The Facebook group discussion begins.
Saturday evening:
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.
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.
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