by Phil Rowe
It's winter, late January. There's snow on the ground at Tehachapi, California. The wind is blowing like crazy. And the two of us were about to camp out in an unheated hangar. All of this to save money so we could fly sailplanes. The operator of the glider school allowed us to park our borrowed tent trailer in the hangar, knowing that we'd be protected from the strong winds and biting cold. We were appreciative.
My buddy, George, brought his own sweetheart of a sailplane, an L-Spatz 55 high performance bird that he'd brought back from Germany. He was looking forward to trying his craft out on the famous standing wave that hovers over the Tehachapi Mountains that time of year.The rounded lenticular clouds over the ridges teasingly pointed to the wave.
For my part, I was going along to help crew for him, as sailplane flying is not a solo sport. You need help just putting the plane together after pulling the fuselage and wings out of the trailer. And it helps to have somebody with you during launch to keep wingtips from dragging before forward motion and airflow-lift does the job. But I was also hoping to get some instruction and earn my own glider rating as an addition to my private pilot's ticket.
We had just a week to get in as much flying as we could and hoped that the weather would cooperate. Indications that first night after arrival were not auspicious. We huddled inside our tent and wrapped up in sleeping bags while playing cards and listening to a portable radio for some encouragement in the weather reports. Improvement was forecast for late the next afternoon.
The next morning we awoke to a stillness and hush that comes after an evening snowfall. The winds abated during the night, but four or five inches of the white stuff covered everything. The row of tied-down sailplanes on the flightline, three Schweizer 2-22's, two 2-32's and four or five 1-26's looked errie under their blankets of snow. George was glad we'd left his plane in the covered trailer for the night.
By mid-morning the sun was out and things looked better. In fact, it was really very beautiful with the snow-covered mountains ringing the valley. The air was cool and crisp. It was a good day to fly. The lure of the wave excited George, as we hastened to unload and assemble his L-Spatz. By one o'clock he was airborne, towed aloft behind the super cub. I then sought out the school operator to arrange for my own instruction and flying. Fortunately, winter activity was slow and there were no other novices seeking guidance. I was the only student for the week.
It took me about four rides with an instructor in the dual-seat 2-22 trainer and I was ready to solo. Another four hours of solo flying, plus a demonstration flight for my examiner, and I was signed off as glider qualified. The only critical part of the test was making the spot landing precisely at a place along the runway marked by the examiner. No sweat.
Then I checked out in the single-seat 1-26, which I flew each of the remaining three days of our camping and flying vacation at Tehachapi. It was terrific, despite nippy morning cold weather and the return of stiff breezes. The latter pleased George, because it meant return of the wave and he could stay up for hours riding back and forth along that ridge of rising air bouncing off the hills.
For this neophyte it only made landings a little more difficult to judge, for I was not yet qualified to attempt wave flying. I had to settle for finding bubbles of rising warm air (thermals) above the south-facing hillsides or over the town of Tehachapi. My flights were considerably shorter than George's.
I was hooked on the wonderful sport of motorless flight.