Blanchard Mountain 3, The Edge (still) 0

For various reasons this last Saturday I didn't get to come to the island to fly, and it sounds like I missed a pretty good day. There wasn't any chatter about more flying on Sunday, and I really still wasn't up to early rising and the 7:00 ferry, so I figured my chances for the weekend were shot. I got up kinda late Sunday, puttered around outside with Mary and the dogs, had a leisurely breakfast, and then all of sudden decided to shoot down to Blanchard Mountain and see if anything was doing. I've been playing with this new weather web site, at www.paraglidingmap.com, and it was predicting a flyable day there till about 3:00 in the afternoon, so I threw the glider and my boots in the truck and leapt into action.

This was a bit of a dodgy thing, since I had no retrieve driver, but I figured I could see if anyone else was flying and if I could get a ride back up to my truck then I'd maybe get a flight in. At the very least it was a pretty day for being up on a mountain, and there's a Mexican restaurant close by so all was good. This was my third trip up Blanchard with my glider.

I arrived at the top at about 11:30 to find two people with gliders laid out and a light breeze blowing in on the west launch. My hopes shot a bit higher. We chatted a bit and I asked if I could get a ride back up if I flew down with them. Nope, sorry. They had a retrieve driver of their own, a French-speaking girl in a wool hoody who was friendly but clearly not enamored of crazy flying by her friends, but their schedule was tight and only had space in it for a quick sleddy and then they had to get back on the road. So I thought well, I'll watch them get launched and be ready in case anyone else shows up who can be talked into a ride. I had a couple of twenties in my pocket to grease the skids with, but I didn't want to part with either of them unless I had to.

The pilots were a guy and a girl (or a man and a woman, you get the idea) in their 30s. We talked a bit more while they were getting flight suits on and clearing their lines. Finally the guy gathered up his glider, plopped it down at the edge of the flat gravelly spot and backed down the slope. He brought it up in a pretty light cycle and then put it back down and the tips folded in, so I waded in and sorted out the tips for him. A stronger cycle came in after a few minutes and he popped the glider up, turned, and ran off into the air. It was an okay launch, but not stellar, and he and the glider did quite a bit of rolling in the first few seconds after he was in the air (and I could hear Jayson in my ear going "Even pressure, both sides!!"). He made a right turn to the north along the bluff edge but wasn't getting any lift at all, and then came around back to the south and made a beeline for the LZ. After a little while he came on the radio and said the flight was 7 minutes. So, I thought. Am I going to wait here in hopes of arranging a ride back up for a 7-minute sleddy? We'll see.

The woman and I were still chatting. I kept falling silent so she could get going if she wanted to, but she didn't seem to be in any hurry. She was in her flight suit by now with the glider piled up on the ground, and just before she picked up her helmet, she walked over to the French girl, took her face in both hands and planted a big one on her, right on the lips! This wasn't just a little air kiss near either cheek, this was serious lingering affection (or something)! Don't get me wrong, I am all in favor of love in all its aspects. I have even been known to participate in certain of its aspects. I am just not used to seeing it expressed so openly on launch. I felt oddly embarrassed and touched, all at the same time.

The pilot, having gotten this out of her system, clipped into her glider, gathered it up, and set it out just at the edge of the gravelly area. The wind had become lighter and more fitful by now, the cycles further apart and not as strong. She hollered "Clear!" and pulled the glider up, but it swung around sharply as it would if the wind had some north in it, and she didn't correct properly. The glider collapsed end-on into some bushes down and to her right. Over the next 20 minutes she repeated this routine a number of times, altering the angle of the glider, laying out further down the slope, whatever she could think of to do. I began to help, as we do on Prevost, pulling the tips out and holding the middle up and clearing snags in the lines. She missed a couple of really nice stronger cycles, I think out of worry. This looked like it was going to take all day.

The wind forecast I was going on had said west winds at about 5 kph, which is essentially what it was on launch, becoming north by mid-afternoon. But it was clear that there was already a goodish north component to the wind, and after her fourth or fifth inflation there were a few over-the-back cycles. Not looking good for me. I was confident that I could get off there in one of the good remaining west cycles and make the LZ, but I still had no ride back up and there were no new pilots arriving. A young couple came and watched a bit, and after awhile I had them sort of convinced to drive my truck down, but by then it was more north than west, and the other pilot was still thrashing around trying to get launched.

Finally she said she was going to try once more, and if she couldn't get launched she was going to pack up. Her friend had become obviously more nervous as this whole thing went on. Just before what she intended as her last attempt, a little family with three tiny kids showed up, massively interested in the proceedings. So I talked with them and explained what was going on. One of the kids, a little boy about 5, was captivated. It was fun to see the awe in his eyes. The pilot brought the glider up pretty straight, turned and started to run, but it lurched out to the left a little and she didn't correct properly again, and she decided to kill it. I looked at her. The look in her eyes didn't tell me she was done yet, so I said "You almost had it that time. I'm not trying to talk you into it, but if you'd just pulled a bit more right brake you'd have been okay."

She knew. She could taste it now. I helped her lay the glider back out, angled a bit more into the north. "Just be ready," I said. "It's gonna do exactly what it's been doing and swing to the north. Just be ready to correct it and run like hell. I'll yell for you to stop if anything looks bad." I looked over to her friend, still obviously very nervous. Better to watch the pilot, I thought.

She brought it up for her last attempt, again pretty straight, and this time she was on with her correction and ran off down the slope. It was a little tip-toe-y, she wasn't loaded nearly hard enough, and so she had to run pretty far down the slope and through some bushes just at the bluff edge. But then she was off into the clean air, rocking around a little, and she flew out away from the mountain and turned toward the LZ.

Her friend said to the little family, "If we run over there to the other edge we can see her land!" So we all shot over to the south launch and got there just in time to see her clear the bomb-out LZ and make toward the normal one. It looked really buoyant. The mother of the little kids said "Isn't she about to land in those trees??" I looked, and she was still a good two or three hundred feet up. "Nope," says I. "She still has a good bit of altitude. Watch how long it takes her to get down from there. When she's really close to the ground you'll be able to see her shadow." It must have been really boaty. She made nice wide lazy turns over the huge field and seemed to hang in the air forever. Finally I could see she was on final. "Look!" I said to the kids, "She's going to land now. See, there's her shadow . . . and she's going to touch the ground . . . there!" The little boy let out a little cheer. It was very cute.

As we were all walking back up to the parking area, the father asked me whether the French girl was also a pilot. "No, she's their friend, and she's driving their car to pick them up." The friend heard this exchange, and as we were walking she said "She is the love of my life!! I am so nervous I think I am going to throw up!" Oy. There's a pair of sentiments for you.

I checked the wind one more time, but it was pretty much north now and I could see rain in the distance all around. No flying for me today. Blanchard has me down 3-zip. I loaded my glider back up in the truck and headed down the mountain, and made for the Mexican place to drown my sorrows. It was successful. The chips were fresh and warm, the salsa was spectacular, the carnitas were sublime. I spent quite a bit of time as I ate thinking about what I had seen. (The flying, not the affection.)

This was another in a string of flying experiences in other places where one big thing stood out. Launching skills. The percentage of sketchy and poorly controlled launches I see when I'm on the road is WAY higher than the percentage I see among the VIP group and others who fly on the island. These pilots today had been flying for five years (a year longer than I have!), and it was a bit painful to watch. It was almost as if launching is a random process that mostly works out instead of a set of skills you practice and gradually perfect. We are all capable of sketchy launches at any time (I've certainly had my share of stinkers), but on average the VIP group does much better than you will tend to see in other places. If any of the current crop of students is reading this, you should try to learn from the stuff I've described. All those times coming up when someone in the group gently, or not so gently, blisters you about a poor launch? Listen hard, take it seriously, don't waste time being embarrassed, think about how to do it smoothly and safely, and practice. It will pay off big. You'll be more likely to be the pilot who can see exactly how to handle a given wind and slope situation than the pilot thrashing around trying to get a clean inflation and efficient launch while everybody else goes "Well, that was exciting."

On my way home I took Chuckanut Drive instead of the interstate highway, back past the LZ, around the corner of Blanchard Mountain and up toward the oyster farms. As I drove, I remembered that there is a trail from the west launch down to Chuckanut, but I have never figured out where it is. Just then I saw a group of guys parked in a little pull-out, getting their bike gear set up, so I stopped and asked if they knew where the trail was. Yep, they did. I was almost right on top of it. So now I know where it is, and there is parking right along the road! Next time I try this I'll park and hike up, and then I won't be not flying because of truck issues! That's a perfect end to an almost-flying day.