Prolog:

Last year Todd Robinson, Scot Huber and I went to the King Mountain meet, a local, fun meet that has been put on for the last several years by a dedicated group of pilots from the Boise area.   I'd wanted to go for a few years and after being there, knew I had to go back.   So this year the three of us started talking it up early and after lots of enthusiastic descriptions of the XC possibilities, we'd convinced 8 pilots to go.   I wanted to get there early to maximize my chances of getting a good flight.   Scot and I decided to go together, and later we added Kurt Bainum to our early-bird group.   Others would be arriving at various times during the week leading up to the competition.   Kurt and I would travel in my Land Cruiser, towing my 5 x 10 cargo trailer loaded with camping gear.   Scot wanted to have his cab-over camper for the week so he drove his pickup.  

Sunday, July 2, 2000

I got to Kurt's around 9 in the morning.   After loading Kurt's gear, we made contact with Scot on the radio.   He had something to do in town so he'd catch up with us on the road.   Our convoy finally formed up near Sacramento.   We had a long way to go - about 14 hours to Moore, Idaho - so we didn't waste time along the way.   We stopped for lunch in Auburn and dinner in Wells, Nevada.   We managed to get north of Wells, close to the Idaho border, before it got dark and we had to look for a place to sleep.   With the help of my laptop computer, GPS, and mapping software, we were able to see right where we were on the road and found a dirt track that took us a mile off the highway into the desert where we could lay out our sleeping bags in the sagebrush.   Since we were still in Nevada, Scot and I decided to teach Kurt the finer points of poker.   I went to bed after Kurt cleaned me out, and he went to bed after Scot did the same to him.  

Monday, July 3.

We woke up to a beautiful day.   We got back on the road and had breakfast in Jackpot Nev., the last chance to gamble before crossing into Idaho.   Close to noon we stopped in Twin Falls to get a Delorme map and fixings for the barbeque Scot had volunteered us to put on Saturday night.   The Costco warehouse outlet had most everything we needed.   A couple of hours later, as we drove past Craters of the Moon approaching the Lost River Range and King Mt., we could see some wonderful cloud development in the direction we were heading.   We pulled into Moore to find that the only pilot already here was a young fellow named Paris Williams - a name I'd just read about on the hang gliding list - something about flying over 200 miles at the Sandia meet a week or two before.   Kurt wanted to see what the launch area looked like, and since Scot didn't feel like flying an afternoon sledder he volunteered to drive.   Up we went.   The land cruiser died when we got to the steeper road above lower launch so we managed to turn it around and set up at lower.   The wind was coming in smooth and strong - around 15 or so.   Kurt took off and climbed right out.   Some time later I followed him.   We both managed flights up to the top of King and along the ridge to Arco, 7 miles away, and back.   Kurt had the biggest grin; he was so jazzed by the beauty of the area and the smoothness of the flying.  

A few other pilots, Frank Gillette among them, started showing up.   Frank is considered the old man of King, being over 70 years old, and holding the site distance record (which was broken a week after this meet).   He said the flying hadn't been much to talk about this season, but he couldn't dampen our spirits.   For me, today's flight had already broken my King record of last year - a 10 minute flight to the bail out - so anything from here out was icing on the cake.   Little did I know just how much sugary icing I was going to have in the days ahead!  

Later in the day, Albert Branson and Donna Mathias showed up.   The Sonoma wings gang was starting to flock together.  

Tuesday, July 4

The Fourth of July started out inauspiciously enough.   We went into Arco for breakfast at Pickles, a ritual we'd follow for the rest of the week.   I then found a garage where they were willing to check out my carburetor - I wanted to be able to drive up to the upper launch, after all.   The mechanic tried several diagnostics.   We even jacked up the front of the truck on a lift to try reproducing the slant of the mountain.   Nothing wrong.   Oh well.   Up we go to the upper launch, the Land Cruiser making it just fine.   Scot, Kurt, Albert and I set up, along with several others.   We finally get into the air.   I'm determined to not sink out.   Luckily the conditions are good enough that with a bit of work I'm able to climb out and eventually get up over the top of King at 10,500 ft.   Now that I'm here, what do I do?   There is some discussion over the radio, with several talking about taking route two, jumping over the back of King to the Lemhi range, the next one over, parallel to the Lost River Range.   I decided to try flying over the mouth of Ramshorn Canyon to Sunset ridge, and then see how things looked.   Ramshorn has a nasty reputation.   When the nationals were held here a few years back, a pilot who got low over Ramshorn was killed, and just a few weeks ago another pilot was sucked into Ramshorn by the venturi and broke his glider.   Luckily I was high enough, about a thousand over the top of King, and sailed over to Sunset easily.   Scot had crossed before me and by the time he got to the north end of Sunset he'd decided to follow route one, north along hwy. 93, instead of jumping over to route two.   Unfortunately, Albert wasn't clued in and jumped over to the Lemhi's right after he got enough altitude over King.   From that point on he was on his own, since both Kurt and I followed Scot's lead up route one.  

Ernie leaving Sunset Ridge.

I was expecting to make a nice easy flight up to Mackay airport, about 18 miles from King, if I could.   As I got to the middle of Sunset I found myself working a turbulent layer at 14, 000 and after fighting it for a while without being able to break through it, decided to head straight across the dogleg that went back toward Pass Creek (another venturi generator), to the front of the range alongside Mackay.   I pulled the VG on my Moyes CSX and went on best glide, trying to lose as little altitude as possible across this 10-mile gap.   The prevailing wind was from the SW, trying to blow me to my right into Pass Creek.   I was following a straight dirt trail so I could easily adjust my crab angle to stay on course, but after I was only a third of the way across, my sink rate was getting worrisome.   Then I heard Scot, telling me to come join him.   I found him working the hills just to the south of Pass Creek, 90 degrees to my right.   Yeah, instead of shooting across all this open space, I could scoot downwind, work that ridge, and then jump the gap at Pass Creek.   I did just that, sharing the small ridge with Scot for a while until he got high enough to jump the gap and continue north.   A short while later I did the same, and started working the shoulder of Invisible Mountain on the north side of Pass Creek.   Unfortunately, the wind seemed to be picking up and the drift wanted to take me into Pass Creek, a direction I did not want to go.   I wasn't having much luck climbing up this shoulder, so I headed straight into the wind to get out in front of Invisible on the SW flank of the mountain range.   It took some doing, what with the drift and not much in the way of coherent thermals, but I managed to squeak around the front and eventually work my way up to the top of Invisible.   I'd made it as far as I had planned, even with Mackay, but with the conditions still good, I decided to keep going toward the next big milestone - Challis, 70 miles from launch.   Both Scot and Kurt were ahead of me now, so I could hear what the conditions were like further along the course.   The conditions where I was were great.   The lift was strong enough, anywhere from 500 to 1000 fpm, and plentiful enough that I could stay comfortably above the peaks and enjoy the spectacular scenery.   This was heaven!   I had to stay alert though.   With the strong SW quartering tailwind, I had to make sure I didn't get too far back into the mountains where I could be trapped by a venturi or turbulence from an up-wind ridge.   I worked my way around the back of McCaleb, with its big hat of brown lava rock, and in front of Mt. Borah, the highest point in Idaho at 12,500 ft. On the north side of Borah was a four mile long, steep-sided ridge that took me to the second gap I'd have to cross - the May-Patterson road.  

Let me digress for a moment.   This is where knowing the route ahead of time pays off (which we didn't).   On the map, this road follows Willow Creek, and goes over Doublespring Pass.   The map calls this road FR116 at one end and Doublespring Rd. at the other.   But, as you drive along hwy 93, the road sign calls the road through the gap in the mountains May-Patterson (cause those are the two "communities" at the other end).   You and your driver have to pick one name, use it, and know just where it is.   Back to the story...

This ridge reminded me of the one I'd worked just before jumping Pass Creek, and sure enough, it worked just the same.   I worked the ridge until I'd gotten as much altitude as possible, then scooted over to the shoulder of Dickey Peak on the north side of the pass.   I got there a bit low and had to slowly work my way up the shoulder, finally grinning with relief as I flew directly over the top of Dickey in a nice strong thermal.   This section of the route is a bit intimidating because hwy. 93 has veered off to the west to climb up the west side of Willow Creek summit, five long upwind miles away.   An out landing anywhere along this next 12-mile stretch would mean a long hike out.   And the ridge I was now following... I couldn't believe how unique it looked!   It was as if I was flying right over the sharpened blade of a serrated knife.   The west face came up steeply to a knife-edge and then fell off almost vertically on the east face.   The edge itself rose and dipped in an almost regular pattern.   Just like a Ginzu knife, I thought.   Since I had no idea what the name of this ridge was, I decided to report my position as being over the Ginzu Ridge.   Later I saw that the map calls this the Pahsimeroi Mountains.   That's a name that none of us would remember, so for the rest of the trip it was the Ginzu Ridge.   I found that other groups of pilots had also renamed it, with most of them calling it the Victory Ridge, I guess because it was the home stretch before Challis.  

As I followed the knife-edge of the Ginzu Ridge, I didn't find any real thermals to work, but I did find that I wasn't sinking.   In fact I seemed to be climbing slowly but steadily as I worked my way north.   I was glad that I didn't have to do any thermalling along this section because I was finding myself getting airsick.   I hadn't taken the ginger root capsules I normally have as part of my pre-flight ritual.   I'd run out and hadn't restocked.   My queasy stomach was making my will to fly wither away, an especially galling situation in view of the fact that both Scot and Kurt had gotten up to about 16,000 ft. further along this very ridge and had jumped over to the next range - the Lemhi's - and were working their way along the Salmon river, north of Challis, on their way toward Salmon.  

Luckily for me, Donna, driving my Land Cruiser, had caught up with me as she drove up hwy. 93.   I'd spotted her as she approached the May-Patterson road intersection, and had been able to direct her to pull over at selected spots along the road and wait for me to catch up.   As I got to the end of the Ginzu Ridge, I found that there was a large gap of no-man's-land, 15 miles of rolling hills with no access roads, between me and the Challis airport.   If I went down anywhere along there, I would have no way of giving Donna accurate directions on how to get to me.   So, I took the prudent approach.   I directed Donna to a spot along the road near a big crop circle - one of those quarter-mile-wide irrigated fields of barley (I think) - and I flew over to her, arriving with plenty of altitude to check for wind on the ground and pick a good spot to land.   While circling over the crop circle, I dropped a weighted crepe paper streamer and found the wind nice and light from the south.   Unfortunately the streamer landed inside the crop circle where a cow might try to eat it.   Oh well.   I decided to not land in the crop circle because I wasn't quite sure if the grass had been cut or not, so I chose a desert area outside the circle, near the road.   Unfortunately, the spot I picked wasn't perfect in that what I thought was a good access road from the air, turned out to have an impassible creek blocking Donna.   Donna had walked over to where I was landing with my garbage-bag windsock to show me that the wind was still light out of the south.   After I landed, ungainly but safely, I had to hike my glider out to the truck parked next to the highway.   As we worked our way back to the truck with my glider, we passed a long-dead cow alongside the path.   Thus the Dead Cow LZ was named.   I was in a hurry to catch up with Kurt and Scot since they were out of radio range by now.   I tossed my glider on the rack, thought for a moment about tying it down before going back for my harness bag, but didn't want to spend the time right then. I rushed back to the LZ, grabbed my bag, rushed back to the truck, tossed it in, jumped in, and zoomed up the steep embankment to the road.   Just as I got onto the pavement, I heard a thud.   My glider!   I'd forgotten to tie it down, of course!   Swearing at myself I tied it down and we headed up the road.  

About 30 road miles north of Challis, I finally got Scot on the radio.   I'd been calling every minute or so.   Suddenly I hear "hey, you just passed me!".   I turn around, drive back a mile, and find Scot in a field by the river.   He hadn't broken down yet.   After he'd landed he'd hiked across the river to a house so he could call his answering machine back in Petaluma with his landing position.   We all had that number so we could use it as a message center.   He'd just gotten back to his glider when I passed.   And here I'd not tied my glider in my rush to get to him!   I still had no idea where Kurt was, and since Salmon was just a short way up the road, I turned around again, radioing Scot that I'd get Kurt and then pick him up on the way back.   So off to Salmon we race.  

Kurt at the Sacagawea marker

As we come into Salmon, I'm calling for Kurt.   I make contact just as we're approaching the town.   Kurt was waiting for us at the main intersection in town, without his glider.   We pick him up and find that he'd just gotten a ride to that intersection himself.   He'd jumped from the Lemhi range over to the Sawtooth range, and landed about 20 miles down hwy 28, in another valley.   So, we turn around, head down hwy. 93 to pick up Scot, then back up 93 to Salmon and down 28 to find Kurt's glider.   As luck would have it, his glider was parked alongside a side road, next to a marker declaring this to be the place where Sacagawea was born.   You remember her - the Indian gal who helped Lewis and Clark make it across to the Pacific?   Kurt hadn't broken down yet so by the time he was packed up it was dark.  

Which way to go back home?   Looking at the map, it looked like it would be shorter to go down 28 instead of back to Salmon and around to Challis.   I was getting low on gas, but there were several towns shown on the map.   Hah!   We headed south on 28, but found that the "towns" were no more than a crossroad, or if there was a community, the gas station was closed.   As we approached Leadore, about half way down the valley, I was really getting concerned.   Then in the darkness ahead we saw fireworks.   Big skyrockets, gigantic bursts of color.   Great stuff.   Leadore had to be a big town to afford a Fourth of July celebration like that.   For sure we'd find a gas station open.   Hah!   As we pulled into town, which consisted of two closed gas stations and a bar, we found that the bar was where the action was.   The fireworks were being lit off next to the bar, and the whole town was there, mostly feeling no pain.   I went into the bar to see if someone could point me to the owner of one of the gas stations so I could go beg for some gas.   After several false starts and garbled conversations, I found that the owner of one gas station also owned the trailer park next to it.   I went to the trailer described to me and found the owner and his family sitting out front watching the aerial display.   I begged for gas, and he led us over to the pump, gave me 10 gallons and wouldn't take my money.   Wow!   Talk about a lifesaver!   We thanked him profusely and drove off into the night.  

I have a confession to make here.   When we first drove through Leadore and found both stations closed, my immediate thought was to keep driving to the next town, about 20 miles away.   The others convinced me otherwise.   When we eventually did drive through that next town, we found it to be little more than a house and barn - no gas station at all.   And the next town after that was 50 miles away!  

There were no more surprises on the way home, except for the time I went to dim my headlights as a car approached and somehow turned them off!   That was good for a few second's excitement!   We got back to Moore around midnight and tumbled into bed.   For me, this day had seen a new personal best distance of 63.4 miles, and 14,500 ft. Kurt had a new PB of 86 miles, and Scot had made it 93.9 miles, a PB for him too!   Poor Albert, having gone down the 'wrong' valley, landed in front of Diamond Peak for 29.3 miles.  

Wednesday, July 5

More Sonoma Wings pilots were to arrive today.   After breakfast at Pickles, I inspected my CSX and found two dimples in the leading edges where the crossbar junction lays on top of them during transport.   The dimples were deep enough that the general consensus was to not fly it.   So, my topless was out of the game, and my trusty Wills Wing XC was in.   Of course I brought a back-up glider!   I'm familiar with that guy, Murphy, and his laws...   This would be the first time I'd flown my XC this year, and I was expecting to be a bit rusty.   On top of that, I was upset enough about losing my CSX for the rest of the week that I decided to take a day off from flying.  

Scot's LZ alongside the Salmon River

We drove up to upper launch around 10AM.   Leo Jones, Bob Stanley and Larry Roberts arrived and came up too.   For all of them this was their first look at King.   Unfortunately, it didn't smile on them, or me.   While parking the truck alongside the road, right next to the north-facing ramp, I popped a front tire on a steel glider tie-down stake - a brand new tire at that.   Damn that Murphy!   It took me a good hour to get that tire changed.   By the time I'd finished I learned that the conditions at launch had picked up enough that no one, including the old master, Frank Gillette, wanted to fly.   But that didn't stop Scot.   Only he and Paris Williams decided to go for it.   I told 'em I would drive but first I had to get a new spare.   After a quick run down the mountain and into Arco I found a tire shop that luckily had a used tire of the same size and diameter so for $25 I was back in action.   As I drove north to Moore I heard Scot and Paris in the air so I headed out after them.   They made good time heading up route one toward Challis so I didn't see either of them until I caught up to Paris coming in to land at Challis airport.   On the way into Challis, I found the dirt road that would take me to the Dead Cow LZ.   I'd wanted to retrieve my wind streamer from the crop circle and found it easily enough.   In the meantime Scot had decided to jump from the Ginzu Ridge over to the Lemhi's and continue north, even though the entire sky to the north was black with over development.   On the radio I'd heard Paris trying to discourage Scot with comments like "Have you ever flown into a gust front?", but Scot wasn't to be denied - he wanted Salmon!   And sure enough, the gods were with him yet again.   As Paris came into Challis the black sky to the north seemed to part, giving Scot a path right up hwy. 93.  

We broke down Paris' Fusion, loaded it up, and went up the road looking for Scot.   We found him along the river at about the same distance as yesterday.   It seems that the SW flow that pushed Scot along at the beginning of the flight - both yesterday and today - turned into a N flow that kept him from making Salmon.   Paris helped Scot break down in a pretty green field next to the highway while millions of mosquitoes feasted on us, then we headed back down 93 for home.  

Thursday, July 6

This was the last day to practice before the competition.   Everyone was here, including Vince Endter and One-armed Bob Blazer (broke his arm last year while landing).   My truck was ready to go, and the conditions were looking good.   Unfortunately, a whole lot of other pilots had also arrived so the upper launch was already looking crowded as we drove up the mountain.   I decided that lower launch would work just fine, as did the other Sonoma Wings pilots.   Lower launch has a whole lot more area for set up, and if the wind is strong enough, can be even nicer than upper launch.  

I was a bit worried about getting back in touch with my XC in the crowded air in front of launch.   With the wind coming from the SW, the best place to start the climb out was on the small hillside to the right of launch.   When I got into the air, Leo was already working that face, along with two or three other pilots.   My XC didn't turn nearly as quickly as my CSX, so I had a few passes where I was manhandling it back and forth while trying to time my turns to avoid others.   Finally I got high enough to move over to the hillside to the left of launch where there was much more room, and I could work it all the way up to the top of King, at 10,500 ft.   As I tried to find thermals to take me high enough to make the jump to Sunset, I learned two things about my XC, it didn't penetrate nearly as well as my Moyes, and flying it was a lot of work.   My arms were starting to talk to me already.   Because of the penetration problem, I was going to have to fly a different route than Tuesday.   Instead of going over the top of peaks, I was going to have to stay much further out in front, especially since the SW flow seemed to be stronger today.  

I got up to around 12,000 ft. and headed out over Ramshorn Canyon, getting to Sunset just fine, although I'd flown way out in front of the mouth of Ramshorn to avoid any chance of getting sucked into it's mouth.   I pretty much followed the same route as Tuesday, but I was regularly doing a slow 360 to check the wind drift on my GPS, and whenever it looked a bit iffy, I'd abandon my climb and head out toward the western face of the range.   Those deeper ridges and peaks that had been inviting before were looking threatening to me today.  

So it was that I found myself skirting around the western face of Invisible, and headed toward the lower flanks of McCaleb.   I had to look up to see it's big round brown hat.   I started worrying about having to land at Mackay if I couldn't find a thermal to save me here.   Luckily I found some light lift and started working it with all my concentration.   Round and round I went, ever so slowly climbing up McCaleb's flank.   As I got higher, the lift improved from 200 fpm to 300, then 400. All of a sudden my thermal turned into a boomer, with the vario going through 800, 1000, 1200, 1400 and higher.   This was amazing!   I'd never been in such a strong thermal for so long, and here I was right in the center of a monster!   I kept concentrating on staying centered in it 'cause I wanted to get as high as possible.   As McCaleb shrank below me I felt that I was safe from having to ground skim my way along the range, at least for a while.   Then, as I watched my altimeter crank up past 16,000, I became painfully aware that I'd forgotten to move my bar mitts over to this glider.   I was only wearing lightweight fingerless water rafting gloves, and my fingers were starting to get very cold.   As I continued going round and round, watching McCaleb get smaller and smaller, and my altimeter getting closer and closer to that magical 18,000 ft. altitude that we're not supposed to go beyond, I realized that I just might reach one of my personal hang gliding goals.   My eyes were glued to the altimeter as it went through 16,500, 17,000, 17,500 and then 18,000.   Yes!   But the thermal was still cranking as strong as ever, 1,400 fpm, and didn't want to let me go.   I was into the clouds now.   Just as I was getting whited out, I checked my GPS to establish which direction I had to fly to stay on course, then I pointed my glider in that direction and flew as fast as I could.   I got out of the lift without paying the over-the-falls penalty and in a short while was under the cloud.  

R-L: Mt. Borah, May-Patterson Rd., Dickey Pk.

I just kept going, aiming for a ridge out in front of Borah, playing tourist for a while as I traded my altitude for distance.   My hands were frozen solid.   I was taking one at a time and trying to warm it up in my armpit.   As I came down below 16,000, I started getting some feeling back in them.   By the time I reached Borah, I had to start working again, looking for lift and calculating the best course to stay out of dangerous venturi-generating canyons.  

From this point until I was half way along Ginzu Ridge, the flight was nearly the same as Tuesday's.   I did have to worry during the jump over May-Patterson road because I lost more altitude than I'd expected to.   I had to spend a lot of time working my way up Dickey Peak, but once on Ginzu it was nice, just race along, without having to turn.   Scot and Kurt had told me about the big thermal they'd found Tuesday along Ginzu that had taken them up to 16,000, so I was hoping I'd find one like that.   No such luck.   Light lift was what I found.   Then, as I was coming toward the end of Ginzu, I flew through a patch of stronger lift.   I flew on for a few moments, and then decided to turn back and explore it.   I found it again and started turning.   It wasn't all that strong, maybe 300fpm, but it was smooth so I stayed with it.   It was drifting me away from the ridge toward the east, but that was OK 'cause I could make it back to the ridge if I had to.   After a while it got stronger, up to 800fpm, and I decided that if it got me to 15,000 I'd take it across the valley to the Lemhi's.   I had to talk myself into it because several others had already made it to Challis and were asking me to join them; my arms were really getting tired now; and my hands and arms were getting cold again as I climbed through 15,000.   But this was my chance to go to Salmon.   Scot was headed that way, and Kurt was somewhere out there too.  

Heading east to the Lemhi's

I rode that thermal up past 16,500 and for six miles as it drifted me over the top of Grouse Creek Mt. on a beeline for Patterson, although I didn't know that's where I was headed then.   All I saw was what looked like a farm against the base of the hills 18 miles away.   After leaving my thermal, I didn't find another one until I was two-thirds of the way across.   I was very happy to find it.   I'd spotted a patch of clouds drifting across the valley and had angled my course to try and intersect them.   As I got under them I kept hoping to feel some lift, and eventually I did.   I circled in the light lift all the rest of the way across to the hills above Patterson.   I had gotten down to about 9000 feet before finding that thermal, and as I climbed back up through 14,000, my hands started freezing again.   But now it wasn't just my hands - my legs were getting cold, and I was starting to shiver all over.   Not good.   I found that below 14,000 I was OK, but above it, I suffered.   Still I wanted to continue north.  

I worked the Lemhi range, heading northwest, looking for a good thermal that would carry me across the mountains to the Salmon river some 13 miles away to the north-northwest.   Once there I could work my way north to Salmon with plenty of LZ's along the way, but from here to the river was nothing but rugged mountains.   I eventually found a light thermal that I worked for quite a while as it drifted me north, but it wasn't getting me high enough and as it petered out, I used up all the altitude I'd gained working my way back out to the edge of the valley.   I did it a second time, drifting back until I had to abandon the lift and penetrate back out to the front.   As I started working the third thermal, I realized that I was just too cold and tired.   I hadn't even gotten up to 14,000 and I was shivering all over.   I looked over to the river valley and it seemed a long way away.   I gave up and simply followed the edge of the mountains as far as I could toward Ellis at the end of the valley, finally turning away from the hills and heading to Pahsimeroi road, running down the center of the Pahsimeroi valley.   I landed in a nice big crop circle field right next to the road.   My GPS told me I'd traveled 69.5 miles from King, a new personal best!   About an hour after I'd broken down, I made contact with the chase vehicle coming north from Challis.   Not too long later, they arrived and we loaded up for the trip home - with a dinner stop in Challis to celebrate.   The results for the day were: me with a new PB of 69.5 miles and 18,000 ft.; Leo and Bob landed at Challis for 70 miles; Albert landed just short of Challis for 69 miles; Vince landed short of Challis for 56 miles; and Kurt made it all the way to Salmon for 101.7 miles, a PB!   We were Stoked!   Bring on the Comp.!  

Friday, July 7

This was the first day of competition.   A large crowd of pilots gathered around the picnic enclosure at Moore Town Park to hear Lisa Tate and Frank Gillette spell out the competition rules and the safety advisories.   There was lots of buzz about the great flying we'd been having this week.   Spirits were high.   When we drove up the mountain, we decided to use lower launch again.   The flight seemed to be a carbon copy of yesterday, but perhaps a bit lighter.   As I made the jump from King over Ramshorn Canyon to Sunset Ridge, I found myself lower and further out front than before.   I arrived on the other side of Ramshorn way down on the shoulder of Sunset and had to slowly work my way back up.   I wasn't alone as others joined me in the light lift along this broad slope.   Eventually I got on top of the ridge and back on track.   It took me a lot longer to climb up in front of Invisible and I found no boomer thermals to take me up over the top of McCaleb.   I had to slowly work my way around the front of these 11,000 plus foot peaks.   The lighter conditions really became apparent as I crossed over May-Patterson road.   On the far side I could see several gliders on the ground and many more scratching for all they were worth way down on the shoulders of Dickey Peak.   I was lucky enough to cross with more altitude than them, so I was able to get above the top of Dickey.   The last two trips this way I'd been able to cruise right along the top of Ginzu Ridge without losing altitude.   I was hoping for the same today, but that was not to be my fate.   I started losing altitude, and had to fight to stay above the ridge, working any little bit of lift I found.   Sometimes I'd turn back to find a bit of lift I'd left behind.   All the while I watched as others struggled way below me.   Then, halfway along Ginzu, I lost it.   I was down below the ridge, working its flanks.   For a short while I thought I could work my way back up, but the lift just wasn't there for me.   I was a long way from hwy. 93, with hills between it and me.   I worked my way along the flanks of Ginzu, trying to get up, but slowly sinking out.   I aimed for a dirt road that went from the base of Ginzu straight out to the highway - at least I hoped it went that far.   I made it to the dirt road, and turned down it flying as far as I could before landing.   The wind seemed to be light to non-existent so I just used the road as a landing strip.   Unfortunately, I had another ungainly landing in the no-wind, high-altitude conditions, relying on my wheels to save my downtubes.   As I was starting to break down, another pilot yelled at me for wind direction as he passed overhead on the same landing approach I'd used.   He landed several hundred yards further west, and pounded in, taking out his base tube.   I love my wheels!   But, I was disappointed that I couldn't make it to Challis.   Here it was, my second try at making it, and still no joy.   And this was for competition points too!   But, I'd just had a fantastic 54-mile flight over absolutely spectacular mountains, passed lots of other pilots, and was ready to do it again!   No regrets!   I left my glider where I'd packed it up and walked out to the road.   The other pilot joined me on the shoulder of hwy. 93 as I made contact with our chase vehicle picking up the guys who'd made it to Challis.   After loading up my glider and jumping into Larry's Land Cruiser I realized that Kurt wasn't with us.   He'd radioed his position as being closer to Challis than me, but the chasers somehow thought he was farther away than me.   We had to go back for Kurt.   We weren't quite sure where he was, but when he said he was next to a dead cow, I knew exactly where he was and how to get in to him.   He'd landed a mile or so away from the highway, back in that trackless no-man's land, and had hiked his glider out as far as the crop circle.  

The results for today were: Leo, Bob, and Albert at Challis for 70 miles; Kurt, short of Challis for 64 miles; me with 54.1 miles; Vince at the same spot as yesterday, short of Challis for 56 miles; and Scot with... Well, it seems Scot blew off the run up route one when he got high over McCaleb, deciding that Anaconda was do-able.   He went over the Lemhi's and got drilled before making it over the Sawtooth's, landing at Leadore for 63.3 miles, and a big minus score for the competition since he was so far out of the competition route corridor.   Poor Vince had volunteered to chase him and put some 250 miles on his truck taking the same loop I'd taken on Tuesday.  

Saturday, July 8

(To follow along my track on Saturday, click here)

The conditions looked much the same as the last few days, so route one was called again.   We were into the groove now and knew just what to do.   Again we used the lower launch.   I loved this launch since I could pretty much set up my glider, turn it around, and take off.   The slope was so wide that half a dozen pilots could have gotten airborn at the same time.  

Today as I made my way along Sunset I found a nasty layer of turbulence at 13,000, much the same as last Tuesday.   Each time I got that high I encountered real rodeo air.   After about five minutes of trying to break through this layer I gave up and moved away from the ridge hoping that I'd get some help above the lower ridges out front.   There wasn't much there either so I decided to make a beeline to the west side of Invisible - the track that I'd attempted on Tuesday, then abandoned when Scot had beckoned me back into the Pass Creek elbow.   This time I stuck with the corner-cutting path.   There were some clouds out there that I hoped would help, and they did, a little.   My sink rate wasn't bad, and the crosswind drift (the flow was from the SW again) was only about 15 - 20.   I made slow 360's several times as I crossed to see if the flow was getting stronger.   I arrived low on the west flank of Invisible and once again found myself slowly, slowly working my way up.   The flank just seemed to go on forever.   I'd work myself up one section, then jump a small gap to another section that went higher, then another section, until I was finally on the higher ridges out in front of Invisible.   As in the previous trips along this route, I had to pay attention to the strength of the SW flow and not allow myself to get too far back into the mountains.   From here to Ginzu, the trip was much the same as before (as I write this in December, the details start to blur together).   I was having trouble with my radio.   I could hear, but I couldn't transmit most of the time.   On top of this, I thought that I'd forgotten to turn my oxygen on and I couldn't reach the valve in flight.   I radioed Donna in the chase vehicle to let me know if I started sounding silly - that hypoxia sneaks up on you, you know.   I came up on Mt. Borah lower than on previous days, and decided to follow the forward ridge instead of staying on Borah's shoulder. I jumped across the May-Patterson road gap, much the same as I'd jumped the Pass Creek Rd. gap, following clouds. This time the clouds didn't help that much, but I was able to get to Dickey Peak's foothills and work my way back up.

When I got to Dickey Peak and the Ginzu Ridge, I was hoping for better lift than yesterday, and found it.   It wasn't spectacular, but at least I could stay above the ridge the whole way.   A couple of times along here I was bumped by a thermal and worked it as best I could, hoping for an elevator to take me up to 15,000 for a jump across to the Lemhi's, but it didn't happen.   When I reached the end of Ginzu, I decided to try the 15-mile no-man's-land jump to Challis.   This took a leap of faith because the lift just wasn't that plentiful, in spite of nice puffy clouds sprinkled along the path ahead, and although the rolling hills looked land-able enough, the only roads I could see were occasional dirt tracks leading from livestock watering troughs down to who-knows-where.   So, I headed out, checking the speed-to-fly suggestions my vario was giving me, and trying to keep my body as streamlined as possible.   On and on I flew, with no thermal bumps to encourage me.   I steered toward any cloud along the way in hopes it would give me lift, but time after time there was nothing.   As I got lower, I started mapping out possible LZ's and how I'd hike from them to civilization.   I knew that once on the ground I'd have a harder time seeing the best way to walk.   Each time I approached a watering trough, I'd have to decide if I should follow the dirt track out or continue on my way toward the airport.   I kept going.   Finally, just as I was seriously considering setting up a landing approach to a relatively flat hill top, I felt a bump, turned in it and found lift all the way around the circle!   It was light lift, but it was there, and I worked it as best I could.   I was slowly, slowly climbing, but I was also drifting away from my course line towards the east.   I zeroed my second altimeter so I could see just how much height I was gaining in this thermal, and judged that against how far back I was drifting, to see if I was getting a net gain or not.   It was close, but I decided to stay with the lift until I'd drifted a mile or so off course.   I left the lift and crabbed back onto course, hoping for another saving thermal.   Once again, as I was getting way low, I blundered into a thermal and worked it.   By now, I was only about five miles out from goal, and I was able to raise Kurt, who had just landed at goal, on the radio.   From one save to the next, I worked my way to the east side of the river, a mile or so east of the LZ - a half-round harvested grass field next to the highway just across from the airport.   We weren't landing at the airport itself because there was some emergency helicopter traffic we wanted to stay away from.   I had been aiming for a bluff along the river, hoping that it's SW face would be a source of lift.   Sure enough, I just squeaked over the top of the bluff and found lift.   I couldn't really do a complete 360 in it so I just worked it back and forth as I climbed higher and higher.   As I got to about 8000 feet, it looked like the LZ was mine, and I relaxed.  

B-T: River, LZ (in red), Airport.

I wanted to get as much altitude as possible, just to be safe, and besides, this was fun, just hanging out, enjoying the spectacular scenery, and getting high.   It took a bit of back and forth with Kurt on the radio before I was sure just which field was the LZ (I was too far away to make out the gliders on the ground), but once I had it spotted, and I had about 9000 ft., I headed across the river.   I was planning on heading to the downwind end of the field, then burning off my altitude, but Kurt saw what I was doing and advised me to head directly for the field to make sure I made it.   Several pilots before me had misjudged the strong winds on the ground and had landed short.   I was glad for Kurt's advice because by the time I came over the field, I'd lost all my altitude and was only able to make a single, fast, downwind, crosswind, upwind, base, final pattern to land in front of those already on the ground.   My landing was just a tad ungainly in the strong gradient, but I didn't drop my nose!  

A short while later Albert came in and was caught by the strong winds, landing short of the field.   Others came in and joined the smiling, laughing, jazzed pilots celebrating their flights to goal.   As for me, I was thrilled to have made it to Challis, on my third try, for yet another personal best - 69.6 miles!  

The results for today were: Leo, Bob, Albert, Kurt, and me at Challis for 70 miles (my GPS said it was 69.6, but the competition counted it as 70); Vince was caught by the high wind while crossing the Pass Creek elbow in his Wills Wing Sport and landed at Pass Creek Rd. for 14.1 miles; and Scot took the day off to get the food and start the barbeque.   His sacrifice was appreciated since we didn't get back until pretty late, just in time to throw some burgers on the grill, swill a few glasses of keg beer, and swap stories with all the other pilots, drivers, and friends rolling in to Moore Town Park.   Scot's idea of adding a social event to the weekend was the perfect way to end this second competition day.  

Sunday, July 9

Today was different.   That's an understatement!   Anyone who has written about this meet has spent most of their time talking about day 3, the mix-master day.   For me, this was a fine day, so be sure to read their stories to get the juicy stuff.

At launch we could see that the wind was more from the west, and stronger.   The task committee kept pushing the launch window back, hoping for conditions to get lighter, and safer.   Finally, after postponing the launch window twice, they called for a task along route 3, skirting the southern ends of the mountain ranges, to the northeast towards Henrys Lake.   We knew that retrieval along this route could be a nightmare, with pilots jumping over 3 mountain ranges, so we came up with a scheme to keep our communications clear: The three ranges would be ridge 1, ridge 2 and ridge 3, while the valleys on the west of each range would have the same number (Moore was in valley 1). With our not having memorized the names of each valley and range, this worked out pretty well.

Most of the Sonoma Wingers had been setting up their gliders further to the south, closer to the hill, while I'd stayed at the north end of the lower launch.   Since the wind was coming in nice and smooth, although stronger, at 15 or so, I launched as soon as I was ready, for once being the first of our group into the air.   From the moment I left the ground, I was going up, smooth but fast.   This air was incredibly smooth, and once I'd reported to the others in our group, they started setting up their gliders (yeah, most hadn't even unzipped their glider bags), and joining me.   We had all been cautioned that we shouldn't bail over the back of King without at least 2000 feet of clearance over the top, so I spent a long time at the top trying to get to 12,000 ft., all the while keeping a close eye on my GPS's ground speed.   I didn't want to fly backwards over the top of King!   I wasn't able to get to 12,000, and after lots of other pilots had headed downwind, I decided to leave at 11,500 having just lost 300 after my last thermal.   Once over the back, I pointed my glider straight toward the north side of Saddle Mt., aiming for Tyler Peak, on the Lemhi's (ridge 2), held on tight, and waited for the nasty turbulence that I was told would be awaiting me.   I missed it.   Nothing but moderate 500 - 800 fpm down air for quite a while as I moved away from the mountain out over the desert valley.   Looking down, I spotted a glider on the ground only five miles away from the mountain.   Wow, that guy must have hit some really heavy sink!   About six miles out, I found a thermal and worked it as I continued to drift across the 19-mile gap.   About half way across, I hit some turbulence that put me into some wingovers, but after a while it let me go.   I made it to the Lemhi's without further incident.  

Now I was going to have to jump another valley, the one that has highway 28 coming down it, to reach the southern end of the Bitterroot Mtns. (ridge 3) , 13 miles away.   The wind was really honking now.   The clouds were scooting along at around 20 - 30 mph, so I hung out over Tyler Peak waiting for a patch of clouds to get to me, hoping for lift under them.   One nice big patch came along so I maneuvered myself into it's path and found a nice thermal to take me up and across the Lemhi Valley.   In the middle of this valley I again encountered wire-twanging, rodeo air, but I just hung on and turned each dump into a wingover.   I could see other gliders here and there, some really low over the foothills ahead.   I used one glider as a thermal marker to good advantage, and returned the favor for another later on.   I managed to maintain good altitude all the way across, pitying those pilots scratching for all they were worth down low.   A couple of them had to abandon their flights and head back toward hwy. 28.   About two-thirds of the way across I had to turn my GPS off to save the batteries.   I'd forgotten to put new ones in and I needed to have enough battery power to get a reading once I landed.  

I arrived at the ridge a few hundred feet below the top.   Suddenly I was in search mode, just like those poor souls I'd been watching from on high.   Luckily, I found some broken lift that got me above the ridge where I tried the same tactic I'd used on the last ridge - wait for the clouds to come to me.   Unfortunately it wasn't working so well this time.   The clouds would come over me, but there wasn't much lift under them.   As I looked in the direction I was supposed to go, out to Dubois (that's Do-Boys to the locals), I saw nothing but desert - no clouds out that way.   The clouds seemed to be following the line of the mountains, off to the north, then around to the east.   Unfortunately, that way led away from the main retrieval road, hwy. 22, but since that's where the lift was, that's where I'd go.   I slowly worked my way north along the ridge, lining myself up with clouds as they came by, and working whatever lift I could find.   Eventually I found myself at a point where I didn't want to go any further north since that was taking me too far off course.   I decided to jump a gap, heading out into an open area to get under some clouds that might take me to the Beaverhead Mtns. to the east.   Once again, I left the ridge I was on and headed east, over open country.   The cloud I wanted was moving away from me, and I was having trouble catching it.   I headed more to my left to try for another cloud, and finally got under it, only to find... nothing.   I went to the upwind side, the downwind side and the sidewind side, but still found nothing.   Now I was in trouble.   There were no other clouds I could reach.   I had to head for the line of hills running off to the east on my left.   I made for what looked like the best bet, a relatively steep hillside facing pretty much into the wind.   I made it, below the top, and turned into the wind, expecting to ridge soar my way over the top.   Nope, the wind was way strong, stopping me in my tracks, but it wasn't hitting the ridge straight on.   I was staying up, sort of, but instead of gaining altitude I was slowly losing it.   The hill I was in front of was the tallest along here so I couldn't hope for any better luck further along.   I could see a dirt road running from the base of this hill out towards the highway, some 10 miles away.   No such access was visible from the hills further to the east.   I decided that this was the end of my trail.   I'd work my way out along that road as far as I could.  

As I left the hill, I found my forward speed was almost zero.   My GPS was showing only about 3 or 4 mph ground speed.   I crept slowly away from the hill, as I lost altitude, also very slowly.   It took me a good 20 minutes to lose a thousand feet and travel the mile and a half from what I learned later was Black Mt. to where I touched down next to the dirt track.   The last hundred feet to the ground was like coming down in a helicopter.   I must have been moving over the ground barely more than a mile an hour, as I slowly descended.   I changed my intended touchdown spot several times as I slowly worked my way along a gently rounded ridge.   At last I decided to touch down before reaching the crest of the ridge, to keep me out of the strongest airflow.   As I touched down, still prone, but unzipped, I grabbed for my front flying wires and stood up, holding the glider into the wind.   With one hand I unsnapped my harness and stepped out (I've rigged it so that I can do this), and then rotated the glider so it was sideways to the wind (did I tell you I love my wheels?).   Once the glider was parked, I unhooked my Hall wind meter and checked the wind speed - 10 to 25 with gusts to 30 mph.   Too Cool!  

After breaking down my glider I got on the radio to find a chase vehicle.   My PTT was still acting up so I hadn't talked to anyone while I was in the air.   I made contact with Albert, down somewhere in valley 3, along hwy. 28, and we traded landing coordinates, so whichever one of us made contact with chase could notify them of both our positions.   Eventually I made contact with Vince and by his using his GPS with a moving map display, and my using my signal mirror, he was able to navigate the twists and turns up the dirt roads from hwy 22 to me.   I was rescued!   Now we had to find the others that were down.  

After lots of radio conversation, we had everyone accounted for, except for Scot, who was somewhere further east.   We eventually made contact with him and tracked him down to the side of hwy. 15, near Spencer, 25 miles further east than I'd gone.   He had been caught in the venturi through Moneda Pass, the same fate that Lisa Verzella reported suffering.

After we got back to Moore, we started hearing all the stories about the terrible turbulence many had encountered, the landings in 30 mph winds, and the glider that broke, resulting in a half-mile ride across the desert being dragged by the reserve parachute.   All in all, this was a day that everyone will remember.  

Results for this last day: Scot with 71.3 miles (still leaving him with a negative 7 miles for the meet); Bob with 49.7 miles, landing near Dubois; me with 45.8; and Albert with 28, landing near 4 Corners.   Leo was one of those with a good story, being forced down after about 15 miles, near Howe.   Kurt and Larry, after climbing out from launch decided that they didn't want anything to do with those strong winds so they just played around King - a very good decision in light of some of the stories told.  

At the awards ceremony Albert took second place in the sportsman category, while Bob took third.   But later that evening a group of pilots came in after a long retrieve, causing Albert to be bumped down to third and Bob to fourth and no trophy.  

Sonoma Wings did good!   Albert took home a trophy.   The rest of us did respectably well in the competition.   And all of us did great in the personal-best race.   Of course this wonderful week wouldn't have been possible without the help of our great drivers, Donna and one-armed Bob (and Vince too).   In fact, Donna took home the prize for best driver of the meet, having logged the most pilot retrieves!   All in all, this is one week that will be hard to beat, and one that I'll never forget.  

Just wait until next year!