There is a common saying among paragliders that they fall into two distinct groups: those who have landed in trees, and those that will land in trees. I may have just moved from one group to the other… I’m not sure.

All this past week, I have been flying in the Rat Race, off of Woodrat mountain in southern Oregon. It was my first paragliding competition. On this fateful day, however, I had an unplanned outcome to a forced landing on the side of the mountain. It started with significant sink right after launching from the upper part of the mountain, and continued as I made my way down the hill, approaching the second (older) launch that is maybe half way down the mountain.

It looked like I had a good setup to land in a moderately sized parking lot. I was facing south, the parking lot was right in front of me, the peak was to my left, with a ridge going down to my right. Unfortunately, 5 seconds before touchdown I hit even more sink and found myself rapidly heading right towards the backside of the ridge. I turned right to avoid the hill, but I was still clearly in trouble. However, there was a road below that gave me another 50′ of altitude above the ground and maybe another 2 seconds to think. That was good, because I needed 1.5 seconds to figure out what to do.

I could see that by going straight down the road, I would not have the horizontal clearance for my wing. That meant that one or both tips would catch high up on the trees, killing my wing and sending me forward to land on my back. So that option was out with half a second of precious time wasted.

In next half second, I chose to deliberately wrap my left wing tip on a rhododendron, anticipating that I would become a human tether ball spinning around at the end of my lines. Believe it or not, knowing that I was going to crash, I was actually picking and choosing which trees I wanted to land on.

In that last second before impact, I had time to take a deep breath, fly the wing at my target, and relax.

As the road sloped upwards, my left tip caught the tree, I was spun left and UP, my seat remaining parallel to the ground. I flared like the dickens on the right to slow down and was placed on the ground as gently as a feather. I didn’t need to turn towards my wing because as the human tether ball, the tree did that for me.

With my feet safely on the ground, I switched to the retrieve frequency and let the support team know that I was OK. I did not yet know if I needed help extracting my wing or not.

That’s when an older man who was parked on the hill walked down and asked what the heck I did that for.

“umm, because I botched my landing, and this was better than landing at the top of the oak tree?”

“Well, maybe, but this poison oak is not much better.”

While my wing was mostly over the Rhododendron, all behind it was poison oak. I would have to carefully extract my wing, trying to minimize contact with the itchy shrub right next to it. The older gentleman tried to be helpful, but I had to continually tell him to not use brute force on my lines to get the wing out.

After about 20 minutes, we had my wing free, and I had a massive rat’s nest of lines to untangle.  15 minutes later,my lines were clear, and I walked up the road to that parking lot that I missed on my landing. From there, I was able to launch again from the middle if the hill, heading for the primary LZ.

I packed up, keeping my gloves on, and put all my outer garments in their own stuff sack. I washed up back at HQ and wouldn’t know about the poison oak for another day.

But at least I was safely on the ground.

P. S.: Two days later, I did indeed develop a small rash of poison oak. I was lucky enough to only break out in two pin-sized dots, one on the back of my hand, and one on my forearm.

Google Earth Landmarks

Today was an absolutely awesome flying day at Tiger, and definitely a personal-best. It was probably one part good fortune, one part practice, and five parts listening to and remembering the words of wisdom that so many other pilots imparted to me over the last two years. To all who are mentioned below, and the countless others who are not, thank you for your kind mentoring!

I took the 12:30 shuttle and conditions were looking good. Matt Senior was talking about going cross-country and I told him that it was something I wanted to learn more about. He gave me a few pointers, in particular about getting to the North ridge and working that up as high as I could get before going anywhere. He told me that if I thought that I was the top of my thermal, but there were still people a thousand feet higher, then it was a good idea to figure out how to get up there before trying to go anywhere on XC. He also gave me some pointers about getting to the north ridge – that sometimes the direct-route is not the best way to go because there is so much sink in the middle from launch to the ridge. Sometimes it’s better to go around the outside of the bowl. He also recommended letting go of the need to always land at the LZ – there are plenty of other places to land, and that one has to be comfortable choosing alternate LZ’s to have the confidence to go XC.

I made mental note of everything he said, soaking it up like a sponge. Most significant to me was what he said about confidence. So far, my only XC trips include one last year when I tried to get to the High School and ended up landing in Erickson’s field, and one in Italy where I missed the LZ by 5 miles and didn’t speak a word of Italian. Fortunately, in the latter case, there was a kid at the house where I landed who spoke French, so I asked “quel est le nom de cette ville?” (Where the heck am I?) and went from there.

Originally, I planned to just follow Matt and Steve Wilson as closely as I could, hoping to learn from them. However, I had trouble setting my radio to the frequency they were using and before I knew it, both of them were gone on their own adventure. I also managed to get behind a few folks who were having their share of challenges with the launch, and I could hear Dave Byrne’s words of wisdom echoing in my head “Get out of the truck, set up, and GO! I’m here to FLY, and I’ll save the chit-chat for later over a beer.” While waiting for the others to launch, a cloud came overhead, and I began to wonder if I had already blown it for the day.

Fortunately, the sun was only hidden for a few minute so the thermals were still working strong. I launched, flew to the Kingdome, and within a matter of minutes was flying at around 3500’ back behind the north Launch. I had tried the direct route to the north ridge before and only hit sink, so I following Matt’s advice by going around the bowl. It was working quite well. I was able to maintain altitude and gradually work my way around, but I was also getting blown back to the south a bit more than I wanted since there are just so many trees in that area. Shortly, I wound up in that that familiar sink that sits between launch and the ridge, except that I was so far back that I had doubts that I would be able to clear the bowl at all. Again, it was Dave Byrne’s words that I heard echoing from just the week before when he gave his presentation on XC at Chirico’s place. He spoke about the pros and cons of speed-bar. This was definitely one of the times when it was called for, and I stepped on it.

I also heard the words of Cornell in my head. “When you’re on a line and your vario is telling you it’s really bad, try turning one way or the other. Even if all directions are bad, sometimes you can find that one direction is slightly less bad than the others. Find it and hope that it’s enough to make the difference.” All directions were definitely bad, but heading more to the right, towards the north ridge was less bad. It was challenging for me to go that direction because I so wanted to run for the LZ, except that there was no way in hell that I was going to reach it. In fact, I was really thinking that I was going to land in the trees and my heart began to pound accordingly.

Then it was Kingsley’s voice that I heard in my head, except that it was from the Michael Miller invitational XC from last year. I’m not sure where Kingsley was at the time, but at one point he came over the radio to let the rest of us know that he was going down into the trees. At the time, it sounded like a mixture of fear and “Oh, crud!” in his voice. As I was looking at the trees, trying to figure out which one I wanted to get to know up close and personally, it was Kingsley’s voice that I heard. Some have said that there are those who have landed in trees and those who will, but I really didn’t want it to be my turn today. Then I remembered that in Kingsley’s story, he did NOT land in a tree; he found lift and got out of whatever mess he was in, only to come back on the radio later to tell us he was fine! I could only hope for the best, and you can be darned sure that after my incident at Whidbey two weeks ago that I was going to remain pointed into the wind. I was maybe 300’ above tree-line when I heard a single “beep.” It was either my vario, or my mental heart monitor skipping a beat. Then there was another beep, followed by still more, and I knew just what to do.

Just like Pavlov’s dog, conditioned to salivate to the sound of a bell, I had become conditioned to turn in lift. And it worked! Slowly at first, then stronger and steadily, I got lucky and pulled off a frightful low-altitude save that brought me back up to about 1800 and level with launch. At this point, despite the comfort of a bit more altitude, I was still quite shaken and wanted to return to familiar territory. However, I was now dead center between the launch and the north ridge. I also believed that if I needed to, I could land at that road behind the church that looked like a key-hole. Again, it was Matt’s words that guided me. He said that the house at the base of the north ridge was often really good for lift to start working up the ridge. So with my fears directing me towards the LZ and my desire for courage and experience not unlike the Lion from the Wizard of Oz, I headed for the base of the north ridge.

There were two other pilots already there, so I could see that it was working. I headed their way, except that I caught really good lift slightly higher up the ridge than where they were below. Soon, I found myself at 3,500’ and wondering what was really powering the lift that I found myself in. Again, it was David Byrne’s voice that guided me. “When you get high enough that you’re not so focused on where you are going to land, you can start to fly by the sky rather than by the ground. Look up! Find the clouds, figure out what’s feeding them, and then try to get yourself on that stream going up.” I saw where the air was going, adjusted my course slightly, and before I knew it, I was at 5,200!

At one point, I looked down and saw two things that caught me way off guard. The first was a small plane maybe 2000’ below that was flying through the valley. The second, the one that literally made me gasp for breath, was seeing a jumbo jet at my altitude. Never mind that it was many miles to the west. Honestly, my first thought was “David Wheeler is going to kill me!” My second thought was to re-confirm my altitude to make sure that I was OK, and I was. The lift was still going up, but it was also getting bumpy, and I didn’t want to press my luck. That was doubly true if I were going to submit my GPS logs to Wheeler if I managed to tag anything.

Issaquah High School from 5,200′

From where I was, the high school was a piece of cake. So was the gravel pit. For the first time, I had actually managed to tag not just one, but two points on Tiger Tag, and I still had plenty of altitude to safely choose whatever landing I wanted. Well, almost any landing. Even though I was not sure I could make it back to the LZ, I knew I could be safe. So rather than heading straight home, I returned towards the north ridge where I managed to join up with Meredith and one other pilot while the three of us worked a thermal together.

What made this so unique and fun was that unlike the lift over the Kingdome where there are multiple pilots in lift at the same time, here, there seemed a much greater level of silent communication and cooperation. I wasn’t even sure who the other pilots were at the time. Sometimes I was on the bottom, other times I was on top, but the three of us were all circling around and around together as a group, adjusting the center of our circle slightly based on whatever we saw happening to the others in the loop. For the more experienced pilots, this may be old hat or just what thermaling is all about. For me, the level of aerial teamwork was still quite new, exciting, fascinating, joyful, playful, and also highly effective.

There was one unfortunate side effect of maintaining the tight circles with such a high level of active piloting and head-turning to keep mindful of where the other pilots were at all times. I could not shake the feeling that my shoulder straps were falling off. They were not falling off, but it continually felt as if they were. I just got the new Peak-2 harness, and it has elastic that actually keeps slight tension on the straps, as well as a sternum strap which I had buckled. I knew that nothing was wrong despite the persistent feeling I had to the contrary. It was only later that I realized that my straps WERE falling off my shoulders, but it was not the straps to my paragliding harness. Let’s just say that I inadvertently took the term “free flight” to a different level this afternoon and leave it at that, please.

At some point above 4,000’, I parted ways from the other pilots when I chose to return towards launch while they continued upwards. My intention was to head for the LZ, but I got back to Tiger with enough altitude to actually consider a top-landing. I had been flying for about an hour and a half at that point and needed to use the restroom. The area near launch was rather crowded, which was not unusual. What was unusual this time was the number of different creatures in the air. There were no fewer than three tandem pilots with passengers, probably 15 or more solo pilots, at least one hang glider, a few feathered friends, and a remote-controlled Styrofoam plane flying amidst the other pilots rather erratically. Watching that plane fly amidst all the other traffic made me think of a single white rat trying to make its way across a three-dimensional ball-room dance floor. Does anybody even know what the right-of-way rules are with an RC plane in the mix? Making matters slightly worse for my restroom goals was the fact that the launch was just teaming with other pilots waiting to take off and a handful of hikers and children running around. No, this was not the time for a top-landing.

So I found a decent thermal near launch, somehow managed to climb to the top of the gaggle, made my way back up to 3500’, then went towards the valley before going right towards the north ridge. This time I managed to reach the ridge without repeating that harrowing adventure with the sink over the trees. With far less effort than the first time around, I found myself traveling about the sky with much greater comfort and ease, managed to make my way back up to 4500 again, and did another lap around the high school, gravel pit, and then back to the launch again. When I returned to the launch, it was nearly deserted. I had been up for nearly three hours and nothing was going to stop me from landing up top to use the restroom.

There was a young couple and their child sitting on the launch carpet when I landed and I heard the boy ask his mother why the pilot landed. Maybe it was how fast I bunched my wing, or maybe she saw the look on my face, but she told her boy to stay out of the way because she knew right where I was headed.

After my brief rest at the summit, most of the other pilots had already sunk out to the LZ, but I still found the lift was plentiful. It’s possible I could have played for another hour, but I was tired. I had just achieved my personal best as a pilot and I finally had the sense that I was beginning to put together all of the advice and wisdom that so many others had graciously shared with my over my brief tenure in the sky. Among that wisdom was something from James Bender about not realizing how tired we get after a full day of flying, and the need to just stop. I knew how spent I was. It was nearly 5:00 PM, the gibbous moon was just beginning to rise in the east, our spring sun was still hours from the western horizon, and I was most definitely ready to call it a day. And a very good day at that.

On Saturday, it started out as such a beautiful day at the Fort …
It ended up being simultaneously the best flying I have ever had there, and also my worst day flying ever.

Around 3:00pm there was a steady westerly wind of about 5-8 MPH. It was enough for some kiting, but not enough to sustain much lift. At first, it was just Murdoch and myself, though soon Patti joined us as well. By around 4pm, the winds were finally picking up, and a flock of other park visitors kept asking why none of the paragliders were taking off.

Soon enough, there was adequate lift to carry me from the south to the north end of the field (flight #1), but I was still cautious about launching over the precipice at the top of the bluff. That caution quickly faded as the winds lifted me straight up even before the edge and from that point onward I was in heaven (flight #2). Patti and Murdoch soon joined me, along with Andrei and Irena who had recently arrived.

At one point, there was a family of eagles soaring the ridge – an adult and several little ones, apparently learning to fly. To be soaring the ridge while these natives were just beginning to explore the wonder of their home domain in the sky was both beautiful and somehow an honor just to watch. These young fledglings, if they had not already, would gain a level of mastery over flight in a matter of hours that I could not hope to achieve with a lifetime of flight, and yet at this point, they were still students. Wow.

After around 30 minutes, I was getting cold, so I came back around over the field, landed gracefully by the picnic table where I had an extra jacket and warmer gloves. In less than 5 minutes turn-around, I had returned to the sky to join my comrades again (flight #3), including Andrei who was doing a series of wingovers out over the water only to rise in the lift to do it again and again. It was so much fun to watch and soar with these other pilots. Wow.

After about another 45 minutes, I came in for a landing to use the restrooms and grab a bite to eat. Conditions were such that it reminded me of being a child at the swimming pool, where I could play all I wanted to, get out when I wanted to, grab a snack or use the restroom, and yet still had the freedom to jump back into the fun and play at will. It was just that kind of day.

My fourth flight was deceptively uneventful, given what would follow later in the evening. I flew for maybe 30 minutes, and then it began to rain, though still quite gently. I brought my wing back over the Fort for final approach and made what was probably one of the slowest and most graceful landings I had ever had. It took maybe 30 seconds to finally descend that last 15 feet before landing gingerly on my toes, kiting the wing and bringing it gently back to the ground. Thinking that the rain might pass quickly, I covered my wing with my rucksack and waited it out as the other pilots landed to do the same. Well, all except Jim Martin, who had recently arrived and flew in the rain, showing no more concern for the gentle trickle than the birds who were still flying about, probably happy to have more of their playground back again.

While the rain remained quite light, it also failed to let up for quite some time and I decided to pack up to go home. Having more than once forgot something behind at the Fort, I returned to the field to do one last look around. That’s when Irena invited me to stay just a bit longer, as she and Andrei had just brought down some delicious rhubarb pie that they had bought along the way. It was messy as all can be, absolutely scrumptious, and best of all, it was still warm. I could have easily left just 10 minutes earlier, but then I would have missed the joy that is the camaraderie of this wonderful group of pilots. Wow.

Best of all, the rain did finally let up, and conditions were still good for more flying. It was now close to 7:00pm. Plus, with some rhubarb in my belly, I figured I could go a bit longer before wanting dinner. The flight started well enough, and I launched using the technique that Jim had shown me before: no brakes, palms up, gingerly controlling the D’s. The launch was a little rough, but soon I was in the air again, traveling to the north. Unfortunately, I never quite got the altitude to fully enter the lift band. I tried going back and forth a few times, all the while remaining just 20-40 feet below the ledge.

Soon, it became clear that I was losing altitude, and would be making a beach landing. That was no big deal, as there was more than enough beach to land on, and I had done that twice before on earlier trips. I decided to fly south, so as to land closer to the trail that went back up the bluff. Here is where I made my first major mistake in judgment: seeking to get closer to the trail, I waited too long to turn around and face back upwind. By the time I realized this, I was too low to execute the turn safely. A fraction of a second later, I saw that given that there were more rocks than sand on this part of the beach, my chances for a safe down-wind landing on unsure footing was also more than questionable. I had way too much forward speed with the wind to my back and would have most likely landed and fallen on my face even with loads of flare.

Despite the low altitude, I turned steeply to the right, towards the water, with far more lean than break, hoping to complete as much of the turn as I could without sacrificing as much altitude. Despite the outcome, I think that that still might have been the best course of action to prior poor judgment given the circumstances, and I’m open to hearing otherwise. I had completed maybe 150 degrees of my 180 turn when things started to move at break-neck speeds… literally.

As best as I can tell, I landed first on my right butt cheek, with the padding on my harness directly below me where it probably did the most good. I still had plenty of momentum towards the south and rolled violently and diagonally across the rocks from my right tush, then striking my left thigh/femur, my shoulder, and my head in who-knows what order. I have a distinct memory of an incredibly loud crunching noise which I knew to be my helmet, which I believe I hit first on the back-left, but I’m not sure.

Presently, as I’m writing this up and looking at the helmet, it would appear that there is very little of the helmet that did not strike the rocks at some point. There is damage to the upper right crown, scrapes on the lower right at the base, and much more significant scrapes and scratches to the entire left side. Then, of course, there is that pool of blood on the helmet padding above the left eye.

My glasses were destroyed, bent horribly out of shape with both lenses having popped out somewhere on the beach. I was in no condition to look for them even if I had been able to see at that point. I was incredibly disoriented, foolishly tried to stand, but whether from the uneven ground, the head wound, the loss of my glasses, or the blood dripping down my face, I never made it above my knees before falling down again. I did not feel my head injury, but just noticed all the blood dripping from my forehead. Now here’s the really stupid part: for some reason, I was thinking “I just got this new flight suit… don’t bleed on it!” That was followed shortly by another voice in my head that said “shut up. Be still. You’re messed up here, and don’t even know it yet. Just be still and breathe for a while.”

I listened to the second voice – I did not have much choice in the matter at that point. I wanted to lie down and go to sleep. “NO! You can’t do that! Pull out your phone and call for help!” I called Kristen, whom I had traveled with to the Fort, but got her voice mail. I left her a message that I had crashed on the south end of the beach near the trail, told her to tell the other pilots, and that I was injured. That was all I said, and I also knew that her cell reception was terrible in that area. I tried calling a number that I had for Murdoch, but there was no answer on that one. For some reason, calling 911 never entered my mind. I can’t explain why.

So, not knowing if my message got through or not, I performed a secondary survey from my toes to my head, determining that my leg was the worst, but that I had no idea how bad my head really was. I moved slowly, staggered to my feet (barely), and began to gather my gear with some difficulty. Andrei reported later that having seen me standing and packing my gear, that he thought I was OK. There was no way he could have seen my wobbly stance from that far away in the sky. I’m sure I still had adrenaline pumping a mile a minute at that point. I had only just made my way to the base of the trail when I heard Kristen calling from the top of the hill. She had received my message, and apparently relayed that I was on the beach to the other pilots, but not that I was injured. They pointed her to the trail where I could be found.

She made her way down the hill while I basically hobbled my way slowly forward. Only upon seeing my blood covered face did she realize that this was a bit more serious. I told her to take my gear, go back to the top, and to get help. In retrospect, she probably could have just left the gear. I can only guess that once a pilot, always a pilot, and a pilot never likes being separated from her gear. While she went back up, I had a walking stick and basically tripod-hobbled my way slowly up the hill. I so wanted to just lie down and sleep. I was afraid to rest, too, fearing that if I stopped, I would never get going again or that I would pass out. Something deep inside me just kept screaming to keep going, regardless of how slow my progress. And so I did.

Sometime thereafter, Andrei made his way down the hill. Uncontrollably, I began to cry. He probably thought I was just in pain, which I was, but I was also just SOOO glad to see him. Even now, I don’t recall if I ever thanked him (thank you Andrei !). Together, we made our way up the steep slope to the top, whereupon I sat down and Irena was the first with enough good sense to call 911. That alone was a bizarre story, as there was some difficulty communicating to them where Ft. Ebby really was.

After waiting for a while (my sense of time is way distorted here), I recommended that we just get me to the parking lot and that Kristen take me to the hospital directly because I did not know how long help would be and I was so sleepy. (I’ve got one of those on-board navigation things that could direct us the hospital). Andrei and Patti helped me closer to the car when help arrived just before we got to the steps that lead down to the launch/LZ.

At the top of the stairs, the EMT’s strapped me into a transport chair to take me the rest of the way. Ironically, I think the most painful part of my whole ordeal came when one of them quickly pulled a strap to lock me into the chair and managed to do so directly across my injured femur. I know that I let out a yelp like an injured dog, and despite the EMT’s need to look more closely, I guarded my leg rather fiercely after that blunder. Regardless, I was now “in the medical system” and would be getting help.

Skipping most of the rest of the details from this point (for they are many and colorful), they ran a battery of tests, including a CAT scan and a few X-rays of my femur, neck, and chest, all of which turned out clean. Blood counts showed no internal bleeding. Net result: A concussion without loss of consciousness; a laceration on the scalp that looks like the mark on Harry Potter’s head, but which was glued back together; abrasions on the left shoulder; a significant contusion to the thigh; minor bruises to the left hand, and (hopefully) a few lessons learned.

Lessons:

1. My shooting to land by the trail and failure to turn upwind was essentially the common problem associated with trying for a spot-landing. It’s really not worth it.
2. I would recommend that all of us, myself included, keep the phone numbers of more fellow pilots in our cell phonebooks.

Questions:

How on earth did I manage to get the head wound so far up my scalp, even with a Charley Insider full face helmet?

I know that it was the right size – it was snug all over my head.

I know the chin-strap was fastened, and it was still fastened when I took it off down below.

All I can figure at this point is that the chin-strap slipped under the impact and exposed my forehead. Even now, the strap is properly threaded, but it does appear to have slipped quite a bit. I’ll investigate that more later when my head heals and I clean the blood from the helmet. If the strap DID slip, this could be a serious issue that will most definitely need closer attention for the safety of all pilots… I will follow up on this one in a week or so.

Gratitude:

• To my fellow pilots at Whidbey Saturday afternoon…
• Thank you so much for your assistance getting back up the hill and tending to my injury.
• Thank you for your care and concern, your friendship, and camaraderie.
• To Andrei and Patti for their assistance walking.
• To Irena for calling 911.
• To Murdoch, for letting EMS know where to go.
• To Irena and Andrei for stopping by the hospital, and of course, for the rhubarb.
• To the good Lord, that things were not far worse, for they easily could have been.
• To Cindy, Jenny, and Jackie who work at Whidbey General.
• And lastly, for health insurance and for Percocet. Oh, man! Far out and WOW!

Today was a great day flying at Whidbey once the winds died down just a tad from their more forceful morning gusts.  I arrived around 12:30 in the afternoon to find that there were maybe 25 pilots either scattered about the launch area, else huddled in masses for warmth.  Believing that it would take a while for the winds to calm, I went for a hike to the North towards lake Pondilla and back.  When I returned, it was closer to flying conditions, but still quite strong for me.

At one point while trying to kite, I asked Jim Martin for some pointers with launching in the higher winds, as he had been up and down with several flights already that day.  Despite some comments that he was a rather large fellow flying on a smaller “girls” wing, the truth is that he was flying while the rest of us mostly stood around and watched.  Jim helped me out by suggesting I not even hold the brakes, but instead just use the D’s as sparingly as possible, and that I keep my butt on the ground longer rather than standing up when the wind pulls me forward.  My first attempt in the higher winds was less than admirable, and he said that I might do better if I were blindfolded and just felt the wing rather than looking at it.  I was not sure if that was a commentary on my poor performance, or if he was about to go Obe-Wan-Kenobe on me by pulling a visor over my head.

Fortunately it didn’t come to that, and his advice and coaching was highly valuable and quickly put to use on my next try.  I got the wing over head by staying on my butt as long as I could, allowing my tush to be dragged rather than standing up with the pull of the wing.  Then, still kiting from my keister, a gust came that took me to my feet and then airborne.  Thanks to Jim’s coaching, I was able to remain in the reverse position rather than being twisted forwards like so often happened before with me.

Whereas I might have merely kited for a while before going over the edge of the cliff with the tide in so far, Jim then pushed me forward through the air, into the lift-band and at long last I was airborne again for my first flight of the year.  This is only significant because just one week earlier I made a hike up Tiger mountain with my wing later in the day over a snow and ice covered trail because I was so desperate for a flight.  But by the time I got up top, the still-air experienced by those who flew earlier had turned katabatic, forcing me to hike back down again over snow and ice covered trails and in the dark.  So I was definitely ready for this flight on Whidbey. 

Once airborne, staying aloft was quite easy and I made multiple trips up and down the coastline, making sure to keep myself up and away from the top of the ridge despite my discomfort with flying over the ocean.  I had learned the importance of doing so during a previous trip to Whidbey last year when I managed to get a little too high and got blown backwards well over the trees.  In that flight, I was extremely lucky to have sunk low enough with big-ears and penetrated forward enough to have narrowly escaped landing atop one of Whidbey’s very tall and pointy trees.

No, this flight was far more mundane by comparison with the exception of when one pilot whose name shall go unmentioned wanted to fly with our wingtips way too close for my comfort and kept following me to the South as I tried to move away.  Other than that, I was airborne for probably 45 minutes of pure joy up until it was time to land.  However, between the rotor on the south end of the field, many people milling around, some gliders spread out in piles, and many others over people’s head as they continued kiting,  my approach on final was more like a three-dimensional game of Tetris than a runway. 

Image © 2007, Dan A. Nelson

And once on the ground, the trick was to find a wind-sheltered spot that wasn’t covered in poop where I could fold the glider.  Fortunately, most of the poop was surrounded by circles of rocks, making the piles easier to see.  What I don’t understand is why dogs that have been trained to poop inside those tiny circles can’t learn to go directly into a plastic bag, but that’s another story that’s probably been visited more than once already.

So was it worth the almost two hour drive both ways for just 45 minutes of flying today?  Well, when you factor in the time spent with so many of my fellow pilots, landing right around the time that the sun set to the west with a barely visible sliver of the moon on the east, learning a few things from some generous coaching, and just the chance to shake the dust from my wing, yes, it was definitely worth it.

Image © 2007, Dan A. Nelson

When many people think about paragliding, they wonder what on earth would prompt somebody to jump off of a cliff into the sky.’Never mind that we don’t actually jump ’rather, we just run down-hill until taking flight.

Yet even among those who understand the process a bit better, and who might even see some joy in the act of flying, the notion of getting several thousand feet off the ground and then deliberately crippling one’s wing is just plain crazy.’It’s akin to sawing off the tree branch that you happen to be sitting on at the time.

This past weekend, however, I took a clinic where I did one terrible thing after another to my wing while flying over Lake Chelan, Washington.’This was an emergency maneuvers clinic where we deliberately simulated incidents in flight.’I had been nervous about it the entire week leading up the class.’Now, having gone through it, I’m glad that I did not fully understand what would be involved ahead of time.’I’m also glad I had the opportunity to learn additional skills that may one day save my life when flying in mountainous terrain with larger thermals.

What follows is a brief description of my own experience in the class.

Friday, June 23, 2006 : Arrival in Chelan.

All the students arrived in Chelan on Friday, in preparation for an early start the next morning.’We met our instructor, Gabe, who gave us an overview of what we would be doing over the next few days by means of "ground school."’Unfortunately, this ran rather late into the evening, and most of us did not get to bed until close to midnight, despite planning to start at 7am the next morning.

Saturday, June 24, 2006

First Flight

The launch was a rectangular piece of land about the size of a soccer field that went out into the water.’Everybody was standing in a circle around Gabe as we tinkered with our radios, putting them into plastic bags, and taping them to the outside of our helmets.’There was a chance that we might land in the water, so we were using cheap radios that were not so costly to replace if they were destroyed.’

Gabe pointed at somebody and started counting us off from one to eleven, indicating the order in which we would be towed for flight.’Then, one after another, the first three people in line said that they did not want to go first and each of them moved themselves to the end of the line.’That left me in the first position and increased my own anxiety level just a tad.

I had never done anything like what we were about to do. ‘I had never been launched by tow before.’I was only marginally clear on the sequence of events to take place once in the sky, and all eyes were on me as the first dummy who didn’t say "not it" to the tow-order.

The tow-bridal is a two-piece device that attaches to each of the carabineers on the side of the harness right where the wing gets attached.’These two pieces are joined together with the tow-line in a manner that is supposed to allow quick-release of the tow-line with minimal pressure.

In order to launch, the pilot faces the boat with the wing to the rear, prepared to do a forward-inflation.’The difficult part is that the pilot has to watch the line growing taught as the boat speeds away, and to pull the wing over head so that it is flyable before being dragged forward through the dirt.’The scary part is watching the boat speed away, knowing that in a matter of moments you are going to have to run after it as fast as you possibly can, and for goodness sakes, you had better not trip.’Even with proper timing, the pilot may still need to sprint for 10 to 20 yards at speeds greater than 14 miles an hour.’If there's a headwind, the running speed is slightly reduced.

Once airborne, I was pulled behind the boat to an altitude of roughly 2,500 feet, at which point I pulled the pin on the tow-bridal, sending the line downward on its own mini-parachute called a drogue.’At that point, I was flying on my own, no different from any of the 68 flights I had taken prior to that day.’The difference was how I planned to use the altitude between me and the ground below.

It started with asymmetric collapses: making the left or the right side of the wing collapse by pulling quickly and aggressively on the lines leading to the front outside edge of my wing and then letting go. ‘If you imagine sitting on a swing, then suddenly having one of the lines holding your butt off the ground drop on one side, you get the idea what the experience was like.’In the air, the recovery is almost instinctual ’lean your weight towards the other side.”

After that, I collapsed the center of the wing by pulling the inner two lines leading to the front of the wing in the middle.’That felt just like the moment in a swing when you are all the way back, and just before you start swinging down again.’The recovery is to dampen the swinging motion as you approach the bottom of the arc.

The next maneuver was something called a wingover.I was looking forward to this, because it was the move that got me hooked on the sport nearly two years ago when I took a tandem flight in South Africa. The wingover is supposed to be a pendulum swing, combining both left-right, and front-back motion, resulting in the body doing a huge figure-of-eight in the sky in three dimensions.’My wingovers, however, were nothing close to what they should have been, and were more like a gentle rocking motion from left-to-right on the roll axis.

The final maneuver was an asymmetric spiral in which I'm supposed to be swung way out to the side of the spiral via centrifugal force, but in an oval rather than a circle in order to keep it from getting too intense.” After that, I came in for landing, put my gear into the shade, and helped others in the class while waiting for my turn to roll around again.’

Second Flight

My next flight was just like the first, except that the huge amount of anxiety that I had built up prior to the clinic was beginning to dissipate.’This time, I was able to start focusing on what I was here to learn.’The sequence of maneuvers was identical, except that all of the moves were done more aggressively this time.’My first set of asymmetric collapses disabled maybe 20% of my wing at a time.’On this flight, I disabled closer to 40% of the wing, so the drop was much more noticeable and the recovery left me swinging quite a bit more before stabilizing in level flight again.

My wingovers were quite a bit better this time because I learned to combine the roll-axis from shifting my weight with the yaw-axis by pulling my brakes.’Apparently, the key to a good wingover is ‘throw out, then throw up.” No, were’not talking about barfing.’Instead, it means that the first lean and turn throws your body way out to the side like a spiral, but the second turn throws your body high up into the air, with your wing occasionally lower than your head on the horizon.’They key for me was to focus on my roll and yaw as separate components that needed to be coordinated, rather than just two different ways to initiate a turn.

Third Flight

Again, this flight repeated the same maneuvers, but went much more aggressively on all of the moves.’By this point it was ‘go big or go home’’meaning that if you're not going to really throw yourself completely and utterly into the maneuvers, you're going to miss the value of the exercises under instruction and over water where it's somewhat less dangerous than when nature does these awful things to you over the mountains.

The big change this time was in the asymmetric collapses.’This time, rather than just pulling the outer front lines down with one hand, I was grabbing the outer three lines, using both hands, pulling them all down quickly to my belly-button and then letting go.’This induced a collapse of close to 70% of my wing and created a massive falling sensation.’Unlike the partial collapses, where the recovery was to lean toward the remaining good side of the wing, in this case I actually had to deliberately fall towards the collapsed side and wait for a massive pendulum swing towards the good side, followed by the return towards the crippled side which was now starting to re-inflate.’This motion was incredibly scary, but fortunately gravity did most of the work and the wing did open up again quite normally.’My heart-rate, however, took a little longer to settle down than the wing.

My wingovers were also significantly improved this time, and were beginning to feel much more like the one I remembered from my first flight long ago.’I was improving my timing and coordination and was getting much more energy and height out of the maneuvers.’The key learning from the exercise so far has been the added confidence dealing with really bad collapses, recognizing the difference between partial collapse where you lean towards the good side, and full collapses where you lean into the collapse.

Fourth Flight

I'm getting better at being towed as well, which results in getting more altitude from the same distance that the boat travels across the lake.’This time, I got well above Chelan Butte, which has an elevation of 3,300 feet.’This was a good thing, since the lessons for this flight were about how to descend as quickly as possible while still maintaining directional control of the glider.

Rapid decent techniques are needed when the weather changes suddenly, or when you get caught in a thermal which starts sucking you into a cloud (‘Cloud Suck’), or when you have to piss so badly that your molars are floating.’Techniques practiced here included B-line stalls, big-ears, speed-bar, really big-ears, combining big ears with speed-bar.’I had done most of these before, but never in combination.’

B-line stalls are when you put a lateral crease in the top of your wing, which kills the lift and makes it sink like a parachute.’If you've seen ‘spoilers’go up on the back of a jet's wing on landing, the principal is similar.” Big-ears are when you pull the tips of the wing inward to reduce the size of the wing.’Speed-bar is when you change the angle of your wing to point it in a more downward direction that increases your forward speed by sacrificing altitude for speed.

The key learning in this exercise came from being able to steer the wing even when my hands were holding in my wingtips, and thus not able to pull on the brake lines.’The trick was simple enough ’hold the wingtips in, but steer with weight shift.

This was the last flight of the day, and at this point my quadriceps were really stiff, like I just climbed a mountain.’It could have been from tensing my legs in an effort to lock my tush into the back of the seat, or from running so hard to launch.’Either way, it was a long and full day, and I was ready for bed.

Sunday, June 25, 2006

Fifth Flight

This was where things started getting really hairy.’The exercise started by pulling both brakes in order to slow the glider down farther and farther, until it reached the point where it ceased flying as a wing completely.’At that point, I pulled both brake lines down as far as I possibly could by taking one wrap of the lines around my wrists and tucking my hands beneath my butt.’Even with elbows locked, it was difficult to hold my hands down for the required 5 seconds while a desperately fluttering wing surged backwards and forwards over my head as I sank rapidly through the air.’I was being jostled about in every direction and saw my horizon change from the water, to the sky, to the mountains in rapid succession.’The lines were jerking at my hands with great force as the wing tried to recover, but I had to hold it down until the surging subsided.’That also meant I had to wait until I was falling straight down, rather than swinging beneath my wing.

At that point, I let up half-way on the brakes as the wing was slightly in front of me.’It then surged still further out front and had me swinging through a huge arc underneath it.’As the wing came overhead yet again, I could let out the rest of the brakes and begin taking control of my wing by once again allowing it to become the flying device that it was meant to be.’Throughout the maneuver, fear was actually far less of an issue than total disorientation.’Thank goodness I had the calming voice of an instructor on the radio.

Sixth Flight

Up until now, all of the difficulties I had encountered had been deliberately induced in the hopes that if ever I encountered them "in the wild" I would be prepared to respond appropriately.’On this flight, however, I ran into my first minor technical difficulty.’While on tow, the line snapped when I was only about 1,500 feet above the ground.’At first, it did not seem like that big of an issue, as I had plenty of altitude to make the landing zone.

As I had been instructed, I held onto my end of the tow line by not releasing the drogue.’Unfortunately, as I got closer and closer to the ground, the resistance that the line created actually increased because I was feeling more line being pulled through the water rather than through the air.’What looked like an easy glide to the LZ was now a questionable descent which might very well have dumped me onto a bank of very large and sharp rocks.

But as if that’s not bad enough, here’s where it gets awful.’I was heading to shore on a downwind leg, loosing altitude.’I did not have the height to be able to turn around and point into the wind for landing.’As it was, I was barely able to turn right and parallel the shore line, cross-wise to the wind.’Unfortunately, that's when more of the line began to drag lower in the water and added terribly to my resistance.’I was heading South, my wing was flying South, and then just before the ground, the line yanked my body to the West while my wing kept going South, 90 degrees to my body.’I landed very hard going sideways, hitting my butt, then knee and hip, elbow, shoulder, and finally whacking the side of my head.’

The extent of my injury was a scraped elbow and my mid-back was a bit sore.’Mostly, I was just massively shaken up, confused, and overwhelmed.’I had no idea to expect that kind of behavior from the tow line, since I had never had this happen before, and because I was following the instructions I heard over my radio.

In hindsight, it would have been better to just land in the water, or to have to have jettisoned the drogue when I had more altitude but was perhaps closer to shore.’Apparently, there are sometimes problem releasing the tow line when there is no tension from the boat any longer.’Even were that really the case, then that might have called for the tow line to be cut with the hook-knife.’By having me focus on the ease of drogue retrieval, I believe that my instructor made a very bad call at my expense.’The experience for me was not unlike a dog running at full speed before suddenly and violently reaching the end of its leash, and it also resulted in probably the largest wedgie I've ever had in my life. “Fortunately, the next pilot was able to learn from my mishap because the line broke on him as well and he knew to get rid of the drogue high over land.’Further, I took the time to write the incident up to USHPA despite the lack of serious injury so that others might learn as well.

Shortly afterwards, it was scorching hot, well into the triple digits, and we decided to take a break by going back to the house.’The plan was to come back around 6p to do some more towing in the early evening, since it is light until close to 10p.’However, when we were all back at the house where we are staying, I took a short nap.’When I woke, a decision had already been made to blow off towing for the evening.’Most folks decided to go someplace for wine-tasting and then to a stake-house.” As a non-drinking vegetarian, I was not happy about it, and so I decided to stay at the house instead.’The down-time to relax was nice, but that is not what I came here to do.’I was frustrated.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Seventh Flight

I knew that I could not let my previous flight be the last one that I did at the clinic, and that I needed to get back into the sky.’I didn't develop any fears over flying, or of landing, but I was a bit timid regarding the tow-line.’Unfortunately, when the boat roars away from the shore, the pilot still needs to run at 100% full speed to get airborne while still keeping the glider upright and stable.

The tasks for this flight were to work on negative spins, more recoveries from full stalls, and if possible, to try for a maneuver called a SAT.’Negative spins are when half of the wing is flying and the other half is stalled, resulting in a helicopter-like motion in the wing.’Full stalls were getting easier to enter and exit, but they were still quite violent even when done well.’The SAT, however, is a much more complex move that I still don't fully understand, even after having done one.

When I was finally in the air, I found that I was still shaking a little bit, and had to deliberately calm myself down so that I could focus on the maneuvers that would begin after letting go of the tow-line.’What I could not have known at that point was that releasing the drogue would become an adventure all of its own.

At final altitude I pulled the release handle but nothing happened.’I pulled again and still it would not budge.’I let go of both breaks and wailed on it with both hands, but still nothing.’At this point, I was starting to feel the pull of the line dragging me down, and despite having close to 3000 feet of altitude, I went into just short of a panic based on yesterday's abrupt landing.’I had images of the exact same landing, only happening from altitude.’This was not just fear’this was genuine panic, with rapid heart-rate, rapid breathing, knocking knees, trembling hands and tears.

Over the radio, I heard the boat driver say that he couldn't see the drogue, despite the line having gone slack.’It was slack because I somehow had the sense to fly directly over top of the boat to keep it from pulling me sideways again.’With a little bit of slack available, I reached down and pulled the drogue into my lap by hoisting it hand over hand from the tow bridals so that I could look at the release mechanism.’Meanwhile, my wing was tossing about erratically from side to side in the process, but I just had to deal with it.

Once in my lap, it took but a fraction of a second for my panicked brain to conclude "This release is all f***ed up!" The release pin had been inserted incorrectly and had jammed.’No wonder I could not get it to release!’However, with the entire contraption in my lap, I was able to fix it, pull the pin, and toss the drogue over the side towards the water below.’I was out of immediate danger, but my adrenaline levels were still way off the charts.’

I took a few deep breaths, tucked the tow-bridals safely under my tush, and saw that I still had well over 2,000 feet to spare.’Over the radio, Gabe requested that I take it easy, and that when I was ready to begin the rest of the maneuvers, that I make a left 180 degree turn. ‘I had thought about simply flying to the landing zone to skip this one, but that was not what I was there to learn.’

After a few moments, I commenced my turn, and further instructions came pouring over the radio.’While I was able to physically comply with the directions, the relationship between what I did and what happened to the wing really was not sinking in.’

I slowed the wing down just a bit, and then stalled the right side while letting the left side continue to fly, resulting in a negative spin to the right like a helicopter blade.’The exercise was then repeated to the left, and then followed by some wingovers with increasingly greater G-forces.

Beyond that point, I really have no clue whatsoever what really happened.’I was told that I entered a SAT, which is when the wing circles forward while the pilot circles backwards, except that somehow thing were going terribly wrong.’I had a massive cravat on the down-hill side, which meant that the outer 6 cells of my wing-tip had folded inward and become entangled in the rest of the lines while I kept spinning faster and faster.’I tried pulling on the left break line, then the right.’Not only was I unable to clear my lines, nor could I manage to exit from the rotation.” My instructor gave some directions on what to try, but none if it was working.’All the while, I was probably falling at 700 feet per minute or more, all the while completely oblivious to my ever-decreasing altitude above the water.

At some point I heard that calm voice over my radio say "Ashley, pull your reserve."’I had done it in simulations, but never for real.’Thank god for the attention I paid during simulations!’I reached down for that yellow handle below my right butt-cheek, and ripped it out of its Velcro.’Just as my instructor repeated his instructions, I hurled that sack of bundled nylon wrapped inside its diaper into the sky without even thinking.

That's when time began to slow down and I entered that hyper-aware state.’I did not actually see the chute, but I saw the long line of black nylon webbing extend outward from under my legs.’The problem here was that it was supposed to be over my head.’I had thrown it correctly, except that I was upside down, legs skyward, as the lines began to extend.’I had a sensation of the lines slowly coming under tension, and an awareness that I was about to be thrown ass over apple-carts as the chute opened and began to take a load.’That’s exactly what happened as I was rapidly spun into the upright position under my reserve canopy with perhaps 300′ of altitude to spare before hitting the surface of the water.

Despite being under new canopy, I was still spinning and swinging quite violently as the entire system tried to stabilize when I looked down and saw the water approaching at what was still an alarming speed.’Of all of the things that could have gone through my mind at that precise moment, I was inexplicably thinking that I might loose my glasses.’Moments before smacking the water I put my hands to my face and held onto my helmet as I took one of the fastest and deepest breaths of my life.

!’!’!“ S * P * L * A * S * H” !’!’!

I have no idea how deep under water I actually plunged, but I could hear the phenomenal rush and swirl of the bubbles all around me.’My eyes were wide open now and I was able to see thousands of individual bubbles, each in incredibly intricate detail.’That was important because the bubbles let me know which way was up as I began swimming for the surface which seemed so very far away.’I swam and swam, frantically driven towards the sunlight.’Eventually, my head pierced the surface and I could breath again, but all that I could manage was a long series of hyper-ventilating gasps amidst my doggy-paddle to keep my head above water.

The flying harness we use floats, but unlike a life-jacket which is designed to keep your head out of water, this harness ends up keeping your butt out of the water instead. The soggy pilot must continuously paddle by hand, remembering not to kick, lest one of the 150 lines from wing and reserve chute wrap around her feet worse than a fish caught in a gill-net.

The tow boat was at my side in less than 10 seconds, at which point I reached up and grabbed the side of the boat while still desperately trying to recover my breath.’He asked if I was OK, but all that would come out of my mouth was "OH!’MY! GOD!!!" I kept uttering it over and over again while hanging onto the side of the bow. ‘The driver asked me to come to the rear of the boat so that he could pull me in, but I had to just hang there and breathe for a while.

When I moved to the back, he hauled me in, and I promptly plopped on the floor of the boat.’I simply could not stop laughing and calling out "Oh My God!"’We went back to shore where others helped me out of the boat and carried my soggy gear onto dry land.’I literally bent down and kissed the dirt, let out a rip-roaring scream of elation and joy to the gift of life (and endorphins), and I had to be helped away from the shore because my knees were still shaking so badly.’It took about 45 minutes to re-establish internal equilibrium, which was signaled with intense physical hunger and a craving for chocolate.’I opened the cooler and satisfied both with vengeance.

New: Video Clip of the flight!

Eighth Flight

With the temperatures still in the high 90’s, it didn’t take long for my wing to dry out to where it could be flown again.’My reserve, however, would require more care and special packing before it could be used again.’Therefore, for the next two flights, I used one of the spare harnesses that the instructor had with him because it had its own reserve still packed.’

This flight involved more spins and stalls, but no SATs.’It finished up with Asymmetric spirals.’My instructor wanted me to do some more wingovers, but I was close to spent already, so I pulled big-ears to decline the instruction and came in for landing.

Ninth Flight

For this flight, I wanted to be mostly left to my own to work on wingovers, rather than being guided through the timing.’I asked for two attempts to get it right on my own, and that after that, to coach me some more if I failed to get it right.’I was able to do sets of 4 wingovers before loosing my timing and starting over.’

At this point, however, I was more than happy with that.’I was absolutely exhausted at that point, and I don't think I could have done another flight even if I wanted to.

So why is it that I put myself through such an ordeal in the first place” Because I know that sooner or later, I am going to encounter some nasty conditions, and I want the skills to be able to survive.’The other reason is summed up in the quote below:

Everyone who lives, dies.

Yet not everyone who dies, has lived.

We take these risks not to escape life,
but to prevent life from escaping us.

I had the best flight of my flying career so far last Sunday at Tiger Mountain .  The skies were clear, winds were light, and the lift was abundant.  I had three flights that day.  The first was a launch off of North Tiger which lasted 24 minutes, top elevation maybe 300’ above launch.  There was concern that the wind was going to pick up way too much and that everything might get blown out, so I launched early. 

However, the winds stayed constant at about 5-10 MPH, and I had time to get back up to the launch again for a second flight.  This one was just fantastic.  I managed to experience a number of “firsts” for me.  In particular, I was able to find and circle multiple lift cores, rising well over 1,000’ in each one, topping out at just below 5,000’ MSL.  (Launch is 1,830’ MSL).  At one point I got sucked into a lift band close to rising at about 800 fpm.  I had never heard my variometer make that kind of noise before.  It was literally screaming at me, but they were screams of joy because it meant going up!

Also, while I have had brief partial collapses in the past, I had one of the largest I have ever experienced, complete with that terrible sinking sensation from loosing altitude.  It might have been only 20’ that I lost, but my heart and bowels told a story more like dropping a hundred feet or more.  As scary as it was, I managed to regain my composure and thought “OK.  That was not so bad.  Now go do it again so that I’m more prepared and controlled for when it happens by surprise.”  I did that a few times, hating it every time, but managing to regain control a little quicker each time, and then I left that area to fly somewhere else.

In this same flight, I also managed to do a little bit of cross-country flying, traveling about 7 miles from launch towards one of the “tiger tag” waypoints.  I was concerned going that far away from my home base for the first time — what if I couldn’t make it back?  However, I knew that the same region of travel which took me to altitude would probably be there on the return trip, so I actually did a few laps.  Around this time, I looked at my timer to see that I had been up for 50 minutes.  It had long been a goal to stay up for more than an hour, and this one clearly looked like it would do it.

I started playing with some much tighter spirals, and switching the direction of my spin from one way to the other.  I’m sure it looked rather tame from below, but for me it was quite a thrill.  I came back down towards the launch and had planned to try my first top-landing.  Unfortunately, I was way too high, but not high enough to go around a second time.  I was also more than a little nervous.  But rather than continuing to sink out and go to the landing zone, I managed to catch more lift again.  I thought about trying another top-landing but got so
caught up in the fun and lift that I took it back up to 4,000 again and just flew all over the place.

Eventually I had finished my water, I was getting thirsty, and I had to use the restroom.  So I went back towards launch for another shot at a top-landing.  This time, I was too low, and had to veer off.  That was fine, since the landing zone below was only another 8 minutes away. Yet the lift was still there and remarkably I got a third shot at my goal.  This time, there was another tandem wing in front of me
trying to land on top at the launch, so I could watch his approach and then repeat it.  I was following about 20 seconds behind him, and saw that he actually landed a bit low of the launch, hitting the side of the hill.  I was able to correct a little bit, but still landed on the same hill above him, but below the launch.  Regardless, it was a successful top landing, and I was just beaming!

I put my wing into a rosette, walked the 30 feet to the top of the hill and unclipped my gear, then raced for the restroom.  I had been airborne for 2 hours 10 minutes – clearly my longest flight ever, and far exceeding my own expectations.  Afterwards, conditions were dying down, and most other pilots had already sunk out by now.  It was getting late, I was thirsty and hungry, and it was time to go back down.  The air was calm with nearly no wind.  I set up for a running-reverse which I executed nearly flawlessly, and took a deliberate sled-ride to the landing zone, joining up with another group of pilots who had just completed an awesome set of flights as well.