Sled run for one, sled run for all.

Day two with my sheep in wolfs clothing (the recently acquired Gin Carrera Medium in Apple).

The atmospheric sounding for the day is looking promising with moderate lift to above launch height and an ever increasing prefrontal inflow. Get out early and stay up all day is the plan. Too bad reality doesn't always mimic the forecast.

Arriving at the FlyBC Ranch, I see a number of cars parked about but zero activity. Maybe everyone has already headed up the hill?

A quick peek through the spyglass reveals the Russian collective up on launch, but no sign of Jim or crew.  A few wings eventually launch and make their way down to the Riverside LZ. From the direct route they take I suspect lift is as elusive as ever today.

Half an hour passes and a truck pulls up carrying one of our 'long lost brethren', Robin, who has been pulled away by the real world for the last season and a half.  We catch up on how things have been and Robin provides some suggestions on shows to watch to help kill time as the long white cloud of winter dampens flying. Gary and (the other) Martin soon arrive and we make our way up to launch.

Up top appear a few other faces we rarely see these days - Mia and (the original) Martin. Must be a special event bringing everyone out.

And that there is - an ash scattering.

One of the local landowners, Joe, who had been a big part of the flying community passed some time ago and his family wanted him to enjoy one last flight. It would be another few hours before that flight was due to occur, but folk were making their way up to launch and getting a first sled run in before the main contingent arrived.

The first flight off was uneventful aside from the nuisance of the brake line 'ball' on the right toggle getting fished through a pair of twisted C lines. Basic preflight failure - not following the line from the toggle to the 'swivel' after an abort. Not impressed with the loss of the flight, I make a point of swinging further south over the ranch to put myself in clear view of anyone in the parking lot - hoping someone might look up and hang around a few mins while I pack up.

The gambit pays off as Jim pulls the 'bus' around into the LZ and a few students hop out to give me a hand quickly packing up the wing.

Round 2.

We arrive to find a decent size crowd on launch just as the Joe's ash flight is about to take off. They are away without incident and head south-ish. Another tandem quickly follows suit (I suspect a second family member). It is certainly a perfect day to see Joe off - not a cloud in the sky and silky smooth air.

My flight was another of non drama - smooth inflow, little to no lift. A textbook student first flight day.

Landing, I figure I am done for the day and have the car packed up. Robin lands and starts discussing with Martin about the possibility of time for yet another go at it.

6.2 aspect ratio in an EN B, who would have thought?

Round 3.

The cycles are dying off in the setting sun. The Carrera is as easy a wing to forward launch as any and I am away knowing this will be yet another top to bottom. Might as well make the best of it and it's varying degrees of speed bar all the way down.

An amazing weekend to break in a new wing, catch up with old friends, make new ones and, most importantly, to send one of our 'family' off.

If the season ended here - it would be on a perfect note.

*contented sigh*

Take some Gin (Carrera), add some Apple, shake (Part 2).

...

not even packed up and the Atlas pulls up in the landing field. The query from the cab, 'heading back up?'

That is an affirmative, Ghostrider.

Back on top of the mountain and every one is milling about, not a wing in the air.

Curious.

A gust comes through rustling the trees and ... blowing downhill. Ah, so ka.

An hour later, having gotten my fill of jawboning with local and student alike I realize that we are starting to see marked lulls in the downhill flow of wind. There is going to be rotor at some point away from the hill, but the sound of the wind in the trees hints at peak speeds less than 20 kph. Definitely choppy, but manageable.

I recall a piece of advice from Chris over the summer regarding boundaries and a shrinking flight envelope. If we never test our comfort zone, the conditions within which we are willing to fly will continually shrink until even the tamest of conditions will be perceived to be beyond our ability. In other words, from time to time we have to be willing to go to where there be dragons.

Begin pre-launch montage.

And so the cycle begins of waiting for the elusive lull, hoping the mountain doesn't go completely katabatic before I can get away.

I feel the slightest hint of uphill wind, the flag at the bottom showing wind coming in, the sock beside me limp. Its enough and I am off.

3...2...1... cue 'Highway to the Rotor Zone'.

I drift rapidly to the left and turn quickly right 90 degrees to face into the wind coming over the ridge to the north. The aggregation of the wind being driven up and over that ridge line has me parked in its lee. I am not entirely sure how far this compression extends, so the thought of a straight downwind run leaves me iffy with the river in that line of flight. I feel my best chance is cross wind it and face west again. My active flying skills gets their first real test since France, with the wing rolling, yawing,  and pitching about in the turbulent churn. It is under these conditions I get a better sense of the pitch stability of the Carrera. On the Delta2 I would have my work cut out for me with the wing reacting to the gusts in a series of sharp pitching motions. The Carrera remained more or less overhead, freeing some mental effort from having to be hyper vigilant in trying to prevent a full frontal via an errant gust. The roll on the other hand demanded more attention, with one cross wind gust announcing itself with a rapid twacking of the fabric in the speed bag of the pod followed by my losing the left quarter or so of the wing.

A minute of riding the chop and I am in dead calm air. Jim had chimed in on the radio suggesting pushing further south towards the Riverside LZ as opposed to my drive west, pointing out that the wind would die off quickly as I move further downwind from the northern ridge. In retrospect, it would have provided an increased chance for success over my eventual route towards the Ranch LZ.

Lesson learned.

After the mountain tried its hand at shaking up a Gin/Apple martini I feel that one could sum the wing up as "feels like a 'C', recovers like a 'B'".

Take some Gin (Carrera), add some Apple, shake (Part 1).

Tuesday, a peek in the inbox reveals, "Still interested in trading in your Delta 2?".

Jim has a potential buyer looking for a preowned Ozone Delta 2 Large, I'm looking to downsize, and the demo model Gin Carrera M is up for sale.

We might just have the makings for a deal.

By end of day we certainly do as I am lighter a Delta 2 plus some cash and heavier one Gin Carrera in apple.

Courtesy of Gin Gliders.

The weight loss that drove the downsizing had been root caused by the specialist the day prior (a genetic conspiracy it would appear) and meds prescribed to get it and a plethora of other symptoms under control (one of the more notable being nausea that would take hold in less than 20 mins from the time of launch).

Saturday morning. While the side effects of the meds are still a bit of a nuisance, I am starting to feel better than I have been in several months.

Only one way to celebrate this fortunate turn of events, pile the kit into the car and bee line for the hill.

Upon arrival, the LZ is virtual ghost town with Jim having taken the students to the training hill pending the establishment of the afternoon inflow. Knowing there might be an hour plus wait I wander the Ranch and chance upon a pair of pilots waiting for a ride, chatting them up in sequence to help kill the time.

The beep beep beep of a Nissan Atlas backing up heralds 'go' time and we all pile into the van for the first run of the day. The skinny on the Line group for the local club hinted that most folk would be up in Pemberton thus leaving us an uncrowded hill for what might be the last weekend of summer.

The crew is a mixture of first time and low air time pilots, plus moi. The nervous energy of the first timers, as they come to grips with the magnitude of what they are about to do and the sense of empowerment that will surely follow, leaves me with both a smile and sense of envy. How many of us on those first few rides up the mountain were not thinking at some point, "why am I doing this?", only to have any and all doubt disappear within seconds of landing?

Left to my own thoughts - how is my stomach going to handle this? The wing is smaller than my last and despite the EN-B rating, it is much more talkative (reactive to turbulence). Much like the first timers, I need to cast doubt aside and simply trust that it is going to be fine.

At the top we find waiting for us (the other) Martin and a pair of ladies that typically fly Bridal Falls on the south side of the valley. With the sun inching lower on the horizon each day, north facing Bridal is finding itself more and more in shade thereby driving the regulars to south facing Woodside. But even with this trio added to our ranks, Woodside is far from becoming a beehive of activity today.

The femme fatale duo launch first, followed by myself. Getting settled into the swing of things takes longer than normal as I try to align how I would fly the Delta 2 with the handling of the Carrera. It doesn't take long to realize that I need to let the wing do its thing and more or less just 'shut up and listen'.

Allowing the wing to sniff out the sporadic collection of 0.1 and 0.2 m/s climbs, I again have Kelly's advice playing in my head about mirroring the air but keeping energy in the carve. The wing turns in much quicker than the Delta2 and yet I find it more reluctant to dive if I am bit heavy handed on the initial turn in. Following what appear to be a trio of buzzards, I claw and scratch my way back up to launch height. By this point I am half an hour into the flight and my stomach is handling things remarkably well. Two more pilots have since launched and all have or are in the midst of landing.

Then the -2.4 m/s flush.

No matter where I go, the mountain is singing some Celine Dion track whilst I am being drilled to the oceans floor.

To the LZ it is. Nary a climb on the way out, but it matters not as I arrive with height to spare.

Thus ends what is easily my best flight since the last day in France at St.Vincent.

There is hope.