Now is the time for all persons to come to the aid of their Club...
For all intents and purposes, I will become unofficially inactive effective June 1. My previous call has not yielded a volunteer and because of the work I need to do on my 1-26 before the Championships, I am putting the membership on notice that I will not be able to dedicate much time to the Club between June 1 and August 1. I am leaving on June 20 and will return in late July or early August. Until June 20, that's about three weeks from now, I will participate in Pawnee maintenance to the extent that I have time, but I may not be available when the need arises. Therefore, I strongly suggest that the Club identify someone who will take the initiative on maintenance activities.

It is almost too late to consider repainting the 2-33 and I will participate if a team can be established quickly. I will dedicate time to this project for the next few weeks but I don't have time to coordinate the activities. The 2-33 will need an annual inspection in June which should not be a problem. It just won't be pretty.

We are a small club with limited manpower resources and unless the membership comes forward to keep the equipment flying, you will be disappointed when the equipment is not flyable.

The radio is installed in the panel of the Sprite. The master switch must be on and the timer must be set in order for either the radio or vario to work. The vario also has its own switch as does the radio. Remember that the radio partial band switch must be set at the low end unless you are trying to get some of the odd ball frequencies.

I suspect that we are about due for an oil change and I have been told that there are several discrepancies that were reported on the DO log but were not reported to me until Stacy noticed them. If this system is going to work we have to have everyone's cooperation. Between June 1 and June 20 I will help out as time permits.
-Bill Vickland

On a Related Note...
Let me see if I get this rightÉ in a commercial operation, a few people do all the work for little pay. In a club, a few people do all the work for no pay.

But Jim Kellett is one member who deserves a lot of thanks ! Without his drive and energy, week after week, many of the benefits the rest of us enjoy would never have happened.

Recently, Jim once again gave up flying on a good day to honcho the installation of the bird poop catcher in the Jim, Jim, Bela, and 1-36 hanger. Everyone else who came out flew at least once, Jim never even prepped his Cirrus. If this makes you feel guilty, that hanger still needs one more section of plastic, and the AS-K, 2-33, Pawnee hanger (that's the one that holds the airplanes that you and I own) is still open to the guano bombers. Another work party will be scheduled soon.
-Fred Winter

The Pawnee and The Lady
Creative methods are required to even think about painting the Pawnee and 2-33, so here is one. I propose that we dedicate one week end- sometime after august 1- toward painting both ships. Everyone is invited out to fly on either Saturday or Sunday and only those who work will fly. We could also let the equipment go out free of charge, and we should have a BBQ with it. However, the Pawnee will be in the hangar so I propose that we invite Fred Bane over to do the towing. His rates are standard $20 per 3000 ft. We lose a little revenue but we get the job done. What is your opinion?
-Bill Vickland

Blanik Fun Fly Meet
The 1998 Blanik Fun Fly Meet is scheduled for the weekend of June 19th -21st at New Castle International Gliderport in New Castle, Virginia.

Blue Ridge Soaring Society will again host a meet for those that want to delve into the cross-country and contest experience. Flying the proven Blanik designs, entrants need not have contest or extensive cross country experience. The contest area will be over friendly terrain. Clubs are encouraged to fly in teams over the assigned courses.

The primary goal is to combine cross country experience with safety and fun. For more information contact:

        B.B. Brown
        9 Park Street. Christiansburg, VA 24073
        (540) 382-1878

Atlantic Soaring signs first Affiliated Club Agreement with Skyline!
On March 23, 1998, ATC President Walt Buranen signed the first Affiliated CLub Agreement with Skyline Soaring, followed shortly thereafter by SSC President Joe Rees signing for our Club. The agreement is now in effect, and will remain so until terminated by either Club. Three ATC members-Skip Williams, Donna Morrison (the Club's Secretary), and Roger Morrison have already applied for their own Affiliated Club Member status!

To refresh everyone's memory, SSC's Operations Manual provides for several membership types, including an "Affiliated Club Member", which requires a formal written agreement between the two Clubs. An Affiliated Club Member is entitled to the same privileges, and must meet the same operational flight requirements, as an "ordinary" Club member at SSC's operations site, except that if it's busy and there is conflict for the use of SSC Aircraft, the Affiliated Club Member takes a lower priority. (It's expected that most of the activity from Affiliated Club Members will be pilots with their own ships (or their Club's ships) wanting tows, so such conflict is expected to be negligible.)

So "say hi" to, and welcome any of our new Affiliates when they visit the field! We hope this is the first of several such agreements to be reached with area Clubs. And it works both ways --so if you'd like to visit and fly at ATC's eastern Maryland site, contact their Secretary, Donna Morrison, at (410) 692-6620. You can fly with them, just follow their rules!

Wake up call
First, if you haven't read Bruno Gatenbrink's article in the May issue of Soaring, do so now. Second, to ram the point home, I just learned there was another gliding accident, this time at New Castle. The NTSB preliminary report is:

"Aircraft: Let L-23, registration: N55BR Injuries: 1 Uninjured. On April 12, 1998, at 1800 eastern daylight time, N55BR, a Let L-23 glider, was substantially damaged when it collided with terrain during landing at the New Castle Airport, New Castle, Virginia. The student pilot was not injured. Visual meteorological conditions prevailed and a flight plan was not filed. The local, personal flight was conducted under 14 CFR Part 91. According to a Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) Inspector, the pilot reported that he had flown for about an hour uneventfully. During the landing, he overshot runway 36, and he tried to make a 180 degree turn, but the glider stalled, and the right wing struck the ground. The FAA Inspector reported that the pilot had over 45 hours of total flight experience, all in make and model. He said preliminary inspection of the wreckage did not disclose any evidence of mechanical malfunction."

Third, and much more disturbing, I learned from Skyline member Fred Daams that one of the Nutmeg Soaring Club's members, flying an ASW-19, was killed in April in an off-airport landing during their Club's annual odyssey to Waynesboro. Apparently the NTSB does not have even a preliminary report on this one yet.

Keep your lights on, guys and gals.

SAFETY CORNER

We also seem to be better at keeping the "red zone" clear of people. I wish the grass would flash red between the towplane and the sailplane being hooked up for launch. Only one person is needed in the red zone. It's safer and the tow pilot only has to look for signals from one person.

One note of caution on coiled tow ropes. This spring I saw a DO lying on his back hooking up the K. He inadvertently stuck his toes in a loop of the tow rope. The tow pilot was not taking up slack so a toenail manicure was avoided. When possible, snaking rather than coiling the slack of the towrope adds a measure of safety."
-John Ayers

...Mmmm, Mmmm, Good...Part I
Cookouts-We've had two so far-spearheaded by Richard Freytag, which were much enjoyed by those who attended. We think he has established a "toehold precedent" that merits followup. We had about a dozen members/guests participate in each of the two held so far.

A regular schedule is being proposed-every second Saturday of the month, with a rain date of the third Saturday-for very informal cookouts. The ground rules are very, very simple-bring what you want to eat and a little to share (if you're inclined). The Club will spring for the grill, charcoal, and maybe even some beer/soda, but everything else is strictly BYO. In our experience at WSC, where this was a weekly institution, there was always enough food "around" to cover a significant number of those who came unprepared but were welcome to join-and that way the next time those people often came "prepared". We feel it's important to keep the formal organization and the provisions very simple, so that people have "ownership" of what's happening.

See you all June 13th (Saturday). I'll be bringing everything that was left in my care. That means at least 12 hamburgers with buns, and 7 hotdogs with accompanying buns. I'll also have two liters of diet soda and assorted munchies. All are doing well and will be glad to see you when you arrive. I have purchased two bags of charcoal. They should hold for most of the summer. We'll need soda in cans. Cans so that unconsumed portions don't go flat and can be stored at the field.

I may not be able to stay and cook but it seems like that is a skill generally available among the population of soaring pilots and wives.
-Richard Freytag

...Mmmm, Mmmm, Good...Part II
Tower: "Eastern 702, cleared for takeoff, contact Departure on 124.7."
Eastern 702: "Tower, Eastern 702 switching to Departure by the way, as we lifted off, we saw some kind of dead animal on the far end of the runway."
Tower: "Continental 635, cleared for takeoff, contact Departure on 124.7 did you copy the report from Eastern?"
Continental 635: "Continental 635, cleared for takeoff and yes, we copied Eastern and we've already notified our caterers."
-Joe Rees

...but wait-there's more:
Charleston, W.Va-West Virginia motorists who run down the odd criter can legally take it home for dinner if they report the the road kill to the authorities within 12 hours.
-from the Washington Post

Log this...

New member: Greg Stanfield, (540) 678-3726, Box 584, Stephens City, VA 26955. No e-mail. Owns PIK-20.

The turf art fund
-right now; we have ca 1.5 bags of fertilizer left (needs ca. 3.5 bags per application minimum), and fertilizer costs (depending on sale prices) about $25-$30 a bag. So there's always a need for money, since the SKYLINE masterpiece needs another application in June-July and another in September if we're to make it "semi-permanent". This masterpiece of soaring identity (artfully crafted by our own cartographic division, Kellett & Fleet, Ink., puts us on the map-literally. Brother Kellett could use some pecuniary assistance.

From the Lend-Lease Librarian-
I'm missing my copy of Knauff's "second" text-the solo-to-license one. I think I lent it to someone. Could have been ages ago (like last year) and of course I have no idea. Would you check your library for a copy that has my name in it? REWARD!
-Jim Kellett

I'd like to publicly congratulate Bob Michael
for earning his commercial glider "license to learn" on May 16. I was lucky enough to be his first passenger; a very nice experience. Bob is a real solid pilot and I picked up some pointers in airplane handling and judgement just by watching him in action.

If any of you (especially students) are invited to take an observation flight with any qualified member, I recommend it. You can't log dual if it's not an instructor but it can be instructional to watch another aviator nonetheless.
-Mike Cordova

Roster Notes
Please review the schedule carefully to ensure that I met your stated preferences. If you note any errors, or think I have scheduled you excessively, contact me asap. I have scheduled a few people a bit more heavily than "normal," but those people will receive correspondingly lighter loads during the fall.

Three of our weekend pilots are unavailable during July, which puts a tremendous dent in the resources available to schedule; we have 3 weekday only tow pilots, and two other tow pilots that also instruct. The end result is that, for the moment, we have 8 days (all weekend) without a tow pilot! In fact, there is an entire weekend in July for which we don't have a tow pilot. Jim Kellett is also taking some time off during the weekdays in the summer, so we have some periods where instruction during those times is not available as well. Instructors and towpilots, we need your help! Please contact me asap if you'd like to volunteer for the empty slots, and be "reimbursed" during the fall.
-Tony Bigbee

The Hole
  © by R. Spencer Annear

Reflecting orange predawn color Lew's polished white sailplane seemed to glow as it sat by the sod runway. A thin body and long narrow wings gave it the look of high performance. Propped on its main wheel and wingtip a gust made it shudder as if straining to fly. Ridges of Waverly Mountain to the west and Battle Mountain to the east could be seen running to the north and south horizons. Barriers to light, wind and, man they formed a valley extending north a hundred miles and south two hundred fifty. The gust reminded Lew of the strong west wind blowing a thousand feet up. Wind that got him out of bed to assemble his sailplane in frosty predawn darkness. He hoped the wind would bring ridge lift or wave enough for a five hundred kilometer triangle.

"Jack, I understand this is your Dad's sixth try for this badge leg." Fred asked as he walked toward the tall teenager standing by Lew's sailplane.

"Yeah. He tried three times in thermal and twice ridge."

"Which do you like better?" Fred asked with a knowing smile.

"Thermal".

"Oh? Why?" Fred pressed.

"Cause you can sleep later and it's not so cold." Jack replied as he turtled further into his parka.

"Looks like he should make it today. The wind's supposed to blow all day and hold it's direction. Took me ten tries so he's doing okay. Here he comes." Fred said looking at a red figure that reminded him of an abominable snowman that more waddled than walked from the trailer area. "You should be warm enough in that outfit but can you fly in it?"

"It's tight but I've done it before. Don't want to land because I'm cold. Maybe the wave's working so it could be brass monkey cold." Lew replied as he motioned Jack over to the sailplane.

"It's just about official sunrise. The tow plane should be back from its check flight soon so let's get ready. I'm first in line." Lew busied himself connecting wires, hoses and, straps. He then checked and rechecked everything. Then he photographed the declaration, two pictures.

"Give us a call on the lift." Fred said. "Cinch up tight, it's going to be rough as a cob. The towplane's approach was interesting. I'll be waiting to check your barograph." When he finished the recheck Lew had Jack signal for a tow hook up. As the towplane taxied into position he reviewed the flight, a narrow triangle, thinking today would be the charm.

"First, south to Avalon, then north to Dickinson and, then south to land back here completing the taskHERE." Lew thought. The releases were checked at both ends and the line reconnected. As slack was taken out of the line Lew had an uneasy feeling, like a matador about to step into a bull ring. At Lew's signal Jack lifted the wing. Then Lew fanned the rudder while Jack swung his arm in a circle to signal that Lew was ready to go. Jack liked to run wing because it meant he could soon return to the lounge for a nap.

A hundred feet above the runway Lew saw the towplane bob about two seconds before a gust grabbed the sailplane. Lew felt a kick as the G-meter needle jumped to three. Before the sailplane reached release altitude, two thousand feet above the field the G-meter hit plus three and minus two, five times. With belts as tight as he could make them before take-off the only thing that prevented an impact headache was the two inch thick foam piece under his hat. In spite of the cold he felt a bead of sweat run down his chest before release.

Lew saw the tow rope coil forward from release before he turned and climbed away from the ridge. He put the nose down, in strong lift, to notch the barograph but couldn't loose altitude so pulled the spoilers out. After several long seconds the sailplane began to descend, then the bottom fell out. At a loss two hundred feet below his high point Lew pulled the spoilers in and headed for, hopefully, lift. Bare branches of trees in the shadow of the mountain looked closer than Lew wanted when another three-g kick put him in lift again.

Faith is a precious thing. "Ellsburg Gliderport three four tango. I'm a couple hundred feet below the ridge showing plus eight." Lew radioed as he headed south along Battle mountain.

"Three four tango, Ellsburg, how's it looking?"

"Pretty strong. I'm flying ninety knots. Umph."

"I didn't read the last. What did you say?"

"Plus four g's." Lew said in a low slow voice to hide the knot growing in his stomach. Like a small child on a merry-go-round he felt a rush of adrenaline as trees blurred by a hundred feet off his left wingtip.

His peripheral vision saw wingtips moving up and down in gusts. "Ellsburg, three four tango. I'm on top doing one hundred knots. Rough!" As Lew pounded down the ridge, keeping a sharp eye for birds and power lines, Jack exchanged pleasantries with other crews in the lounge before finding a couch for a nap. The others fought boredom by reading or playing cards while Jack slept.

At the gap Lew circled back several times above the end of the ridge before climbing a two thousand feet to guarantee the crossing. While coming around the last time he saw a layer of low clouds coming in from the northwest, toward Waverly mountain. "That wasn't forecast." he thought.

"Ellsburg Gliderport three four tango." Silence. Two more calls failed but he could hear others on the frequency. His grip on the stick tightened a little. "Too far out," Lew thought, "Can't get Ellsburg. I'll take my turn point photo and come back for a look. If it's too bad I can always land damn." Lew mumbled to the solo pilot's silent partner. "I don't want to do this again." A thermal made the crossing easier than anticipated, in spite of the cross wind and turbulence. On the other side he just had forty fast ridge miles to the turn point. He relaxed a little as he found he could zero the sink at a hundred knots.

"Should I go straight for the turn point or get some altitude first?" Lew mumbled to his silent partner as he neared the end of the ridge. "It's only a mile into the gap. Could be a lot of sink, it'll take time to climb. No sense coming this far just to land." With an extra thousand feet Lew went to the turn point and circled twice, taking four photos to assure having one in the right quadrant. He didn't want to have to do this again because of an argument over a technicality like the pilot who flew over a thousand miles only to have a record denied because he took his pictures slightly in the wrong quadrant. "This can't be, the wind has stopped!" as he sagged back along the ridge.

"No wave. There must be wave. All that air doesn't just stop. Got to get in the wave." Feeling like he was about to jump into a pool of cold water Lew turned upwind, over the valley, for what he hoped would be lift. About a quarter of the way across an invisible hand of turbulent air grabbed and shook the sailplane. A bead of sweat burned as it ran into his eye. "Rotor!" Lew shouted as he saw the g-meter needle move. The vario bounced up and down but mostly down. He knew smooth wave air was waiting if he could just penetrate to the upside of the rotor and then work the rotor.

In two minutes of rough air Lew lost twenty thousand feet. He could see the rocky treed slope of Waverly Mountain about a mile ahead as the ground below changed from plowed fields to rocky upland pastures. With spirits following the altimeter he kept a landable field in sight. "Good thing I got that extra altitude. Have to land soon without lift. Keep a field." He said to his silent partner. "Decision time soon." As he spoke the vario's ups and downs started to even out then average roughly up. "Made it. Now if I can work it." He said in a voice so quiet as to assure no evil spirit would hear it. Suddenly, silky smooth air announced wave as the vario needle moved to plus four. On cresting the ridge Lew felt a dull, gritting ache in his teeth. Turning more northerly and speeding up as he climbed produced progress along the course in this race against sun and weather. Finally, at twelve thousand feet sink equaled lift at one hundred twenty knots.

Floating in the never-never land of drowse Jack's mind merged room sounds with dream. "You want to tell him?" The football coach asked. "No, let him sleep. He's been on that bench for a long time. He'll wake up soon." The quarterback replied. With a start Jack realized the voices were real, not dream. "Tell me what?" Jack asked as he bolted to unsteady feet. He noticed that only two people were in the room. "Careful." Andy said as he put his hands out to steady Jack. "We thought you were asleep." "I was. Tell me what? What time is it?" " Look out side. It's ten fifty three." A diffuse light filled the window, not the sunlight glare Jack expected. Coming closer he saw white spots drifting down. "Snow!" He exclaimed.

"How long?" "About an hour. Two landed out and one scratched back. We haven't heard from your Dad." Andy said in his calmest field manager voice. A retired jet bomber pilot Andy had a test pilot look and attitude that conveyed control in the tightest situations. "It looks lighter over by Waverly Mountain. Is it breaking up?" Jack asked.

"That's probably a foehn gap forming. They come and go with changing air moisture. It clears for a while then closes up again. Cycles." Andy replied.

"Could Dad come down through it?" Jack's voice betrayed his concern. "It' might be a little tight. He's probably on the ground already, walking to a phone to call." It did not occur to Jack that his dad might not land as soon as he saw the situation could be tight. No thought was given to the possibility that the finish line could be a siren drawing a navigator to the rocks. What did worry Jack was that if his dad landed out he, Jack, would have to drive the car, pulling the trailer, over snow covered roads to a cold, wet retrieval in some farmer's field. That bothered the teenager.

As he neared the cloud layer Lew radioed the FSS for the latest weather. They said the clouds were due to an unforecast finger of moisture, about seventy miles wide, that streamed in from a developing frontal wave. Pireps had it at three to four thousand feet deep. It was low based with snow showers also reported. Lew's general rule was not to was not to fly across an undercast, but this time he could not only see across it, from seventeen thousand feet, he could also see occasional breaks. From this altitude he could glide to clear air from anywhere over the clouds, with plenty of altitude to spare, if the wave continued.

The trip to Dickinson was uneventful. Clouds extended to with five miles of the turn point in town. Clear air allowed Lew to descend to a better altitude for turn point photos. Although he lost several thousand feet in sink while taking pictures the trip back to lift was just a matter of accepting altitude loss while penetrating back to up at the edge of the clouds..

Once in lift he turned south and had climbed back to thirteen thousand feet before the G.P.S. indicated he was back over the field. Clouds, nothing but clouds. He knew where the field was but just couldn't see it. His jaw began to ache again. "Ellsburg Gliderport three four tango. I'm parked in wave at thirteen over the field. Tell me if you see any breaks I can get through."

"Three four tango Ellsburg. Affirmative. We have seen some breaks come and go. Ellsburg." Jack saw it first from his post near the window. A light streak appeared in the clouds southwest, near Waverly Mountain. From his angle it looked like the other side was a sunlit cloud wall.

"Andy, is that a break? Do you think he will be able to use it?" Jack asked pointing to the streak. "If it gets bigger, maybe."

Then Andy radioed. "Three fourtango Ellsburg. Do you see a hole near Waverly west of us?"

"Negative. I'm looking. Oh. I see a dark streak. How big is it? What's the ceiling?"

"Three four tango Ellsburg. Looks like it's about a mile long, don't know how wide. I guess the ceiling to be about two thousand with snow showers. It's tight. Ellsburg."

To the north Lew could see the cloud area was expanding. His mind raced as he realized his escape rout could be cut off by more unpredicted moist air. "Damned bureaucrats." flashed through his mind as he contemplated another unsuccessful attempt. "Ellsburg three four tango. I'm going for it. See you in a bit."

Shoulder harness straps pressed against Lew as he pushed the stick forward to lower the nose to a near vertical position. Buoyed by zero g's but restrained by straps he struggled to pull the spoilers out. Finally, the airspeed settled at terminal velocity. With heart and stomach following by several thousand feet Lew scanned the instrument panel to see the vario pegged at two thousand feet down, the airspeed at one hundred forty and, the altimeter needle moving like he had never seen before. His jaw still ached. Gloves covered white knuckles. Like a caveman escaping a predator Lew's mind sped up to meet the situation. In this case the predator on his mind was the rocky slope below waiting to put an early end to his trip. Strangely, he also worried about being cited for flying too close to the clouds.

A white canyon rose to meet Lew as he eased off to avoid overshooting into the rocks. Flying straight line carried him toward an end wall of cloud which soon necessitated a steep turn to stay in clear air. As he turned he heard a strange thumping noise but quickly recognized his own pulse. The clouds hid rocks and ice, either of which was disaster. There was, also, severe turbulence in the clouds waiting to shake the sailplane. A short eternity later Lew saw a rocky snow covered slope. Dark below the clouds on the down slope side showed where he had to go to escape the trap. "That doesn't look like a lot of room," he thought, "but the valley floor should drop away to give more room away from the mountain. Fly straight away from the mountain for thirty seconds and then fly to where the G.P.S. says the field is. Simple. Hah!" "Not a thousand feet between cloud and ground," Lew verbalized while speeding through the gap at cloud base. "There's got to be ice in those clouds. Ground drops away fast. Must be two thousand feet ceiling over the valley. Where's that glider port? What happened to the G.P.S.?"

The dark line of a highway came into view. The line crossed another line, a river. He knew the gliderport was three miles at nine o'clock, just the other side of a low hanging cloud. The road went right by the field so he could follow it if he didn't ice up or lose sight of it or run out of altitude first. He knew the runway paralleled the highway about a hundred yards east of it. "Just follow the road and then offset to the runway when I see it." He thought A turn brought the sailplane parallel to the road heading straight for the cloud at fifteen hundred feet above the field. Lew remembered seeing the road go over a hill in this direction but not how high it was. Diverting west of the road to stay out of the cloud which was really a snow shower Lew divided his attention between the road and the rising terrain. When the road disappeared in snow for a few long seconds he held his compass heading and uttered the prayer of the cornered.

"Lord if you get me out of this I'll never do it again." "Ellsburg three four tango. I'm about a half west of the highway. Ground is close but seems to be dropping away. If you see me give a yell." "Three four tango you must be about two miles southwest of the field. We'll keep an eye out. There's a snow shower in your direction." "I know." The shower lightened so Lew could see the road clearly but no gliderport. The country did look familiar so he scanned the whole area, finding the gliderport about a mile behind. Turning quickly but carefully to save the five hundred feet he had he lined up for a straight in approach. He could see people standing near the office, apparently looking for him.

With high enough airspeed to control in the turbulence his sink rate put him down to the point where he just barely skimmed over the fence. The sod forgave a fast, gusty crosswind landing by a tired pilot. "The eagle has landed." Lew radioed as figures near the building turned to see him. He made a stealth landing while everybody was looking the other direction.

As Jack ran up to the sailplane he yelled "Congratulations Dad. You made it. I'm sure glad I don't have to pull the trailer through the snow to get you."