And The Storms Came

The storms came, and so did we! This was a test of endurance between us and mother nature, and we were not going to let the grandest power of all defeat us. I am talking about the club's biannual trip to Big Sur. This year, we had the misfortune to have the trip fall on a weekend that consumed the first storms of the season.

I had looked at the weather channel, and it predicted that there was a storm that was due on Thursday, and then the weekend was to be clear. Thursday came, and sure enough, the storm came. I used this as an omen that the weather forecast was correct. My roommate, and I, packed up the car, and off we went. We arrived around 10:30 and joined the campfire, with a few of the early birds. They had flown that day and were reveling in the afterglow of successful flights. I have been on trips to Big Sur, when Friday was extremely soarable, and the rest of the weekend was blown out, or fogged in, so I was hoping that this was not going to reoccur.

Saturday morning, we packed up the car and off we went to launch. It looked great; we were going to fly. This was going to be my first high flight since my accident, over a year ago. I was very excited to finally be resuming the passion that so consumed my life, until an unfortunate accident put me out of the sport, nursing a shattered leg. But, I feel much better now!

Chad Bastian's van was packed with 17 hopeful pilots, and soon the stories, and jokes began to flow, as we did what we could to dissipate the 45 minutes it takes to arrive at launch. These times are often some of the benefits of participating in such a social sport like what we experience. The only problem is that the van was not meant to haul this many passengers, so the creature comforts are slight. But no matter, we endured, and soon the doors opened to a lovely view of the launch, toward the Grand Pacific Ocean.

Several pilots had arrived before us, and began launching themselves in the great vastness of Big Sur. What a grand sight it was! I can't wait until that little spot in the sky that everyone pointed up to in reverence, was me. As I set up my glider, I took a glance at all of the commotion around me. I noticed that almost everyone was looking at me. These are my friends, and also the best people on this planet. I was going to launch in front of an audience, and I hoped that my skills hadn't deteriorated and make a fool of myself. I never have been good in front of audiences. The wind on my back was poking at me, telling me that it was time to launch, and with one grand, reassuring breath, I pulled on the risers, and witnessed the magnificent flying machine build itself and rise above the fulcrum, the fulcrum being me! I couldn't stand there and admire the beauty, I stepped backwards, keeping the load on the canopy, turned around and started walking off the mild precipice we call Wild Cattle. Soon, my feet failed to reach the ground. I watched each rock and plant slowly shrink from view. I was flying!

I settled into my harness, waved my arms, and gave out a big hoot and holler! What is that noise I heard? Why that was a vario, and it is told me that I was climbing! A thermal was playing sweet music on my vario. Boy have I missed this sport!

I looked over to the left, the spine beckoned me, and I began to lean toward it. Then, a rumbling of the harness began. My forward movement ceased, and my glider stopped flying. The first thought was, NOT AGAIN. Something was very wrong, and I didn't know what to do. I took a look in back of me, and saw the most horrifying site. This is a sight that I would love to have seen one and a half years earlier. I saw a fully deployed reserve canopy, beautiful and round, and unwanted! After all, my main was flying perfectly well.

My forward movement ended, and now began the long fall straight down. The ground started to accelerate toward me, and I began to take stock of the situation. My main was now about 45 degrees in front of me and seemed to be satisfied to remain there. I felt that it would want to begin to fly, as soon as it gained enough airspeed at this attitude, and wondered if I should start reeling it in toward me, to prevent it from interfering with the reserve. I took another look down and determined that I did not have enough time to deal with retrieving the main, I just had to try and control the position of it, in hoped that it would not entwine with the reserve. I held the A risers and anticipated the necessity of pulling them down, but it seemed to be content to ride me down in the position that it sat, and I felt that I would not have to bother with it at all.

Another glance downward, rewarded me with the knowledge that gravity was doing what it was best at, drawing me toward the earth. I pictured in my mind, exactly how I wanted to hit. At the last minute, I swung my legs out in front of me, so as not to risk my broken leg, and whump, I landed smack dab in the middle of my back! Jeez, what a predicament. My love for flying was starting to mimic my love for women; all I seemed to get was hurt! Fortunately, it happened among a small clearing and both the glider, and my reserve fell harmlessly to the ground, away from any shrubs or trees. If I had fallen a few hundred feet farther down the hill, I would have been in trees.

Although I hit hard, I didn't break anything new, and stood up to see Eric, Double D, Dana, and Tom Bidler hiking down to greet me. What a great group I belong to. I said that before, when I had the first accident, and I can't say it enough. Twice now I have had the warm feeling of seeing caring people, stop their enjoyment of the activity, figuratively roll up their sleeve, and pitch in to help a fallen comrade. I get a reassuring hug from my roommate, and then the long trek back up to launch began.

I put my reserve parachute into the back up Lew Riffle's van, where it will have a nice cozy place, and trip down to the LZ. I will not need that again. The launch then began to cloud over, so several of us decide to hike down to the 2400 launch. There I finally launched, and flew down. I even got to thermal for a while. An inauspicious flight, paid for by a year of convalescence, and an embarrassing reserve deployment. However, I was now back in the air!

We made several attempts to find a place to launch, later in the afternoon, but the weather thwarted our efforts. The clouds soon opened up on us, so it was time to settle into the camp. Quite a number of people decided that they didn't want to camp in the rain, and broke camp to return home. Those of us that really had nothing better to accomplish stayed in hopes that the next day would reward us with post-frontal conditions.

What was to ensue, could never be described adequately enough, to truly capture the spirit of the event. A tent was erected to surpass all tents! Little John and Double D provided the material, i.e. a tarp for cover, and a Hang Glider for the center pillar. The grand master of big tops, this edifice was vast enough to harbor all that stayed. 4 or 5 picnic tables, campfire, several drummers, card game with 6 participants. Then, as if Mother Nature had decided to join us in our music, the wind whisks throughout the shelter, thrilling all that sought shelter. The shelter bellowed in and out, but never collapsed!

Sunday offered up beautiful morning full of promise of great flights. It looked like we were going to enjoy post-frontal conditions, so we scooted up to launch. Upon arrival, we were greeted with clouds and more rain. At first, the reports from the Hang Glider pilots who had yet to get motivated and were still at the campground, said that the campground was experiencing rain, and several people were taking off back to Santa Barbara. We decided to stay, and wait it out, as Chad broke out his RC glider, and vicariously flew Wild Cattle Launch. Now, for the next few hours, we would see holes open up in the clouds, enough to see the ocean, but not long enough to fly through.

Then, reports from the campground were that there was clearing out in the ocean, and the Hang Glider pilots were heading up to launch. Sure enough, They arrived, set up their rain soaked flying machines, and without any hesitation, launched in the first sustained opening in the clouds. I grabbed my glider, and hoped that there would be an opening that even a Paraglider could navigate. I was richly rewarded.

What looked like the best clearing of the day, since the morning anyway, the clouds opened up, and first Steve Morris launched, then I followed. Several others report to me that they were on my tail, and I watched them grab their gliders, and proceed to set up. I figure this was going to be a crowded sky, and began to actually climb above launch. After gaining a few hundred feet, I see the clouds begin to envelop launch, once again, and I had better skedaddle before I get stuck in the clouds.

Wow, I had a magnificent flight. I have flown Big Sur for a number of years now, and I have climbed out above 6000 feet at launch, and flown for several hours, flying around the back country. This flight was looking like more of a extended sled ride, but what a spectacular view. I saw bright cumuli over the 2400 launch, and with a little effort, I could climb up, and fly over these beauties. I then proceeded to do just that.

I looked down to see my shadow on the clouds, surrounded by a halo of color. Several other pilots were trying to work their particular areas of lift, and I saw Skippy follow me to this cloud forest. This whole scene left me breathless.

A strong north wind meant that I was traveling sideways for most of the trip toward the ocean, and then when I wanted to head toward the LZ, all I needed to do was turn south. I would be there in a flash. I decided to hang out, the best I could, with the other pilots, and try to extend this trip through the Elysian Fields. However, constant worry about my leg, and landing, meant that I would not rest until I had landed, so off to the LZ I went. Along the way, I took in as much of the experience as I could, before it ended.

The wind on the deck was 0-1, if that, and I came in rather fast, but safe. My leg survived another landing, and I just stood there, in marvel of flight, in friendship, and of Big Sur.