Triumphant return? Not so much.

The Facebook group discussion begins.

 Saturday evening:

"You flying tomorrow?"

"Not sure, you?"

"Depends on the weather."

"Me too."

"Pemberton looks like will be blown out with the Whistler Express."

"Yeah. So you flying?"

"Not sure, you?"

"Depends on the weather."

Sunday morning.

"You flying today?"

"Not sure, you?"

"Depends on the weather."

Talk of kiting in Vanier Park (now a 2 hour drive from where I live) and the conversation fizzles into indecision.

Looks like flying is not a priority for the regular crew today. 

A day of yard work or visit the local hills?

Hills. Definitely hills. 

Pack up the car and drive to Woodside, full well expecting it to be blown out with the forecast 15 kt S/W meteo. FlyBC's lot is deserted @ 1130 (even with Jim away, folk typically show up to arrange rides) which might have something to do with the flags near the camp ground flapping madly in a strong south.

Passing the Koffee Kettle parking lot, a collection of cars are parked and what looks like Rus' FJ is just cresting the climb from the LZ. The iPG students must be getting a LZ walkthrough before visiting launch to find out that conditions are likely not flyable. Visiting launch on a non-flyable day like this offers a unique lesson in of itself-> being able to sense when one should not fly is arguably more important than knowing when one could fly. 

The LZ tour continues on towards Bridal Falls. Passing through Agassiz, I spot the unique climb-fall-climb profile of a wave cloud above the highest portion of the SW to NE running ridge line. 

This does not look promising.

Then a wing pops into view, and another, and another. All in all, five wings are visible. Not far from launch, but making forward progress against the wind.

Given that the grand Canadian tradition of chucking students off on DHV 2 wings fell out of favour a few years ago, odds are a few might even be EN B's.

There is hope for the day.

A few FB messages and truck loads later, a group congregates on Bridal launch with aspirations of an hour or two of air time. The majority are the 'old timers', comp-esque pilots of varying experience (Alex, Martina, bi-polar curve - 'Do I fly a HG or PG today?' Martin, and 'Boombox Bacon Bra' Patrick from the States), though a few intermediates (George, Lee) looking to play with the 'big kids' round the flying group out. In addition, Nicole is out to enjoy sun and conversation while kindly lending her good hand in helping folk lay out.

Still in 'European Flying' mode (conditions only get worse, so get set up quickly), the kit is laid out, hooked up and donned.

Alex launches, turns a pair of figure-eights just to the left and climbs out of sight up on the ridge. Aside from a single tip tuck, the air looks fine. Martin, George, and Lee follow, though require a bit more boating back and forth to capitalize on a climb. In amongst this is an abort on my part as I get used to the 90 degree cross that frequently presents itself at the eastern edge of the Bridal 'bubble'.

Attempt two and we are off.

The leash for the pod slipped loose, can't ... get ... in.

ARRRGGGG!

Fly away from hill.

Five minutes of fighting results in the footplate flipping in amongst the straps and speed system.

Increasingly creative use of metaphors and a realization that I have been futzing around pretty close to where the reserve handle is.

Switching hands and tracing along the left side of the speed bag, the plate is flipped back through and feet are in the pod.

In this time, I have sunk into the rotor from the ridge/mound just to the west of launch. Two hundred meters up and left with very few options to try to climb out when most of the surrounding air is being driven down at -2.5 to -3.0 m/s. Getting creative with landing zones at Bridal is ill advised on the best of days, so scratching along the base of the ridge with hope of finding some Franken-lift in amongst the rotor is quickly ended and I head to land.

Livid.

Crossing the Rubicon and gloriously entering Rome?

Not today.

But...

It is at this point that I realize some of the growth that did occur while training overseas. Through this whole ordeal no mental effort went into managing the wing in the midst of the churned up lee-side thermals. I simply flew it with little concern for what the air was or was not doing, reacting as needed, when needed.

Strangely enough, I am more at ease and feel more in control of this EN C wing than I ever felt with my previous EN A or B wings. Then again, maybe that is normal?

Kelly once pointed out that with a wind above X kph, a windward face of a mountain will begin to trump the sunward face. Perhaps a similar analogy can be used here: with recent flying experience exceeding Y hours of airtime, currency will begin to trump a wings rating.

Idiocy: Canadian Style

The picture (courtesy of Jim @ FlyBC, whose group was safely on the ground) of Revelstoke pilots trying to outdo Bassano in tempting Darwin.

Sadly, the test for judgement typically comes with a harsh failure outcome.

Ozone Delta 2 SIV: Accelerated Symmetric, Accelerated Asymmetric, Small Wingovers.

Accelerated Asymmetric proved to be a non-issue and easily managable - no kittens died as a result of an asymmetric being pulled while on bar.

Collapses experienced outside of SIV environment have thus far proved to be equally as boring.

The wing appears to resist turning, even in normal flight until it has built up some speed. This may explain the effort needed to start a carve in a thermal, or post collapse behaviour in level flight.

On the contrary, once the wing has settled into a bank angle, the effort needed to keep it there is relatively little.

Such a dichotomous behaviour has drawbacks, as the transition from a tight 360 to a nose down spiral tends to happen very quickly in surprising contrast to the time/effort needed to originate the turn. But this is a wing meant for XC pilots that intend to remain fairly current (100+ hours/year) - so this sort of behaviour should not catch the pilot unaware.

That all said, the only real 'quirk' the wing has is the tenacity of a cravat in resisting recovery.

Video of manoeuvres on Vimeo.

Ozone Delta 2 SIV: Full Stall (plus cravat clearing)

Raw footage from Annecy of an early attempt at full stall that was allowed to thrash a bit too much and horseshoe, enabling the left wing tip to become trapped in the lines.

Stabilizer pull cleared the first bit but had no impact afterwards. Correction finally required 30% asymmetric, hand over hand on stabilizer, and brake pumps to re-inflate.

The brake pressure at the stall point is extremely pronounced. Simply put, there is no excuse for a pilot 'accidentally' stalling this wing.

Camera is leg mount GoPro with wide-angle, so the pulls are a lot deeper than it appears at first glance.

Subsequent stalls resulted in varying degrees of cravat, though were addressed much more quickly/aggressively.

Delta 2 Full Stall Video on Vimeo

First day back at the local paragliding hill...

...and this is what the parking lot by the LZ looked like.

Pilot: OK.
Wing: Unknown.
Top of 100 foot tall tree: Gift Wrapped.

And the view from the top (no paragliding photo is complete without the essential foot in shot):

Paragliding Safety: Homeward Bound

Eleven thousand meters over the arctic circle, in a metal tube hurtling through the atmosphere at an appreciable fraction of the speed of sound.

I look back on my experiences over the past four weeks, a few epiphanies come to mind:

Seize every chance to learn.

Every pilot, novice to master, has something to share.

There is only one rule in the air - land safely.

EN/LTF testing is a non reproducible experiment in a non realistic environment.

Too much emphasis is placed on the rating of a wing as opposed to finding the right wing for a pilots experience, skill, and flying environment.

"I fly a 'B' wing because it's safe", are the words heralding an eventual tree ornament.

If we get to the point where we are relying on the passive safety of our wing (aka rating) - we have already failed in terms of judgment and skill. See 'eventual tree ornament' above.

We are loathe to blame the pilot, yet quick to blame the wing, the wind, the phase of the moon.

We don't take collapses in calm air over lakes.

The air does not appear in front of you, state it will pull your risers in three seconds, allow you to get ready, confirm you are ready, then do it.

Safety starts and ends with the puppet.

The first flights on a new wing should involve turning it inside out in a safe environment. If it scares us then, imagine what it will be like blowing out 100' from a cliff face at midday.

SIV is as much about learning what kind of pilot we are as what kind of wing we fly.

An SIV flight where nothing goes wrong offers only a limited learning opportunity. The best SIV flights are the ones that go off script. A flight that starts with the wing shouting 'F it, we'll do it live' will teach the most both about the wing and yourself.

Group SIV courses are great for the first three or four times, after that - individualized instruction is the way to go. By that point, you know what needs addressing.

Never give up. But know when it is time to go land.

Leave lift only when there is a clear, readily reachable landing option at all times during transition.

Leave lift only when there are at least two ways to climb out waiting on the other side.

It takes two to have a mid-air collision, but only one to avoid it.

All eggs in one basket (gliding to an isolated source of lift) should be an option of last resort and best saved for the final push to goal.

Boredom and fatigue are the primary causes for an XC flight to end. Being able to pre-order a beer via radio is a close third.

The Swiss are great civic planners, the Italians - not so much.

The Italians have a great sense of humor, the Swiss - not so much.

Annecy is a great place to go see.

Bassano is a great place to go fly.

Whoever said pimpin' ain't easy, didn't paraglide.

A blow out is natures way of saying, 'you are in the wrong place at the wrong time of day.'

Never, ever break the Golden Rule.

If you want to learn what the Golden Rule is and how not to break it, start by liking Austrian Arena's Facebook page.

Paragliding is just an excuse for people to get together on a hill to enjoy a view, and in a field to enjoy a beer.

Final Exam - Part Two

Creeping away from the cliffs lining the face of Panetone launch, I circle slow and wide. Looking for any tell tale of thermic activity, I continue moving cross wind and align myself with potential sources.

An intersection of flight path and releasing thermal.

The wing pitches back slightly and bites in.

Pause. The vario starts to beep.

The beeping continues. This one is large enough to turn in.

A carve is begun.

Opened and closed with each pass, the carve divides down the distance separating the core and myself.

The vario beeps grow in pitch and frequency.

Glance up.

The wisps of a cloud being born.

Salvation.

1300 meters.

Kelly and Olle are within an easy glide. I join up with them over the small ridge line east of Paderno. We spread out, trying to find an elusive climb that will enable us to continue to the second leg of the triangle.

Ten minutes later, the ridge line delivers, allowing Kelly and I to continue southward. Olle remains, trying to top up before joining us. It is during this part of the flight that I begin to take notice of the wings tendency to 'sniff'. One of the tips will pull back slightly and release, repeatedly. There is something in the air that is causing this reaction, though I have yet to identify how this relates to any nearby thermals. Likewise, I begin to work with the wing, rather than against - once the wing is in a carve, it will tend to pull towards stronger lift. Also, when the wing initially hits a core, it pulls back slightly, but quickly bites in. It is obvious it will take time to adjust to the style of flying the Delta 2 wants vs. my previous EN-B wings.

Gliding southward past Paderno, we pause over the same factory I landed beside the week previous. We are below 500 meters, the wind is picking up, and climbs are becoming disorganized. Every attempt to climb out is bound by yet another low inversion and becomes wasted trying to drive back into the wind.

I lose sight of Kelly while focusing intently on trying to work through the inversion. Patience (or lack there of) gets the better of me and I set down in the field. Packing up, I see Kelly low, yet making his way back to the hotel.

Post mortum of the flight reveals that this was one of the most challenging flights for Kelly's thermalling courses and would rank on par with a decent XC course route.

Oh and yes, Olle and I missed lunch...

Again.

Replay this flight in Doarama

Final Exam - Part One

A rare west wind.

Kelly has ambitions of a twenty-five kilometer FAI triangle.

Landing options abound within a single glide of the ridge until past Paderno. Our XC quartet are becoming accustomed with the rougher air over the ridge and have started demonstrating the ability to carve and coarsely map thermals. In essence, we are becoming semi-autonomous. Our trio is beginning to rely more on Kelly for route planning and marking climbs in more troublesome spots than feedback on technique (as opposed to where we were two weeks earlier).

That is not to say there is no feedback on technique, as there continues to be plenty of it. But each of us now knows what specifics we need to address on our own and just because the course is coming to a close does not mean the learning will as well. On this day, Kelly is planning to pull together the basics he has taught us and allow us to synergize the components into a proper XC flight under conditions more challenging than we have faced thus far.

On the hill, Jim and Tim are launched. Spacing them apart by 15 minutes gives Kelly time to guide each via radio. Based upon their rapidly improving performance, it is difficult to imagine their flight hours being so few and their background being exclusively coastal soaring.

With the clock closing in on noon, Kelly suggests to both of the newer pilots that they avoid the ridge as we approach the witching hour and directs them to continue practicing over the flats.

Magnus leads the quartet out, followed by Ollie, myself, then Kelly. Initially we were going to look for climbs over the mound to the left of launch, but the ridges to the right had lit up in the time since the departure of Tim/Jim for the flats. Now given several options, each of us could take a different climb and give our group the best chance of getting away - if one climb is lacking, a pilot can quickly leave it and join a better yielding climb found by a teammate. This is the paradox of paragliding, being highly individualized yet relying heavily on teamwork. This practice of pimping lead Olle and Magnus to share a single thermal while I begin to search more westward, towards a steep sided gulley.

Lift is readily available. Leaning in, carving, and mapping an ongoing thermal, it does not take long to lock in the core and drift back over LaCassette (the launch now infamous with our group due to a guide sheet description that included the words, 'Do not launch east. Danger of death'). At the top of LaCassette, a pair of sunbathers lie unfettered by such a dire prediction. Attention lies solely with the sun and the ballet of wings overhead and could not be bothered by Chicken Little-esque ramblings on a piece of paper.

Staying true to its word, the Witching Hour arrives and brings some bite to the air. A slow, yet continuous, exodus of pilots for the flats begins. By the time I decide I've had my fill, Olle and Kelly are already several kilometers downwind, passing north of Paderno. None too keen to apply speed bar under these conditions, I plod along at trim speed and stay just at the edge of the ridge's rough climbs.

I arrive just north of Paderno and face a crossroads, push out on the flats and risk sinking out OR try a climb up the 1500 meter rock faced ridge and receive another shellacking like I did the week before.

Flats it is.

The sink alarm starts to drone ... -2.5, -3.0, -3.5 meters a second. My flight is going to be all for naught if I can't find something soon.

Going Places - Part Three

Southward, applying the speed bar ever so cautiously. By the time I reach the pair of Kelly and Olle, I am two hundred meters below them and back under the inversion.

The factory complex below is generating a reasonable thermal, but not enough to push me through and up to them. My altitude log takes a sawtooth pattern as I climb and fall across a five meter span, while the wing is continually trying to reorient itself within the churning mass of trapped turbulent air.

The pair above decide to push back north, to try for better lift along the foothills. I remain, drifting westward, continually searching for a gap in my invisible ceiling that would allow an escape.

Further to the south and west I spot a town that may have what I need, a tall church tower. The large thermal mass of pavement and buildings surrounding this trigger could give just the rocket I need. A plethora of fields surround the town, allowing for multiple landing options if my gambit fails.

Crossing the river, and down through yet another inversion at 600 meters, I reach the town. The air mass turns violent, sending the wing and I in sharp climbs and drops. Just in time for...

"Mark, what's your status?"

Hands plenty occupied, the query goes unanswered.

Again, the query.

Again, unanswered.

The air becomes increasingly angered.

Relenting, I single hand the toggles and reply with location, altitude, and sportiness of the air.

A single reply,

"DON'T. GIVE. UP."

"Understood."

30 minutes pass.

Then the wing does something I have never seen before. It levels out and slides diagonally forward and right. At first I fight it, then recall comments from Kelly regarding the esoteric technique of following a thermal as it slides around under an inversion. I allow the wing to guide me out of the churn and into a climb.

Break through

...and fall back in.

Fatigue quickly sets in. I get word that Olle has landed. Picking a path that will follow a two lane highway westward, I drift with wind over the expanse of farmland.

Twenty minutes later.

I land, pack up and text coordinates for retrieve.

Another notch in the XC belt.

Going Places - Part Two

Pushing further and further out, both Kelly and I search for the first thermal that will allow us to climb out and begin the planned westward open distance run parallel to the ridge line.

In the midst of this initial hunt, I failed to realize that the distance between us was ever so gradually decreasing, until I was almost within 30 meters of Kelly. It is when he begins a right hand turn, in what I suspect is the beginnings of lift, that I notice we are too close and veer off aggressively to the right as well.

A chiding on the radio quickly follows. Flying in formation, hunting for lift is something I never did before this course, so my understanding of gaggle etiquette was somewhat lacking, to say the least. Mental note is made to follow up on proper positioning and distance under these circumstances.

My movement to avoid a conflict with Kelly drives me directly into the lift that he was moving towards. I lean in and progressively apply inside brake. As the wing begins to dive into the turn, a light amount of outside brake is applied to plane the wing out.

And so begins the thermal dance.

Working progressively into the core of the thermal, I climb up to join two other wings that had launched previously. Kelly is not far behind, climbing in a much more efficient and organized manner than I can manage at this point. Behind him is Olle, who has launched in the midst of the search by Kelly and I. Rounding out our XC quartet is Magnus.

Kelly quickly passes me in the climb while I am being hounded by a red Nova that can't seem to make neither heads nor tails of the thermal layout. On two occasions I manage to cut inside the Nova and climb five meters above, only to fall out on the other side. The fact that I am even attempting this is a very good sign, as it means Kelly's focus on efficiency in the climb are beginning to take root with my flying style.

I continue my climb towards a newly forming cloud when I hear mention from Kelly to Olle on the radio to look at continuing to the next ridge. I continue for another few turns, feeling the air go cold as I work through the inversion.

A few extra turns and I begin moving westward along the ridge. Something strikes me as odd that Kelly would continue in this direction as the conditions can only strengthen and become increasingly spicy on the ridge. Maybe he meant a different ridge, I wonder.

The radio chirps, "Mark, I am on you left, on your left."

A quick turn left, followed by

"Mark, I am on your right, on your right."

I can envision both Kelly and Olle right above me, having a good laugh at my expense. Then I spot them to the south, attempting to climb above a factory over Romano.

I begin my drive towards them...

Going Places - Part One

Tuesdays menu brings us another east wind day, so...

A Costalunga we go, we go...
A Costalunga we go.

Upon arrival it is quickly obvious that the aggregate thermic and meteo winds are not for the faint in heart nor the low in experience (for the folk back home, think mid-summer on the Mt.Woodside launch between 1:30 and 2:00 PM).

Kelly informs Tim and Jim that it is best that they sit this one out, the gusting conditions are very different from the laminar wind found at the coastal soaring sites that they are accustomed to.

A quick briefing from Kelly for Olle, Magnus, and I indicates Kelly will launch first and mark the first climb. We are expected to follow him out quickly, thermal up, and begin moving S/E - more or less with the wind, but also away from the ridge which is expected to bring rather sporty flying conditions as the day progresses.

As we finish setting up, two vans stop in the sliver of a parking lot above launch.

The Belgians.

Aside from the hotel patio at breakfast and dinner, we rarely run into this group. The only times I have seen them in the air have been in the early morning or just before sunset. I think it safe to assume that they are in the early stages of a Novice/EP/P-2 -esque course of instruction.

You can imagine my surprise when they showed up at this launch, at this time of day. Trebucheting beginners with the active flying skills of a brick off of Costalunga near midday. <insert Guinness 'Brilliant!'/> Paraglider manufactures have done quite a remarkable job technology wise in denying Darwin his due over the years and I start to wonder how quickly the first rung of the 'insurance' overdraft flow (passive safety) will be reached by this group.

Through all of this, Kelly has finished clipping in and is awaiting a lull in the gusts. Keeping my wing in check with a firm grip on the C risers, I alternate between watching him, the wind sock and the trees to my left (which are outside the launch 'bubble').

A lull.

Kelly launches, calmly and smoothly. There is little movement in his wing as he heads out, searching for the first thermal.

The lull continues.

Never look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth.

I pull up, keeping reign on the C's in anticipation of a renewed gust.

The lull surprisingly continues.

I turn, pausing ever so briefly to ensure the wing is settled overhead, take a pair of steps, and lift off.

Taking up a position approximately seventy meters to the right and behind Kelly, the search for the first climb of the day begins...

Paragliding Safety: Fear Factor

Monday, the routine continues with one slight variation. The east wind from the day before is persisting and requires a relocation in terms of launches.

Which brings us to...

Costalunga.

This south east facing paragliding launch site here in Bassano is maybe five gliders wide and three gliders long with a steep grade, tall uncut grass, and framed at the bottom by thorned bushes and 10 meter tall trees.

What's there not to love about Costalunga?

Reality is, given a good wind, all I need is enough room to lay out and take two steps. That knowledge and confidence comes from experience. But experience gives the test first and the lesson afterwards.

Simply put, to the inexperienced, this site can be intimidating.

Costalunga is a test. One of many new pilots will face as they grow their experience base, reducing the need to fall though the overdraft flow of judgement->skill->luck->insurance. The test of the sort Costalunga provides has a. and b. answer options.

a. trust.
b. fear.

Do we trust our knowledge of wind interaction with terrain to chose the optimal layout location and orientation? Do we trust out knowledge of glider preparation to ensure the glider is laid out in such a manner that we have span wise tension on the leading edge and that the wing tips are arranged to ensure an even inflation? Do we trust our launch skills to the degree that we will bring glider up evenly, on heading, with surge check, and start an aggressive run. Do we trust our connection with the glider to the degree that we can sense something is off and have the ability to correct it or abort immediately?

If the answer to any of these is no, then fear begins to enter the equation. Fear, the insidious negator of skill, can quickly become a self fulfilling prophecy for a paraglider pilot.

Overcoming fear first requires identification. Is the fear rational or irrational. Irrational fear is a nervousness of the unknown masking our ability to accurately judge our skill level against the challenge standing  before us.

This fear can be quickly crushed by one simple question, "Why am I afraid."

With this question, we change the fear into a rational one by identifying short comings in our skill and go about correcting them. Or better yet, we negate the fear by realizing that our judgment and skill bases are up to the task, we simply hadn't synergized our toolset to face this particular type of challenge before.

Fear, fear is important. It allows us to find holes in our skill base and correct them. Filling these holes enables us to build trust both in ourselves and our equipment, so that when we face the test again, we can confidently chose a. and get on with having an amazing flight.

So when faced with the unknown and doubt begins to creep in, ask "Why am I afraid?".

Paragliding Safety: Idiocy

A day off! Three weeks of patiently waiting for this day, this very day. A day where I can do nothing, absolutely nothing.

Laundry?

Ahh, laundry.

Options are weighed.

Day of Nothing or ... laundry.

Pondering advice of the sages...

Use sunscreen. Check.

Never be the last to arrive. Check.

Never be the smelliest person in the van. Che...dammit.

Laundry wins.

Turning my helmet bag into a bag of infinite holding, I cram near every piece of clothing I have into it and set of for my Adventure in Italian Laundromats.

Thankfully the instructions on the machine are in English lest I feed the thing an endless stream of euro and resemble a child with a pocket full of quarters and a foolhardy dream of finishing PacMan.

For the most part I am left alone in this small two room space, listening to the monotonous thrumming of the washer. Occasionally a local would arrive, speak some form of greeting and/or point at a machine and pose a query in Italian. I respond with a smile, nod, or a shrug in a semi-animated 'je ne sais pas' type manner. A true master of international linguistics.

Laundry done and bag of holding reloaded. I am lighter by 9 euro but am freed from being relegated to riding on the back bumper of the van.

Back at the hotel, I return to half Day of Nothing. Activity selected: sleep.

2 hours later, I awake.

The room is much darker than when I laid down. Odd, as it is mid afternoon.

A distant rumble. Ahhh, now I know what woke me.

I look out the patio window to see rain falling, trees oscillating to and fro in the gust front and...

a pair of paragliders still in the air, less than a kilometer away.

I watch them pull ears and turn tail to run from the front. Unfortunately the mountain ridge is blocking a proper perpendicular retreat from the storm line, so they are forced to try to run ahead and get down.

The wings disappear from my view, continuing to run west.

The rumbling continues on for another half a hour, thankfully left uninterrupted by any form of siren.

Just another Saturday in Bassano.

Sunday, Kelly has returned with a fresh pair of students - Jim, an Irish musician, and Tim, a British Intensive Care doctor who looks no older than 17. I'm half a mind to start calling Tim - Doogie, but I suspect the reference would be lost on him.

Up on the hill, high altocumulus have cut off the thermic cycles. One of the Swedes launches anyways and sinks out. I am set up, patiently watching an approaching break in the cloud. Kelly asks that I hold off until Jim and Tim are in the air. Tim is off first. Under Kelly's guidance, Tim readily thermals up to what is likely both his highest and longest flight ever. Kelly then instructs him to head out to the landing field and begins to focus on getting Jim ready to launch. The clearing in the altoQs has been over us for about ten minutes at this point. The cycles pick up quickly in intensity and duration, then take a strong east/crosswind flow.

The mid day thermals are being trapped between the ridge and a newly formed inversion just above launch. Driven by a light eastery wind, they begin to venturi and quickly exceed 35 kph, much to the chagrin of the dozen of so pilots hellbent on staying on the ridge. Kelly shakes his head, refers to the mob of parked wings downwind from their lz as a 'Standing Ovation', and instructs us to pack up. We will have to wait until evening.

By the time we leave, every wing on the ridge is being driven backwards - unwilling to leave for calmer conditions over the flats. Lemming effect, I guess.

Idiocy: Never under estimate the power of stupid people in large groups.

Feeling the air

It is Friday and week one of thermal/XC training is drawing to a close.

A proper send off flight is planned for Matt, Paul, Bev and Maurice -> meet in the parking lot at 0730 and head up to the high (1500m) launch for a smooth 20+ minute sled ride down to the hotel LZ to grab breakfast.

The conditions are perfect, actually beyond perfect. Thermic cycles are already making their presence known on launch by the time we arrive, an hour after leaving.

After the mandatory group photos ('everyone say fromaggio'), the crew kit up and launch in rapid sequence. The cycles are allowing later pilots to actually climb 20+ meters above launch, lazily circling in wide, docile lift.

I am next to last to launch, figuring the conditions and huge launch slope will allow an opportunity to try out a variation of the forward launch that Kelly had suggested previously to fellow student. I call it the 'refrigerator', as opposed to the 'boat tow' I had learned as a student.

Once off in the air, I don't waste any time playing with the others in the weak thermal to the right of launch. Instead, I pass by them and stay right along the edge of the ridge. Riding every little bubble coming up, I try to capitalize on the Delta 2's remarkable speed and glide ratio. I can see that a pair of wings are considering following me, but they quickly veer off upon seeing that others in the group are climbing closer to launch.

I am left to my solitude as I continue my run further and further west along the ridge.

Directly to the north of the hotel and near the crest of the ridge, I arrive at a plateau adorned by a single homestead and a pair of pastures.

I wonder.

I pause and began a slow circle, trying to sniff out lift. This proves trickier than it sounds, as I had left my variometer on the charger in room with expectations of a sled run.

I did not have long to wait.

The wing pitches back slightly and signifies that I have come across a thermal. Relying only on the wing movement, brake pressure, and a visual confirmation of my height, I remain in the air for an hour and a half in extremely light lift, only turning towards the LZ when there is just 15 minutes left to breakfast service.*

It is remarkable how attuned one can become with a wing when a basic sense (the beeping of a variometer) is taken away. The pitch and dive indicate more or less perpendicular interaction with lift/sink, while drops in brake pressure give a sense of lift boundaries crossed by a wingtip.

With this flight, I begin to understand what Kelly means when he states that the skills he is teaching us are akin to learning to employ a watch makers screwdriver, when most pilots can only employ a sledgehammer. Light conditions such as these require smoothness, finesse, and sensitivity if one wishes to remain aloft.

Sometimes the best lessons are the ad hoc ones for which a lesson plan was not prepared.

* - The high point of this early morning thermal dance was arrival of an impromptu partner, a 'local'. I had heard rumour that the local birds of prey frequently join in and remain with thermaling gliders, as our size and cast shadows tend to scare otherwise motionless rodents hiding in the fields below - effectively flushing out prey.

Paragliding Safety: Surrender

A single building sits atop one of many rolling hills in the American Midwest. The Tibetan prayer flags adorning the  covered patio, flapping gently in the early autumn breeze, are the only suggestion that the building's purpose lies with something other than that of the countless farm homesteads in the region.

Inside the walls are a featureless off white, strangely presenting a sense of warmth and belonging. Interrupting this continuity are six windows flanking the sides and a simple Japanese shrine at the far end.

The floor, a series of stitched together cloth coverings sitting atop tatami matting, is a slightly darker off white. Small white blotches resulting from vigorously cleaned stains of sweat and blood are visible upon closer inspection.

A pair of lines, six abreast, sit kneeling and facing the shrine. Uniform in dress, yet varying in age, race, and gender. Each is clad in blue uwagi and black hakama with the only allowances for personal expression are the subtle variations in adornment to the katana that sits to right of each on the mat.

"But which way is the correct way?", breaks the silence.

A considered pause.

A lone figure sits in front of the group, facing them. Though similarly clad as the rest, his location and presence project an air of authority.

"Both", the response.

Quickly followed by, "How?"

"When I teach, you will do it the way I show you. When another kyoshi teaches it, you will do it their way. If you cannot be flexible in your mind, how can you expect to be flexible with your blade? You must be willing to surrender your preconception of what is the right way and what is the wrong way if you ever hope to truly understand the technique."

Ten years later on a paragliding launch...

"I haven't seen that launch technique taught since 1995."

Words of protest.

A simple explanation of how a newer method of forward launching could be employed, allowing the pilot more opportunity to verify the inflation of the glider and reduce the risk of damage in the event of a snagged line (the lower launch has a plethora of line grabbers just sitting in wait).

Resistance.

A learning opportunity lost.

Courses such as this present the opportunity for growth, if we are willing to let go of our preconceived notions of what is the right way to fly and what is the wrong way. Kelly has pointed out that he cannot teach us his way of flying, because it is made to fit him. What he can do is give us the tools to adapt the lessons that he has learned, fitting them to our own flying style.

If we are willing to listen...

... to try...

...to surrender.

Flying Outside the Risers

Wednesday, it's Wednesday...I think.

The days have faded into a blur, where the only reference to a particular day of the week is which night the restaurant at the hotel is closed. Life is evolving into a paragliding equivalent of 'Groundhog Day' - up at 5, bank machine hunt at 5:15*, back by 6:45. Skype at 7, breakfast at 9, meet at 10, leave at 10:15, retrieve by 3, meet at 4, leave at 4:15, retrieve by 7, dinner by 8, sleep by 10. Repeat.

* - (Saturday note) after a week and countless kilometers of walking, I have finally managed to find a bank machine that actually exists, is within half an hours walk, and works with a Canadian debit card.

Wednesday, it's Wednesday...I think. Yes, it is Wednesday and we are on the lower launch (there are six launches in the area, but our group has been exclusively using only two, depending on winds and cloud base). The crew are getting into the swing of things, refining their carve and thermal mapping skills to the point they are beginning to climb out with little prompting on the radio (aside from the occasional, 'See that red wing to your left, it is climbing', hint to go capitalize on a new thermal sign).

I am last of the students to launch, again. I head for the house thermal to the left (the 'mound') to join Matt who has marked the climb and has set up a clockwise turn direction. I scoot in behind him, from the outside, as he climbs past me. I can envision the smile on his face as he sees the top of my wing for the first time this week - the 'old dog' is getting schooled.

The radio chirps with a prompt from the instructor to one of the newer pilots. The pilot is getting low and at risk of sinking out, a suggestion is made to go and join us.

I see Matt above me hit the inversion, likely noticing that two wings are climbing up to join him. He heads off southeast towards the flats.

I figure I have a little time to try and see if I can grab a core that could bust the inversion and open the opportunity to move higher up on the ridge to the east. A glance down changes all that.

The newer pilot has hooked a good climb, quite possibly the core I am looking for, but is turning counterclockwise.

I figure eight out and back in to join him in the same turn direction. My hopes for the core being strong enough are dashed, as it washes out. My thermaling skill is not yet at the point I could hook inside and up on another wing, in a decreasing radius turn - doubly so with a student that is clearly 'flying within the risers' - oblivious of the world outside their harness/brakes and prone to abrupt changes in direction.

I head off after Matt onto the flats, watching a bee swarm of students gaggle inside a thermal closer to the LZ. One shake of the head and I veer further eastward.

A few stern words are heard on the radio and it is obvious someone got a bit close.

Upon landing, I come across a discussion underway about awareness in the air that could be summed up with:

1. Avoid a collision with another wing at all costs.
2. Right of way is to be given, never taken.
3. Be predictable.
4. Ridge/thermal rules are guidelines, not laws. Do not expect anyone else to follow them.
5. Never show the top side of your wing to anyone at the same altitude as you in a thermal (don't cut them off).

The learning never ends.

The Witching Hour

The hours and flights are quickly racking up. I am discovering and beginning to work on holes in my thermaling technique, developing my thermal 'sniffing', and even getting comfortable playing in traffic.

Skill, confidence and comfort with the Delta 2 are all growing to the point that another stair step up in my learning staircase may occur before I leave (most folk have a learning curve, I have a learning stair case where there will be little perceivable improvement for a long period of time until, magically, a sudden jump occurs).

On the high launch again for the morning flight. Cumulus clouds are forming two hundred meters above, making for an excellent opportunity to put into practice Kelly's sage wisdom. Kelly wants the low airtimers to go first so that he can focus on instructing them via radio in calmer conditions.

An hour has passed since the first students were off - happily thermaling up to cloudbase and moving west along the ridge and out to the flats. Kelly and myself are the only ones left. I set up to launch and subconsciously clue in on the sudden disappearance of my thermal markers, the clouds. No big deal, I like blue thermal days anyways.

I pull the wing up and begin my run to launch...

and discover Bassano's 'Witching Hour' in...

3 steps...

2 steps...

1 step...

I am off, not even in the harness, and the wing goes apoplectic. Continuous fall back and surge coupled with repeated sharp drops in brake pressure. I manage to get my feet into the pod and focus intently on keeping the wing straight overhead.

It was immediately obvious that I had my work cut out for me - trying to thermal a huge rock face that has been baking in the sun for several hours bound by a strong inversion right at it's top.

I key the ptt for the radio, "Kelly, I hope everyone is off and away, it is absolute rock and roll out here now."

I let up the button to suddenly find my wing snap back and decide to time travel or dimensionally displace, all I know is what was over my head wasn't a wing anymore.

With a 'CRACK!' it reappears.

Guess it didn't find anything particularly interesting during its jaunt.

Key the ptt again, "This is Mark, did you see my blow out?"

"You had a blow out?"

"Yeah, I'm heading out to the flats."

Five minutes later, I gather Kelly is in the air when the call comes out on the radio,

"Guys, get away from the hill, I repeat, GET. AWAY. FROM. THE. HILL. It's the Witching Hour."

What had been perfect student conditions on the ridge an hour before had quickly gone advanced shortly after the novices in the group left for the more docile flats. Kelly's emphatic statement made it clear that conditions were no longer suitable for them to consider returning to the ridge.

Kelly is very firm in his belief that aside from leeside variants, inversions are a pilots worst invisible enemy in seemingly flyable conditions (gust fronts rank highly in his opinion of dangers, as well, but are relatively predictable based upon observation of clouds and terrain). I am pretty sure his years of flying in Bassano helped cement this belief, and this opinion appears to be shared amongst much of the European flying community. Case in point, I recall Jocky advising one of the Swedes to be very careful of the inversions in Bassano.

Having taken about half an hour to settle into the conditions for the day and get back in sync with the wing, I begin trying to repeatedly work through four distinct layers of inversion, at 650, 800, 1000, and 1300 meters. An hour passes and my attempts come to an end as I land south of a factory a few towns to the east.

Turbulence tolerance *= 10;

Retrieval deja vu -> missed lunch, heading back up in the hill in half an hour.

By the time we were at the lower launch, conditions were clearly baked and a sled ride was all that would be had. Facing such an anti-climactic end to the day, I chose to ride down. The thermaling snob refuses to submit to a five minute sled ride after staring into the jaws of the dreaded 'Witching Hour' ;)

Dinner. Sleep. Repeat.

Lost and Found

Gear, clothing, suitcases torn apart and strewn all over the hotel room.

A robbery?

No.

A missing radio.

After having flipped the room twice since pulling everything out to recharge, it becomes quickly apparent that my radio is no longer in my possession. A dreadful certainty fills me on where it is, the hayed field in the middle of nowhere that I landed in the evening before.

A plan forms. It is extremely unlikely anyone would walk the maze of dirt roads I took to get out since I landed and it is equally unlikely that a farmer will work the field right at sunrise the next morning.

445 AM.

The only things up and about are the rosters, the local constabulary, and myself. Winding my way along dirt roads, through fields, and over rivers I come upon my landing field to see sitting in the wet hay one black Yaesu VX-8DR.

Success.

Back at the hotel by 7AM, I find myself tired but content. Replacing a radio in an area with so few amenities/shops would be next to impossible.

A few hours pass and our group meets Kelly on the hotel restaurant patio for an overview on thermal carving and mapping, along with the meteo conditions. Today is looking like a 'fizzy' day -> low cloud base means the notorious Bassano inversion has taken a day off and the thermals can be expected to be frequent, short lived, and soft edged.

We set off for the high launch to the east. Setting up our kit at 1,500 meters, we are all but touching cloud base without leaving the ground. Kelly makes it clear not to enter the clouds and that if we are getting sucked in, push out away from the hill where the clouds have yet to invade the flatlands.

The plan from Kelly was for him and I to launch last, herd up what cats were still in the air, and head off on an XC.

No flight plan survives contact with the hill.

A comms issue with Kellys radio left me out of contact with him for 10 minutes and I figured he wasn't going to fly after all.

New plan, free fly a 15 km triangle along the ridge, into the flats and back. An increasing northwest head wind up top frustrated my final leg, and down I went.

An out landing, a missed lunch, and a chastising for wandering off.

Half an hour after getting back to the hotel, I pile my gear into the van and off we go again. Not one to push the 'bad pilot' button too many times, the instructions are clear - stay up one hour, land at the hotel garden.

One hour after launching, I am alone in the air and make my way out to the flats. One of the Brits, Matt, very kindly radios up to ask which beer would I prefer on landing. Incentive to head down, if there ever was one.

Snap off a 90 degree turn above tree tops, surf in the Delta 2 hot, I land, turn and set it down in front of a crowded hotel restaurant patio. I do love this wing.

No applause.

Tough crowd.

Must be a panel of Russian judges today.

Evaluation Day

The 3 hour rollercoaster ride through the Alps now complete, our group finds itself waiting in the hotel lobby, occasionally summoned by the desk clerk via a call of 'alora'. The rooms are not quite ready - Kelly's desire for an early start to the day meets the national institution of 'Italian Time'. In 'Italian Time', things get done when they get done and no amount of pushing, prodding, or pestering will make it occur any faster. As we arrived on a Sunday, we were treated 'Italian Savings Time', where things get done at half the pace they would have under  'Italian Time'.

An hour later, we have our own proper rooms (greatly appreciated over the shared mini single wide that was my home for the previous two weeks in Doussard), sort our kit quickly and race down to the parking lot to meet Kelly, our retrieve driver Luigi, and head to the hill.

Kelly announces that today was an evaluation day, to get a sense where each of us are at and what the instructional flow for the week will be like. I get a feeling he both wants to see how his returning students have put to practice what he taught them last year and to see what the self-taught, such as myself, need correcting.

The conditions are typical for Bassano when a weather system invades the northern Alps - some degree of north Foehn effect up high and stable with an inversion just above launch. In addition a valley wind was beginning to set up from the west, and would grow as the day progressed, though nothing like what one would see in Annecy.

We load up the van, make a quick stop at the bailout LZ, and beeline up to launch. Kelly wants the crew off early to avoid the 'witching hour', when conditions can get particularly strong at the inversion. Last off, I head out and start sniffing out lift, climbing up to and eventually through the inversion. Half an hour later the radio squawks, "Mark, I am on your left, follow me to the flats.".

So began my first steps of XC (Cross Country) flying in Bassano, heading out over Borso. We search out and work blue thermals sourced/triggered by church towers, factories, and tree lined hills.

Quintessential flatland flying.

Then the return leg - 20 kph head wind. We claw our way back, though the inefficiency in my thermal technique begins to show and I bomb out for a random farmers field that had been recently hayed, though not yet bailed.

Replay this flight on Doarama.

A half hour pack up and hike out to find some shade beside a children's school, a quick text to Luigi with my GPS coordinates, and I am back at the hotel just in time for lunch to end.

Typical.

A quick debrief from Kelly indicates we will focus this week on my thermal carve (being able to turn in a thermal without swing through) and map (finding the core in the most efficient way possible while maintaining the carve) and we are back in the bus for an evening boat back and forth along the hill before venturing into the flats.

Another out landing.

Another retrieve.

The restaurant is slow in serving dinner so I will be fed tonight.

'Italian Time' is a wonderful thing.