Chapter 33

For the last several weeks Bree and Mark had been spending a lot of time on the Internet, researching the weather over Colorado, especially the upper altitude conditions. It wasn’t terribly favorable; this winter the jet stream had spent too much time to the north, which was the reason for the unseasonably mild winter, but toward the middle of February it started showing signs of moving to the south, although probably not for long. “Let’s keep an eye on it,” Mark finally said. “If it continues to move south, and the forecasts are for it to stay south for a while, this might be our chance. We’re only going to get one shot at this, so let’s make it a good one.”

A couple days later the weather forecasts looked even more favorable. “This looks like about the best chance we’re going to get,” he told her.

“It looks like it to me, too,” Bree agreed. “If we don’t go now, it could be next fall.”

“Yeah, and next fall could have a couple other sticky issues,” he said. “I think it’s time. Let me see what I can do about flights.”

Bree wound up planning to skip school the rest of the week. She wasn’t much of one to skip school, but this was a big deal, maybe the only chance she would have for years. She sent her friends an e-mail telling them the time had come, but to not say anything about it.

At four in the morning the next day Mark and Bree were in his pickup, heading for the airport in Camden, and a short flight to Chicago, followed by a longer one to Denver. With the time changes, the sun was barely up when they arrived; they soon were in a rental car and were on their way south on the Interstate toward Colorado Springs. As they drove, Mark filled her in on a couple things.

“When your Aunt Jackie and I were here, God, forty years ago,” Mark told her, “there were two commercial soaring operations around here. You know some of the stories about my working at one of them. Both of them are gone now, long gone, in fact. The one I worked at mostly used the Long’s Peak wave, to the north of here, for wave flying. I never got a chance to fly in the wave there, it was summer and the wrong time of year, but the high-altitude window was a long ways away and wasn’t real useful, or so I was told. The big operation, Black Forest Gliderport, was outside Colorado Springs, and it’s long gone, too. I guess it got to the point where the land was too expensive, but I don’t know for sure. It could be insurance got too expensive, too. They had a lot better access to the Pike’s Peak wave, and most of the high-altitude flying was done out of there.”

“So how are we going to do this?”

“I had to find some strings to pull,” he explained. “Like I said, there are no commercial operations left, which amazes me a little. But there are a couple soaring clubs that sort of fill the hole. Since Christmas, you’ve been a member of the Deer Park Soaring Club, although you’re going to have to be checked out before you can use their equipment, and get some instruction about wave flying. That’s mostly what we’re going to do today, and since they don’t normally operate on weekdays, I sort of arranged for a little, uh, donation to the club to have someone come out to check you out. Tomorrow, if the conditions are right, you’ll probably get your chance.”

A little after nine they were sitting in a small breakfast-lunch restaurant near the Deer Park Soaring Club, eating a lackadaisical breakfast, when two older men came in. “Are you two the Gravengoods?” one of them asked.

“That’s us. I’m Mark, and this is my daughter Bree.”

“I’m Harry Bankston, from the Deer Park Soaring Club,” one of the men introduced himself. “This is George Flusser; he flies the tow plane for us sometimes. Mark, I have to admit, after I heard about this deal, I had some second thoughts, so I called Fred Hammerstrom to check the two of you out. He tells me that Bree is pretty new as a pilot but has some fairly impressive credentials for someone so young.”

“I hope you think so,” Bree said politely. “I managed my diamond goal flight one day last summer in a 1-26, and didn’t miss my diamond distance by very much.”

“That’s what Fred told me,” Bankston smiled. “He also says you’re not only a very careful pilot, but that you don’t let chances get by you, either.”

“I try not to. I realize I don’t dare risk bending the 1-26, or that’d probably be the end of my soaring, maybe for a long time.”

“Fred told me that, too. He also tells me you really want to go to school up the road from here.”

“Yes, sir, I do. I think I have a pretty good chance of it, and I’m trying to be as ready for it as I can be.”

“That’s good,” he smiled. “I went through there a long time ago, and so did George, and I still have a few contacts there. I’ll tell you what, I’m under the impression that a lot of cadets don’t have any idea of what they’re in for, and how hard they’re going to have to work to excel.”

“That’s what I’ve been told,” she replied seriously. “Last year, a friend of Uncle Mark’s had us down to Scott Air Force Base, where I was able to talk to some recent Academy graduates. That gave me a lot better idea of what I’m going to be up against, and I’m doing what I can to be ready.”

George stepped into the conversation. “Mark, is this friend of yours anyone we would know?”

“I don’t know,” Mark said. “Colonel E.J. Seasprunk.”

“E.J.?” George smiled. “He was my wingman, a long time ago. A natural pilot if there ever was one, and an absolute straight arrow. If he thinks you’re Academy material, you are.”

“He seems to think so,” Mark replied. “He’s been very helpful. But that may be partly because I was the first person to ever take him flying.”

“Oh, God,” Bankston shook his head. “You must be ‘Mister Mark.’”

“He called me that when he was a boy, over forty years ago.”

“I’ve heard that story more than once,” George shook his head. “He’s often used it as an illustration of how little things you don’t think much about can change other people’s lives. It’s something I’ve always tried to remember. I see him every once in a while, not so often anymore, but I think he’ll appreciate our trying to return a favor for him.”

“When I see him again, which might not be for a while, I’ll mention the two of you to him,” Mark promised.

“Good, I’d appreciate it,” Bankston said. “In any case, let’s get down to business. We might as well do the ground school part of this here where it’s warm and we can keep our coffee refilled, rather out in the line shack, where there’s only a wood stove that doesn’t work very well.”

In the nearly two months since Christmas Bree had read just about everything available about mountain wave flying, so what Bankston and Flusser were presenting to her wasn’t exactly new, but she listened carefully to the voices of experience. She knew this was going to be the real thing, not just reading about it.

Mountain wave soaring is considerably different from the thermal soaring Bree had done up until now. It depended on strong winds blowing across mountain tops, and almost surfing in the wake left behind. It’s often compared to a strong river current washing over a submerged rock – a standing wave is set up behind, often several waves long before it dies out. Much the same process is found in a mountain wave, but it’s somewhat different due to the compressibility of the atmosphere, and the thermal effects on the rising and falling air. Lenticular clouds are formed when the rising air cools below the dew point, then they fade as the falling air warms to where it can’t support a cloud. Glider pilots don’t have to circle in wave lift; they just have to keep the nose pointed into the oncoming wind and go fast enough to not get blown out of the rising air.

“Waves aren’t only formed by mountains,” George put in. “Sometimes, although rarely, they’ll form when a strong wind is flowing over a cloud bank, and they can happen anywhere. You’d really have to be on your toes and ready to fly one of them in a glider, though. If it’s been done, I don’t think it’s been done very much.”

Mountain waves are marked by lenticular clouds, somewhat lens shaped in simple terms, but more often looking something like a stack of overturned dinner plates. “Those are lennies out there,” Bankston said, pointing toward the window. “So the wave is working today, and it could be stronger tomorrow. But if we can get through the preliminaries today, we might just give it a try this afternoon.”

Unlike a stream of water, as Bankston explained, mountain waves go much higher than the rocks that form them. “Flights to thirty thousand feet aren’t uncommon,” he explained. “There have been a few to forty thousand, and the record for many years was forty-seven thousand feet, which is just about the absolute limit of how high a person can go without a pressure suit. The man who set it was a flight director for the X-15 program way back when, so he knew about the limit as well as anyone could. It got shoved up over fifty thousand a few years ago, but those guys were wearing pressure suits.”

“That’s right up there,” Bree nodded.

“Darn right,” Bankston continued. “I know planes like U-2s have occasionally found indications of them at seventy thousand feet or more. There’s still a lot about the atmosphere we don’t know, Bree, but that’s not what we’re concerned with today. Wave flying is actually pretty simple, but it’s risky because you’re so high. It can get incredibly cold in the cockpit, forty, fifty, even sixty below. What’s more, you’re very dependent on your oxygen system. It’s literally your life support, and you have to know how to use it, and what to do if it goes out, which simply means, get as low as you can as quick as you can. Since this is pretty new to you and you’re working on a diamond, there probably won’t be much need for you to go over twenty-five or thirty thousand, maybe not that high if you get a good low point after release. Since you’re really a newbie at this part of soaring, we’ll go over this stuff carefully, and we’ll be keeping close track of you when you fly.”

They spent the next couple hours going over details, sometimes drilling Bree on what they taught her to be sure she knew what they wanted her to. Finally, as noon neared, Bankston said, “I think we’ve got you about as ready as we can get you here. Now, since we’re here, maybe we ought to have a quick lunch, then head out to the airstrip so we can see you fly.”

“If you want,” Bree said. “I’m not sure I can eat.”

“Might as well, it could be a long time.”

Bree managed to down part of a hamburger and a few fries while the men finished their meal, continued talking about wave flying, and some of their experiences – it was still instruction, at least in a way. Finally, Bankston sat down his coffee cup and said, “We might as well do it. We’re burnin’ daylight.”

Mark and Bree followed Bankston and Flusser for several miles through dry and cold countryside, not very interesting in itself but made awesome by the high mountains in the near distance. The lennies they’d seen earlier were even more prominent now, and Bree was anxious to get up among them.

The airport the soaring club flew out of was nothing much, just a patch of almost-desert where some of the ground vegetation had been cleared. It was a cold day, and windy, although at least it wasn’t the cold they’d known in Spearfish Lake. “Have you ever flown a Blanik?” Harry asked.

“No,” Bree admitted. “I’ve seen them a couple times but I’ve never had the chance to fly one. I did my dual in a 2-33.”

“Considering that this is a quick job, I guess that means we’d better stay with what you know,” he told her. “Let’s take the 2-33. Do the preflight, Bree, and I’ll watch you. After George gets the tow plane warmed up, we’ll see how well you fly.”

Since he wanted to stay out of the way, Mark went along with George to check out the tow plane. It proved to be a Piper Super Cub, something very familiar. “Wow,” he said to George as they untied it. “It sure as hell has been a long time since I’ve flown one of these.”

“They’re getting a little scarce anymore,” George said. “A lot of them have migrated to Alaska.”

“I flew one for part of a summer towing gliders up at the old Waverly West Gliderport, up by Fort Collins,” Mark explained. “I guess some things don’t change much.”

“I flew out of there a couple times,” George said. “That was before they got bought up and moved out to the place along the Interstate. Do you remember the dog?”

“Cumulus?” Mark grinned. “I sure do. The scruffiest mutt I ever saw, but he knew what he was there for. I named my first lead dog after him.”

“Lead dog?”

“Hey, we’re from up north, and I did dogsledding for years,” Mark explained. “A buddy and me, mostly. His daughter and her husband, he’s a sort of nephew, have done the Iditarod several times, and they still train dogs for it. I still build dogsleds once in a while.”

“Now, I think that’s crazy,” George shook his head. “But I guess some people think we’re crazy, too.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Mark shook his head. “This sure takes me back to when I was a young man. It’s not the same place, not the same planes, but wow, it’s a lot of the same thing. I’ve had my 1-26 for nearly thirty years, I think just to keep my finger on those days, but I’m sure glad I did. Bree took to it like a duck to water.”

“It’s good to see a kid interested in this,” George shook his head. “It seems like it’s all video games and computers anymore. You’ve got a good kid there.”

“I think so,” Mark said. “She’s actually my grandniece, although my wife and I adopted her and her sister after my brother’s daughter died and left them orphaned. Her mom dying hit Bree pretty hard, but taking her flying somehow pulled her out of it. I always wanted to go to the Air Force Academy but my glasses kept me out. Somehow, she picked up the dream.”

“Quite a kid,” George said. “You’ve got one to be proud of.”

“I think so,” Mark said. “I just wish her mother were here to see it, except for the fact that if her mother were still alive this almost certainly wouldn’t have happened.”

A few minutes later everyone was ready to go. Mark could remember the day back at Waverly West when they used to launch the gliders right from where they’d been tied down, but apparently they didn’t do that here. But it was only a short distance to drag the old 2-33 out to the end of the airstrip. Mark knew how to hook up a tow line, of course, and he did it, then ran the wingtip while Bree and Harry launched.

The tow was up to about three thousand feet above ground level, at least to Mark’s eye. It didn’t look like there was going to be any thermal soaring, but that wasn’t the deal today. The tow plane returned as the 2-33 was going through turns and evolutions above; George shut the engine down, and Mark went over to talk. “She flies a tow pretty well,” George told him. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Harry wants to do another up and down with her, just to be on the safe side.”

Sure enough, in a few minutes the glider was on the ground, and George was taxiing out for another tow. They were only on the ground for a couple minutes before the tow got under way. This time, rather than just stopping on the runway after landing, the 2-33 rolled back up to the tie downs; Bree and Harry got out, and started to tie it down.

“Well, there’s no doubt she can fly it, and fly it well,” Harry told Mark when he got up to them. “I think she probably ought to do a flight in the 1-26 just to get used to it before we go hunting bear.”

In a few minutes they were at a 1-26 that was tied down nearby. It looked a lot like the one back home, although Mark could pick out a few differences that told him it was an earlier model. This one had a few extras added, like a better radio, places where there was a double layer of Plexiglas to hold off fogging, and an oxygen system.

Again, Mark stood back while Bree and Harry preflighted the 1-26, which had to be over twice Bree’s age. Harry spent some time going over some of the differences and some more of the intricacies of the oxygen system.

In a few minutes, Bree was in the sailplane sitting out on the runway. “I doubt she’ll have any problem flying it,” Harry said. “She really knows her stuff. I told her to wear the oxygen mask this time, just so she can get used to it a little. If she does OK, we might as well get it while the getting is good.”

Again, the flight was short, and Bree was back on the ground in good order. “I think you might as well try it this afternoon,” Harry told her. “Let’s get you dressed for the cold.”

Most of the luggage Mark and Bree had brought with them had been intended for this part. In the cold air of the line shack, Bree pulled on two pairs of long johns, one over the other, then heavy snow pants and a parka. Some of it was dogsledding gear Mark had borrowed from his nephew, which explained the “Run-8 Kennels” patch on the back of the parka. “Well, Bree,” he joked when she came out of the line shack, “if you don’t want to fly the wave, you can run the Iditarod.”

“I think I’ll give that a pass,” she grinned. “I want to get in the air and see what it’s like.”

They were a while getting her strapped into the cockpit – with all the clothing all the straps had to be let out. Harry went over a few things one more time, and turned on the valve to the oxygen system. “You might as well be on oh-two from the get-go,” he said. “I probably wouldn’t bother, but you’re a lowlander and it’s one less thing for you to have to mess around with later in the air.”

There were a few more final instructions, and then a radio check; it was good. “Stay safe,” Harry told her finally. “If this doesn’t work today, there will be tomorrow. That’s not a reason to take an unnecessary risk.”

“Bree,” Mark piped up, “keep us informed. Don’t clam up on us. If you don’t answer when someone calls you, we’re going to get worried.”

“Yes, Uncle Mark,” she replied, her seriousness showing through. “I will.”

“We’ll be monitoring you here,” Harry said, “but we’re just going to let George tow you up and get you going in the wave. Remember, when you get off tow, burn off a couple hundred feet so you can establish a low point. For your first time out, I’d be just as happy if you didn’t go over thirty thousand.”

“Yes sir,” she said. “I won’t stick my neck out.”

Soon the canopy was closed and the tow plane was taking up slack while Mark held the wings level. When it came taut, Mark could see the bundled-up form of Bree in her oxygen mask give him a “wind it up” signal with her forefinger. Mark made a big circle with his arm, and the engine in the Super Cub roared. Soon the glider and the tow plane were in the air, making a long, slow turn toward the west and the wave.

“Kind of hard to watch, isn’t it?” Harry said as the two disappeared into the distance.

“Yeah. Bree is pretty level-headed. In fact, she may be the most level-headed kid I’ve ever seen. But still . . .”

“I’ve got a good feeling about her,” Harry said. “I haven’t seen many kids her age I’d turn loose on a wave flight with this little training, but I got the feeling she is about as serious as a heart attack about this. Let’s get out of the wind in my car. I’ve got an aircraft band radio there so we can monitor her.”

“That’s probably a good idea. I’m used to it being colder than this, but that breeze is cutting right through me.”

They sat in the car, looking out the windshield to the west, although by now they’d lost sight of the Super Cub and the 1-26. “Hang on here tight for a few, it’s going to be rough,” they heard George’s voice on the radio. “Don’t release unless you really have to.”

“Roger that.”

“In the roll section below the wave,” Harry explained, “sometimes you get a cloud. It can be pretty bad at speed. A few years ago there was a commuter airliner near here that went down when they went through a roll cloud at speed. My guess is they were making an instrument approach and had their heads looking at the gauges, rather than outside the cockpit.”

“That’s always my worst fear as a pilot,” Mark said, “having one of those idiots run into you. Fortunately we don’t get a lot of traffic where I fly these days.”

They talked desultorily about the flying Mark did for a few minutes more, and about Bree’s plans to go to the Air Force Academy, until they heard George’s voice again. “All right, we should be through the worst of it now. You all right back there?”

“Just fine,” she replied. “It got a little rough there for a while.”

“I’ve seen it worse,” George told her. “Hang on for a while yet, we should be getting into some good wave here pretty quick.”

“Roger that.”

“Not long now,” Harry said. “What was that you told her about not clamming up?”

“Actually, it’s just good radio discipline, I think,” Mark said. “But sometimes she has a tendency to carry it to an extreme. She is not Miss Chatterbox on the radio, and sometimes it makes us worry a little.”

“You’re right, good radio discipline. You’ve taught her well.”

“Remember Chesley Sullenberger on Flight 1549 a few years ago? ‘Can’t make Teterboro.’ No long discussion, just the facts. I think she learned it from him.”

“I used to know Sully, back when I was wearing blue,” Harry said. “A real straight arrow, too, and flew right by the book. The book for ditching one of those things says you have to be at 135 knots and with a fifteen degree pitch attitude or something like that. Knowing Sully, he was within one knot and one degree or less of that. That’s why nobody got hurt. There aren’t many airliner ditchings where that happened.”

“Yeah, he must be a real cool customer.”

“OK, any time now,” George’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

“Roger, releasing.”

A second or so later, George reported, “Deer Park, release at ten-four. Returning to base.”

“Well, here we go,” Harry said, and thumbed the mike. “Roger that,” he said. “Establish your low point.”

“Roger, doing that now,” Bree’s voice came, muffled by the oxygen mask. “All right,” she said a few seconds later, “climbing back through ten-five, about five hundred feet per minute.”

“It’ll pick up,” Harry told her.

A couple of minutes went by before she called again, “Deer Park, going through twelve, about seven-fifty up.”

“Roger that. Keep us informed.”

The next call had her at fifteen thousand feet, at a thousand feet per minute, but the next one was a little more troublesome. “I’m at seventeen, but the rate of climb is falling off.”

“Say your airspeed,” Harry called.

“Eighty.”

“You’re probably flying out the front of it,” he told her. “Slow up a little and get back into the sweet spot.”

“Roger that.”

“Boy, you’re right,” Harry said to Mark. “She doesn’t say much, does she?”

“No,” Mark sighed, trying to picture her in the cockpit. She was already much higher above the ground than he’d ever been in a sailplane, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d done something he’d never done.

“Deer Park, I’m at eighteen five, and fifteen up.”

“That’s better,” Harry replied. “When the rate starts to drop off, speed up a little.”

A few more seconds went by. “Twenty at twenty,” she said without preamble, but added, “Wow, this is really smooth.”

“Good going. Hang in there.”

The next report a minute later was twenty-two thousand feet, then twenty-four thousand, although the rate was dropping off a little, eighteen hundred feet per minute. “Roger that,” Harry said. “Hold your speed, you’re probably getting up to where it’s flattening out some.”

“Roger that. Coming up on twenty-five.”

“God, that’s got to be a rush,” Mark said.

“It may not be for her,” Harry replied. “She sounds like she’s all business. If she makes it into the Academy she’s going to be one hell of a pilot.”

They sat back and listened to Bree report her altitude. “Deer Park,” she finally called. “Coming up on thirty, and I can look back over my shoulder and see the lennie behind me. Can I go over the top?”

Harry turned to Mark. “Might as well let her have her fun,” he replied. “Don’t go over thirty-two. Slow up when you get there, let it blow you over the top.”

“Roger that.”

“That’s something I wouldn’t want just anyone to do, not on their first wave flight,” Harry said, “but it’s not a big lennie, and it’s something she’ll remember all her life.”

“You’d know more about it than I would.”

There was silence for a few more moments, then they heard Bree’s voice once again, quoting words both Mark and Harry knew by heart: “‘Up, up along the delirious, burning blue, I’ve topped the windswept heights with easy grace.’ Now I really know what that means.”

“Yes, you do, one four kilo.” Harry grinned. “And you’ve got your diamond with plenty to spare. You might as well turn downwind and return to base.”

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.