive safely.

We got up the mountain in time to find the sun emerging from the cloud cover and strong cycles rolling up the face. We set up and I launched first, working the face and above launch. As I began to circle I looked down in horror to see my radio dangling by the backup cord below me. Somehow it had managed to work its way out of the harness and was now on the verge of falling several hundred feet to certain destruction. I struggled to get it back into the harness and in the process lost all the altitude I'd managed to gain. By the time I had the radio secured, I was low enough that I had to leave the hill and head for the bailout lz. I wasn't pleased, but assured myself that a $200.00 radio was worth more than another flight.

I packed my gear and waited for Casey to launch next. Scott had my truck and all my gear on top of the mountain and wanted to stick around until after Casey launched, so I wasn't able to head out of town until then. So I waited - and waited - and waited. Finally I watched as Casey began his run down the shallow face, but was shocked to see his wing spin 180 degrees at the base of the slope with the nose pointed uphill. I radioed up for a status report, and Casey's shakey reply informed me that he was alright and nothing was broken. Apparently he began his run in a weak cycle and, feeling no lift on the wing, decided to 'abort' the launch. Considering that Casey has probably logged more time on a paraglider than a hang glider coupled with his later description of the circumstances, I suspect that his pg instincts kicked in and he felt that he could abort after committing to a launch. As far as I'm concerned, in hang gliding there are no 'aborted' launches - you either launch successfully or you blow the launch. An aborted launch means you changed your mind before starting your run, packed up your glider, and went home.

At any rate, Casey was alright, so all's well that ends well. But now I had to wait for Casey to break down his glider before Scott could bring my truck to me so I could leave town. It was well after 6pm by the time I was on the road, but I managed to make up enough time to be home by 9:30.

I suspect that from now toward the end of the season we'll be resigning ourselves to flying glassoffs at the Woodrat 'fishbowl', but I'm happy to have gotten in one or two final XC flights in before the end of the season. The get-together at Hat Creek is coming up in a couple of weeks, but for now it's back to instructing the fledglings...

Lessons

2009-08-18T15:16:00.000-07:00

Ken and I have a great group of students going now. All three are exhibiting excellent potential, and if all goes well, we hope to have them flying at altitude before the close of the season.

Justin has been with us off and on for over a year, and now that we've got more or less regular classes, he's really starting to bring it all together. He came to us with a practically new Falcon 2 170 which he 'inherited' from a friend who left it with him to use while he is overseas. It's turned out to be an excellent trainer, and I wish we had a couple more of them to train with. After flying it down the training hill last Sunday for a little demo flight I was sold on this wing! Justin is also helping us with putting our website together and other business-related tasks.

David is a real go-getter with no fear, but at the same time he's got a good head on his shoulders. I think it's the right combination to make for a great pilot. Both Justin and David are getting very close to launching from the top of the training hill. They've had their first taste of flight and are hungry for more.

JJ started a lesson behind the other two, but he's hot on their heels. I would expect him to be working his way to the top in the next lesson.

We had another student, Krista, with whom we had high hopes. She was a dj with a couple of local radio stations. Her first lesson went very well, but unfortunately her work situation took a turn for the worse and she has to postpone for now. It's a real shame, not only because of her energy, but also because we were exchanging training for advertising, so we'll have to rely on word of mouth for now.

After a couple of false starts, things are coming together for the school, and we're anxious to get the new fledglings in the air with us soon.

Ketchup - Part 2

2009-08-09T08:51:00.000-07:00

Fishbowl Flying in the Applegate
A few screenshots of recent flightlogs

7/23/09 - Just a fun little glassoff, screaming past the paragliders and going where they couldn't...

7/26/09 - Another glassoff - same scenario

8/1/09 - A 2-hour tour. The weather started getting rough - the tiny wing was tossed (sung to the tune of the Gilligan's Island theme).

Across the valley I worked up to cloudbase at 8,000 in very aggressive lift. Wires went slack a few times, and I came as close as I care to looping in a strong core. I landed just before the clouds covered the sky and the thunderboomers started. It looked pretty benign not long before that, but from the beneath a cloud it's hard to tell how tall it really is. I was glad to be on the ground...

8/8/09 - Wind from all directions at various altitudes. The smokey inversion kept everyone from getting above 6,000, but across the valley I managed to punch through and get to 7,800 in front of Wellington Butte. From there, it was an easy glide to Tallowbox to explore some new areas of the fishbowl.

More 'fishbowling' with our buddies from Eureka, CA. Much to my chagrin and after a big buildup, Raby's Ridge just wasn't working today. Eating crow is difficult - first you gotta catch one! Sorry guys - maybe next time. We'll be down to fly Funston with you...

Ketchup Part 1

2009-08-02T09:05:00.000-07:00

It's been an eventful few weeks and I'm getting behind on my blogging, so it's time for some ketchup.

PART 1 - ROADTRIP

To start out, it was Juli's birthday on the 17th of July, and for her big day she wanted a road trip. I made a detour through Joseph, John Day, and Bend on my way back to Grants Pass from Sandpoint awhile back, and I told her how beautiful the drive was, so she decided that's where she wanted to go. I negotiated a few days off to make the trip, and thankfully my supervisor generously cooperated. I have to admit though that I was a bit selfish in making these plans. Two sites that I'd always wanted to fly just happened to lie along the route, one being Pine Mtn. near Bend and the other being Mt. Howard in Joseph.

Bend was the site from which the Oregon State cross-country record had been set (163 miles by Mike Tingy) , so I had high expectations. Unfortunately, high expectations often lead to high disappointments. The day before, Patrick Kruse, the local site orienteer reported that pilots had been getting up to 15,000-plus - a great start for a long XC flight. When I met up with Patrick, Scott, Joe our driver, and Chuck, however, the wind was switchy with a dominant north direction. The launch faces west, so that meant we'd have to wait for a reasonable cycle (at least 45 degrees from straight up the face) to launch.

Meanwhile, on the way up the mountain we came to a van that had driven partially off the narrow, steep road and was blocking the way to launch. A pickup belonging to paraglider pilots was parked about 100 yards below, and we'd heard that they'd hiked on up to launch, telling the occupants of the van that some hang gliders were on their way and would help out since we couldn't pass otherwise. So much for comraderie. We did help out and got the van back on the road, but in the process, another van belonging to a separate group of paragliders backed into the passenger door of my pickup. The driver was very upset & apologetic and gave me her number so we could coordinate repairs.

The flight wasn't anything to write home about. We each picked the best cycle we could find, and although the first two pilots managed to gain over 1,000', I launched into the downcycle and we all headed down to the bailout together. I landed first, flaring over the knee-high sagebrush for a no-stepper, and Scott followed with a not-so-pretty no-winder that resulted in a hard landing, destroying his control frame. Patrick followed next with a fast, hard flaring finish and both feet on the ground. Chuck launched after all of us and climbed to 12,000-plus for a nice out-and-back on his rigid wing. Timing is everything in this sport, and ours was just a bit off...

From Pine, we headed across the badlands of Oregon to the painted hills and Mitchell, where we booked a room in a historic hotel in this 'Twilight Zone' of a town. I won't go into the details of our 'adventure' here, except to say avoid room #10. In fact, avoid the hotel entirely - it's managed by a woman who would obviously rather be elsewhere if her dad wasn't running the gas station across the street and she didn't have two loud, obnoxious children tying her down to this spot. Henry the bear, who is caged at the gas station, also appeared to want to be elsewhere. So did we, and we left early the next day, stopping in John Day to tour a chinese heritage center (well worth the visit).

The highlight of the trip was Joseph, a beautiful little artist's community at the base of the Eagle Cap Wilderness. Joseph was named for Chief Joseph, the Nez Pierce leader who evaded the U.S. Cavalry led by General Howard in the mid-1800's. Howard was sent to round up Joseph's people and deliver them to a reservation in Idaho, but Joseph (originally named Thunder-Rolling-Down-The-Mountain) was a skilled tactician and eluded the cavalry for many miles, finally surrendering with his band of remaining warriors, elderly and children just a few miles from the Canadian border and freedom.

Joseph is a beautiful little town skirted to the south by the Wallowa Mountains, including Mount Howard. The top of Howard is accessed by tram, and here among the peaks towering 4,000' above the valley floor is where I hoped to fly from. This site and Glacier Point in Yosemite are the two main reasons I'd attained my advanced hang glider rating, which is required to fly both sites. Dr. Philip Stonebrook, the official site orienteer, was an old friend of mine. He and his wife, Jodie, had moved here from the Rogue Valley, and I had flown with Philip several times when I first got into this sport. Our plan was to pitch a tent in a nearby campground and visit the Stonebrooks, but Philip insisted that we stay at their place, enjoying the generosity of their comfortable accomodations, amazing meals and fine company. A good friend of theirs, Bob, was visiting from Ashland and insisted on buying us all dinner (Juli's birthday dinner) at the local pub. We gratefully accepted.

The next day Philip and I scouted out the bailout lz to Mount Howard as well as the alternate (and preferred) lz near his house several miles from the mountain. Then Philip, Jodie, Juli and I loaded my gear and headed for the park at the far side of Wallowa Lake where the tram departed for the top of the mountain. Some years ago Philip had created a system for attaching gliders to gondola cars to transport to the top, and it worked great. After a scenic trip up the tram we were at the top of Mt. Howard. We packed my wing and harness the 1/4 mile or so down the trail and I began my setup procedure as a small crowd gathered near launch. After assembly was complete, I climbed into my harness, carried the glider to launch, and awaited a good cycle while taking in the view of the lake and valley below and mountains to either side.

When a straight sustained cycle rolled up the face I launched to the cheers of the croud and headed out to where Philip told me I'd find the resident thermal. Sure enough it was where he said, and I began climbing slowly to about 9,500'. It was a weak core and eventually I topped it out, so I headed back out front to try to find another one. I'd dropped well below launch before heading back to where I'd first found lift. Fortunately, a hawk was working some lift in front of the hill, so I joined him, this time to find a strong core that took me to around 11,500'. At this point I was high enough that I could see deep into the wilderness behind launch and the mountain peaks that seemed to go on forever to the south. Deep blue mountain lakes were now visible, as were snow covered cirques and craggy peaks. What an incredible view!

After topping out, I radioed down that I was heading across the lake and over to Chief Joseph Mtn., a long steep ridge that continued several miles to the west. My hope was to work my way to the top of the ridge where more thermals would be found, but the best I could do was work to within a few hundred feet of the top. I managed to glide the entire length of the ridge, however, and well beyond the lz near Philip's house, so after working the foothills below the face while the clouds shut off the lift, I headed to the big field out front, dropped my wind flag, and set up for a nice smooth landing. Juli and Philip soon showed up to help load the gear, and we returned to enjoy more of Philip and Jodie's hospitality. The flight lasted about an hour and forty-five minutes, and I was in awe of the amazing scenery for most of it. I will definitely be back for more!

Lakeview '09

2009-07-06T12:56:00.000-07:00

From the reports I’d read, Woodrat was experiencing some uncharacteristically high lift. The baggies were bragging about climbs above 13,000 ft. ASL, while normally the highest one could expect to get was short of 10,000. Despite these reports of freakish conditions, I’m glad I went to Lakeview instead. Lakeview conditions typically make Woodrat seem like a cross-country training site with the potential for some ‘fishbowl flying’, but no huge distance potential. As usual, and despite the unusually high lift in the Rogue Valley, Lakeview was the place to be.

The first couple of flights weren’t very exciting for me. I was hoping to leave Sugar Hill and at least make it to Lakeview, but the lift there is squirrelly and the best I could get was about 8,000 ft. ASL – not enough for a comfortable cross-country flight. There were some personal-best flights logged from a friend, however. The first one resulted in a climb to 16.8k and a land-out halfway between Fort Bidwell and Adel which by my estimation would be about a 20-mile flight. The second took him from Sugar to 13 miles north of Lakeview – around 35 miles overall. There were many similarly long and high flights by others as well.

My third flight on July 4th wasn’t a record-breaker for me, but it did take me to a place I’d always wanted to fly. Abert Rim, rising 2,500 ft. off the valley floor and extending for 30 miles into the Oregon desert, is the largest fault escarpment in North America. Abutting the north base of the rim is 15-mile-long Abert Lake which is separated from the rim by the narrow ribbon of land just wide enough for Highway 395 to wind its way toward Burns, Oregon. The shear vertical face of the rim dominates the landscape as one drives north of Lakeview, and its magnificence transcends description. I’d heard stories about its spectacular beauty from hang glider pilots who had been blessed with the opportunity to soar its heights, and I’d hoped that one day I too would share the experience. The opportunity appropriately presented itself on Independence Day.

Ken and I went to the top of Black Cap, the launch overlooking Lakeview, with the intention of competing in the spot-landing contest scheduled for that day. With a couple of exceptions, it appeared that the conditions were marginally soarable, so the best we’d hoped for was a sled ride to the landing target and maybe another try later on. One of the exceptions was a semi-local pilot named Jimmy who would launch in his customary way, skimming the ground just high enough to produce gasps from the spectators and flying to the next ridge to find a decently consistent thermal. From there he would climb up to about 8,500’, fly back over launch, and strafe the crowd for a few more gasps before returning to the thermal and repeating the process. We’d both agreed that after launching we would follow his example and head directly across to the point where his thermal originated, which we’d begun referring to as Jimmy’s Boomer, with the hope of extending our flights and maybe getting a bit more airtime in before going for the spot. Anticipating a short flight, I’d decided to leave my drop flag behind and stow my gloves in my harness. As I did so, I commented to Ken that this was a sure way to guarantee a long and high flight. Duration and altitude always seem to be inversely proportional to expectation and preparation.

Ken launched first in a nice cycle, and after clearing the hill he’d started working a thermal out front for a gain of a couple hundred feet. Sticking to our intended plan, he headed across to Jimmy’s Boomer and began hunting for the core. A few minutes later, I launched in a light cycle which resulted in a launch not dissimilar to Jimmy’s – a bit too close to the shallow slope for my comfort – and headed across in mostly sinky air. I did get a slight boost on the way to the boomer, but decided not to stay and work it. As I reached the adjacent hillside and began hunting around, Ken radioed that he couldn’t find the lift and was getting low. Meanwhile, I’d found some workable lift and began circling. As I allowed the glider to drift downwind with each circuit I felt the core gain in strength until it turned into a nice solid climber – I’d found Jimmy’s Boomer.

I continued to work the thermal for several circuits, occasionally adjusting my course to stay with the core. Instead of topping out at 8,500’, however, this time it kept rising almost to 13,000’ before beginning to dissipate. On the way up I radioed my progressive altitude to Ken who had since landed in the bailout field, and Marti & Juli who were driving our retrieval truck. With this much altitude, a cross-country flight was a must, and the only question was which way to go. I looked toward Adel twenty-odd miles to the east and Abert Rim whose unmistakable features dominated the skyline about 17 miles to the north. I’d made the flight toward Adel at the nationals last year but had never ventured any farther north than Highway 140, so the choice was clear – the rim was my goal. I leveled off, pulled my VG tight with my frozen ungloved hand, turned for the mountains deep behind Lakeview, and radioed to Marti that I was headed for Abert Rim. "I don't know where that is", she responded. "Just head north", I replied. This was to be our final conversation until after I landed.

The first eight miles along my course was heavily forested with no landing zones within normal glide, but fortunately I was flying in air relatively free of sink and reached the hills at around 8,000’ AGL. Reading the terrain, I located a second thermal 10 miles out and worked it back up another thousand feet or so. From here I could work the ridges and maintain altitude fairly easily until I reached the south end of the rim. There was only one point where I began to sweat – a relatively sinky stretch that extended a mile or so toward the valley that had me questioning my ability to glide upwind to a safe landing field, but I soon found more lift and milked it sufficiently to reach the rim. I flew about 500’ over Tagues Butte, the customary launch for soaring the rim, and from there had no trouble reaching the 30-mile-long escarpment.

Once I was alongside the sheer rock face of the rim, I relaxed and began enjoying the beauty of the valley to my left and the features of the yellow lichen-encrusted sculptural rock to my right. As I reached each spur of scree at the base of the wall, I would gain a boost of lift sufficient to allow a glimpse of the vast flat plain that extended as far as the eye could see behind the rock ledge. The beauty of the landscape sincerely defies description, and in hindsight I really wish I’d had a camera in my harness, although photos would not have even begun to do justice to the experience. It was like ascending from one world to another reminiscent of Philip José Farmer’s World of Tiers, and I was Kickaha.

About two miles past Tagues I found a spot of lift emanating from a chasm in the rock face that seemed worth working, so I began to circling lazily in a steady climb until I emerged above the cliff edge and ascended above the upper plain of the escarpment. The lift coalesced into a strong core, and as I continued to circle I noted a huge shadow on the plain below and downwind of me. I was now working my way to the base of a well-formed cumulus cloud while looking down upon the two worlds. While circling, I caught a brief radio transmission that sounded like someone saying ‘Hog, are you there?’ (I’ve been branded with the name Airhog, and Ken often addresses me as such, even though he has since bettered me in the time-aloft department). I tried responding, but couldn’t tell if my transmission was received. At the off-hand chance that I could be heard I began blathering excitedly at the view I was being blessed with. Ultimately I was never heard, although expressing my observations verbally somehow seemed to heighten the experience.

I continued my circuits and came to the realization that once I reached cloud base I had another decision to make. Should I continue north up the rim beyond where the lake began, or should I leave the rim and head west into the valley and toward the town of Paisley? The rim would probably generate continual lift, but the lake was fifteen miles long and practically abutted the base of the escarpment leaving little or no area to land. I’d never driven the highway between the lake and the rim and had no idea what landing opportunities were there, but it looked pretty tight from my vantage point at cloud base. I’d really hate to spoil such a beautiful flight with a water landing, or be forced to land on the highway and risk becoming a hood ornament for a semi. The deciding factor was a short cloud street (more like a cul-de-sac) that extended a brief distance to the west. I once again tightened the VG and went on glide over the valley.

From 10,000’, the sage brush looks mighty small and it’s really hard to tell how big those green clumps really are, but experience has taught me that if you can see individual clumps from the air, it’s probably not a good place to land. The only alternative was a stretch of alkali flats sparsely dotted with clumps of brush. Some areas appeared to glisten with moisture, but others had discernable tire tracks. This would be my targeted landing zone. I reached the end of the cloud street and began my descent. As I was on final approach I heard a strong transmission from a distant paraglider pilot, so I responded and requested a relay to Marti. He tried twice but received no response. I thanked him for trying, identified myself and described my location in case my retrieval plans fell through. While on final, I noted the pattern of wind lines on the nearby bodies of water, so at least I had an idea of the wind direction. Just in case I was wrong, I fished my drogue chute from my harness to ensure that I had an adequately high descent rate to prevent overshooting the target. All went smoothly and I gently descended onto a clearing in the dry mud flat, flaring into a light headwind.

After unhooking, crawling out of my harness and shutting down my instruments I called Juli, Marti, and Ken’s cell phones to relay my approximate location. Reception was spotty, so all I could do was leave messages. Before beginning to break down my glider I took a look around at my surroundings, and it dawned on me just how vast this part of Oregon really is. The hard white fractured mud beneath my feet spread in all directions, yielding frequently to large clumps of sagebrush. Occasionally a jackrabbit would dart from the shade of one clump to the cover of the next. Off in the distance was the endless saffron face of Abert Rim, and in all other directions the horizon was punctuated by multicolored scarps of various sizes, the low sun angle casting mauve shadows across their crevassed faces. I’ve always felt more at home in greener, more mountainous terrain, but I couldn’t deny how beautiful this alien countryside was that now surrounded me. Beautiful but lonely. It occurred to me that I could quite possibly have landed somewhere truly remote and have to spend the night out here with just the water in my camelback and my harness to sleep in. I didn’t bring matches or provisions of any kind, and I was lucky that my landing went well and I wasn’t injured. The road was only a quarter mile or so to my south, as the occasional passing car reminded me, but that would have been a long crawl had I broken a leg.

At the peak of my survivalist fantasy, the piercing ring of my cell phone brought my thoughts back to civilization. I’ve always disliked cell phones (the banner of mine reads ‘damn phone’), but at this instant it sounded heavenly! Better yet was the voice coming through the speaker. It was Juli, my sweetie, coming to rescue me from the lonely heat of the desert! So good to hear her laughing voice, even though the weak reception cut her off mid-sentence. I finished packing my gear and hiked to the highway a few hundred yards away to find the pickup alongside the road a short distance away. Perfect timing! What a team! We loaded my harness & glider and headed back to Lakeview to catch the end of the barbecue.

The flight was only an hour and a half in duration and several miles short of my best cross-country so far, but it was one of the most unforgettably beautiful flights I’ve ever had in the six short years I’ve been flying. The only downside is that I missed the spot-landing target – by twenty-six miles!

Big Air for the Fourth

2009-07-01T09:36:00.000-07:00

The lapse rates are looking pretty nice for the Umpteenth Annual Festival of Free-Flight in Lakeview, Oregon that starts tomorrow. In fact, they're looking very similar to the way they did at last year's national competition where I had my two best flights ever, including an amazing single climb to 16,500' asl. We'll be headed east for the high desert for the country known as the Oregon Outback this afternoon. I'm bringing my didgeridoo along so I can conjure up some big air..and maybe one of those extremely rare Oregon kangas.

Weekend Flying

2009-06-15T12:01:00.000-07:00

Over four hours of airtime this weekend, with several climbs to cloudbase at 7,000' msl and one climb that completely pegged my instruments (over 1,400 fpm).

Saturday was spent dodging small rain showers and resulted in a mini-xc flight to Applegate, the only place I could find that was still in sunshine.

Sunday was quite a bit nicer, with no rain but plenty of dark-bottomed clouds to mark the lift. I was almost whited out several times, but managed to stay at the upwind side of the 'white room'.

The abundant cloud streets allowed me to venture into areas of the valley that I'd never explored before. Fun times!

He-man Day at Woodrat

2009-03-29T23:38:00.000-07:00

Today was definitely not for the faint-of-heart. There was 1000fpm-plus gnarly, butt-kicking lift. There was sunshine. There was cloudsuck. There was snow. There were frozen pinkies (particularly at cloudbase). There was fun for the whole family. But there was only Dave Palmer and I crazy enough to partake in all that fun. And partake we did, until our arms were tired, our hands were frozen, and we could stand no more. After 2-plus hours, a crossing to Raby's (where the thermals were particularly strange and strong), another back to Woodrat, repeated trips to the white room, another crossing to Raby's, and a struggle to dump altitude, my trusty wing brought my exhausted body back to terra firma.

Spring flying is here!

Short Flight, New Old Trainer, and Woody the Woodrat

2009-02-08T19:54:00.000-08:00

This Saturday was another short flight of just under a half hour, but I can't complain since the season usually doesn't start until March. We did get to try the new north launch, which worked brilliantly, and got to drive up the newly-maintained road (Thanks, BLM!). It also gave me a chance to scare off those rogue beavers which keep taking out the dangerous snags at midlaunch, but not before they managed to gnaw down the last two remaining snags.

Since I got to the lz a little early, I decided to buzz by a fellow pilot's house to pick up a glider that he'd graciously donated to the cause of replentishing the local hang glider pilot population. It's a Moyes Something-or-other (the placard was missing), and it's in pretty good shape. If anyone recognizes this particular model of single-surface wing, please let me know. As far as I can figure, it's sail area is about 182 square feet, so it'll work good for bigger pilots. Thanks again, John, for the donation!

Last year for our annual Starthistle Fly-in, I was responsible for designing the t-shirt art, theme development, events, and awards. It's a lot to do, especially to a full-timer like me, so I decided to get a jump on making the trophies for this year. Last year I sculpted, formed, and cast a dozen figurines to mount on plaques. Having never worked with casting before, there was a bit of a learning curve, but I was pretty happy with the results. The figurines are of the club mascot, Woody the Woodrat, with his head poking through a carabiner. Woodrat is the name of the mountain that we fly and the carabiner is what suspends us from our wings. The original design actually came about several years ago when gliders like the trainer above were the cutting-edge ships. Nowdays, if anyone was seen setting up one of those old gliders to fly off the top of Woodrat Mtn., their sanity would be questioned. They're great for the training hill though.

Anyway, the way I made the figurines was by sculpting an original out of Sculpy clay, coating it with several coats of latex, and using the latex mold to make plaster casts. What I didn't do last time that I should have was to make a 'mother mold' so that the latex mold wouldn't deform while the plaster was curing. I did that this time, and the result was a dozen very similar figurines without the slight variations in shape that resulted last year.
Now I have twelve nearly identical plaster figurines sanded and ready to paint. The hard and messy part is done.

Soaring - Well, Almost..

2009-02-03T09:42:00.000-08:00

Ridge soaring doesn't do much for me. It's a nice alternative to staying earthbound during the winter months, but 'real' soaring - chasing a thermal up until it tops out several thousand feet above launch - is much more exciting as far as I'm concerned. I still watch the forecast in hopes that a rain-free, fog-free prefrontal day at Walker Mountain will coincide with the weekend, but those days are few and far between.

This last weekend hinted at becoming a 'real' soaring day. There was just enough of a lapse rate to entice me to drive up the hill and find out first-hand how accurate the forecast was. While others were settling into their easy chairs in front of the TV, cracking open beers, stuffing Doritos down their gullets, and preparing for the Stupor-bowl (I'm obviously not a big football fan), I was assembling my glider at the top of Woodrat. It was such a beautiful spring-like day I just couldn't stand the thought of lounging away the day while watching a bunch of overpaid jocks run into each other. But I digress..

Ken met up with me in the lz, but didn't feel inspired enough to fly. There was also a contingent of paraglider pilots there, including Rick (of course), Carl, Jules, & Don. The wind was blowing over the back when we got there, but as the sun heated the west side, cycles began coming up the face. The paragliders launched first, and some managed to maintain for quite some time. I gave Ken a headstart down the hill in my truck before launching and worked the same lift as the PG's for a half-hour or so. It wasn't anything to get too excited about, but for the first day of February, a day of thermic soaring - more or less - is a real bonus.

We'll be watching the skies from now on for the first tell-tale signs of spring soaring conditions - when the turkey vultures (abbreviated TV) return on their annual spring migration. So, I guess I'll be watching TV after all...

Ressurecting the Dream

2009-01-26T20:04:00.000-08:00

This weekend was devoted to repairing the training glider, a Delta Wing Dream 185, that was damaged on the training hill by a paraglider pilot last fall. While showboating, the pilot lost control of his wing and smashed into the nose as Ken and I were preparing a student for a flight down the hill. No one was hurt, but both leading edges and several battens were damaged. After several hours, some creative repairwork, and a good quantity of aluminum tubing, we managed to make the repairs necessary to get the old bird (built in 1989 - she'll be 20 on the first day of spring) back in ship-shape. Many students, including Ken, first left the ground beneath this big wing, so it was a nostalgic moment when we made a few test runs down Ken's driveway and she appeared to trim out nicely.

We also took the opportunity to assemble and inspect an even older bird that I had recently acquired. As far as we've been able to determine, this one is an Eipper-Formance Flexi-2 18. I have a book published in 1977 that shows the specs on this wing, so it's at least 30 years old. The amazing thing about it is that it shows very little wear as though it had hardly if ever been flown. Ken and I have decided that it'll look good suspended from the ceiling of our hang gliding shop (if we ever start one, that is). It might just be a good trainer for a smaller student as well, and we may take it out to the training hill and give it a try ourselves.

In any case, we're ready to get back to training, weather permitting of course...

Site Improvements

2009-01-25T09:10:00.000-08:00

The forecast was for strong east winds and sunshine above the valley floor. Easterlies are fairly common in the wintertime around here, but east-facing launches are rare. I hadn't flown for awhile, so I decided to give Evans Creek a try. Evans is an east site that I'd flown less than a dozen times, and only a couple of those flights resulted in actual soaring. The interesting thing about it is that, even if the wind is howling elsewhere, it will assuredly be light at Evans launch.

Rick had wanted to do some site maintenance here among other places, so we agreed to meet up. He'd decided ahead of time that he wasn't likely to fly his paraglider here because of the strong wind forecast, which was far above the red zone for his craft. I'd flown my hang glider in winds up to 30 knots on the coast, so I wasn't concerned. Besides, I was aware of the sheltering effects of the terrain at this site. With my chainsaw and maintenance tools in my truck I met Rick in Rogue River, which like Grants Pass was still enveloped in fog. It began to thin as we approached the landing zone however, and we eventually were treated to a good dose of sunshine.

We worked at launch for an hour or so. There were cycles that rolled up the face at 12 mph, but in between were lulls of calm. In a sustained 12 mph wind, I have no qualms about ridge soaring, but the lulls make it difficult to maintain altitude. The Sexton Windtalker was reporting 17-27 kt winds, so the Evans damping effect was once again influencing the local conditions. Rick and I decided that it was probably howling a few feet above where we stood, and he didn't want to take a chance at getting caught up in it. I began to set up my wing anyway, content with even a short flight on such a beautiful day. Rick continued to fine-tune launch as I did so.

After launching I made a few passes along the ridge. As I'd predicted, the wind was just below the threshold for sustained ridge lift. I worked it as long as I could while taking in the view from my aerial vantage point. Twenty minutes or so after launching I landed in the lz, walked to the break-down area and disassembled my wing. Rick met me shortly after.

It was such a beautiful day that we decided to do some exploring. Last summer Rick had driven to the top of Elk Mountain, which was not too far north, and discovered that there were some towers planned for the summit. This is usually good news for us footlaunched pilots because it means maintained access and usually a cleared area to launch from. Unfortunately it often means locked gates to protect the equipment, but a diplomatic phone call to the right people can sometimes yield access. When we got to the summit at around 4,500 ft asl, we looked around and found a spot that showed some potential for a launch and discussed lz options based upon the sink rates of our respective wings. Given the distance to the first reachable clearing, this was looking like a hang gliding site. Although they usually need bigger areas to land in than paragliders, hang gliders have a shallower glide angle and can fly farther to reach those bigger areas. We also noted how strong the wind was in the trees, confirming our previous suspicions about the actual wind conditions.

Rick still had the exploring bug gnawing at his brain, so we did a bit more exploring. He assured me of a 'short cut' that would eventually take us out to I-5 via the Jumpoff Joe Creek drainage. I used to live in that area but had never explored this far up the drainage before, and I was game for an adventure so I followed him down the mountain. We worked our way down the rutted road through some beautiful and remote scenery and eventually re-emerged into civilization. At the I-5 onramp we parted ways and went our separate directions.

Miracle at Midlaunch

2008-12-07T19:53:00.000-08:00

Ken and I got in another practice run this Saturday. I didn't see Ken's landing, but he tells me it was a good one. I know I was very pleased with my own - a good strong flare and a no-stepper. That made my day, even though the flights were only about 15 minutes long.

Sunday I reluctantly decided to head back down again. I had some spare hang gliding magazines to donate to the Ruch store where they will be sold for .50 apiece with proceeds going to the Ruch library, so even if the weather was as iffy as forecast, at least the trip would be worthwhile.

I got to the LZ just as Rick and group were launching. Chatting on the radio, he said not to worry about retrieving my truck and to come on up and fly. There was about 50% cloud cover and Rick reported 7-10 mph wind at launch, so I headed on up the hill. As I got there, I saw his glider low over the LZ. I assembled my wing in record time and took off. Rick was on his way back up the hill with someone to drive my truck down as I launched. That was good news to me, as it meant my truck would be at the bottom of the hill just as I broke down my glider.

The flight was short and sweet, with just enough beeps on the vario to entice me into a few futile turns. The landing was a good one with about 3 or 4 steps, but not picture-perfect like the previous day's landing. As expected, my truck arrived in the LZ parking area just as I packed my gear back to the road.

There was still a bit of daylight left, so I decided to drive up to midlaunch to enjoy the sunset. After hanging out there awhile, I noticed that several dangerous snags had recently been knocked or blown over, opening up launch about 60 more degrees to the west. I wandered down the hill a ways to take the closer look, and Rick showed up as I was heading back up. We discussed at length what natural phenomenon was responsible for this thinning. Was it a freak microburst? Was it rogue beavers? We couldn't tell for sure, but we both agreed that it made for safer conditions for launching our aircraft. I brushed the sawdust off my jeans and drove down the hill...

Springtime in November

2008-12-01T08:48:00.000-08:00

Ken and I decided to fly this weekend (weather permitting) even if it meant a short flight. He hadn't flown since Labor Day, and it was shortly after that I dislocated my shoulder & I'd only gotten one flight since then. My flight was on my big floater and I hadn't flown my U2 in three months, so I'd planned to see if I still remembered how to fly a hotter wing.

It's much safer to get a flight in periodically, even a short 'sledride', to stay in practice. It is true that more flights mean a higher probability of having an accident, but I believe that the odds are more than offset by keeping one's skills polished. Launches and landings are the most difficult part of any flight, and even the most brief sledder allows the same opportunity to practice the transition from earth to sky and vice versa as an extended flight.

As is often the case, late fall/early winter weather in Grants Pass means fog, and Sunday morning was no exception. The hope is that the ambient air temperature will rise enough by noon or so that it will burn off, but sometimes that just doesn't happen. I called Ken around 10 am and he reported that the fog was just as thick at his house in Eagle Point. Neither of us were optimistic about the flying conditions, but we decided to throw the gliders on and give it a shot anyway. At the very least, we'd get a chance to see what kind of improvements Rick had made to the north launch.

As I got farther from Grants Pass the fog seemed to stay just as thick, but as I neared Applegate, I began to see hints of sunshine. On the far side of Applegate, the clouds parted and the sky became a brilliant blue. The wind direction in the valley even seemed favorable for a launch. Ken and Marti were at the parking area when I got there and were as amazed as I that the weather was so beautiful where we were. They had also driven through fog all the way to Jacksonville, and it seemed that the only clear area was a ten-mile radius around Woodrat Mtn.

We headed up the mountain and stopped at midlaunch to see what Rick was working on. He and Don were contemplating a large tree in front of launch that the BLM had marked for removal. The light wind was coming up launch, but the fear was that the prevailing wind might actually be coming over the back. Rick filled a helium balloon and let it fly to test the theory, but it rose straight up with the slightest drift from the south until it eventually disappeared from sight. That was good enough for us, so we decided to drive to the top and set up.

The first thing we did when we got up there was check out the improvements to the north launch. Rick had widened it enough that at least three gliders could line up side-by-side. It now appears to be a much safer launch than it used to be. Kudos to Rick and crew!

As we began setting up, we peeled layers of bulky clothing, as the temperature was very spring-like and we were beginning to sweat. Hard to believe that it was the last day of November!

There were some light cycles coming up the west face, but by the time we were set up and ready, it was apparent that the prevailing south was kicking in. Fortunately it was still light enough that an occasional west cycle would make launching possible. We weren't anticipating a lengthy flight by any means, and the three paragliders that launched ahead of us and sank toward the LZ confirmed our suspicions. Ken launched into a light cycle and headed down the spine toward the field, and I launched afterward in even less of a cycle and followed him down. Both of us had good strong launches and nice no-wind landings. Peter and his two children came out to wave me in as I was setting up my final approach and Christian, who'd hiked up Burnt Ridge and launched earlier, caught my landing on video (see above). No cows were harmed in the making of this film...

They were short flights, but it was great to get out of the fog and into the warm sunshine, get some practice in, and visit with good friends.

Back in the Saddle

2008-11-24T08:08:00.000-08:00

Ha! After a nearly three-month haiatus, I've finally gotten my feet off the ground and back in the air where they belong. It was a brief flight, but it proved to me that my shoulder has sufficiently healed for me to take to the skies once again.

I've been waiting for a chance to go back out to the training hill and see if I was ready, and I thought I had the chance a week or so ago, but the winds were wrong and all I managed to do was make a few exercise runs. That was enough to show me that I could still execute a landing flair, which is the part of the flying process that had me most concerned after this injury.

Since then I've been watching the weather in hopes of finding the right convergence between sunshine, wind direction, and time (weekends). Yesterday was good for 2 out of 3 (sunshine and time), but the wind was forecast to be east, which is typical for late fall/winter in this area. Fortunately, we have an east-facing site overlooking the Evans Valley in Rogue River, so my plan was to talk Ken into taking a sledride with me there. Ken hasn't flown since Labor Day, so I thought it would do us both some good to get even a brief flight in.

Ken realized early Sunday morning that he wasn't feeling up to flying (an old back injury that flares up occasionally), but he offered to drive for me. What a guy! I loaded my big boaty glider on the truck, leaving my higher-performance wing on the rack, and headed for our meeting spot. We got up to launch, took in the view for awhile, did a bit of weedwhacking to keep launch in useable condition, and I set up and got ready to fly. About the time I got my harness on, a couple of locals came to watch the crazy guy run off the mountain. I don't care for audiences, but I didn't object.

I waited for the next decent cycle to roll up the hill and punched off into it. Flawless launch! At least I remembered that much. A few seconds into the flight I zipped up my harness and tried to relax a bit & let the glider fly at trim. My vario didn't beep even once, but I didn't mind. I just looked around and enjoyed the view.

Heading out over the LZ I made a few turns to try & spot the wind flag so I could plan my approach. By all indications, the prevailing wind (what little if any there was) was from the north. It's always more difficult landing in no wind, which often means you have to come in fast and run the landing out, so I mentally prepared myself for that scenario. I made a few s-turns at the south end of the field, crawled out of the harness, and prepared to land. The landing was flawless as well, with a good solid flare and maybe 3 or 4 steps. Best of all, the injured shoulder didn't bother me a bit, either in-flight or during the flare. I radioed Ken of the situation and packed the wing to the breakdown area with a smile on my face. Can't wait to go do it again!

I'm Baaaaaaack!

Paying It Forward

2008-09-21T19:33:00.000-07:00

Ever since the first time I slipped the surly bonds of earth and experienced the bliss of free-flight, I've felt the need to share the experience with others. When asked what it's like, however, I've always found words are just not enough to express the joy I've found (or that has found me). For the most part I've given up trying, and just respond by answering that it has to be experienced and can't be explained.

The people I've talked to who express an interest in the sport usually fall within one of three categories: (1) Those who say they'd like to try it but have either excuses or legitimate reasons (like family responsibilities or health issues) why they don't, (2) the 'thrillseekers' who try everything and want to claim to have tried hang gliding (I call 'em bungee jumpers), and (3) the truly interested who have always dreamed, quite literally, of leaving the ground and silently ascending on a puff of wind. Members of the last group are relatively rare, and if they are genuinely bent on learning, their willingness to leave the ground will be stronger than the setbacks they are likely to endure on the long road to free-flight.

My personal journey to soaring flight was a frustrating collection of fits and starts (mostly fits). I actually took my first flight off a small hill in northwest Montana in 1991. Not long after moving there I learned that the field across the way was a landing zone for a local group of pilots. After asking the usual plethora of questions I learned that one of the group was an instructor, so I immediately signed up for lessons. Unfortunately, training hills were hard to come by and the instructor was usually busy making a living, so training became problematic. I did eventually get a flight or two off a 'training hill', and from then on I was absolutely certain that I wanted more. I even went as far as purchasing a glider and harness from a local who was moving out of state and couldn't pack his gear with him. Unfortunately, I lost touch with the instructor, so the glider and harness remained bagged for about a dozen years thereafter.

Eventually I found myself moving to southwest Oregon and, after settling in, I happened to discover a fairly active flying community. It seems that the mountain across from my new home was a flying site used periodically by some of the locals, and again I'd stumbled into what has apparently become my destiny. There was, again, an instructor amongst the group, so I signed up for lessons. It seems history has a sometimes annoying tendency to repeat itself, and after a few lessons I was on my own again, as this instructor too had to focus on making a living (which apparently is difficult to do solely by teaching others to fly). This time, however, I had a glider, a harness, and a training site. No-one had time to teach me, so I'd just finish my training on my own. How hard could it be, after all, to teach one's self to fly?

A lot harder than I'd ever imagined, it seems. While building somewhat on the lessons I'd been taught by my previous instructors, I'd also picked up quite a few bad habits. Without the tutilage of an experienced, objective mentor, this is apparently quite easy to do in this sport. So I flailed around on the training hill, bending aluminum and bruising & breaking skin until the day when I just happened to be on the hill with the sole remaining instructor in the immediate area and his one student. As Ken, the student, cautiously and systematically learned the right way to fly from his patient instructor, Mike, I continued to fumble and tumble down the hill, slowly perfecting my bad habits. After one particularly hard landing, Mike sympathetically offered his assistance and advice. I was getting more and more discouraged with each awkward flight and was beginning to realize that I wasn't going to learn this craft on my own, so I asked (begged, actually) Mike to sell me some lessons. He was very hesitant at first, but eventually agreed. As I've begun to learn, bad habits are hard to break, and for an instructor to willingly accept the task of trying to break them is a lot to ask, but I guess maybe Mike might have glimpsed a bit of potential in this fumbling wannabe. Either that or he just felt sorry for me and didn't want to see me getting seriously hurt, which I suspect is closer to the truth.

I learned (and unlearned) a great deal from Mike, and Ken and I have become very close flying companions. Mike has since retired from teaching, which has resulted in a total absence of instructors in the area. Currently, one must drive either to San Francisco or Portland to find instruction, and that's a long way to travel given the time commitment it requires to learn the skills to become proficient and safe. Ken and I have discussed this great void in airborne educators, and we've even discussed becoming certified to teach. The problem is that it requires a huge time commitment, and we both prefer to spend our spare time flying rather than teaching. Nonetheless, we have been asked on several occasions where one needs to go to learn this sport, and we've had to disappoint several would-be aviators with the bad news.

A few months ago I was chatting with our regional director for USHPA, the national organization whose purpose is to regulate hang gliding and paragliding activities throughout the country (in lieu of the FAA stepping in). Eventually the discussion came to the topic of the serious lack of instructors in the area (and therefore, students), a common problem throughout the nation that is resulting in a serious decline in new membership in the organization. One of the responsibilities of his position is to appoint observers, who mentor, observe, and issue ratings for the sport. Ratings are USHPA's way of evaluating the level of pilot proficiency, and many sites require a certain rating to fly there. The rating system is also one of the conditions which keeps the FAA from getting involved, and FAA involvement could result in all pilots needing to obtain a license, conduct annual inspections, and many other regulations required for conventional aircraft that would make the sport cost- and time-prohibitive for average folks like me.

The director asked me if I'd ever considered getting certified to teach, and I told him that I had but I just loved flying too much to give up my free time, and that becoming certified would demand a great deal of time and resources that I wasn't ready to commit. We discussed the dilemma of the interested would-be pilots who had nowhere to learn and the decline in pilot numbers, and the discussion ended with the director deciding (with my reluctant acceptance) to appoint me as a special observer, which allows me to train and rate new pilots from beginner to the advanced level. Reflecting upon my own frustration as a wannabe who just couldn't corner an instructor long enough to finish my training, I decided that for the time being this would be an acceptable solution. Ultimately I would hate to see this sport die off , and worse yet, I'd rather not read about the injuries incurred by those whose desire was such that they're willing to risk life and limb to 'teach' themselves. This kind of press would also accellerate the decline of the sport through the loss of flying sites and by promoting the stigma of being a more dangerous activity than it actually is.

So I purchased Mike's training glider, harnesses, and other gear, and Ken & I have spent a couple of weekends so far on the bunny hill with a couple of students. There are, of course, setbacks to the process. The hill is a good distance from my house, so the time and fuel spent getting there has required some sacrifice. The expense of the equipment has been a factor too, but we've managed to make it work so far. Another unfortunate setback occurred this last weekend when a showboating paraglider pilot decided to strafe us on the training hill. He overestimated his abilities and crashed into my training wing while Ken and I were underneath and one of our students was hooked to the frame. Fortunately no one was hurt, but the leading edge, downtube and several battens were broken on the glider. Until I can round up replacement parts, we're out of commission. Despite the setbacks, however, we will persist...

Back at the Rat

2008-09-07T09:36:00.000-07:00

I'm typing this with my left hand, since my right arm is in a sling while the shoulder recovers from a dislocation. I had a bit of a hard landing yesterday in a challenging little field up toward the Applegate Reservoir and pinned my arm under a broken downtube. I'd chosen the biggest, clearest field I could find, only to discover that it was scattered with fence posts and irrigation lines. I did my best to avoid all the hazards, but in so doing I was forced into a last-minute manuever that brought me in at an oblique angle. After unhooking and assessing the situation, I'd determined that other than a little soreness I was alright, so I radioed the other pilots and proceeded to disassemble my wing. As I did so, a neighbor came over and chatted with me for awhile. All seemed well until I went to lift the keel. Apparently I'd lifted it at a slight angle, my shoulder slipped out of its socket, and I went to the ground in pain.

In around 450 flights, this is the closest I've come to a hang gliding injury. I doubt it can even be considered as such, since it could have occurred just as easily in the garage lifting my bagged wing onto the storage brackets. Nonetheless, after attempts to move the arm back into place by a fellow pilot, I finally had to resign myself to being driven to the Medford emergency room. Thanks to the folks who showed up to help, and particularly to Rick, who packed up my glider, drove me to Medford, and hung out in the waiting room. You guys are the best!

Otherwise it was a surprisingly nice flight. After watching several other pilots struggle and/or sink out fairly soon, a few of us worked up to 6k over launch and 7k over Raby's Ridge. A couple of us tried to push towards Grants Pass, but the air beyond Raby's Peak was sinky so we had to fly back to the ridge to refuel. Rick and Karl headed up toward the reservoir, so I topped out the thermal I was in before chasing after them. It turned out to be about a 17-mile triangle, but in retrospect I wish I'd hung out with Bruce and waited for glassoff.

Elk-Rat Hybrid?

2008-09-04T17:12:00.000-07:00

As usual, the annual Hat Creek Fly-in was loads of fun. We arrived later than expected Friday evening due to an accident on the highway, but not so late that we couldn't make the rounds to the different camps and socialize with the gang. The band was there, complete with vocalists, upright base, banjo, guitar, and hand-held percussion, and they wandered from camp to camp providing background music. All the usual folks were present too, and it was good to see them all again as well as meeting some new ones.

Ken had arrived a day or two earlier so he could give himself a chance to rest up before flying, and it gave him an opportunity to fly Friday evening in Hat Creek Rim's epic glassoff conditions along with several of the usual group.

The following evening, we joined up with the gang at launch. The wind was coming in strong as it typically does early in the evening at this site. Launches can also be tricky here, as it often crosses from the south around a rock outcropping, causing a tricky rotor that can turn a wing when leaving the hill and cause a blown launch. Thankfully, everyone managed to get off the hill in one piece and eventually there were 18 wings soaring the ridge. After leaving the ground, the air was smooth if strong, however the process of launching involved a quick elevator ride and a screaming variometer.

We cruised around for an hour-and-a-half or so while waiting for the shadows to cover the landing zone. Hat Creek is also noted for its rowdy conditions in the lz, at least until the sun sets and things have a chance to mellow out a bit. Tonight was an exception, however, as the air was plenty bumpy even well after the sun had set. We all landed safely though with no broken aluminum. Cheers filled the air and beers were raised in salute as each pilot returned safely to Mother Earth. Of course, later that evening we returned to camp to tell tall tales and bad jokes around the fire.

Among the items discussed that evening was the upcoming annual Elk Creek Fly-in held by the northern Cal group every year. Ken and I attended this one also a couple of years ago and had as much fun as at Hat Creek. We flew from two sites - one was St. John Peak and the other was the mountain over the small town of Elk Creek, CA. The St. John flight involved a long winding road to launch (with a longer, windier, steeper drive down, as our drivers will attest to) and a tricky landing in a small, cross-wind lz. The flying itself to me was good, except that my pitch rope broke upon launch and I flew around, even thermalling, while hanging from my wing like a sack of potatoes. The Elk Creek site was little more than an extended sledride for me, and no flight at all for Ken, as the winds died down at launch and he ended up breaking down at launch and packing his wing back up the hill.

Due to newly-implemented restrictions imposed on access to the Elk Creek landing zone, it was discussed and decided to move the annual fly-in to our own neighborhood of the Applegate Valley and Woodrat Mountain. The suggestion was heartily accepted, since all who visited our fine site with its very accessible launch & lz and the multiple wineries throughout the valley instantly fell in love with it. It was also decided that the local mountain mascot, Woody the Woodrat, should don the antlers of an elk for the impromptu ensemble, and it is to be called the first annual Elk-Rat fly-in. We look forward to the visit by our friends to the south in a couple of weeks, and hope for the best weather. Either way, it should be a blowout...

Hat Creek

2008-08-26T09:26:00.000-07:00

For the past couple of years, Ken Hawes and I and our sweeties have made it an annual event to drive down to Burney, California to partake in the yearly Hat Creek Rim Fly-in held over Labor Day weekend. This year will be no exception.

I can't recall exactly how or when I first crossed paths with the friendly folks who put on and participate in this event, but since that time we've made it a point to stay in touch. As a result, we've done our best to attend the others' events and support our respective home sites.

Hat Creek Rim is one of those magic places noted for its beauty as viewed from both the air and the ground. It's situated just down the road from the town of Burney, CA between the (currently) extinct volcanoes Mt. Shasta and Mt. Lassen. While the rim is noted for its amazing glass-0ff conditions, many cross-country flights into the northern California desert have started here. There's also a great campground nearby that fills with both pilots and fishermen, particularly over Labor Day weekend.

What really makes flying here fun though is the people. When Ken & I first attended the Labor Day fly-in, we were immediately greeted with open arms as 'the winged brethren to the north'. These folks love to fly and celebrate life, and they really know how to put on a fly-in. Nowhere else have I landed to the sound of such loud applause! It's enough to make your helmet too tight! There is also a talented Bluegrass band that performs each night of the weekend at the campground. Eventually, the crew ends up sitting around the campfire swapping stories (about hang gliding, of course), bad jokes, and other silly conversation. Of course, eventually someone starts making little paper helicopters to be launched over the flames, and there's an informal contest to see who can fly theirs highest and farthest.

The ladies seem to really enjoy this little get-together too. They put up with a lot from us the rest of the year, chasing us around the countryside to collect us and our gear after landing out, but they really seem to enjoy this event, no doubt because of the people. The flying here is incredible, but a nice flight is just the icing on the cake for us pilots.

Home Again

2008-08-24T08:08:00.000-07:00

I'm all safe and sound back in Grants Pass now. It's been a long and eventful week, and although I had a great time and learned a lot, I have to say it's good to be home.

Like at last year's Hang On, the pilots, drivers, volunteers, and hosts were about as friendly a bunch as a person could hope to meet. And of course, Mike & Gail outdid themselves once again in the organization and hospitality department.

Also similar to last year, the final task was kept local so that all the pilots and drivers could make it back in time for the awards ceremony, dinner, and of course the final blowout party. With launch from Sugar once again, the first turnpoint was north of Lakeview at Tague's Butte, the second was upwind at Black Cap overlooking the town of Lakeview, and goal was meet headquarters at Hunter's Hot Spring. The forecast called for light winds and a decent lapse rate. When we arrived, light cycles were rolling up the face of launch. Several pilots launched and struggled to climb out in the light and elusive lift, and several pilots sunk out in the bailout to the west. I decided to wait it out until conditions improved. It looked like getting away from the mountain would take a lot of patience, persistence, and stamina from the way people were struggling.

I launched next-to-last, and it was well worth the wait. I made one pass in front of the face and quickly hooked into a strong thermal that took me to 10,500 ft. before weakening at an inversion level. I was surprised that no one joined me in the climb and kept working the light lift out on the far west end. I headed out across the Fandango Valley in zero sink and, about 3/4 of the way across, I found some light lift which I patiently worked up to 13,000 ft. before finishing my crossing. From there, I could easily reach the deepest part of the ridge with plenty of altitude to spare. Dave, who had launched just before me, joined me on the ridge and together we cruised along spotting thermals for each other. We passed several gliders along the way, occasionally stopping to work lift with them before continuing on. It was a neat feeling working in tandem with another pilot while keeping in touch by radio. Mark was ever present down below in my pickup reporting his location and requesting ours.

Just after crossing the Oregon border, it became evident that I would have to sneak my way toward the valley and work the faces out front. Dave, with his more efficient wing, could continue working deep with less concern for gliding out front. I made it over the ridge above the valley and tried to work some ratty lift there before continuing up the range to a canyon crossing. Another high-performance wing was ahead and above me, so I followed him, watching to see if he found anything on the other side of the crossing. Sure enough he did, so I came in underneath and climbed up with him, hugging the core and almost outclimbing him at one point. Before this climbout, I was preparing to land in the valley, but this boost took me back up to 8,000 ft. As I ascended, my vantage point changed until, as I rose above the ridge I could see the town of Lakeview on the other side and an easy glide from my current altitude. I continued to try working what I could find to maybe gain enough to continue past town, but nothing would come together for me. I made a sweeping pass over town and landed in a field at the south end. Dave continued on, eventually tagging the first turnpoint, but missing the second by a very small distance before landing at goal.

This was my second flight to Lakeview and my third best cross country flight. It was enough to earn second place for the day in Sport Class, and moved me up to fifth place among the other 13 in that class for the meet. There were trophies for the first three places in each class, so I just missed out. However the competition was very tough and most of the competitors had much more experience than I.

Gail had put together a fantastic dinner of lasagna, pasta, and salad at headquarters. After chowing dinner down and imbibing a couple (maybe a few) of her deadly margueritas, we had the awards ceremony, exchanged war stories, and had a great time visiting. I'm very much looking forward to next year, when I hope to improve my flying by the same factor I did this year, but like I said before, for now it's good to be home...

Hard Lesson

2008-08-23T07:37:00.000-07:00

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.

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".

Low Save

2008-08-21T19:45:00.000-07:00

With west winds in the forecast (and slightly lighter), we headed up to launch at Black Cap. The task called was a 120-mile down-winder to Adel, past Dogherty Slide and beyond. The first gaggle climbed out easily but kept sinking back to launch as the lift came and went, but eventually left the mountain. I was in the last gaggle to leave (next-to-last to launch) and experienced the same yo-yo effect. It looked like the ridge to the right of launch was working, so I headed over and found some reasonably workable lift, but no screamers. Everyone else was above me as I scratched my way around the ridge. I'd almost given up since I was so low, but at the far end of the ridge I found something I could sink my teeth into and worked it up to around 9,500'. From there, I drifted over the back and found another nice climb that took me to 11,600 and drifted me far over the dry lakebed behind the range. I kept finding little pockets here and there and worked each one in zero-sink as I drifted downwind toward the first waypoint. Eventually, I found myself low enough that I couldn't get past the canyon just west of Adel, so I picked out a break in the junipers near a road, deployed my drogue chute and landed in some foot-tall junipers with rocks about the same size.

It only turned out to be about a 16-mile flight, but as I worked the light stuff and drifted downwind, I saw quite a few gliders in the fields below. I'm hoping this flight puts me back in the race. We'll see...

UPDATE: I hung around with the other pilots at Headquarters last night (eating kabobs and soaking in the mineral pool) until the results for the day were posted. Turns out I was third for the day in Sport Class, which moved me one notch higher to 6th for the meet so far. Only two chances left to move up...

Still Earthbound...

2008-08-20T23:23:00.000-07:00

We didn't even bother driving up to launch today. It was blowing like a madman down here in the valley, so it had to be just screaming up at launch. Most of us just spent the day exploring Lakeview and its environs or hanging out in the resort doing whatever. I took the opportunity to get a little work done, and later Dave Koehn and I got a couple games of racquetball in at the resort's indoor court, which is cleverly disguised as a 2-story old west building.

The winds mellowed and the clouds thinned out somewhat, so several pilots went up to Black Cap and flew the glassoff, which was strong but smooth. I was happy to hear that Mark Forbes was among the glassoff pilots, since he's been committed to being Safety Director for the meet and the driver for Dave and I and hasn't had much chance to fly before now.

The evening ended with a great grilled steak dinner followed by a fantastic piece of Gail's apple pie a la mode. I've been sworn to secrecy as to what her special ingredient was. I also had the opportunity to sample something unusual - grilled rattlesnake. Seems Tom Pierce saw this recently-demised critter on the road, so on the way back from wherever it is he drove, he picked it up and brought it back to camp, dressed & skinned it, and threw it on the grill. Several folks gave it a try and said it tasted - you guessed it - like chicken (although rubberier). I looked carefully at the grilled carcass, which looked like a skeleton with bits of charred meat clinging to it, and decided not to capitalize on the opportunity to try something new. I just stayed with the locally grown and organically fed grilled tri-tip, which was delicious. We then sat around and listened to the usual collection of hang gliding war stories before retiring to our respective encampments.

Sure hope the weather is flyable tomorrow...

Grounded..

2008-08-19T23:18:00.000-07:00

..No, not for staying out past curfew (although I probably did), but because of the weather.

It looked discouraging again this morning when I got up, but then it looked more so the day before and it turned out to be a beautiful day. We had our pilot's meeting and headed for Sugar again. Upon arrival, the rainclouds to the northeast continued on their merry way in that direction and the friendly cumulus clouds checkered the sky to the southwest, working their way in our direction. All looked great for an epic soaring day, except for one thing - IT WAS BLOWING LIKE STINK!

Nonetheless (and always the optomist), Mike eventually posted the route that the task committe worked long and hard deliberating over. It was basically a long, downwind flight to the south end of Summer Lake. The sticking point was a canyon between the first and second waypoints which could potentially contain some dangerous rotors in the high winds. Eventually, a second task was proposed as a backup, which turned upwind before the dangerous canyon and ended at headquarters.

We all assembled our wings, hoping for the winds to subside sufficiently for us to safely fly. I checked the velocity with my wind meter and recorded the peak gusts at around 28 mph - pretty strong for many of us. We waited..and waited..and waited. I checked again, and this time it peaked around 32 mph. Worse yet, there were high cirrus clouds with imbedded lenticulars - sure signs of screaming winds - working their way in our direction. Even if there were sufficient heating to create lift, chances were good that it would be blown horizontal not far above the ridge. This would create a hazardous situation for anyone flying a wing with insufficient penetration to get back ahead of the ridge, and landing behind a ridge in high winds is not a good idea due to a dangerous condition called rotor.

After watching Dave Scott do aerobatics with his Zagi (a small radio-controlled wing) for awhile, it was agreed to make some changes to the task. Mike agreed to move the window back awhile to see if conditions would improve, and to also open the start window rather than have it set at predetermined times. Basically, the clock would start when one left the start cylinder rather than at 15 minute intervals, which is customary.

Eventually, a couple of pilots left the hill, one in a high-performance wing and one in a lower-performance glider. Within a few minutes of their launch, Mike announced that the task was closed, which raised a loud applause from the pilots. Most pilots commenced to disassemble their wings while a brave few decided to fly the conditions and see what happened. No one who launched got very high, but at least one made it to Lakeview in the strong tailwind. I watched a couple of them launch and decided that the benefits fell short of the risks, so I too disassembled my wing.

The forecast for the remainder of the week calls for more of the same - high winds and iffy conditions. I sure hope the weather service is being pessimistic...

Bad Call

2008-08-18T20:18:00.000-07:00

Not such a nice flight today as yesterday for me. The task was another long one heading north toward Lakeview and then out to the town of Plush. Given the thunder and lightning show we were treated to the night before and the rain showers the following morning, no one really knew if the day would be called. However, when we got to launch, there were some nice clouds in all directions, although it was about as windy as was forecast.

I launched around 2:30 and worked my way up to just short of 10,000 ft with a small gaggle of other pilots. We all drifted downwind and out over the valley behind launch. Foolishly I followed the gaggle out toward the foothills across the valley instead of staying in the lift and working it to cloudbase. Had I done the latter, I could have worked farther back into the hills and stayed with the stronger lift. As it was, I had to scratch the light stuff kicking up from the valley floor.

I worked what I could find, which eventually ended up being little more than ridge lift. That would have been fine and would have sustained me until I found a workable thermal, but all ridges eventually come to an end. I found that end and landed at New Pine Creek, which is right on the California-Oregon border 13 miles north of launch. I was pretty disappointed with my performance.

As of this morning, my standing was 4th in Sport Class and 24th overall. Today's performance will no doubt hurt my standing, but it's only day 2 and I have up to 5 more days to turn things around. That is, of course, if I don't burn myself out first.

Big air...

2008-08-17T22:11:00.001-07:00

Well, as predicted, the conditions were prime for a big cross-country (XC) day at Sugar. The winds were reasonably light so the lift went straight up. Big fat cumulus clouds lined the hills at around 17,000 ft. There was a good chance of thunderstorms in the afternoon, so we needed to be in the air fairly early to avoid the overdevelopment, which shuts down the lift by preventing the sunlight from heating the ground.

Mike called a long task today, also as predicted. It was a 90-miler from Sugar to a turnpoint north of Lakeview, then across the valley toward the town of Paisley, and then back to Lakeview. Since the first turnpoint was 39 miles from launch, I figured that I'd just see how close to Lakeview I could get (27 miles from launch) and be happy with bettering my best flight from a few weeks earlier of 18 miles.

It was pretty darn cool to see those 30-plus gliders virtually covering the mountaintop. The downside, of course, is that soon they'd all be in the air scrambling for the same thermals, and among them would be a newbie pilot from Grants Pass in the second comp of his life. Thankfully though, I was one of the last few off the hill, and the hot dogs had since left and were well on their way to the first waypoint.

I'd teamed up with a pilot from New York, David Koehn, whom I'd flown with last year in Hang On, and we had Mark Forbes, the Regional Director for the USHPA and Safety Director for this comp as a driver. We'd agreed upon a common radio frequency to organize retrievals.

David launched first and eventually found something over the lookout that was giving him a pretty respectable climb. He radioed to me to join him, but I was working a pretty strong core of my own. We discovered that we were working different regions of the same thermal, so both of us climbed from launch at 7,150 ft. above sea level to 16,000-plus ft. At this point it occurred to me that I could suffer from hypoxia at this altitude without an oxygen system if I were there for an extended period, so I took several deep breaths to compensate. David radioed that he was heading for the edge of the start cylinder, so I responded that I was right behind him. He headed for the heart of a large dark-bottomed cloud downwind, and I chased him for awhile until I lost sight of him.

Crossing Fandango Valley I lost maybe 1,500 ft, so I still had plenty to work with. Remembering my last flight and how I'd failed to push far enough back into the hills, I eased my way deeper and deeper over 'dinosour country'. Along the way I found a couple of nice cores that took me back up high enough that I could make Lakeview on glide. I passed over Black Cap, which overlooks Lakeview, at around 9,000 ft and continued about 5 miles beyond town and landed in a large field about 6 miles short of the first turnpoint. David continued on, reaching the turnpoint and landing in a field just to the south.

This flight represents several bests for me. It's the most altitude I've ever gained in a single climb (over 9,000 ft), the highest I've ever been above sea level (16,400 ft), and my longest cross-country flight (32-1/2 miles). Mark told me that he saw at least ten other gliders scattered along the route between launch and Lakeview, so I'm curious as to how I stand overall and in Sport Class. Not that it really matters though -- if I drove home right now I'd be smiling all the way...

Cumulus Maximus, the Night Ranger, and Some Familiar Faces

2008-08-16T20:59:00.000-07:00

Here I am, safe and sound (or as safe and sound as one could expect) in Lakeview. It's still quite warm, even at this altitude (4800'). I've always had trouble sleeping when it's hot outside, so getting enough sleep before the first day's task may present a challenge.

The drive over was uneventful, although I was treated to some spectacular cumulus displays. Cumulus clouds are those big puffy white clouds that, as children, we all saw as whimsical animals or people with pronounced features. To this day, I sill see folks or critters in them, but having delved into the 3D world of soaring, I have made a profound discovery about those airborne blobs of mashed potatoes, Disney characters, and Jimmy Durante's - THERE'S LIFT IN THEM THAR CLOUDS!

Cumulus clouds are created when the upward-soaring elevators we call thermals, which usually carry moisture from the ground, rise to the elevation where they condense into visible form. An astute soaring pilot will pursue these gigantic bits of fluff, hopping on board the upward-soaring elevators beneath and climbing to a magical place we call cloudbase. One must be careful, however, as sometimes these blossoming blobs of water vapor can be strong enough to continue to draw the unwary pilot into their gullets and take one to heights which are not only dangerous, but also illegal according to the FAA. We call this 'a visit to the white room'. Paying such a visit often results in disorientation, since there is no longer a visual frame-of-reference, and hand-held GPS units often crap out within a sufficiently dense cloud. A condition loosly termed 'cloud-suck' can also draw one ever higher, despite their best efforts to descend.

If the clouds should line up, as they often do, they form a phenomenon known as a 'cloud street'. Such formations are ideal for travelling many miles cross country, provided they form in the desired direction. Still, one must be careful to observe the proportions of the formation. As a general rule, if the cloud is taller than it is wide, prepare for a wild ride.

Enough about clouds. The new-old truck (I traded off my Green Guzzler for something more economical) did well pulling my little camp trailer down the highway. Sure, I can't scream up the hills like the big Dodge could do, but it sure hurt less at the pump in Klamath Falls where I topped off. I do miss being 'King of the Road', but all-in-all I think the Night Ranger will be a fine hang gliding truck.

After arriving at the campgrounds, I set up the trailer and headed over to the first pilot's meeting at Meet Headquarters. HQ is at the Hunter's Hot Spring Resort, which boasts Oregon's only guyser and some nice hot mineral baths. Admittance is on-the-house, thanks to the efforts of Mike & Gail Haley, the meet coordinators. In this hot weather, a hot soak didn't sound like such a great idea, but it just might after the first task. The Haley's have also arranged substantial discounts to anyone wanting to camp at the resort, although I opted to set up camp at the adjacent campground due to the availability of full hookups.

I must admit, I felt a bit overwhelmed being surrounded by all those world-class comp pilots at the meeting, but after chatting with a few of them (and downing a couple of Gail's KILLER margueritas), I came to realize that we're all in this together. Even though we're competing against each other, I really began to feel like I belong with this group. It's amazing what a brotherhood forms when such circumstances align. I've always felt that way about the Rogue Valley group as well, but since the vast majority of RV pilots fly paragliders, with different parameters in which to fly, I've always felt a bit of 'ugly duckling' syndrome. Here, we fly the same craft in the same conditions and, although the dynamics are essentially the same, somehow it just seems different. I can't really explain. All I can really say is this is a GOOD thing for me...

Well, I suppose I'd better get some rest. Big day tomorrow. Forecast looks even better than before, although it looks like we'll have some STINKIN' strong winds on Monday. Given that forecast, I'm predicting we'll launch Sugar Hill for a long task tomorrow and maybe Sweet-n-Low (lower launch from Sugar - cute, huh?) or Black Cap on Monday. We'll see...

Lapse Rate

2008-08-15T09:51:00.000-07:00

Some folks anxiously await the posting of the latest stock charts to determine whether they should be buying or selling. For me, it's the MM5 lapse rate forecast chart that has me riveted to my computer at 9:00 am each day, indicating whether I should be loading the glider on the truck. These red and blue lines and little barbs along the side tell me what kind of day to expect in a variety of different places.

In a nutshell, the vertical increments indicate altitude and the horizontal numbers are air temperature. The thin green diagonal lines are the dry adiabatic lapse rate, or the normal rate at which air becomes cooler with altitude. The red line is a computer projection of how a parcel of air cools as it rises in relation to the surrounding air. The blue line is the dewpoint at various altitudes.

The data used to plot the red and blue lines is gathered from balloon soundings conducted by the weather service. Of course, with any forecast, the farther out the projection, the less accurate it is likely to be, so I like to use the latest forecast to determine if I should be gearing up for a great soaring day.

This particular chart is for Lakeview, Oregon at 5:00 pm Sunday, the first day of the US Nationals. Having that red line parallel to the green one for a long way is a GOOD thing! That means that the lift goes VERY high, up above 14,000 ft., before it begins to taper off (veer toward the green temp. line). Of course, this forecast is still a couple days out, so it could change substantially, but it sure looks good so far.

Another great thing about this chart is the look of those wind barbs to the right of the graph. They indicate 10 knot winds from the SW, which is just right for Sugar Hill, the place where we will most likely be launching from. Sugar is notorious for its strong conditions, and if it's blowing hard up there, the lift can be difficult to stay in. I've seen people get blown back behind the ridge and into the rotor while chasing lift, and it doesn't look like a fun place to fly. Lighter winds mean the lift will be rising more vertically.

I sure hope this forecast holds. If it does, we'll be getting high and going far for sure...

Comp Preparations

2008-08-14T11:10:00.000-07:00

Truck is lubed and ready to go, trailer is prepped, glider and harness are cleaned and ready. There are a hundred other things to take care of before I leave town, and I'm ticking them off one at a time.

This Saturday morning I'll be leaving for Lakeview, which calls itself the Tallest Town in Oregon as well as Hang Gliding Capitol of the West. Along with many other pilots, I'll be spending next week there competing in Hang-On, the US National Hang Gliding Competition. So far, the weather forecasts have been looking promising, although this morning's projected lapse rate for Saturday was less than I was expecting. The first task is Sunday, so I'll be anxiously awaiting the next update.

Last year was my first venture into the world of national competition. It was originally planned for Lakeview as well, but a fire in the area forced a last-minute change of plans. That change moved it into my own back yard, the Rogue Valley, so I had no excuse not to participate. I actually surprised myself by placing first in Sport Class and around 15th overall, as well as logging my best cross-country flight so far. It's amazing how much harder one tries when there is a set task to complete.

This year I've worked out a deal with the meet organizers where they would waive my entry fee in exchange for the artwork for t-shirts and trophies. This should offset the expense of gas, food, and camping somewhat.

My goal for this year's comp is to better my best flight in Lakeview, which essentially amounts to completing the 26-mile flight from Sugar Hill to the town of Lakeview. This year I made it 18 of those 26 miles, but I think if I'd have pushed the envelope a bit further, I could have gone the whole distance. Hopefully, having a set task will again nudge me along. I'll be flying with some of the best pilots in the country on some of the hottest speed-machines made, so I have no intention of competing with anyone but myself.

High Flight

2008-08-13T18:26:00.000-07:00

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there

I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air.

Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,

I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace

Where never lark, or even eagle flew -

And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod

The high untresspassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee

No 412 squadron, RCAF

Killed 11 December 1941