Back in town, we ran into Mike Barber, hang dog extraordinaire and all-around nice guy (ranked 10th in the US, and Rick’s current hairstyle inspiration). He suggested meeting at Jerry’s diner in the morning, and calling the launch du jour then. Still deciding where to stay, we checked out the Hunter’s RV Park (and Hellhole, it turned out). Had we been fun-flying only, I think most of us would’ve gone for one of the primitive mountain campsites. We held on to the dream of moving up there for the last few days of the comp, when Bart and Christine were due to arrive with their horde of Flying Dutchmen. In the meantime, we chose the Juniper Reservoir RV Park as our HQ for the duration, telling ourselves that it was a reasonable compromise for the sake of comfort, convenience, and quiet. It was 10 miles west of town, so not as convenient than Hunter’s was, but cleaner and almost as quiet as up in the mountains. Only later did I realize that my cell phone was not callable, so our change from our original plan of Hunter’s would complicate both my dad and the Dutchmen finding us.
In the morning, the call was Sugar Hill, useful, as that was to be the launch used during the comp—the only one capable of handling what would turn out to be 80+ pilots. We found it with the aid of the site guide and the DeLorme maps we’d purchased on the way up. It’s actually 20 miles back south into California, back through the repaving zone. We got to stop and wait for the ‘Follow Me’ truck each time. About 30 pilots showed up Thursday, and cumies were already building. The ridge faced southwest, catching late-morning cycles off the south end of Goose Lake. You can’t really see the Lake from Lakeview—but you sure could from here. We used the main slope launch, avoiding the steeper-but-shorter Tower launch. Once in the air, Gaggle Reality struck, a harsh reminder of the comp to come. Rick soared for a while in the cloud of gliders, then bailed from the masses low out front, eventually scratching down to the deck. I found myself doing the same, but found a small core off the foothills across 395 from the LZ (4,800 MSL). Greg scooted out to try to also get something out of the small core, but got too low, and headed down. I thought I was low, he proved me wrong by scratching almost as long as I did, all while 300 feet lower.
The thermal eventually turned on, and took me back even with
launch (7,100 MSL) still well out front, and then on up to 10,500. The crowd was still
there, and my solo climb eventually caught some attention, and I was back in the fray. All
this time, clouds had been building to the southeast, on a southwest/northeast track. It
was already virga-ing/raining to the southeast, with more creeping our way. At 10,000, and
tired of the crowd, I decided to head along the chain above 395, back toward Lakeview. A
thermal or so later, I was back to the California/Oregon border, low over the foothills
behind the town of New Pine Creek. I scratched a few more canyons over, the lift
eventually giving out due to the shadow of the accumulating clouds. I landed along 395, in
the middle of the repaving zone in a plowed field, for a total of 16 miles. Kat made it to
the main LZ in time to pick up Rick and Greg before they got rained on, and they all made
it up to me just as it hit.
The storms built, raining much of the night. Greg’s mondo condo tent held up, though, and Friday morning, it was blowing north. Hadley Butte was the call at the restaurant, although there were comments about it being ‘Hardly Soarable’ Butte. It was also 35 miles north, complicating Greg’s one-day trip back to Dallas that afternoon. We picked up his rental, and drove both vehicles to the launch, so he could leave when the time came.
We were again the first up to launch, and started setting up as light cycles blew in. The ramp was a shallow gravel slope, facing mostly northeast. Too bad the strongest cycles were northwest. Canyons to either side showed promise as thermal collectors, though, and several folks made plans to fly back to Lakeview. The conditions in the setup area warmed up suddenly when ‘Tish the Flying Fish’ (a female pilot from New Zealand) decided it was too hot, and took off her top. Too bad she didn’t have a topless glider to match—just an Airborne Blade. As Rick put it, while he was setting up his topless glider, Tish was setting up her glider topless. Hmm.
Greg became the wind dummy, mostly to get the most airtime possible before hitting the road. He got up and around the corner of the ridge, almost reaching the cloud street forming from dust devils visible over in the east side of the valley. Several other folks launched, although the cycles got lighter and more cross. Several launches got ‘interesting’ as noses popped or the cross kept the gliders from flying as soon at the pilots thought they should. Greg went out to land near the highway, and Kat went down to get him. Rick discovered after she left that his helmet was still in the Blazer, so had to wait. I wanted to study more launches, not liking what I saw. I noticed several of the top pilots not flying, although whether it was the conditions or just a last rest-day, I don’t know. Several gliders were quite high, although there were also several flush cycles, and very inconsistent ridge assist. One pilot popped his nose early, and took out both downtubes.
Kat returned, and we got in the launch line(s). The usable cycles were getting fewer, and the delays between launches longer. Rick and I arrived at the fork in the line at the same time, and I deferred to him, wanting to watch someone I knew had good launch skills go before me.
Unfortunately, Rick’s launch confirmed my fears. After a strong run, he just barely touched the left wingtip to the bushes on the higher, upwind side. The moment-arm of 16 feet of wing won out against his correction, and he twisted almost 90¡ before coming to a stop at the bottom of the ramp. Unfortunately, now all his momentum was to the side, and the glider came to rest on the keel and basetube. The side load broke the keel and right downtube. Rick was all right, but I decided right then that I’d rather stay on the ground at that point in time.
I backed off, and helped Rick assess the damage. We put on a spare downtube, but the keel was snapped right in half, behind the downtube junction. We protected the sail from the ragged aluminum, and headed back to town, seeking a keel or loaner glider.
We hunted down Nelson Howe, also flying a Laminar, and learned that Larry Tudor and John Ryan of AV8 (the Icaro importers) might be arriving that night. While Rick was at the store, I spotted Larry, and told him of Rick’s plight. They promised to help out, so things were looking better. We also finally found my dad, who had followed our minimal breadcrumb trail (Hunter’s to the Elks Lodge, to Junipers’).
Text and photos © 1997, Phammer