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September 12, 1998 Fellow Flyers, After the urging of several influential enthusiasts of our Santa Barbara club, I proceeded to waffle for at least 36 hours. To go, or not to go, that was the question. You see, the weather predictions were for thunderstorms all weekend. And, out in the Owens Valley where our club's Labor Day Cross Country Flying Trip was to take place, it was indeed thunderstorming. The majority of the club's Glider Pilots went to Tuttle Creek on Friday. But Saturday morning they woke up, and "didn't even think of flying (Walts Point)." Instead, they drove on North, under threatening, dark skies... Still in complete waffle mode, or more accurately, self-torture, I called Steve Acton in Big Pine early Saturday morning. He didn't like it but I made him get up and "just take a peek," outside. "I gotta know," I cried... "There are clouds all around," he told me. It was 5:30 AM; I proceeded to sleep in. Later EJ, Andrea, Susie, and myself left to Ventura to catch some south swell (predicted to fill in over the weekend) prior to heading inland. After surfing, we left the promising swell and worked our way to Lone Pine... On the road, the Antelope Valley was filled with beautiful cumulus clouds, big and puffy, evenly spaced, a soaring pilot's dream. We agonized that we might have missed a good flying day in the Owens…Cues were everywhere! On Sunday, we set up at Black Eagle Mine, up in the Inyos. At about launching time, it started to gust down and rain. The Inyos were filling in with rain clouds as the Sierras were black with overdevelopment. Verga was closing in on the valley in every direction, our hope of flying was dashed for the day as thunder could be heard in the near distance. The girls hid in the car as EJ and I tore apart our gliders in the rain. I wondered why I wasn't in the ocean. Later I would learn that at the exact same time on the northeast side of the Valley, in the White Mountains at Flint's Launch, the rest of Team SB was also getting rained on... Monday morning started with a dark mackerel sky, overcastting the south end of the Owens Valley. I slept until I couldn't stand it anymore. I was depressed from having made a bad call and I could not sleep. Susie thought I was going to commit suicide (she had to walk me around the Whitney Golf Course, the previous day, to get my mind off of it). Even EJ had complained of my negativity… Then, a blue hole moved over launch while I made a breakfast of coffee and cereal. I wolfed it down, then proceeded to tear apart the camp. Indeed, an opportunity to fly was presenting itself. After stuffing all my gear in the back of my truck, I anxiously drove down to EJ's campsite. EJ and Andrea were relaxing and enjoying the morning, lounging around their pop-up trailer. Parking in front of his car, I indicated it was time to do something. "Well, Andrea and I are gona go into town, eat breakfast, then go home early. What are you thinking Bobby?" Grim faced, I replied, "I think we should check out Walt's." EJ looked at me a moment, then replied ,"well okay." Andrea asked about getting home early to surf, and EJ replied we could fly that way. Arms crossed, I watched EJ dismantle and hook up his pop-up trailer-tent to his rig.
At launch, ten gliders were set up. We started stuffing battens. Before I knew it, EJ was suited up and telling me not to "dilly-dally around" since the clouds were beginning to shadow launch. Susie walked me to launch, asking me to get in a good flight so I'd go home with a smile on my face. Nearly last off, I struggled over the spine to the right of launch. Barely maintaining, the area was filling in with clouds from the West. EJ had gotten off earlier, skyed out to 11 grand, and was waiting for me to join him as he drifted north. The southerly flow had started moving up the valley, while the westerlies were pushing clouds over the Sierras into the valley. After finally extracting a thousand feet from a surprise thermal far out over the spine, I moved to the north. Not making the peak behind Walt's, I flew around to it's backside. Nothing. I glided in under EJ, albeit lower. I asked if he had lift. "It's breaking up," he replied. I crisscrossed my way down to the foothills above Tuttle Creek. Several other gliders joined me while we bounced around in scrubbed-off lift; we were down to 6500'ASL. Then it got dark. A shadow passed over us into the valley. Before it got too far, I left the foothills for the shadow's edge, figuring it would trigger some lift on my glide out from the mountains. Then, to my right, I spotted a glider circling at the edge of the shadow. I dashed to him. Sure enough, he had found some light lift.
Next thing I knew, there were five of us, all the way to 10 grand. I grew impatient at about the time EJ joined in. I looked for the sunline. It was all the way to the Alabama Hills, and closing fast on 395. I looked ahead to see a sailplane circling low at the north end of the runway in Lone Pine. He wasn't rising fast, but he was rising in sunshine. I made a dash for him. The sailplane left to the south as I crossed 395. At the runway, I was back in the sunshine where I found light lift at 6400', it was a welcome. I slowly gained a thousand before EJ came in to join me. The sunline moved to the foothills of the Inyos. Still in the sunshine with clouds forming nicely overtop, the Inyos were beckoning! I told EJ that I could make the foothills with 7400', then pulled on my VG as I dove, once again, out of the shadows into the sunshine. I came up to a red round hill at the base. As I slowed down, light lift was presenting itself. I noted 5400'. Letting off the VG, I turned a few times, sliding in closer to the mountainside with each turn. Then the vario began to sing; I tighten my turn into what soon became 500' fpm without let up! I called to EJ to tell him it was happening. EJ was leading the group in the shadows over Lone Pine, showing them how a Sensor climbs. The sailplane and four gliders lazily circled over the shadowed desert, slowly rising, while Susie and Andrea watched from Lone Pine Park, swinging on the swing set. At 10 grand, the northeast drift flew me into the Inyos with only a short distance to the top spine. I diagonaled to the spine. Once there, I peeked over the back. Lots of sunshine back there. I turned back to the west, yawing back fast as it was apparent there was some westerly pushing me over the top. "Don't want to go OTB here," I thought. I proceeded to crab along the crooked spine of the Inyos to the north. Clouds were forming fast. It was raining on the Sierras now, as well as Tuttle Creek. Below, EJ had dived into the foothills farther north than I with a several other pilots, making it with 5600'. They didn't seem to be beaming out, and they were in the shadows. I moved along finding lift, every third spinal intersection, that soon rocked me up to 11,700'. A chilly temperature and turbulence at that elevation kept me from wanting to go higher. I pressed on. EJ left the group in the darkening foothills and found lift under overdeveloping skies behind me, several peaks back. He put the metal down as I exclaimed I was determined to keep up with the sunline. Under some clouds, slightly over the back from Black Eagle Mine, I climbed into the clouds. The clouds nearby wafted downward like stretched cotton balls extending below me. I zigzagged my way through them turning three sixties here and there, careful not to fly directly into one. The air seemed to be swirling about between forming clouds making for a rocky ride through the cotton field. I held onto the top of the spine to the west of the developing cloud street that was heading back in deep along the backside of the Inyos. The westerly became strong as I approached Mazourka Canyon. I was way, way in over the back, a long, long way out to Independence and Hwy. 395… I looked back and there was EJ gaining on me, a couple spines back. I had to choose a route. Back south was out of the question, it was raining to the south. The cloud cover included the valley floor to Independence; west was out. The cloudstreet to the northeast went deep and low over the terrain. Across the canyon, northwest to the foothills up from Independence perhaps? It looked inviting, as it was sunny and had easy outs to Independence should I flush from the mountains. And straight north to Westguard Pass? It was in the sunshine, but too far deep in over the plateaus beyond the top of Mazourka canyon. I pushed a bit farther north to over the upper plateaus. I milked the last bit of clouds along west of the street. I was envisioning landing at several different meadows up there when I finally went for a long reach: northwest around the top of the canyon, around a peak on the other side of the canyon, sliding back out west toward Tinemaha Reservoir. It was a blue hole with little elevation slope and lots of plateaus to clear, with an ever deepening canyon to flush through at the end. I started about 2500' AGL, with about seven miles to clear to get to that front edge. I pulled on speed as I was flying into a quartering headwind. As I pulled away from the clouds, I could feel them suck me back, then I hit sink, big sink. 1000+ fpm down. My anxiety soared, my eyes grew big. Pie-eyed, I watched tree tops and meadows come into view all around me. I held on to my line for the length of the first plateau, the peak at the end had strong lift, but I flew right through it in my hot pursuit of making it out. I scolded myself for not stopping. So for the second patch of lift that I came to, I slowed down and took a few turns. The lift was spotty, and choppy. I wondered why I stopped with only one more plateau to clear before the last peak on the front of the Inyos, above Tinemaha. I flew to it realizing the big sink was over. Clearing the top with a few hundred, lift was abundant but broken. Relieved to have made it to a safe zone, and with the 395 attainable, I bounced around for awhile, gaining a thousand before turning downwind, north northeast it seemed. The wind at the front of the mountains had more valley flow component, scrubbing the thermals off toward Westguard Pass. I followed the scrub. I picked up only a little altitude along the area of the Inyos that slowly slopes off into Westguard Pass, as the air flow seemed to fall off and then head back northeast toward the other side. I picked a line for Black Mountain. A long glide later I came up to a highway cutting through shallow canyon land (a cut off road to the SE from Westguard Pass). I was low over an alluvial fan cut with a labyrinth of canyons that were everywhere. I looked out the road toward Big Pine, I could probably just make it to flat desert, the only landable terrain in sight. Down to 5600', I found a small patch of light lift. Diligently, I worked it for what it was worth to 7500', drifting across the highway and back northeast, ever closer to the red foothills southeast of Black. Then I heard it, "Red Rover, Red Rover let Bobby come over." EJ had passed me, and found a boomer in the red foothills. "This one," I asked, as I dived on the closest red knob. No sooner was I banked up steep, wrapping into the core, was the reply, "yep that's the spot, took it to ten-five." EJ was coming alive with excitement in his voice. Team SB was in touch monitoring our progress, while we were happy to broadcast our good fortune. EJ went to the backside of Black Mountain, the first peak of the White Mountain range, while I topped out at 9 thousand just behind in the adjacent foothills. A cloudstreet was forming nicely just behind the Whites. I turned back toward it, into heavy sink, losing a thousand instantly. High anxiety set in as I had a ways to go before getting to the street. I turned back out front and raced to the side of Black. I made the southeast edge with 6500' after a roller coaster ride in and out of sink continuously for a tense long glide over the deep canyon to the south of the mountain. . . I was glad to be met with broad lift everywhere along the southeast edge. The lift got punchy and strong fast. I turned sharper and sharper. Soon it was 750 fpm average up toward cloudbase. I was beginning to feel sick as a watched the valley floor spin by. Spiraling skyward at 1100 fpm to 12000', it was cold. My head felt dizzy, my stomach was empty, I felt weak from having skipped lunch some four hours before...I radioed my position and noted the rain drops on my vario. Ice crystals where bouncing off my leading edge and glasses, it was time to glide I thought as I looked up and back at the forming dark-bottom clouds. I was rapidly nearing cloudbase. Little John came on the radio and commented that it was "a triple digit day, boys." Still banked 30 degrees and climbing fast, I grabbed my VG string, as the vario screeched out beyond human hearing. Simultaneously, I felt the tail of my glider get kicked up, then me along after it. I watched the right wing twist down under me as the tail went over my head. The left wing tip stayed somewhat straight up as I was tossed up and over, to momentarily become weightless, positioned feet up, head down. I seemed to watch in slow motion as the bar on my right side flew into my hand almost on it's own. "This is it," I said to myself, "I'm going over." At the top of the pitch over, the left side wire twanged, as the glider stopped rotating to be 20 degrees from straight up and down, wing tip to wing tip, upside down! I was then looking down, at the right-side under surface leading edge, from the nose to the tip, with the top of Black Mountain as a back drop! I felt like a leaf getting blown out of the top of a chimney! I held the bar to my chest as the glider yawed 90 degrees to the right while still completely weightless! But, then the glider dropped through like completing the last 2/3 of a loop. And with a twang, I flattened out into broad lift, body shaking from the shot of adrenaline that just flooded my stomach. Still in lift, I circled broadly avoiding the core while I got my bearing. I looked around, realizing I felt colder then ever, and that I was clamped onto the bar in a death grip, which took a conscious effort to release. I needed to chill out. About this time EJ was under the street forming over the Whites a couple of peaks down. I consciously turned away from the clouds toward Gunther and went on a glide. Looking to land, I asked about our favorite swimming hole, but I was told it was dry. I turned for Chalfont. Meanwhile, EJ had become firmly established in the cloudstreet behind Black Mountain, and he was taking full advantage of it; EJ was on a hundred mile flight. Above Bishop but below Gunther, I found some foothill lift that got me enough altitude to race the girls to Chalfont. Beating them, I pulled a U-turn over town into a field next to the highway, into 5-7 mph south wind. A two stepper, I was relieved to have the energy to land. I wobbled about as Susie met me at the fence. Peaked, I asked for some aspirin, as my head was spinning with a headache thumping around in there. As I wearily broke down my glider, the girls went for gas.
Back on the road, my headache subsided as EJ told us his position, "13 grand, at cloudbase above Chalfont, I'm goin' on a glide." Urging him to fly to Nevada, I told him to "fly the street." He was soon flying a 75+ mph ground speed trying to keep from getting cloud sucked. Andrea stepped on it, as it soon became apparent EJ was flying right out of radio range. On the glide, EJ "spots a Black Eagle in tow and immediately senses a hunt." A Golden Eagle was on his tail, holding his glide right behind him. "I looked back and there was this Black Eagle right behind me." EJ kept on the speed. So did the eagle. At 60 mph air speed, "again I looked back and there he was, wings pulled in tight, right on my ass!" He flew for 15 minutes before slowing down and taking a circle in "good, gentle, broad, gotta turn in, despite the Black Eagle, lift." I figure he flew 20 miles down range in that time. Then, "I took a few turns looking back at this eagle, when all of a sudden he flew too close, hitting my wires with his wings, and throwing his talons up." EJ straightened out and left the thermal. "I flew away at bar-stuffed speed." The bird and EJ dived for one mile before the "Black Eagle finally peels off." EJ "didn't need any of that." But he was chased out of the eagle's territory at Montgomery Peak. One of the last big peaks of the White Mountain Range. When he came within sight of Benton and started asking about Nevada, I checked Andrea's speed, 65 mph, going up a hill. We were 10 miles out. I told him to turn the corner at the end of the White and head east across the state line.
He turned the corner over Boundary Peak and looked for an LZ. He spotted several gliders at the infamous Janie's Ranch where he went in to land. After a big ol' wingover, he yelled for wind direction, missing the big Dream Catcher adorned with colorful streamers above the gate entering into the LZ. It was blowing out of the north, 4-5 mph, opposite of the southerly flow in the Owens Valley.
We pulled up to a sign that read, "Janie's Ranch, Closed, Beat It!" Apparently, the Chicken Ranch was closed for business. Amused, I held on as Andrea blazed a trail passed the ranch into the LZ, with the pop-up bouncing around in tow.
EJ was there with several other pilots from Colorado, although none had flown from Walt's. The other pilots flew from Piaute. Clearly, EJ had the flight of the day. Triple digits, a hundred miles. I took pictures while, one of the pilots explained he was so happy with the smooth lift over the Whites, that he went back for seconds. And so, he had flown to Janie's twice in one day, racking up some 50 easy cloudstreet miles. We celebrated in the LZ with a beer. Not long later, EJ was looking to mail a letter. Yes, he had a letter to mail from a Nevada mailbox, a letter he had stowed in his harness for just such an occasion. So after some parting shots, we went in search of a mailbox. Too bad we had already inadvertently driven back into California...But, after some pleading and kissin' up, we were driving back into Nevada for the second time that day, looking for a mailbox in the middle of the nowhere. What the hell was in that letter? And why did it have to be mailed from Nevada? Fortunately, not too far down the road we found the box that was to do the job. Thank God, 'cause we were to drive home that night, and the sun was setting fast. As the sun shone through the rain squalls around Benton, EJ told us the significance of the letter as Andrea sped through town. The letter contained cut-up pieces of a shirt his aunt wore everyday during a recent Holiday trip. She wore it so much that everyone in the family affair conspired to rid the aunt of it in a devilish way. By mail, the aunt was to receive pieces of it back, bit by bit, from all over the states, and in this case a bit from Janie's Ranch, Nevada. Yours truly, Big A AKA: YNA, Flyin A, and Robert Anderson ;> |
