"THE SUBLIME AND BLISSFUL WORLD OF SILENT FLIGHT" by Phil Thorndyke

If Satan followed gliders,
He'd surely have it made.
How many souls he could have had Along
the Baker grade.

"1'll sell, 1'll sell," would come the cry
From pilots in despair;
Surprising what a man would pay
For half a mile of air.

But maybe not surprising
To those who might be found Where
happiness is measured
In distance from the ground.

Five hours out, about on course,
Lift's getting far between;
A lot of miles still to go
Which now may not be seen.

You had it good there, for a while,
But now your getting low;
The only place that's fit to land
Is that clear patch just below.

But then ahead-- a wisp of cloud,
And so you drive it on.
Just past the point of no return,
The cloud dies and is gone.

Always have a landing site,
This time you didn't think.
The rocks below, no place to land;
The gage shows zero sink!

Now come the curses muttered low,
obscenities for prayer.
50 down and 40 up,
Ease back the stick a hair.

Five minutes; fifteen; twenty; Damn!
You've gained a hundred feet;
Vario -airspeed -altitude;
Sweating in the heat.

Below the hikers glance aloft,
And think that they might too
Enjoy such silent, graceful flight;
The vario marks "DOWN 2"

Roll it in; roll it out,
Fly at lowest sink
Til with agonizing slowness,
The rocks begin to shrink

Ah, the quiet grandeur
Of soaring like a hawk.
Do they tremble from the tension
With their stomach like a rock?

At least you'll make that clear patch now;
You're luckier than some!
You should be sharp for landing
But the strain has left you numb.

Approach will have to be straight in;
Can't check the field that way.
Rely on what you saw before;
So far it looks O.K
Spoilers open, watch your speed;
Keep the…………………

"_________" POWER LINES!

March 1980 Newsletter

SOARING FOR SILVER IN SUMMER BY: Peter w. Kendall

They're absolutely right about Arizona. It's hot!! But you can take an aero tow at Estrella Sailport to 1,500 feet AGL, and soar right into the bright air-conditioned heavens with a panoramic sweep of the desert, mountains, and Phoenix. And that's just where you would have found me during most summer weekends, fat and sassy at 8,000 feet, or nose to the ground hunting for thermals. Last summer, all the scraps of my accrued aeronautical information and skill were fused by concentration to meet some of the exhilarating challenges of soaring. At the urging of Estrella personnel, I set out to earn my FAI Silver Badge.

The day selected for my five hour duration flight was certainly challenging. Those at the airport figured I'd be back on the ground within two hours due to the local meteorology. I knew that my best opportunity for staying aloft would be over the Sierra Estrella; this proved functional for nearly four hours with flight saves becoming ever more frequent after my third hour airborne. Then, at four and one-half hours--Puff-- apparently no more thermals.

I exhausted all the thermal generating possibilities and finally entered the traffic pattern. Then, after having waged this obvious losing battle, A BUMP! LIFT! I have never flown such well-coordinated precise circles within a thermal! At that point, out of food, water, and nearly out of altitude, and just plane (1) cramped, my skill improved. At the end of five and a half hours, then, and having pulled every ounce of performance out of my trusty 1-26, I landed. I'd done it!

Observers who had witnessed the dramatic last "save" and ensuing battle were ecstatic. and promptly heaved me into the swimming pool done only on momentous occasions. I imagine that my ego alone could have taken me up into the stratosphere.

After about a half-hour of floating on the water and clouds, Jim Fox, flight instructor held in high esteem, casually looked over at me on the verge of a yawn and said, "What about your cross country?" Puff! I had just landed with a good bounce. Cross-country? This was a challenge that any serious soaring pilot had to face, but as soon?

Three weekends in a row proved unsatisfactory for the attempt: poor weather conditions, not enough altitude; I was beginning to wonder if it was the weather or me. During the week, I would read pertinent information, from Soaring Cross Country to The Power of Positive Thinking, and then in agony find that the weather, etc. wasn't cooperative. Patience!

On the fourth weekend the wind was from the "wrong" way to go to Eloy, traditionally the Val Halla of silver distance flights. It even rained a bit. "Beautiful," I thought, "this is getting to be ridiculous.

Les Horvath probably saw a dark cumulo-nimbus cloud just an inch or so above my head at that point, and an opportunity that I wasn't even aware of. He put his arm around my shoulder, led me over to an aeronautical chart of the vicinity, and said in his Hungarian accent, "Peter, why don't you go to Pierce?"

Pierce? One: I had no idea where Pierce was. Two: I had only just heard of it. Three: I had checked out the route to Eloy and felt somewhat confident that I could "park" the plane in some roadside field if necessary. Pierce was completely out of the question, outrageous, absurd.

"The only thing you have to remember, Peter, is that you have to release from tow below 1,100 feet above ground." Aw, go on...who, me?? Even more incredible, I hear Les saying to me that I must not only release at a mere 1100 feet, but must notch the barograph down to a thousand or so. Great! I don't know where I'm going and now I've got to find a thermal the split second I'm off tow, notch the barograph...to the ground, mayhaps? ...Who is this guy?

Well, he sounds convincing. "OK Les, where's Pierce?" An animated discussion follows. Look for this, expect that, if “A" then “B”, and at the end of it all is my very own silver distance. Les gives me a pat on the back, a "good luck," and he's out the door. Who IS this guy, I kept wondering...

I walked outside, looked doubtfully at the sky, then walked over to my car. I sat in the driver's seat for a few minutes with my eyes closed... realized that it was a good challenge, and figured that I would put in all the effort I could muster.

Barograph behind the seat, towel over the seat, can of Gator-aide behind the seat, license, hat, sunglasses, map, and finally me. I was keyed up and felt somehow as if I were going into combat. Checklist complete, thumb up, and the towplane pulled this reluctant flier into the air.

At 750 feet, I felt the 1-26 balloon upward as we entered a thermal. At 9oo feet, I released, rising another 100 feet, then dived to notch the barograph. With so much effort centered on this initial phase of the flight, the challenge was on!

I made steady, confident progress in thermals, climbed up the Sierra Estrella's spine, and was vaulted over 7500 feet AGL by three black cumulous clouds. I never even thought about being all of half-way to Pierce -after all, I was still close enough to "home" and high enough to glide back there. I just suddenly realized that Pierce was indeed within range, if I properly processed the incoming stream of information.

A bubble here, a bubble there...the vario steadies on +100 fpm. Worth it? Lift has become sparse and weak now that I've left the ridge and am out over a moist basin area. Hmmm...try this one...a 360 degree turn -where's the core? Missed it. A hawk slides up alongside, peers in, then drops. mockery. That crazy desert town, Phoenix, sleeps on, oblivious to my plight. I yell. Best to keep moving in the direction of Pierce. quick math tells me I've got 5200 Feet AGL.

That big field looks good for an off-field landing. Plenty of room. Another area, of sagebrush and gullies, not too hot. Smooth, cool wind flows over my wings in a gentle, constant whoosh. Rain streaks. An enormous triangular airport appears on my right. Hmm- check the map- "Caterpillar" what? Below, a car pulls a plume of dust. East wind. Sunlight breaks through, the low hills glow iridescent. Lift?

For the next eight miles I could not locate Pierce, although I had a general idea of where it was. And, while unable to find any thermals, I managed to minimize my altitude loss by paying careful attention to performance speeds.

Pierce must be around here somewhere! Ah..HA! Even though you know that the map is supposed to show an accurate view of the corresponding countryside, there is nothing like seeing the airport on the map suddenly appear on the ground! It's got to be magic! (Cartographers of the world, I salute you!)

I arrived over the airport at 2500 feet AGL, and while paying out my altitude, assessed the airport and landing conditions. I went carefully through my landing checklist, slid down the pattern, over a house, telephone wires, the road, cars, the fence, and onto that forever stretch of concrete. I almost expected to hear trumpets and choirs of angels (well, either way!) when the plane came to a rest. How about a small band and a parade? What about a pack of dogs, preferably friendly?

I closed the dive brakes and looked around. No one. On such a momentous occasion, where were the throngs? I opened the canopy to a serene rustle of wind.

I pulled the plane to a safe parking place, then walked to a nearby grocery store to call for a retrieve. Kyle, our towplane "Mama" answered, and I announced, "The Eagle has landed!" Kyle understands. She said, " Hey, great , Ace, I'11 be right over.

Kyle towed me back over the cotton fields, low hills, through some rain, and up over the high ridge that I'd used to get to Pierce. I released within easy gliding range of Estrella and gently pirouetted down through the soft silken air, playing with the altitude that had earlier been such an effort to gain on my own. And, once on the ground at Estrella, I am an official Silver Badge pilot, with all but the paperwork complete.

Three weeks later, I received a letter of congratulations and US Silver badge #3751. More than praise, it symbolized something earned by effort and faith, and the support of others. I think my eyes stopped watering when I thought about earning my Gold Badge, then I'm sure it was my mouth!

**************

Peter Kendall is a "new" member of ASA currently visiting his family in his native Chile. He'll be back in our midst in April, apparently in pursuit of his Gold Badge this summer. Continued good fortune, Peter!