In some parts of the world, thermals occur in every season, and one can soar year-round. Northern California is not one of these fortunate lands. Here in the Bay Area, lift dwindles toward the end of fall, and northeast winds shut down most of our sites during the long dark months of winter. But sometimes the weather relents — not enough to soar, perhaps, but at least enough to fly. So it was that I found myself in the hills of Milpitas this morning, watching the sky.
The prospect was anything but promising, with layers of fog and cloud blocking the sun. Still, it one doesn’t become a hang glider pilot unless one has a certain amount of optimism, and several truckloads of optimists headed up the hill. The scene that greeted us at the top was unexpected. The fog, which had seemed so dismal from the landing zone, stretched out below us like a calm grey sea, dotted with small white islands of cloud. Beneath it, we could see hints of landscape, like visions from a dream. It was worth coming here, I thought, just to see this.
We took our time setting up. Perhaps we were being lazy. Perhaps we were in no hurry to launch for what would obviously be a brief sled ride. But I suspect we dawdled because we were enchanted. Every now and then, one of us would leave the setup area, walk to the edge of the slope, and stare down at the scene below without saying a word. (This, of course, is one of the Ten Warning Signs of Enchantment. If you or any of your friends shows one of these signs, they may not be enchanted, but they should still be checked for spells, etc…) Still, one can only dawdle for so long. There comes a time when the last cable is secured, the last rib locked in place, and preflight inspection is done. Then its time to shrug on the harness, strap on them helmet, carry the glider up to launch, and prepare to fly.
Hook in, prelaunch check — tip wand, sprog, hooked into both hang loops and locked, leg straps, parachute pins, sprog, tip wand — and shoulder the wing. It feels balanced and wind is blowing up the hill. One last check of pitch attitude, then lean forward and run down the slope. Three steps… a dozen… gosh we’re moving fast! Hang strap tightens… wing lifts up… and… we’re flying!
There is a magic in flight. The view might be the same as it was from the mountain, but the world seems a little brighter. Life might also be the same, but its troubles seem less important, for flight puts these things in perspective. That argument you had with your girlfriend, does it really matter? You still love each other. So buy her some roses, give her a kiss, and take her out to dinner tonight. That project deadline your boss says is a matter of life or death? He’s a fool. It isn’t a matter of life or death. It isn’t even close. This is life or death. And you have chosen life.
I spent a few minutes sight-seeing, marveling at a prospect that always seems new. Then – growing bored, perhaps – I decided to have some fun.
Let’s try a few high-speed steep-banked turns to wring out the wing. Forty-five degrees… that roll-out was a little off… forty-five again… much better… sixty… sixty… pulling 2 g’s… watch that pitch control on exit… got it! Now it’s time for a stall. Slow the glider down… feel how the roll control gets logy…see if you can keep those wings level… ease the bar out a little more… there she goes! A brief fall as wing stops flying. Then relax, let the nose down and recover.
With 1000’ of altitude left, there was time left to play, so I flew across the landing zone to try an approach from a new direction. The field looked strange from this angle — roads, trees, and lake out of place in a way that brought a smile to my face. The windsocks also looked strange, for each one was pointed in a different direction. This was less amusing, for it meant I would almost certainly be landing downwind, and my landings have been not always been things of beauty.
Still, there was no help for it. One of the realities of flight is that each and every one must somehow come to an end. I picked out my turn points, dove to pick up speed, and brought the wing around on approach. A bit high, perhaps, and yes that was a tailwind, but members of my tribe laugh at tailwinds — through clenched teeth, perhaps, with a few curses mixed in, but this still arguably a form of laughter.
Round out in ground effect. Don’t look down to notice that groundspeed because this can only lead to tears. Ease out the control bar to bleed off airspeed. Head up, hands up, grip loose, keep that back arched… feel the wing about to stall… and… flare! Not too shabby. I may have dropped the glider after I was done, but for a downwind landing, I’ll take it.
So that was it: flight number 1126 in my logbook. Date: 9-Jan-2010. Site: Ed Levin Park 1750’ hill. Launch altitude: 1750’ AGL, 2250’ MSL. Glider: Moyes Litesport. Conditions: wind south at less than 5 MPH, 90% overcast at 12,000’, no sun, no thermal activity. Duration: 5 minutes.
Or perhaps it lasted a lifetime.
