The Adventure of the Lost Sloper

 

Those that know me understand that I don’t question fate. It happens, like karma. As much as karma and fate are not always easy to understand, they both have a tendency to make themselves known in the strangest ways. It’s almost as if the gods are playing a joke on all of us, making us believe that we are in control.

 

So, I sat out to test fly this prototype that I decided to market sometime in the future. I have built six prior prototypes, each an improvement over previous attempts. I was particularly excited to fly on this day not only because the winds were strong promising a valid test period. But I was also excited because I honestly thought that this was last prototype before going into production.

 

I arrived at the launch site to see the windsock standing out straight as if it had an overdose of Viagra. South, southwest at 36 mph. The sloper, a 32” flying wing that weighed only 6 oz. I knew that it would take at least 2 more ounces of ballast to keep this bird in the air.

 

I opened the back of my 4Runner. In front of me were all the tools and in-field repair items I might need. Just behind these items, my radio, small camera and then, the prototype. I slapped two ounces of lead to the CG, grabbed my gear and headed to the slope.

 

I carried the prototype behind my body as I leaned into the wind. Once at the launch point, I fired up the radio. The servos chattered into place…perfect neutral. I double-checked the vertical stab to make sure it was straight and secure. I reared back and gave it a good toss…it soared.

 

No matter how many times I reminded myself that this kind of wind required that I keep the bird in front of me, I kept finding myself struggling to pull it out of the maelstrom that was the vicious rotor overhead.

 

The prototype was an amazing ship. At around 8 oz. it was handling the 35+ mph winds amazingly well.

 

“Keep it in front of you,” I kept saying to myself…some close calls…a lapse in concentration…just for a moment. A moment was all it took.

 

The prototype flew back over my head and was quickly gone.

 

I took a deep breath and proceeded to head back to look for it.

 

Normally, I’m quite good in locating lost planes. Even other people’s planes. I don’t mean to sound egotistical about this. It’s just a fact…a knack that I have always had. And it’s a good thing because I’ve had to look for a lot of lost planes…an occupational hazard of pushing the envelope.

 

So, I headed back, confident that I would find this final prototype, all the while hoping that it would still be airworthy. I passed the windsock tree, down past where my car was parked, across the street into a grove of trees where I was sure it had come to rest.

 

No plane...

 

I must have spent a good hour looking with no luck. Then...evidence. I located the vertical stab and not far from it, the masking tape that once secured the 2 ounces of ballast to the belly of the missing bird. It had to be near.

 

Another hour passed. No luck.

 

You see, I didn’t want to give up because I had a record of finding lost planes going and I was determined not to tarnish my streak. Anyway, I could just imagine that it was stuck in a bush somewhere mocking me. This will not due.

 

One more walk-through. Nothing.

 

I gave in and decided that it was a lost cause. Accepting the fact that the gods of fate had exacted it’s pound of flesh, plus two servos, a battery and receiver. The cost of doing business, I suppose.

 

I headed back to my car, about a 35 yard walk into the wind and back towards the launch point. I placed my radio and in-field gear into my car and got into the driver’s seat…but not without one last look back to the tree line where I knew it was looking back at me. I’m not sure, but I could have sworn that I heard it snicker.

 

I pulled out and slowly drove home, thinking to myself that I would have to start from scratch and hoped my building notes were legible.

 

I pulled into the driveway and exited the car. I started up the stairs towards the front door and realized that I had forgotten my radio. I turned around and started back towards the car.

 

From the stairs, I had a view of the top of the 4Runner. A view I seldom have.

 

There, on the roof of my car, stuck between the cross-members of the luggage rack that is never used was the prototype. Apparently when the sloper got blown back, it had made a bee-line for my car, making a perfect wedged landing on the roof. There it stayed throughout my searching even making it through the 10 minute ride home.

 

So, you see, sometimes fate can play strange tricks on us…only to have its cousin karma set things right.

 

All I know is that my streak still stands...the record is intact and it lives to fly another day.

 

-Paige

"John - The Stepford Pilot"

 

I have given a lot of thought to the notion of starting a blog or journal for my web site. I wasn't going to pursue a venture like this until I realized that the chances that anyone actually reading it is remote at best. Once I realized this fact, I decided to go for it.

 

This blog is supposed to about slope soaring. But I'm sure that it will go far beyond that. There are too many aspects of slope soaring that relate to life in general that it would be impossible not to comment on them. For example...I think a person's style of flying is a reflection of their personality...and sometimes, their character.

 

This is definitely true of people who fly "power" and those of us that choose to fly slope. I have found over the years that power people tend to be somewhat more aggressive in their approach to flying and life in general. Does this mean that there are no "introverted" power people? Of course not. However, I tend to think of them as power people who simply haven't yet discovered the joys of slope soaring. I suppose one can ask if there are "aggressive" slopers...Oh, yes there are. They tend to be the one's DSing on the backside...or what I call the "dark side." But, that's another subject for another day.

 

I had a friend once who flew slope. For a couple of years we flew together off the cliffs in Santa Barbara. He was great guy...a transplant from the Big Apple. You could sort of see the whole New York thing in his mannerisms and the way her carried himself. And he would pronounce the word "sure" in a way that sounded a lot like "sho-er." Until I met John, I never knew that the word "sure" was actually two syllables.

 

But, back to the flying and how it reflects a person's character and personality...

John was a great friend and a decent pilot. Ever run into those people that really enjoy building? I mean, that really get into it?. John was one of these types. His planes were always built with great precision...right on spec. Where he might have lacked as a great pilot, he more than made up for in his building skills. His planes never seemed to have a scratch or ding on them. And if they did, you bet that the next time you saw the plane, the scratch would be gone. And I'm not just talking about your typical repair. No sir, not John. I would defy anyone to point out where the ding or scratch was when you saw him the next weekend. When it came to the appearance of his planes, John had no match.

 

I had a chance to visit John at his apartment one day. We sat around and talked about flying over a couple of beers. I began to look around and I noticed something very odd. This was one of the neatest most well-kept apartments that I had ever seen. This was particularly puzzling because John was a bachelor. I would have expected there to be dirty clothes everywhere...some left over food on the floor. You know...your typical trashed out single man's pad. But no...everything was perfectly in place. In fact, the more I thought about it, I saw this characteristic in just about everything that had anything to do with John. His clothes were always pressed and John never seemed to have a hair out of place.

 

And therein lies the relationship between a person's flying style and their lifestyle in general. It was either that, or John seemed straight out of a "Stepford" movie.

 

John and I went our separate ways. I think he moved back to NY. The West Coast lifestyle just didn't seem to fit John. He was a great guy...a good pilot...an outstanding builder...and definitely a New Yorker.

 

-PLA

"When Planes Go Out To Sea"

 

So, I got to thinking more about my days flying with John at Ellwood those many years ago. Remember John? He was the anal retentive slope pilot who while never took risks in the flying department, built these "perfect" kit planes that were always trimmed to perfection.

 

Anyway, John and I met early at Ellwood. This was back in the day before we dedicated ourselves to strictly building slope planes. All we had with us were a couple of 72" floaters designed more for thermals than they were for slope soaring. We were still in that phase where the magic of staying aloft as long as your batteries lasted was somehow still a miracle to us. We had been used to the 'ol hi-start, three minute flights and back to the hi-start again looking for those elusive thermals.

 

I believe that John brought out a perfectly built Oly 650. I remember it was finished in green transparent Monokote with white trim...not a wrinkle to be had on the entire plane. I brought out my Segitta 600...somewhat heavier and not nearly as pristine as John's offering.

 

The wind was a gentle 12-15 mph coming directly on shore and neither one of us could wait to get or ships in the air. John, being somewhat more anxious to get in the air than I, picked up his plane, turned his radio on and threw that beautiful green and white Oly straight off the cliff.

 

Meanwhile I was turning my radio and plane on getting ready to follow him out when I heard him say in a loud voice, "DANG IT!" John could never bring himself to actual swearing...that was the best he could do. However, the reason for his explicative warranted a much more elevated level of foul language than what he blurted out. You see, John in his haste to experience that intangible joy that comes from slope soaring had thrown his pristine Oly 650 off the cliff without turning it on.

 

Now, here's the amazing part. Remember my first blog entry extolling John's amazing building skills? Well, this would be evidence beyond a shadow of a doubt that John built perfect planes.

 

I looked up just in time to see his plane heading straight out over the beach. I ran to John's side and he continued to express a stream of self-loathing comments explaining that he had forgotten to turn his plane on. As his plane headed out over the beach, we were both convinced that it would start a slow turn one way or another. I mean, no one has ever trimmed a plane so perfectly that it wouldn't start turning circles at some point.

 

We waited and waited and waited...the plane wasn't turning. To our amazement, the Oly continued heading out over the Pacific ocean on a path straighter than you could draw with a ruler. "It ain't turning," I told John while he fiddled with the control stick in some futile effort to send a signal that would never arrive. "I got to go after it," John mumbled under his breath. And with that, he started running down towards "the walk of shame" to somehow retrieve his plane.

 

Meanwhile, the Oly continued its journey out over the ocean and eventually out of the lift zone...it gently descended to a perfect water landing. It bobbed up and down about where the swells were forming floating amazingly high on the surface of the water.

 

By this time John had made it to the water's edge, discarding his clothes as he peaked back up the cliff towards me. I instinctively pointed to the bobbing green Monokote to give him a reading on where his precious plane was. He immediately dove into the waves and headed out, occasionally looking back at me for course corrections.

 

You would have been proud to see this young man snatch his plane out of the water, holding it high as if he were holding a prized trophy as he swam back to shore.

 

I didn't fly that day. I was too engrossed in John's adventure to think about flying. We simply walked back to our cars and agreed to meet the next weekend. I remember thinking to myself on the way home about how amazing it was that the plane never turned in the entire flight and how impossible that sounded. It flew as if it were on tracks and without any human input. But then again...there was plenty of input when you think about it. The input was in the building of this plane and the man who built it. Without John and his search for the perfect build, who knows what would have happened.

 

John replaced the gear and eventually brought the plane back out. However, while it still looked good, it never flew quite the same again and was retired almost immediately. But for that one brief moment, on a near perfect day, I saw the best built Oly 650 I have ever seen.

 

-Paige

My Explanation for Imperfect Hand-built Kits

(At the risk of sounding overly dramatic or egotistical.)

Back in my cycling days, I had always dreamed of owning a Colnago frame.  At the time they were considered the top of the line racing frame.  I couldn't afford a new Colnago, but after much searching over a number of years, I found a used one that was around five years old.  I was very proud of this frame and once I equipped it with the finest components, I was proud to show it to my racing friends, some of which already owned newer Conalgos.  To my surprise, my friends were quite envious of my find.  You see, unbeknownst to me, the frame I had purchased was an "original" Colnago straight from Colnago's shop in Italy.  By inspecting the frame, my cycling friends identified it as an original probably built by Enersto Colnago himself.  When I purchased the frame, I was somewhat disappointed that under the paint were slight file markings left by whomever had constructed the frame.  Now, instead of being disappointed, I was proud of these file marks, knowing that they were from the hand of the artist himself.

So, you see, if you run across a smudge or imperfection here or there in a hand-built FSD kit...

-Paige

Take Your Foam Plane and Sit in the Back of the Bus

5 June, 2007

I recall the first time I had ever seen any kind of foam slope plane. I’m pretty sure that it was a Zagi. It was a typical Saturday at Ellwood Shores. The wind was decent and there were probably 4 or 5 slope pilots out that day. I had brought along my typical array of slope machines including a Talon and Turbo wingeron. I was the kind of pilot who typically brought out three planes. If I didn’t go home with at least two that were broken, I wasn’t pressing the envelope.

The pilot with the Zagi was pretty young; I’d say high school age. The rest of us always welcomed new pilots, especially if they brought out something we hadn’t seen before. We were all pretty impressed with this flying wing. What we were most impressed with was the fact that the pilot could crash this thing hard into the ground with hardly any damage. Most importantly, more times than not, you could immediately throw the Zagi off the cliff again without any repair work. Pretty cool. We all got a chance at the stick with this new-fangled plane and all of us agreed that it was a pretty stable and a lot of fun to fly. Okay, so it didn’t roll worth beans and it didn’t look like much in the air. But hey, it was a fun. And after all, that IS what it’s all about.

As the weeks passed, more and more of these foam wings were showing up at the slopes. It was always great to have more pilots out. It’s a time to share ideas and exchange building methods. But there was something different with these new “flyers of foam.” They were generally younger and with a lot less experience behind the stick. In addition, because they were all basically novices, they didn’t quite understand some of the unwritten rules of the slope. You know, things like checking to see what frequencies were in use or warning someone when they are about to be hit with a wayward plane. But no biggie…we were happy to gently teach these newbies the ropes.

Unfortunately, perhaps due to the average age of these pilots, not much of what we were trying to impress upon them was making any real difference. They seemed to have a different attitude. This new breed tended to be more aggressive and appeared to lack any appreciation for the more delicate and higher performance planes that they were sharing the skies with. Often there would be mid-air collisions with the brunt of the damage going to the non-foam planes. The foam pilots seemed to take great joy in these encounters. Why not? They got to see a mid-air crash and still could pick up their plane and continue flying. They didn’t seem to have much appreciation for the amount of effort it took to build our ships as they lay on the beach in pieces. In fact, it was not uncommon to hear one of these pilots let out a “YAHOO” when contact was made…as your plane was heading toward the beach. While the foam pilot was able to pick up his plane and immediately toss it off the cliff again. You, with your non-foam plane, would be forced to take the walk of shame to find that your beautiful sloper was reduced to kit form.

It was clear what was going on here. As well intentioned as these new “foam pilots” were, they simply didn’t have the experience and appreciation for the sport. The rest of us were pretty concerned about the whole situation. I began to realize what it must have been like for that skilled skier the day he saw his first snowboard on the slopes.

Many of us were too nice to really say anything in any serious way. I think we knew intellectually that it probably wouldn’t have done much good. They were “rebels with a cause.” Their cause was to cut and thrash there way into the hobby. It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that the result of this approach was the exciting world of “Combat.” From our perspective, it just seemed counter-intuitive.

Many of us were torn between our desire to include others and grow our sport and our growing distain for this new breed of flyer. Regardless, one thing was clear…there was no stopping this new wave of foam and its influence on the industry.

I can recall how much I disliked these new pilots and their indestructible planes. I wasn’t alone. Many of us “old school” pilots cringe whenever we would see someone show up with a foam wing. Some even packed up and went home.

I don’t think it occurred to many of us that we were being somewhat elitist towards this new wave. We would say things like…”That’s not a real pilot.” “He flies a foam wing, it’s not a real plane.” Sometimes I wish I could go back and make amends with some of these young pilots for shunning them and treating them as less than worthy.

When I look back on those days, I realized how silly some of us were. We were putting ourselves on a pedestal as the “real” pilots on the slope and that no self-respecting sloper would fly one of those rubbery wing things. So, it is somewhat ironic that I would, years later, be designing and kitting my own planes made mostly of…the dreaded foam.

Since producing my own planes for public consumption, I have had to deal with a pretty good cross-section of people in the industry…pilots, builders, vendors, etc. etc. In my encounters, I have not only learned a great deal but I’ve rediscovered the old axiom that there are good and bad in every group. I have had assistance from some of the top manufacturers of slope planes in the business. Without their help, I would have given this up a long time ago. But, I have also discovered that some of the old prejudices. The same sort of prejudices that I put upon the “new breed” foamie pilots so many years ago.

I can now better understand how those Zagi pilots felt when they would learn either directly or indirectly that they were looked down upon as “second class pilots” by the rest of us. This feeling is never clearer than when a “crunchie” or “composite” pilot appears to look down their nose at anyone that flies a foam plane (or anything other than the kind of plane that they’re flying).

Of course, not all composite pilots have this view of other “non-composite” pilots. As I have stated previously, there are good and bad in every group.

The “good” of this group understand what I had finally learned for myself so many years ago: flying is flying. It is what it is. Regardless of our choice of planes, the magic of flight stands on its own and is shared by all types.

One of the great benefits of this hobby are the friends we make on any given slope. The stories we tell each other of lost planes and unbelievable winds. The times we took the walk of shame to retrieve a plane. The hours we would spend waiting for the winds to come up, even though we knew they wouldn’t…there was always hope.

Those stories are shared by every pilot. It matters not what they fly, but only that…they fly.

-Paige

Slope Musings

I recall years ago when I was working at UCSB, I would look out my office window periodically throughout the day to see if the winds were blowing.  There was a row of tall eucalyptus trees along the campus lagoon that I could easily see from my office.  I could always tell what the wind was doing just by watching the tops of these trees.  At times, when the wind was really blowing, it would be hard to concentrate on my work knowing that my fully charged plane was waiting for me in the back seat of my car.  I could almost hear it calling to me…”Paige, come out and play.”  “Come on, you can get away.” 

Of course, my plane wasn’t really calling out to me, but it felt like it at times.

As the boss at my work, I could break away at any time and be gone for a couple of hours.  Lord knows I had accumulated enough overtime.  The University owed me more than they would ever be willing to pay.  You see, my passion for slope soaring was comparable to my passion for my work.  Both identified me.  Both fought for my attention.

Of course, when I was on the slope there was nothing calling me back to work.  I mean, I don’t recall ever hearing my computer call to me…”Paige, come back to work.”  “Come on, you can finish that report ahead of schedule.”  I never looked back towards the University while slope soaring looking for indicators that would draw me back to my desk.  It just never happened.

On those times when I would break away during a work day and head out to Ellwood Shores, I could pretty much count on being the only one out there.  Because of this and the number of times I actually did break away from work, I learned to enjoy flying alone.  Now that I think about it, I suppose I’ve always enjoyed flying by myself. 

This is not to say that I don’t like flying with other people.  Quite the contrary, there is no denying the great comradeship that results from flying on those crowded weekends.  It’s just that there is a certain awareness, perhaps even a certain calming and honest solitude that is only achievable when it is just you and the wind.

You see, when you fly alone, there is no one to show off to.  No one to brag to about some impossible maneuver you achieved only in your imagination.  It’s honest flying. 

There would be times that I would wear headphones while flying alone. 

I must confess, there were times I wore the same headphones when flying with others.  It wasn’t just a matter of listening to great music.   It was more an attempt to isolate myself into my own world as if I were flying alone. 

The music was particularly useful during those days when there would be 10 or 12 pilots up at one time.  I would move down the cliff 50 yards or so, turn on my Walkman and ride the lift for hours.

I’m sure that there were some that thought I was being anti-social…going off by myself like that.  There were just times when getting off by myself was absolutely necessary if I were to get the recuperative benefits of slope soaring.

I never thought that sloping was true recreation.  At least not in the traditional sense.  It wasn’t until I began to think about that word “recreation” itself that I began to realize that it is exactly what I was doing.  Sloping allowed me to “re-create” myself.

Perhaps that is what I was seeing when I looked to the top of those eucalyptus trees outside my office.  It was a call to re-create that part of my identity…to validate my relationship to the world around me and to nature in particular.  It was that rare opportunity to dance with something greater than myself.

-Paige

"If I have to explain it to you..."

 

I think that most people are fascinated by flight. At one time or another, we have all stopped to watch a plane as it made its final approach and subsequent landing. And who hasn't paused to watch an eagle aloft a ridge line, riding on rising air?

 

Having said that, I think that while most are fascinated by flight, there are some of us that are experiencing something deeper. It's almost like sitting next to a camp fire at night.  For whatever reason, it is hard not to find yourself gazing into the flames as they leap from crackling logs. There is an attraction there. One that is not easily explained or understood. For some of us, no matter how many times we see something in flight, it feels like we're seeing it for the first time.

 

I think that the person that coined the term the "miracle of flight" was one of these people. To the author and to many of us, flight is somewhat a "miracle." At the least, it seems like magic. For me, flight is the only phenomenon that seems like it could not have existed. That is to say, the idea of floating through the air seems so far beyond any other phenomenon that it catches the imagination every time it is seen or experienced. As a result, it also seems like it could have never existed...like it was too good to be true. But it is.

 

For some of us, flight draws something inexplicable from our soul. Perhaps it is a longing to be free. Free from fences and borders. And free from the trappings of our everyday lives. It is that rare opportunity to escape to a place that shouldn't exist at all, but does.

 

I've often heard people say, "If I have to explain it to you, then you wouldn't understand." Out of all that this statement could apply to, I can think of no other as great as the recurring cathartic feelings that arise from the phenomenon of flight.

 

I fly slope.

 

-Paige

I’ve never been able to fully explain this fascination with soaring.  It is not merely a fascination with flight.  Because there are many things that fly that do not hold the same attraction as does “soaring.”  For me, true flight is in the silent soaring of things...the magic of invisible lift under that which takes flight. 

I’ve been asked many times why I am not attracted to flight that is “assisted” with some sort of power source.  My lack of appreciation for powered flight is well known and without compromise.  It has often been misunderstood as a “distain” or even hatred towards anything powered.  This is not true.  I have no hatred towards model airplanes that have that funny spinning thing on the nose.  I merely do not see it as “true flight.” 

For what is the true essence of flight if it is not independent of “assistance” from a source that gives it forward motion?  It is not the same thing.  Not by a long shot.  It is almost as if powered flight is like a plane with a crutch.  It is flight with human intervention, that it is somehow made better by the application of a propellor or jet engine. 

The question comes down to what a powered plane is without its power.  In the case of a jet, it is merely rock in the sky incapable of flight.

I think about the things in nature around me.  I think about those things in nature that fly...that have the natural ability to fly.  Of course, one might think of birds or insects.  But if you think about it, these examples are of “powered flight.”  Indeed both can soar, but they are not initially capable of flight without their natural power source.  What is there in nature that does not require power but can still fly...can still soar? 

Nature is wondrous and amazing phenomenon of existence.  It is all things at all times and always in the present.  Over millions of years of evolution, all creatures big an small have found their paths altered by the necessity of survival, the survival of the species.  A seed falls from a tree to the ground below.  Because the tree itself shades the ground from a life-giving sun, most of the seeds die at the foot of the very tree that gave it birth.  How, faced with unconquerable gravity, could the seed find the conditions necessary to grow.  That is, how could the seed reach the sun?  It had to find a way to conquer gravity, if only for a moment.  And it did.  It did through the miracle of flight, of soaring.  The seed, almost unbelievably created a wing for itself.  This wing allowed it to catch the wind and in a spinning motion, fly to the warm sun. 

So, when I think of flight, I am drawn to what it is to soar, unassisted.  To ride the wind to a safe spot to be renewed.  There is no human intervention to manipulate that which is natural.  A sailplane, while created with human intervention comes closest to this phenomenon, this evolution.  And while we could never touch the essence of that seed which took flight, we can seek to imitate its journey...a journey that is more closely associated with millions of years of evolution. 

-Paige

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