Entry #3

The Old man and the Sleigh Ride

I looked up again out of habit. The grayish-white cloud was still there, draped like a comforter across the mountain top. Even the "old man's" profile was completely enshrouded. This was not unusual; in fact it was normal to see the summit cloaked this way.

I've never seen the cloud descend lower than it was now and in any case it wouldn't present a problem for my flight. The ceiling would remain about a thousand vertical feet below the peak leaving me a safe couple thousand feet of wide open space to the landing area. Also, if it remained calm, and I expected it would, the sleigh ride (a term used by hanglider pilots describing a smooth descending uneventful flight) would make it a piece of cake. I would simply drop through the cloud popping out at about 500 to thousand feet above ground.

But what I was really hoping to see was the nearby tree branches moving a bit indicating a breeze. With an uphill wind sweeping up the mountain ridges and creating a wave, it might allow me to soar and extend my flight time. This is what all experienced hang glider pilots looked for. But it was not to be. It was dead calm. 

Refocusing, I turned my attention to my ski school students making lazy wedge turns down the beginners slope. This was their last run and the class was over. After a few comments and encouraging words I bid them farewell saying they were now at a level that would allow them to ski the bunny slope. 

As I coasted over to the base lodge I caught the eye of the mountain manager waving to get my attention. He was already on the snowcat that would carry me with the glider to the mountain top. This became a routine after the area management suggested that I make a demonstration flight for the public at the end of each day and after the lifts shutdown. I happily agreed and anticipated these daily flights as it was the highlight of the day for me provided the weather cooperated. 

With the glider securely loaded I climbed on the back of the cat and tapped the cab roof to start the climb. The ride up was uneventful, holding on to the furled glider watching skiers and waving to chairlift riders. It was at this time that I could relax after a full day of ski instructing. Eventually we entered the bottom of the cloud and traveled the remaining 300 vertical feet virtually blind. The driver turned on the lights to help illuminate the service road and eventually we reached the launch area without incident.

After unloading the glider I thanked the driver and waved him off. For a moment I watched the cat as it descended and disappeared in the cloudbank. It was eerily quiet as I looked around. Surreal I thought.

 Refocusing on the task at hand I unfurled the 194 square foot sail and quickly swung the cross tube over the keel. I attached the A-frame to the juncture of the two tubes and sat it up. The A­ frame triangular base is what the pilot holds onto and uses to control his flight. By pushing out you climb, pulling in you descend, swing right or left to bank. Basically it was control by weight shift. After attaching the cables and giving it a walk around safety check I was ready. I gazed at the glider momentarily as it stood upright on its A-frame with its nose high and the tail of the keel in the snow. It reminded me of a praying mantis. Then I slipped into my harness, stepped into my skis, hooked into my quick-release strap and I was set to go.

 Winter launching was always easier with skis, as you were able to attain more speed than necessary to ensure your takeoff. Foot­ launching limited you to how fast you could run. Of course the uphill wind was also an important factor and sometimes just a couple of steps were adequate. Today when I picked up the glider and pointed the skis down the mountain I felt confidant that it would be a smooth takeoff, which it was.

Lifting off I soon gained altitude. Clearing the trees on either side of the ski trail, I veered to my right over the chairlift towers. They soon disappeared below as I gained more altitude allowing the cloud to close in around me. It was quiet and peaceful now as I relaxed and enjoyed the ride. So comfortable and relaxed that I failed to notice the lapse of time. I should have descended through the cloud and into the clear air by now. So what, not to worry I thought, the cloud ceiling dropped a little. I'll just continue to fly straight and level knowing that basically I'm no more than a plumb-bob dangling below the kite. As such it presented no problem with maintaining horizon level flight. But soon I accepted that the ceiling had dropped a great deal and I would need to modify my flight plan. I knew that there was a little wind out of the northwest. If I continued straight and level I should drift enough to my right (easterly) and keep away from the chalets and power lines at the base and to my left. If I traveled too far I might find myself having to make a tree landing across route 16 on bald mountain or artist bluff. I've made those landings before, settling in  the branches safely but poking holes through the sail tearing the kite up. But I didn't want to have a search party come to the my rescue and give the sport a bad name. I still expected any moment, however, to break through into the open. A few minutes later I realized that was not going to happen. Okay, I have been in worse situations in similar weather conditions.

Was I a risk taker getting involved in this sport I thought? On a number of occasions I was asked if I was a thrill seeker and had a death wish. I tried to convince them I was not a thrill seeker   nor did I have a death wish. I did explain that I often enjoyed watching hawks circling gracefully in the sky and thought how wonderful it would be to experience that freedom. Hang-gliding was as close as I could get to emulate that experience. Was I scared?  More  nervous than anything else I thought. In dangerous situations when I was in trouble fear existed but I was to busy trying to deal with the condition and a way out of it. Today reminded of a similar situation that occurred when making a military training flight in a helicopter. It was a nasty day and I was taking my time pre­ flighting as I expected the tower to call and say not to take off as visibility was down to zero and raining. But no call. After finishing my cockpit checklist I started the engine and lifted off hovering in place, still no call. I taxied to my takeoff point and called the tower "666 number one alpha." The tower responded, "666 clear." It surprised me of course but being a trainee I obeyed (never did find out why they cleared me for takeoff).

 It was no more than a 6 to7 minute flight to the training field but I was flying blind and couldn't see beyond the plastic  bubble.  I knew other students may be in the air facing the same dilemma and a midair collision was very possible. I thought of my name being mentioned in the Framingham News (todays Metro West) that a local airman was killed in a training accident. It saddened me to think of the impact it would have on my mother and family. If it occurred in Viet Nam that was one thing but in a training flight it seemed to me to be a wasted life. I descended below the normal 500 foot standard cruising altitude to get a glimpse of the ground and spent those tense moments expecting the worse at any second. Eventually the practice field came into view. I immediately called the field tower and sensed the surprised alarm in the voice as he gave me clearance to land.

 And than there was the day in Maine when we couldn't fly our gliders in a meet at Sugarloaf as the weather was unsuitable. A few of us drove around looking for a favorable launching site so we could get a flight in. We spotted a cliff half  way   up a mountain that faced into the wind and decided to give it a try. We hiked up, set up and began launching. I was the last to take off or I should  say step off as it was a cliff launching. That's when I broke a cardinal rule. In cliff launching you want to be ready for the sudden updraft created by the wind hitting the face of the cliff. If not the nose of the kite will lift straight up and cause a stall. Then the kite would drop off and go straight down in a flagging dive in which there is no recovery. Hang gliders have no movable control surfaces to correct this condition. I goofed. In hang gliding you don't always get a second chance. Frantically I pulled the control bar into my stomach to get the nose down. I hung suspended momentarily in a stall expecting the worse. Somehow the nose dropped and I was able to gain flying speed to continue the flight. I beat the odds again.       

Another incident occurred taking off downwind which is just plain dumb, a no-no. Facing  into the wind is a must.  Starting out with an inflated sail is especially helpful if your foot launching which is what I would be doing that day. After lugging the glider up the mountain it's discouraging if weather conditions are marginal. You want to fly and not have to lug the kite back down. That  day  facing down the mountain the wind was coming right over the top and at my back. The kite was setup with the nose on the ground facing downhill and most of the time the sail was pressed down against the frame instead of the sail being inflated. But now and agan the sail would inflate and I chanced that perhaps the wind direction had changed. Foolishly I went for it. A big mistake. What I took off in was a rotor, the temporary curling of the wind as it came over the mountain top creating a brief uphill draft. It was up and down violently bouncing like a bronco. Once out of the curl it was like entering raging river rapids. In order to prevent losing lift and nosing in I had to fly twice as fast as the 20 mile per  hour wind. I was very close to going in many times as my boots kept clipping the treetops. This continued all the way to the landing area where I made a high speed running touch down. Lady luck gave  me another break.

 And then there was the time the wind was coming straight up the mountain but rather brisk. Once again, when in doubt sit it out. I didn't. When you become proficient at this sport you look for ideal conditions that will allow you to soar. These conditions mean more wind for ridge lift. Judging the wind can not always be that precise especially in the mountains. Unbeknownst to me the wind that day created too much turbulence. Unfortunately, once committed to a takeoff you can't normally turn around and abort, especially when you find yourself in trashy air. I knew immediately that I was in trouble. I had gained perhaps a thousand feet on the ridge wave and it was like riding a bull in a rodeo. In addition to the thrashing, my legs would swing side to side hitting the cross-tube as I repeated many times the expletive frequently used on the golf course. As I struggled to maintain level flight I regretted that I hadn't invested in a parachute like many of my fellow fliers. I wouldn't have hesitated unhooking and dropping away. My greatest difficulty now was making forward progress. The wind was just too strong and in attempting to I would have to drop the nose but that would cause sail deflation resulting in disaster-a flagging dive. But I couldn't just stay stationary fighting the beast and hoping it would go away. I finally came up with an idea that I would try, the falling leaf exercise that we used when in ski clinics. The only way I'd be able to land is straight down. So I worked my way over to my right and lined up over the work road to the ski area so I would have an open space to descend too. Tipping the glider at a 45 degree angle to one side I allowed it to slip down 15 to 20 feet then repeated that to the other side. Like a falling leaf I continued this sequence all the way down to the road.

Now after all these experiences my present condition could not be all that bad. And it wasn't, as I suddenly broke through the cloud ceiling and found myself over strange terrain in the open. But quickly I recognized echo lake and than the old base lodge. I still had a few hundred feet altitude so I decided to make a 180 degree turn to try an uphill landing. Seeing a few skiers coming down I changed my mind and swung around toward the base lodge again. Noticing space in the upper parking lot I decided to give landing there a try. I made my approach and elected landing between two rows of cars which I did skiing to a stop. Before I could unhook from the glider the snow cat driver drove into the parking lot. He said they knew I wouldn't be aware that the ceiling had dropped and that briefly they heard a flutter from the trailing edge of my sail and then nothing. In attempting to get my attention they used a bull horn and turned the lights on. With a helmet on I heard nothing and of course saw nothing. He announced that they were about to send out a rescue party but decided to drive over here first. At the same time a couple came running over from their VW micro bus. "Wow," they said, "we saw you suddenly appear out of nowhere and then circle around." "Where did you come from?" I said, "From just below the saddle at the top of Mittersill." "Incredible, you deserve this" handing me a Coors beer. I thanked them replying I'm more than ready for one.