2600ft o' legroom

April 4, 2005

This weekend was my much anticipated trip for some mountain flying. A meet had been scheduled at Elk mountain, about 3 hours north of here, up by Ukiah and Clear lake. I got up at 4:30am on saturday and started out at 5 to make the 8am meeting time in the LZ (landing zone). The "critters", Bernard the French guy, Mihir the Mumbayite, Ed the "pilot for Jesus" guy, Kathy the Light, cool Ron, and yours truly, all Wally's students and ex-students, arrived within about 10-15 minutes of each other and we set off, after Wally gave us the site intro.

The launch area is a little to the right of the peak above. This creek bed is in the LZ, we would land in a dusty area that was dry.

The ride up to launch takes half as long as what you think it does, and the last half-a-mile is the reason that bonefide SUVs were invented. It was certainly a roller coaster ride at 2 MPH. We got to the launch area and looked at the beautiful view and day in the making:


Clear lake is at the upper left. Many many moons ago, Jo and I had gone by this lake in our newly acquired Z3 with the bay area Z3 group. We were in a convoy of about 15 Z3s, travelling at what could be euphemistically described as "a high rate of speed". Today would be flying of a different sort. It was quite chilly up here, 2600 feet above the LZ, and I wished I had worn another layer. The LZ itself is 1400 ft above sea level, so we were in effect at 4000 ft above sea level. However, the adrenelene rush from the flying would negate any effects of the chill. You can see the LZ above as the dusty area a little to the right of the middle of the picture. In practice, the entire bed of Middle creek that meanders through the valley is a landing zone. The water is only a few inches deep, and has large pebbly areas on its sides so even getting wet is not necessary. The LZ is a 3-1 glide from here, and given that most gliders have a 7-1 glide ratio, getting there even without any lift should be no problem, although it didn't seem that way after takeoff. The wind was blowing up the hill good, and our eyes were sparkling at the positive luck. We laid out, and I was voted by Wally to go first, as he seemed to have the most confidence in me. This is a refreshing turn of events: I have never been the "top" in any adventurous or physical activity group. I asked Bernard if we wanted to go, and he said "non non, you goe".

I had a text book launch, and was off the hill lifted up strongly after only a couple of steps. I then veered to the right to exploit the lift at the ridgeline that follows the valley. After a minute I encountered strong lift and was buoyed up. It was a great feeling, and I turned around to see the launch site, but could barely make it out. However, I was treated to the sight of several snow-covered peaks behind our mountain, that could not be seen from anywhere on the ground here. I turned around, intending to scratch along the ridge line to gain more altitude. After a few rounds, Wally told me on the radio to ensure that I was progressing to the LZ. Later I would learn from the others, who were all watching me, that Wally was a bit nervous when he saw me lifted up, concerned that I may not be penetrating. I was never concerned, as I kept an eye on my shadow on the hillside, and I was always moving forward. Anyway, I used his suggestion to try out my speed bar, and sure enough the wing accelerated. I left the lift zone, and decided to just enjoy the ride, sit back, and fly at minimum sink to prolong the flight. I considered trying to take a picture or two, but realized that keeping the camera in my pocket and tying it to my belt loop was a bad idea: it was difficult now to dig it out from this seated position. Besides, I really didn't want to distract myself too much. Next time, I decided. By now, most of the hill slope was gone, and there was close to 2600 feet below my feet and the ground. I looked up at my bright blue canopy. There I was, hanging by a few strings from a little piece of nylon, suspended in mid-air. I have never felt so alive before.

Initially, as I saw the hillside only a few hundred feet below me, I was concerned whether I could really fly to the LZ. In the fullness of time, I realized that I had gotten to at least 1000 to 1500 feet above the LZ. I veered to the right, to above the trees, and decided to do figure 8s to lose altitude slowly. I passed over a horse corral nestled in the hills many times. I saw the ATV and dirt-bike riders kicking up dust in the LZ. How small and cute everything looked! I made my final approach, stood upright, and encountered some turbulence in the last 50 feet. I kept up my speed, diving in to penetrate any such turbulence, did the round out smoothly, and landed, barely needing to even run, but doing it anyway as it's good practice. Wally's voice crackled on the radio asking me how the landing was. It was too far from up there for them to see, even with binoculars. I told him everything was fine, and he asked me to stay by the radio and instruct the others conditions in the LZ if it changed. This LZ has a reputation for being unpredictable.

All in all, we all had great flights. Kathy and Ed, the last two to go had some trouble launching, but they also did fine in the end.

I was voted by the others to have had the longest and what appeared to them to be the most interesting flight. The dirt-bikers all asked us if we had jumped out of a plane. We packed up a little, waiting eagerly for the next trip up.

Wally said that things were getting a bit rough up there for us, so that would be it till late afternoon when things would calm down. Some other advanced pilots launched, including Wally himself, and we saw them soaring and staying up for at least an hour. We could hear them on the radio, barking out to each other "whoa all sink here dude over". "Justin do you copy kkch" "Yeah it's popping on me here krkch". Things looked quite calm and benign to us, but the landings told a different story. All landed ok, but we could see the unpredictable directions and gusts affecting the final approaches. They all said that it was quite turbulent and thermally, so time to stop even for them.

We spent the rest of the afternoon eating, chatting, and playing "Petanque", a French game that Bernard introduced to us. I did some photography with the A80 of the spring:

The area is also a favorite haunt for all terrain vehicles and dirt biking:


I took a nap in the car, and woke up to find chilly, overcast, windy conditions at 5pm. No more flying for today. Rain was forcast for Sunday, but we hoped that we could get another flight in the morning. Raindrops on the tent at 4am put rest to any such delusion. We had dinner at the local firehouse charity event, and then spent an hour huddled around the camp fire. Ed, who is a Catholic preist, and is on a year-long sabbatical, talked about the ailing pope. Wally was his usual locquatious self, regaling us with stories of past flights and trips. Another pilot group nearby was a lot more rowdy, and had built what looked like a 10 ft high fire. They were dancing around it, one guy had climbed on top and sat like a Buddhist monk until the flames got too close. Wally said they were all in "altered states". It's funny how paragliding is a solitary sport, and yet pilots are extraordinarily social. It was beastly cold, and despite 5 layers of clothes, I was freezing. The night in the tent was scarcely better; I decided that it's time to graduate from the $15 sleeping bag and get a real one. We had a leisurely breakfast in the morning, cursed the rain some more, and headed back to the bay area. I was home by 2:30pm. A big thanks to Jo for being a sport and allowing me to go!