The forecast for last Saturday looked good. We’d been watching the fronts, stalking the weather, and it seemed our patience was going to be rewarded. But when I arrived at Ed Levin that morning, the clouds were low and dropping and the wind was turning to the north. Winter can be like that: full of promises that end in disappointment. (Perhaps that’s why more men than women become pilots: they get used to that sort of thing) Still, all hope was not lost, for there was always Mission Ridge. Off we went, following the ancient ritual, organizing the ride, loading gear into a single truck for the drive up the hill, strapping our wings to the rack as we shivered in the cold.
It was even colder when we reached the top, for clouds had dropped until they were just above launch, the sun was hidden, and it had begun to drizzle. We stood around, pretending things would get better, and this time they did. The improvement was slight, but at least the clouds lifted enough for us to fly. If we didn’t mind the cold, and the gray, and the threat of rain.
I was the third one off, wrestling my glider over the stone wall to launch, hooking in, doing a preflight check, then shouldering my wing for the run down the hill. Three steps… left wing drops, bloody hell, I can do better than this… make a correction… feet leave the ground… whoa, where’d that turbulence come from!
Moments later, I was climbing, annoyed at my launch, wondering if it was worth it. Yes, I might be flying, but this wasn’t some cushy jet with a nice warm cockpit. It was a hang glider, I was out in the open, and the air was freezing. It was also quite wet, and my jacket, control frame, and glasses were beaded with mist. Imagine standing on beach on a cold windy day with fog blowing in from the ocean. Now take away the ocean, the beach, and every last hint of sun. And we do this for fun? Still, it seemed too early to land. And perhaps it would get warmer. And the sun would come out. And a team of bikini models would arrive to offer me large amounts of chocolate.
I flew back in forth in front of the ridge, waiting. It was easy to stay up, for thermals and upslope wind had merged into a big smooth band of rising air. And the view might have been quite nice if I could have seen out my glasses. The only problem was staying below the clouds. Every now and then, I would roll into a steep bank, hold the control bar down, and do a spiral dive to lose altitude. It was a way to pass the time.
Then, unexpectedly, the clouds began to rise: above launch, above the peak, above the radio towers to the south. The sky grew brighter, with a faint hint of sun. It even seemed to grow warmer. It’s amazing how much difference even a hint of warmth can make. I’ll take that over bikini models. Or chocolate. Any day!
What had once something to be endured was now something to be enjoyed. There’s something almost meditative about soaring on a glass-smooth winter day. You feel every motion of the glider: slight bobbles in turbulence, the faint tendency of a wing that’s spirally unstable to wander off to the side. You play games, slowing down while heading into the wind to see if you can go backwards. You watch hikers laboring up the slopes below. You relax, gaze at the view, and somehow, the dust of the world slips away. This transformation is subtle, elusive, and difficult to define, but there comes a moment when your mundane concerns are gone and all that’s left is flight.
But all flights must end — hopefully in a landing. An hour or so into this one, I considered my options. I could land on top of the mountain or I could land in the regular LZ at the bottom. The former was cold and windy. The latter was right next to the parking lot where I’d left my truck. But it was full of cows, and cows are treacherous beasts. You pick a clear spot, set up to land, and that Killer Grazing Instinct – a legacy from the age when Cows Ruled The World – makes them wander right in front of you. We must also remember that to cows, the Whole World Is A Bathroom. No, the regular LZ was out.
Besides, landing on top of the ridge was fun! So I told myself as I set up an approach parallel to the crest, decided I was too high, threw in a turn to burn off some altitude, realized I was too low, turned left to get out from behind the terrain, dropped like a stone, hey, my left wing is going down… this is going to be ugly, let’s see if I can… gee, I ended up on my feet, that wasn’t so bad!
I was smiling as I wrestled the glider back to the setup are. I was smiling as I shivered in the cold, waiting for my friends to land so we could drive their trucks back down the hill. I was smiling as I headed to my favorite café for the Traditional Post-Flight Pizza. And when I look back upon those two cold, grey, and smooth hours in the air, that smile remains.
From the World Site Atlas (http://www.sitesatlas.com/)
