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