The Flying Circus (XC Course Day 6)

Friday.

Last day of the course and the Mistral is waning.

An ambitious plan - St.Vincent to St.Andre, conditions allowing.

I have not been an inch south of Dormillouse, so the flight plan briefing is a sort of Greek to me. The collection of town, valley, and peak names is lost in a Francophone alphabet soup. It becomes clear my plan is going to be simple, find a guide heading that way, get high and keep them in sight. Even if I lose the lead guide, odds are another will be venturing along behind with a slower mini gaggle - simply wait by thermaling in place with a wide valley/LZ within easy glide.

That was the plan. Little did we know, the pilots of the Haute Alps had a very different experience in store for us.

The lingering remnants of the Mistral means this is still the only flyable site in the region and with the improving conditions it appears that every pilot with the day off has made the St. Vincent pilgrimage. A similar trek appears to have been undertaken by the neophyte public, looking to savour their first taste of free flight.

In other words, it gonna get crazy up in here.

Arriving at launch, the conditions are still fairly docile. But with the sun and tourists out in full swing, this doesn't present a problem for the tandem operators. The TMs simply adapt to the conditions by adapting the customer they take. Miniature passengers toting similarly scaled  harnesses accompany the TMs to the launch area. Chris points out that the size of the passengers steadily increases in conjunction with the conditions. I gather the French have a different set of rules with respect to minors and waivers than we do in British Columbia (a waiver signed by a guardian on behalf of a minor back home is not enforceable in court).

Over the course of an hour the passengers start to approach adult size and a mass of pilots start to get ready. Looking at the crowd in the set up area, we could ultimately see upwards of 30 wings trying to concurrently work the 1 km long ridge. Under normal circumstances this wouldn't be an issue as better pilots would climb out and move to one of the local peaks to jumpstart a cross country. But with the clearing weather, the inversion at launch is more established. And no one cares.

A pair of queues form at launch, the north for tandems and the south for solo pilots. From the pair spawns a stream of launches continuing unabated for at least an hour. The best of the group can climb no more then 50 meters above launch, the worst linger in the ridge lift 10 meters below.

I launch into this forming Grand Melee to hear on the radio one of the guides recommending that the remainder of our group hold off for the time being. The ridge has turned into an airborne bucket of crabs, everyone scrambling to get out and hindering the efforts of all around them. Some are ridge soaring, some trying to thermal, some turning left, some turning right. Any success in finding lift by a lone pilot is frustrated as the mob converges in on them from every direction. A few mid air close calls ensue. I don't hear any yelling or cursing, yet.

It dawns on me that the safest place to be is below this herd (as no one has been able to climb out yet). No pilot in their right mind will follow someone who appears to be on the verge of sinking out. I push out, drop down to just below launch height, drift back in, and surf the dynamic lift from the valley wind. A moment of much needed tranquility. I now have to figure out how to get away from this mess.

The largest problem is that the climbs are still weak. As climbs are found, the herd stampedes in and prevents any further progress upwards by the (un)fortunate discoverer. I need to get a climb that is far enough away from the herd so that by the time they see there is lift, I will be at or above the highest pilots.

This means getting out of phase with the gaggle.

When the herd stampedes north, I must push south.

When the herd jumps on a climb, I need to push on.

Get enough horizontal separation so that when I find a climb, the vertical separation will follow quickly. This means I need to wait for the remainder of pilots to be opposite me at either the far north or south end of the ridge before I start circling.

Then it happens, a poor soul finds a climb just south of launch near the bowl and starts to circle. The sharks swarm him and more or less rip his chances of climbing out to shreds. I turn around and head north to the very opposite end.

Figure eight-ing back and forth, I drift up to launch height. Patience. Watch the shark swarm. They pay me no heed.

A thermal.

A lone wing has turned and is moving my way.

A quad of wing overs lets the interloper know in no uncertain terms that his company is not appreciated. He turns back. In a thermal, nothing says 'get off my lawn' like wing overs.

I start to circle and climb out. This catches the sharks attention and they speed bar towards me. But it is too late, they can only maintain at the upper extent of the dynamic lift and the thermal has lifted me above it.

I drive south, above and in opposition. Hooking the thermal that the uncoordinated mass wasted, I move onto the slopes of Dormillouse.

The Flying Circus now left far below and behind.

The end result was a jaunt past the peak and south in the direction of St.Andre. I didn't make it very far as only one of the guides, Chris, was able to get away. He landed just south of my eventual LZ.

Sometimes the gaggle is greater than the sum of its parts, other times it cannot even rise to the level of its weakest link. Today was a lesson in the latter.

A Hat Trick (XC Course Day 5 - Part 3)

Racing the setting sun and a blend of pleas to call it a day to retire to either home or the EckoBar down on the lakeshore, I set up for Round Three.

This will have to be a short one, lest I lose my ability to select my seat for the bus ride home. With the pilots on our course having differing opinions on how often flying clothing should be cleaned,  one should keep in the back of their mind the ability to grab a seat with an open-able window for the hour plus ride home. The key is near window, upwind.

The ridge is still working and folk are maintaining easily in the residual valley westerly. After twenty minutes of beats back and forth, I decide to finally give the top landing LZ a go. Both because the conditions have tamed enough to reduce the combined effect of rotor and compression zone lift AND because if I land in the bailout, any chance to avoid a two front variant of the Battle of Ypres is kaput.

Top landing is a rather new beast for me with early landing attempts by local pilots at our primary sites being accurately described as top crashing. My attempt would be caveated with:

1. Do not go over top of the parking lot as the rotor could still be nasty.
2. Be mindful of the compression zone lift.
3. Keep out of the way of the tandems still flying and landing.
4. Make sure the attempt, if aborted, still leaves enough height to make a bailout of some form.

A few extra beats to ensure no tandems would be landing soon, I start a down wind run.

The plan: hook in low directly from the downwind leg with a diving turn that should have me on the ground before the parking lot, have me in the compression zone as short a time as possible, and leave me a lot of runway if I do need to kill altitude.

The execution:

 

Downwind leg.

 

The hook through base and final.

 

 Plane out just before touching down.

 And voila.

Uh oh...

 

 

Chris came over right afterwards to inform me that while the landing was beautifully executed, it was poorly planned. As the site is still prone to westerly gusts, if one were to occur while I was on final, I could have been blown into the parking lot to my right. A wiser approach is to do the same downwind leg, but turn away from the hill then back upwind and drift in at an angle. This gives the best chance of mitigating the effect of a gust. The point was well taken and will certainly be a significant consideration in future top landing attempts.

 

The day done, the wing packed up, and a windowed, upwind seat of choice acquired in the bus.

 

So ends the Hat Trick Day - a scratching low save when all others bombed out, fun with clouds and low collapses, and a first top landing. This is the sort of day that builds a better pilot.

A Hat Trick (XC Course Day 5 - Part 2)

The day has just started and a low save already under the belt.

The wing is a spaghetti of fabric, lines, and webbing in the 2nd row of the van as we race our way back up for a second go. The majority of our crew has returned from a morn of via ferrata and itching for a different sort of climb. And unlike the day previous, the overdevelopment daemon has not yet reared its head overtop of the peaks. This will allow for a wider swath of experience levels to get out and clock a few more hours of airtime.

Myself included.

Emboldened by my earlier success, I quickly stake out a claim in the prep area and begin sorting my al dente Delta 2. The rush to get back up the hill has made for a rather jumbled mess, costing valuable time in getting kitted up.

Ballasted tandem.

A little plucky today.

In the meantime a tandem is set up, using a single helper as ballast. The tandem master pulls the wing up and the passenger is plucked a foot in the air. The TM maintains control of the wing and sets the passenger back on the ground. One thing that has consistently impressed me here at St.Vincent is the kiting ability of the TMs. On launch the wind is a gusting mix of west and north - typically west at flag and wing height, north some point in between. It is not uncommon to have a wall built, pull up, have the wing turn 90 degrees, then snap 90 degrees back on heading. Failure to control the wing through this process often times results in being dragged south over the back of launch to the top landing area.

Conditions have picked up considerably from this mornings scratch fest. A jaunt up the mountain and over the ridge to the main landing zone is easily within reach.

Some assistance from Stuart and I am ready to go for round two.

Another uneventful launch is followed by a series of beats from launch to the northern end of the 1 km long ridge, maintaining above launch height in the aggregate valley wind and thermals.

This trip has provided an amazing opportunity to work on ridge soaring in blended dynamic/thermic conditions, especially with respect to getting in close to terrain. Being able to differentiate between the two while still keeping mind to the gaggle of tandems is not a trivial task but critical if one wishes to leave the ridge and try for Dormilluse.

Sufficiently high above launch (for my liking anyways), I move to the bowl demarking the base of the mountain. Moving back to the bowl is not without risk, as the slope is shallow and the bailout is a very long glide into wind. Failure to quickly find a climb out means a tree skimming race back to the ridge with hope of at least enough of a climb to eek out a top landing. Despite these concerns, I place faith in my ability to scratch and dive in at launch height.

It takes little time to spot movement in the trees leading up the gentle slope towards the bowl. I approach and feel the wing being pulled in by the air. A flat figure eight is all that is needed for this conveyer belt of air to take me up along the slope with it.

The air reaches a high point and releases.

In the meantime, an Ozone tandem (Chris) and Advance Sigma (Andy) catch my attention above and to the west. I hook into their thermal from below and climb up to them. While flying with partners is advantageous in finding lift, it can work against the pilot when lift is found. Working a thermal alone only requires attention on the feel of the lift, adjusting course based solely on the thermal.

On the other hand, flying in a pair+ requires attention with respect to sharing the thermal and not hogging a core especially if relatively narrow. This can mean lift is not capitalized upon as efficiently as possible, leading to a situation where a lower lone glider thermals up in the core to a pair of wings. Such as in my case now.

Before reaching Chris and Andy I slip out into weaker lift and try blending into their left hand turn.

Chris, the guide, on tandem.

Andy on the Sigma.

Trying to blend in.

My attempts to tighten up again on the core while level with them appears to cause some frustration as they head southwest shortly there after.

They leave under a welcoming blue sky.

Meanwhile, what was a peak backgrounded by blue sky is now clouded in and getting dark rather quickly. The shadow of this quickly materializing beast pushes upwind into the middle of the valley. A glance across the lake to the sister peak, Morgonne, reveals a similar situation unfolding.

Two minutes later...

Base dropping.

Time to skeddale.

A straight line shot away from the peak and I begin setting up an approach to land. The wind, as expected, is coming up the valley from the lake at between 20 and 30 kph. The upwind side gets rather thermic this time of day and one could spend quite a bit of time getting bounced around without losing any height if they were to dwell there. So I set up just downwind of the lz and creep in.

A right hand turn onto final just above tree top height. A pair of mild chirps from the vario.

Nice straight in approach.

WHACK!

Nothing says Wake up! like a riser in the face.

The left side of the harness drops with an immediate 90 degrees left turn and the start of a dive.

A sharp jab of the left brake, a touch of right, and as best a right weight shift as I can do hanging out of the harness. The dive stops, I ease the wing back onto final, and land.

Lets try this again.

Wheh.

Word on the ground was that it looked like a 50% left asymmetric collapse. Up high, a non issue. On final, a perfect way to get ones pulse racing.

In anycase, daylight remains. Pack it up and jump in the bus for round three.

A Hat Trick (XC Course Day 5 - Part 1)

Mistral, the saga continues. So we are going to ... you guessed it, St.Vincent.

The previous days top to bottom proved to be a decent confidence booster for the crew, helping them realize that the LZ of death can be conquered. In my case, it opens up the possibility of making a few more higher risk/return plays in pushing out and trying to score a big climb, as opposed to playing it conservative and staying close to the ridge.

Upon arrival, the sky bluer and the winds lighter than I expected. Looks like something more than sled runs and gale hanging is in store for our intrepid crew. We are informed that the upper winds are still too strong with the Mistral and that we have to remain in the area of launch and the peak to the south, Dormillouse.

Most of the crew had taken the chance to go via ferrata in the morning, meaning those of us who remained behind would have the hill to ourselves (and the locals/tandems). Having kitted up and about to lay out on launch, the conditions look a little on the light side. But the promise of immediate retrieval if I happen to bomb out is encouragement enough to go for it. One of the crew is already in the air and maintaining, as are the local tandems.

Off I launch with little drama...

...straight into a flush cycle.

The air that had been previously heated (providing lift) up the ridge was now cooling (sinking). The flush affects the entire ridge, drilling down not just newbies to the site like myself, but the tandems as well. Ten gliders, all at about the same height, now have to contend with where to land.

Flushed wings.

The bailout LZ?

Starting to look a whole lot smaller, especially with no air traffic control.

Chris had mentioned during one morning briefing that if one finds themselves in a situation where everything shuts down (such as a flush), a change in gears is needed.

Do not focus on the landing, for you will go down.

Do not focus on climbing, for you will burn up altitude trying to chase false leads.

Focus on survival. Take the 0 m/s to 0.1m/s thermals and milk them for everything they are worth. The secret is to buy time for the flush to finish, the valley to reset, and the thermals to start anew. The longer you can hold at your current altitude, the better the chance that you will be high enough to capitalize on the next cycle.

Survival.

Taking that advice and really focusing on the techniques taught by Kelly the year previous, I position myself over the high tension power lines separating launch and the bailout. The towers are going to be good triggers for what residual heat is crawling up from the lakeshore fields and odds are that the lines will be warmer than the cool mountain air surrounding them. A slow flat turn of ever widening radius.

Eventually I come across an area of zeros.

Just what the proverbial doctor ordered.

One by one the tandems slide off the mountain and below me. Instead of the bailout, they fly further west for a cleared field next to a collection of tents. I had heard of a second unofficial LZ used by pilots who were camping near the lake - I gather this is it.

Amongst the tandems are a handful of solo pilots, most of whom head straight for the bailout. One breaks away from the group and tries searching around the area near me. Another soon follows. But their carve is far to steep, their movements too aggressive. As Kelly has said, 'match the air' -> if the air is gentle, be gentle and if the air is aggressive, be aggressive. Today a very soft hand is needed. My counterparts must not have gotten that lesson.

Scratch one wing.

Scratch two wings.

The zeros eventually form into 0.1m/s and 0.2m/s climbs. Spotting a bird circling to the west, I slowly crab/crawl my way too it, making sure to have at least a 0.0 m/s for most of my turn. The bird is what I understand to be a Kite, a local bird of prey.

I try to match turn direction with the Kite, but it quickly does a turn reversal, a pair of turns, and flies off. Guess it wasn't too impressed with my technique.

Climbing out and starting to clear.

But the climb, oh the climb. A few minutes later I am back above launch height with the sky to myself. No tandems, no solos. To have a soar-able St.Vincent les Forts to yourself to a rare gift.

Above launch and alone.

How did I enjoy it?

By promptly sinking back out.

A call from Dave on the radio indicates he has spotted me, has retrieved the remainder of the crew, and if I can set down in the tandem LZ there is an immediate ride back up the hill.

I reply on the radio, 'Don't count me out just yet.' Thankfully he didn't understand that I was going for low save #2, because it failed.

A sharp right turn at tree top height over the road and I put down in the tandem field, throw the unpacked glider into the middle row of the van and we charge back up for round two.

The van is waiting, get on the ground ... NOW!

From the time the flush started till the time I landed was nearly an hour, an hour of survival.

Mistral returnth (XC Course Days 3 and 4)

Full on Mistral, so not much to report for these days.

Tuesday, after seeing a hang glider actually park itself above launch, the day was decided to be more or less a wash.

Wednesday, a midday lull allowed for folk to try their hand at nil wind launches from St.Vincent. The alpine and tow trained folk were all gung ho while the coastal soarers showed some understandable apprehension.

 Not a lot of room after laying out.

Abort and become a hood ornament.

Afterwards we thought ourselves gifted by the gods to happen upon a magical tree bearing a PG harness as fruit, but subsequently realized it was in fact a carnivorous flora with a taste for PG pilots. Pilot was fine and extracted quickly.

The carnivorous beast doesn't want to give up the pilot.

Fishin' in a gale (XC Course Days 1 and 2)

Strong south with a taste of east.

Looks like we won't be going far today, neither in distance to launch nor distance post launch.

Atop Chabre the wind is whistling through the scrubby trees, varying from 15 to 25 kph. Ridge soarable if one keeps mind not to get blown over the spineback comprising Chabre. 

Off in the distance is the 'fish', the main lz for the site. The general rule of thumb: if one gets below the clear start of continuous vegetation demarking the lower extent of launch, push out towards the fish. Not only to err on the side of caution, but often times thermals will trigger from lower changes in topography and thus not hug the terrain all the way up.

 Off in the distance, the 'fish' lz. The closer clearing, while tempting, is inadvisable.

The first flight is a simple back and forth on the ridge as the winds are fairly strong out of the south east. A few times I would look down at the ground 20m or so below and notice I am not really moving. One of the drivers Stuart, who was given the opportunity to fly with us, pipes up on the radio that he is heading towards the fish. When someone with 5 to 6 times the experience of myself says they are going to land, especially when they haven't had much chance to fly, I pay attention. So I follow him out and by the time I am over the fish, I am more or less parked. I am definitely light on this wing.

We stand down for the remainder of the day. Dinner, the Vietnamese place in Laragne. The evenings entertainment - Stuart saying, 'boissons' to place a drink order and the server convinced that he was trying to order 'poissons' (fish).
 

The next day.

Conditions are ok, but expected to deteriorate quickly with an approaching cold front (and resultant storms). The guides keep us local as there is little point in driving across the department when we will need to be done by the afternoon. The air was more active than the day previous, to the point that I am able to surf the gorge just south of the lz. Definitely going to see storms this afternoon.

Back up the hill we go.

I stick my nose out of the van and decide to leave my bag where it is. The meteo winds have picked up with some degree of gustiness. But what has my attention are the clouds approaching from the southwest. My surfing the gorge on the bubbles of lift means there is a lot of heated air in the valley just waiting for a way to break the inversion keeping that air earth bound. The clouds with their thermal feed is just that conduit. Rising air is moving air and moving air is wind. When those clouds reach us, launch is going to blow out something fierce.

Dave, one of the owners of Allez-Up and the local weather guru, mentions it is borderline too strong. But folk are pulling bags out anyways. Most of my fellow course participants are coastal/flatland fliers with minimal mountain experience and it is showing.

One of the Brits is laid out, clipped in, and rearing to go.

The cloud shadows just reach the southern edge of the valley.

"You might want to unclip", I say to the pilot.

No response.

The cloud line? Mid valley.

"You really might want to unclip."

Still nothing.

The cloud line reaches the base of the mountain. The wind starts to pick up, growing in intensity.

The Brits fights to keep his whipping wing grounded and under control. The near gale continues. A minute passes and everything thing calms down, slightly. The guides tell everyone to pack it up.

Another day, another lesson.

Leave no man behind (XC Course Day 0)

Spent.

That is the general vibe I get from the campground this morning. The Chabre Open has closed and folk are slowly pulling themselves free from bed to begin packing. The organizers start collecting up left over forms and swag*.

Having packed up and turned in the key for my room, I sit outside on the patio awaiting Chris and Foram from Escape XC. Even though the folk from Escape should have a day off with pilots in transit to Laragne, Chris has offered to give us a tour of the LZs to the west and even provide some impromptu guiding in the air.

First we need to drop our non flying kit off at the residences of Allez-Up, a local B&B/Gite rental specializing in catering to PG and HG pilots. The majority of the pilots are staying in the main house while a pair of us have use of the 'cabin', a small two building outcropping. One building is a single bedroom while the other has the kitchen, bathroom and a mezzanine/loft sleeping area. The loft was exactly what I was hoping to score when Escape was arranging the accommodations.

Sleeping loft looking towards the kitchen.

Sleeping area, looking back from the ladder.

Looking down at the kitchen.

Kitchen, bathroom door to the left under the ladder/stairs.

Once rooms are sorted, a quick briefing and round table introductions are held. There are a pair of courses being run concurrently - a single week, that I and three others are on, and a two week with the remaining eight pilots. With this number of pilots it would be difficult to keep track of who is who in the air, especially for pilots not familiar with the guides wings.

Foram to the rescue.

A laminated card with color correct wing make and model photos along with the pilots name below. Some velcro tape to latch it to a flight deck and voila, instant IFF. Brilliant.

Initial details sorted, we fill the van along with the LandRover and head west. A succession of stops at each of the official LZs, suggestions on where lift can be found along the valley and, most importantly, where we really do not want to find ourselves low.

The winds are north west, which align rather well with the launch at Bergies, near the village of Sederon. A quick climb up the backside of the mountain reveals a small observatory overlooking a wide alpine meadow. Ample amounts of room to layout.

Getting ready

Now ready. Observatory in the background.

Foram launches first, soaring back and forth in front of launch. A few of the pilots follow suit, then Chris, myself, and the remainder. One of the crew, Doug, manages to quickly climb out and starts his trek east towards Ribiers. The remainder of us try to soar up the windward side of the slope with the hope of catching a wind torn leeward side forming thermal. Varying degrees of success, but all ending in the same way - piling back into the vehicles for another go. The second attempt proves more successful all around with a call from Chris that he was at 1450 meters and starting to cross the small valley to the Sederon horseshoe.

 

Ridge soaring Bergies

The scree slope along the northwest edge of bowl was into sun and wind and should be a reliable thermal generator. And it was, for everyone else. Bad timing on my part coupled with a low point of arrival equals scratch-fest. Diving in deeper means surrendering the chance of an easy retrieve, but how does one learn if one does not risk?

Scratching, a way of life.

 A 'vache'/outlanding. The nice field to the right? Verboten.

The risk doesn't pay off this time and a 'vache' it is. After a decent walk around the fenced crop/livestock fields, I arrive in Sederon and put out my fifth location update. No response. Check the cell phone. No signal. Looks like I need to get clear of the valley to be able to get a hold of retrieve. I begin the hike south towards the main valley leading back to Laragne. Half an hour later the van finds me and ferries me to the 'Argentinian' Bar.  I was starting to get concerned  I might be forgotten and spending a night sleeping in my wing trying to hitch back to Ribiers, but lone behold the organizers leave no man behind.

* Speaking of swag, XCMag was one of the sponsors of the Chabre and had a large stack of the 'Driver may be distracted by fluffy white clouds' bumper stickers sitting out. Come Saturday morning that pile was noticeably smaller and my backpack a bit heavier. So if you don't have an XC mag subscription, are in the WCSC, and want one - leave a comment at the bottom.

The 'Happy' Gaggle (Chabre Open Days 5 and 6)

Task Day 3.

Sunrise.

The air is warm and dry today, haze enveloping the hills. Textbook inversion conditions. The question is, how strong and long lived an inversion?

Fast forward 6 hours.

On launch the task committee is taking a little longer than normal. The conditions are putting a hitch in the planned task. Plan, discuss, re-plan. Eventually, arrival at the final destination - consensus.

The task is posted. An ambitious one, running from the Chabre launch site to the far north-east corner of the turn points.

An ambitious task.

Jocky finishes the general task briefing and moves to the northern side of launch for the 'special needs' briefing (a walk through of the task for the newbies such as myself, though from the turnout it appears everyone is a newbie today).

Just because we made the ESS and goal cylinders the same size doesn't mean you can race each other into a crater. We trust you to be responsible pilots. Not monkeys. This isn't the PWC.

 

Wind tech after wind tech is sent out, all maintaining just above launch. Looks like the inversion still reigns supreme. One, Chris, manages to climb out but not very high - maybe 1600m. It is enough to set a launch open time and a shortened window (1 hour) is declared to ensure everyone gets off quickly. Once the window opens, a deluge of launching pilots we have not. Most are holding and waiting, hoping for stronger conditions. The few that do go early suffer the same fate as the wind techs, boating back and forth in front of launch.

 

The trickle continues and we have a virtual gaggle right in front of launch, most soaring, some thermaling, others indecisively alternating between both. It is only a matter of time before the window is closed.

 

And lone behold, a call across the radio - 'Launch is closed'.

 

Time is needed to clear out the building rats nest of wings trying to avoid being swallowed by the 'fish' (the bailout LZ shaped like, you guessed it, a fish).

 

After 5 minutes, launch reopens. And is subsequently closed. Re-open. Closed. Re-open.

 

15 minutes shy of the end of launch, I am ready to go. I was none too keen on joining the repeated swell of rats nest early, but it looks like most pilots are away leaving the 'Happy' gaggle to boat around launch.

 

During a comp, there are three distinct phases of gaggle. The serious competition pilots will often launch first, get up and away quickly - this is the first, the comp gaggle. The second gaggle, what I would call the main gaggle, is made up of XC pilots who are here to learn and improve their flying, the competition aspect is secondary. The third group are pilots who have just learned how to thermal, have little to no XC experience, and are here to have fun and maybe achieve a personal best flying distance in the double digit range.

 

This last group is the 'Happy' gaggle, also known as the 'WOO-ho!' gaggle. And it is the 'Happy' gaggle that I launch into.

 

Some think they are thermaling, but are coring sink more often than not. Others think they are ridge soaring, but are not tight enough in and sinking out.  Others still are attempting to test the passive safety of their wings going over the back a bit on the low side. For all of these differences one thing unifies this group, they are having the time of their lives.

 

Oh ... they share one other characteristic - they are destined to frustrate any and every attempt on my part to climb out and get away. 

 

After launching, a trio decide to stick on my tail as I push several kms down the ridge. If I turn and backtrack, they follow. I try to figure 8 in what feels to be a bubble about to break loose, they follow. I push out and start working lift, they follow.

 

Eventually I hook a core and put the wing on its tip in an attempt to shake my pursuers (most newer pilots are notorious for not banking hard enough in a climb and will frequently get pushed out by the stronger rising air).

 

It works.

 

That immediate issue resolved, lets rewind to the debrief the night before. Jocky mentions you want to keep an eye out for rapid movement around you. The source is typically a wing turning fast in a strong climb. If you see this, go there.

 

Return to the present.

 

The more talented members of this gaggle have some degree of thermaling ability and if they have launched sufficiently early enough, will already be well above the ridge. Add this height to Jockys advice and my attempt to climb out.

 

The result looked something like this:

 

 

Guess which is me and which is the 'Happy' Gaggle.

 

The tailing trio below me, the herd fast approaching from above. Without going into the details of what transpired, I started looking at my hook knife then looking at the lines of the other gliders, looking at hook knife, then lines of other gliders...

 

The lesson taken from the experience - if it is even remotely stay up-ble and the hill/comp has a fair number of newer pilots, launch as early as possible and by all means avoid the 'Happy' gaggle in the air like the proverbial plague (as opposed to on the ground, where their excitement post personal best 5km mini-XC is a wonderful thing to witness).

 

The following day was a write off due to storms. The awards ceremony and wing raffle was enjoyed by all, some a bit more than others with the noise of partying ending with scant few hours of darkness remaining. 

 

The comp is done, onto the XC course.

 

 

 

Celebrating mistakes (Chabre Open Day 4)

It's cold and wet this morning.

The forecast says rain, rain, short pause, then more rain. I am curious to see what the organizers can salvage of the day, otherwise it certainly looks like the comp will be a two tasker at best (Thursday looks good but Friday looks like storms).

Another early trip to the Casino Supermarche (it opens at 0830 and is a 10 minute walk from the camp ground) to top up sandwich supplies and grab some fruit. Aside from a burger at St.Vincent, it has been entirely uncooked food since arriving in Laragne - which certainly is not going to help with retaining weight and thus my wing size (having already lost 15 pounds since the start of the year due to health). Downsizing to a ML might become an unwanted reality before seasons end.

But right now we focus on today and the possibility (rather than probability) of a task.

0930 - the cats slowly herd themselves into the Main Tent and take seats. Jocky and Dave arrive not too long afterwards and go through the motions of awarding the task winner and recognizing those that made goal for the first time (goal virgins).

 

The crowd now is left wondering task or no task?

 

A pause.

 

Task it is.

 

The rinse and repeat of the previous day - grab kit, find a spot on one of the buses, and pile on up the hill.

 

I claim my spot on the eastern edge of the launch area - the wind tends to have an east component making for a downwind run when hunting for thermals along launch, but coming at the expense of having to dodge other launching pilots.



Around 1230 the task is posted.

The beginning and end is the same as the day previous - elapsed time, exit cylinder 3km radius at turn point B01, cross valley behind launch then tag the 1m km cylinder at turn point B06. From there proceed northeast across the main valley to the lake at B46 (the new component), utilize a mix of glide and climb to the B02 ESS (end of speed section - the point at which the clock stops for your course completion time), and land at A05.

Aside from the swap of turn point B33 for B46 today, the other difference from yesterdays task is the presence of cumulus clouds. Yesterdays inversion has been cleared out and replaced with fizzier conditions - more frequent, shorter lived thermals. The clouds will place a cap on the height we can climb to, as cloud flying is not permitted in the comp. When we arrived on launch, we were greeted by a lee side Cu forming right behind the hill. Looks like a bit of a waiting game for the base to rise to what I suspect will need to be a 1900m minimum for a valley crossing to B46.

 

Base might be a wee bit low, right now.

By early afternoon the lee side cloud dissipates and the overall cloud base rises. A launch time is announced and folk begin getting ready for round 2.

B46 is a small lake to the right of center.

Rather than wait, today I decide to launch early and try to keep an eye on the line that Alex takes as he tags the first few turn points. There is little hope I will keep up, especially in climbs, but for the first bit I might get a glimpse to how he resolves the task into actions.

The climb out from launch to B01 and B06 was a non issue. The transition to B46 was equally a one and two affair.

Transition to B46.

 

Upon arriving at B46, I spot a small lump of a hill further north. The location in relation to the valley wind and sun looked promising as did the expanse of field windward that would feed it. We have sources - the fields, we have a trigger - this small hill, all we need is a sign - someone climbing out. This turns out be me, initially. Searching above and  leeward of the hill, I manage to find a patchwork of zeros hinting that a thermal is building and should eventually release. When it finally does, I fail to core tight enough to stay with it and fall out the back. It takes very little time fighting the head wind in the subsequent sink to end up in the rotor of the hill.

 

Next time turn tight, tight like a tiger.

 

Clawing my way around the front of the hill, I try my hand at getting in tight and ridge soaring (something I never really do at home) with the hope that I am lucky enough to catch the next ride. The sound of the rustling leaves and the communal bzzz of what I gather to be a cicada like insect swarm catch my attention during my continuous beats back and forth.

 

 

Kickin' shrubberies.

The comment regarding being a thermal 'sign'? Looks like a few folk saw my attempt to climb out and came to investigate from the slope of the northern edge of the 'volcano'. With greater altitude, skill, and luck they were able to capitalize on the thermal I lost.

 

Fatigue catches up with me and I set down in the field below. The retrieve is a short walk away, which was a godsend as I twist up my ankle something fierce falling into a two foot deep drainage ditch filled with crop level to the field. Speaking of ankles, one of the competitors was the unfortunate victim of a much worse ankle injury slope landing near turn point B06. 45 minutes later he was on his way to hospital and straight into surgery. Word has it he is recovering fine and will be heading home in the next couple of days. Show me a country that has this level of medical/emergency service and won't put you in debt for life.

Injuries aside, my mistake in not hooking the thermal correctly costs me another 5 places in the standings. Jocky mentions in a follow up debriefing of the day that we should not try to make excuses for our mistakes, such as blaming it on the conditions, but instead not only own up to them but in fact celebrate them. The sooner this 'acceptance' occurs, the sooner we can go about fixing what was really wrong.

Another day,  another set of lessons.

Off to the races (Chabre Open Day 3)

Brrr.

It's cold and dry this morning. Sitting outside at 6AM for the daily Skype check in with spousal unit, I am bundled up in fleece, jacket, and balaclava.

Cold morning means active air. Dry, active air means a task. And a task there will be.

Inland flying comes with a certain degree of predictability weather wise. In Manilla, Australia -  if one sees altocumulus forming at sunrise only to see them disappear as the sun clears the horizon - there is likely overdevelopment come afternoon. The same sort of weather guesstimate can be done based on the 'feel' of the air around sunrise

Cold, dry - flyable, mostly clear skies. A fizzy day.

Cold, moist - flyable, overcast. Possible overdevelopment.

Warm, moist -  thunderstorms.

Warm, dry - flyable but inverted. A sticky day.

Grabbing a quick nap before the daily 0930 briefing wasn't the wisest of ideas, as I manage to miss the briefing within which they said there would be a task. Jet lag still taking its toll.

I grab kit and rush downstairs to join the herd waiting for the large bus that will drop us off at the base of the mountain while the shorter buses shuttle folk from the base to top.

 

At the mountain base, a cloud bird omen.

Heeding some great advice while departing the bus, I quickly snag a spot in the little shade present. It is going to be upwards of a 45 minute wait and I am not keen on baking anymore than needed.

With my shade inching away into oblivion, the shuttles arrive to ferry us up the 25 minute climb.

Once dropped off, it is a further five to ten minute hike to the launch area where everyone has selected individual spots to set up. Half an hour passes before the task is posted.

It is an elapsed time task to an air field about 30 km to the north. I personally have come to prefer elapsed time tasks both because it staggers the field and because it forces a higher degree of planning on the part of the pilot. In comparison, race to goal tasks devolve into simply follow the gaggle and hammer the speed bar from the last turn point into goal. Risk taking in terms of selecting flight path along the course (lead out points) is still insufficiently rewarded in race to goal. In short, elapsed time is strategic flying, RtG is tactical.

In any case, this task will have us fly west along the south facing launch ridge into a 3 km radius exit cylinder (B01). The clock for each pilot then doesn't start until they leave that 3km radius. The astute pilot will realize that this radius comes rather close to the 1 km cylinder surrounding the first turn point across the small valley to the north (B06).

A glide east across the main river valley is then needed before connecting with the southern ridge of the volcano (it resembles one, but actually is not). Flying further east along that ridge, one hits the 1 km cylinder of the next turn point (B33).

Then it is combination of climbs and glide to the final turn point/end of speed section to the north (B02) before landing in goal (A05).

'Easy-peasy' as Jocky would put it.

The launch window opens, unleashing the veterans who know how to work the weaker climbs and the overeager who do not. It takes less than half an hour before the ridge becomes a crowded flying conga line. The organizers pop on the radio and declare the launch window closed, waiting for the airborne circus to either climb out or sink out and land. A few minutes pass and pilots begin to clear out of the airspace in front of launch. Launch window reopens.

2PM.

The strong conditions switch gets flipped and the ridge lights up like a Christmas tree. A pilot on what must be a newly purchased Peak 3 tries to launch but doesn't quite have the wing stabilized.  They lose the right side and gets unceremoniously dumped onto the turf. A Rush 4 next to me has a beast of a time trying to manage their wing in the thermal gusts.

This is newbie contradiction - they don't want to be the first to launch, but if they wait - it typically gets too strong for them.

My turn to give it a go.

This is where that kiting practice in Vanier mid afternoon during the summer pays off. A+C's the wing up, a few steps to dampen the surge, turn, two steps and off. No drama.

Kiting your Wing is the PG equivalent of Eat your Wheaties. Remember that kids.

I launched from the eastern end of the hill with the start cylinder to west.  A quick run of the gauntlet, dodging the odd ridge soaring pilot still unsure of where the thermals were and the slowing stream of launchees, and I make my way past the house thermal into the start cylinder (the Flymaster's garbled chirping confirms I am in).

In the start cylinder, looking west at B01. 

Hugging in tight on the hill, I find enough lift to get above the ridge and push out front to there the real thermal meat was to be found. It doesn't take much time or effort to hook a climb up and over the Chabre spineback and begin a drift towards the first turnpoint, B06.

Drifting with a thermal towards B06, the peak to the right of center.

The thermals have some bite despite that fact that my best climb is only 2.5 m/s today. Score keeper Mark who has flown ahead pipes up on the radio through out the task to declare level one conditions (safe to fly) and to reassure everyone one it's smooth and calm. If this is smooth and calm, I can only image what rough is. Regardless of how lumpy it might be, I have a task to fly and the only way I am going to improve is to just focus on flying.

Today starts to highlight my second Achilles heel in this sport (the first being my patience, or lack thereof) - the rather large disconnect between my ability and my confidence in that ability. Were I flying at home under these conditions, I'd likely assume I am in over my head and look to land, yet today I am managing the wing with little trouble - even when crossing the inversion up top and the layers of valley wind shear down low (not to mention a leeside active flying match later on). Jocky and Chris ask as part of the sign up for the XC course that is running next week what are we looking for - for me, it is the need to be pushed, to close some of the disconnect.

But back to the task...

 

As I approach B06, the Flymaster screen changes to show my flight path and the outer edge of the cylinder. With mind to that edge I look at the turn point to follow, B33, and plan the valley crossing, knowing that there is a south west wind at my altitude. The Flymaster chirps that I have tagged the cylinder and I start to turn slightly south of the southern ridge of the 'volcano'. I start my glide and take note of my altitude (2100 m), my ground speed (between 45 and 50 kph from the tail wind) and my glide ratio (15+). I should arrive well above the western end of the ridge.

The 'volcano'.

 

Time for a few minutes 'rest'. I hit the play button on the iPad Shuffle and enjoy the view as one of the PodRunner house mixes blares away on the mini iHome speaker. I had gotten the idea for the set up from one of the American pilots at the 2012 Nationals and modified for my needs. The Shuffle can be turned on and set into pause before I launch and because it is not a touch screen, it is easy to control with gloves on. The iHome unit is USB rechargeable in a zip-able case that can hold the Shuffle when not set up on my flight deck. It also comes with a mini novelty karabiner that I use as a second attachment to the securing cord on the Flymaster. A little adhesive hook material on the back of both the iHome and the Shuffle and we have a virtual airborne disco. Great for killing time on glide or taking your mind off of just how lumpy a mess the air is today.

The southern edge of the 'volcano' passes below me as I begin my approach towards the B33 cylinder. Jocky mentioned that there is a great house thermal at the rock face occupying the eastern edge of the ridge. This advice becomes critical in my decision making and highlights the need to fly the conditions and not the site.

Word on the radio is that the wind has switched to south east and is increasing in strength. Not long after, my ground speed dips down to 6 kph above the lip of the ridge necessitating some judicious application of bar. Getting pushed back into the crater would be ill advised, as organizers phrased it, 'There are no sensible landing options in the volcano' aka there are NO landing options.

Finally having pushed out front of the ridge, I am joined by Jocky's senior guide Chris.

Hi, Chris.

This is the point where a critical mistake is made.

Chris veers left and begins a climb. I stay on course towards the rock face, expecting the face baking in the sun and S/E wind will make an amazing climb that will drift me along the north east edge of the volcano until it intersects climbs coming from the southern face.

The best laid plans ...

There was next to no lift at the rock face. Pushing out in the valley was a possibility, but I stubbornly tried to make the rock face work.

The rock face at B33.

Eventually taking a drifting thermal along the ridge top and ending up in the lee of the north east face. Let the active flying lesson commence.

Highway to the rotor zone.

 

Ever try to core rotor? That's how adamant I was about getting back up. Needless to say it didn't work and I set down in a wheat field in the middle of nowhere. 5 km away was the hamlet of Faye (where I hiked out to) and 10+ km past that was the village of Ventavon.

Start a stampede in one easy word - WOOF!

During the hike out word came across the radio that a blue wing went down in the trees along a ridge to my north. Found out afterwards it was a Maverick. Guess it lived up to its name for not following convention.

The scores have me placed at 62 out of 130. Not bad given that my goal is to end up in the middle third (as opposed to being in the bottom 3 at the Canadian Nationals in 2012).

Tomorrow is not looking promising weather wise, but one can never be sure what the organizers might have up their collective sleeves.