Paragliding Safety: Idiocy

A day off! Three weeks of patiently waiting for this day, this very day. A day where I can do nothing, absolutely nothing.

Laundry?

Ahh, laundry.

Options are weighed.

Day of Nothing or ... laundry.

Pondering advice of the sages...

Use sunscreen. Check.

Never be the last to arrive. Check.

Never be the smelliest person in the van. Che...dammit.

Laundry wins.

Turning my helmet bag into a bag of infinite holding, I cram near every piece of clothing I have into it and set of for my Adventure in Italian Laundromats.

Thankfully the instructions on the machine are in English lest I feed the thing an endless stream of euro and resemble a child with a pocket full of quarters and a foolhardy dream of finishing PacMan.

For the most part I am left alone in this small two room space, listening to the monotonous thrumming of the washer. Occasionally a local would arrive, speak some form of greeting and/or point at a machine and pose a query in Italian. I respond with a smile, nod, or a shrug in a semi-animated 'je ne sais pas' type manner. A true master of international linguistics.

Laundry done and bag of holding reloaded. I am lighter by 9 euro but am freed from being relegated to riding on the back bumper of the van.

Back at the hotel, I return to half Day of Nothing. Activity selected: sleep.

2 hours later, I awake.

The room is much darker than when I laid down. Odd, as it is mid afternoon.

A distant rumble. Ahhh, now I know what woke me.

I look out the patio window to see rain falling, trees oscillating to and fro in the gust front and...

a pair of paragliders still in the air, less than a kilometer away.

I watch them pull ears and turn tail to run from the front. Unfortunately the mountain ridge is blocking a proper perpendicular retreat from the storm line, so they are forced to try to run ahead and get down.

The wings disappear from my view, continuing to run west.

The rumbling continues on for another half a hour, thankfully left uninterrupted by any form of siren.

Just another Saturday in Bassano.

Sunday, Kelly has returned with a fresh pair of students - Jim, an Irish musician, and Tim, a British Intensive Care doctor who looks no older than 17. I'm half a mind to start calling Tim - Doogie, but I suspect the reference would be lost on him.

Up on the hill, high altocumulus have cut off the thermic cycles. One of the Swedes launches anyways and sinks out. I am set up, patiently watching an approaching break in the cloud. Kelly asks that I hold off until Jim and Tim are in the air. Tim is off first. Under Kelly's guidance, Tim readily thermals up to what is likely both his highest and longest flight ever. Kelly then instructs him to head out to the landing field and begins to focus on getting Jim ready to launch. The clearing in the altoQs has been over us for about ten minutes at this point. The cycles pick up quickly in intensity and duration, then take a strong east/crosswind flow.

The mid day thermals are being trapped between the ridge and a newly formed inversion just above launch. Driven by a light eastery wind, they begin to venturi and quickly exceed 35 kph, much to the chagrin of the dozen of so pilots hellbent on staying on the ridge. Kelly shakes his head, refers to the mob of parked wings downwind from their lz as a 'Standing Ovation', and instructs us to pack up. We will have to wait until evening.

By the time we leave, every wing on the ridge is being driven backwards - unwilling to leave for calmer conditions over the flats. Lemming effect, I guess.

Idiocy: Never under estimate the power of stupid people in large groups.

Feeling the air

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.

Paragliding Safety: Surrender

A single building sits atop one of many rolling hills in the American Midwest. The Tibetan prayer flags adorning the  covered patio, flapping gently in the early autumn breeze, are the only suggestion that the building's purpose lies with something other than that of the countless farm homesteads in the region.

Inside the walls are a featureless off white, strangely presenting a sense of warmth and belonging. Interrupting this continuity are six windows flanking the sides and a simple Japanese shrine at the far end.

The floor, a series of stitched together cloth coverings sitting atop tatami matting, is a slightly darker off white. Small white blotches resulting from vigorously cleaned stains of sweat and blood are visible upon closer inspection.

A pair of lines, six abreast, sit kneeling and facing the shrine. Uniform in dress, yet varying in age, race, and gender. Each is clad in blue uwagi and black hakama with the only allowances for personal expression are the subtle variations in adornment to the katana that sits to right of each on the mat.

"But which way is the correct way?", breaks the silence.

A considered pause.

A lone figure sits in front of the group, facing them. Though similarly clad as the rest, his location and presence project an air of authority.

"Both", the response.

Quickly followed by, "How?"

"When I teach, you will do it the way I show you. When another kyoshi teaches it, you will do it their way. If you cannot be flexible in your mind, how can you expect to be flexible with your blade? You must be willing to surrender your preconception of what is the right way and what is the wrong way if you ever hope to truly understand the technique."

Ten years later on a paragliding launch...

"I haven't seen that launch technique taught since 1995."

Words of protest.

A simple explanation of how a newer method of forward launching could be employed, allowing the pilot more opportunity to verify the inflation of the glider and reduce the risk of damage in the event of a snagged line (the lower launch has a plethora of line grabbers just sitting in wait).

Resistance.

A learning opportunity lost.

Courses such as this present the opportunity for growth, if we are willing to let go of our preconceived notions of what is the right way to fly and what is the wrong way. Kelly has pointed out that he cannot teach us his way of flying, because it is made to fit him. What he can do is give us the tools to adapt the lessons that he has learned, fitting them to our own flying style.

If we are willing to listen...

... to try...

...to surrender.

Flying Outside the Risers

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 Witching Hour

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.

Lost and Found

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.

Evaluation Day

The 3 hour rollercoaster ride through the Alps now complete, our group finds itself waiting in the hotel lobby, occasionally summoned by the desk clerk via a call of 'alora'. The rooms are not quite ready - Kelly's desire for an early start to the day meets the national institution of 'Italian Time'. In 'Italian Time', things get done when they get done and no amount of pushing, prodding, or pestering will make it occur any faster. As we arrived on a Sunday, we were treated 'Italian Savings Time', where things get done at half the pace they would have under  'Italian Time'.

An hour later, we have our own proper rooms (greatly appreciated over the shared mini single wide that was my home for the previous two weeks in Doussard), sort our kit quickly and race down to the parking lot to meet Kelly, our retrieve driver Luigi, and head to the hill.

Kelly announces that today was an evaluation day, to get a sense where each of us are at and what the instructional flow for the week will be like. I get a feeling he both wants to see how his returning students have put to practice what he taught them last year and to see what the self-taught, such as myself, need correcting.

The conditions are typical for Bassano when a weather system invades the northern Alps - some degree of north Foehn effect up high and stable with an inversion just above launch. In addition a valley wind was beginning to set up from the west, and would grow as the day progressed, though nothing like what one would see in Annecy.

We load up the van, make a quick stop at the bailout LZ, and beeline up to launch. Kelly wants the crew off early to avoid the 'witching hour', when conditions can get particularly strong at the inversion. Last off, I head out and start sniffing out lift, climbing up to and eventually through the inversion. Half an hour later the radio squawks, "Mark, I am on your left, follow me to the flats.".

So began my first steps of XC (Cross Country) flying in Bassano, heading out over Borso. We search out and work blue thermals sourced/triggered by church towers, factories, and tree lined hills.

Quintessential flatland flying.

Then the return leg - 20 kph head wind. We claw our way back, though the inefficiency in my thermal technique begins to show and I bomb out for a random farmers field that had been recently hayed, though not yet bailed.

Replay this flight on Doarama.

A half hour pack up and hike out to find some shade beside a children's school, a quick text to Luigi with my GPS coordinates, and I am back at the hotel just in time for lunch to end.

Typical.

A quick debrief from Kelly indicates we will focus this week on my thermal carve (being able to turn in a thermal without swing through) and map (finding the core in the most efficient way possible while maintaining the carve) and we are back in the bus for an evening boat back and forth along the hill before venturing into the flats.

Another out landing.

Another retrieve.

The restaurant is slow in serving dinner so I will be fed tonight.

'Italian Time' is a wonderful thing.