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.
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...
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...
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.
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 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.
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.
