KILO BRAVO
Kilo Bravo is a great glider for
landouts. This ASW-20 will bring you anywhere you ask it to go and if
you misjudge what is needed to get back home, KB will gracefully obey
the pilot commands and put herself down in any decent field. She
really is a fine sailplane and season over season, Rémy and I get
out of our way to make sure she gets lots of practice at landing out
in new foreign fields.
This year is not different from any
other except, perhaps, that Rémy did decide to perform the initial
Aux Vaches of the season. I usually am the one who warms up
Kilo Bravo to landouts but this time my partner chose to do one in
June while I was away in St-Auban. Rémy has to plan better his
outlandings; A cross-country pilot should know that you cannot expect
to get any edible crop from a retrieve done in June. I heard getting
the glider out of the field that day was a muddy
affair. Maybe my partner expected to find another good stash of
chanterelles mushrooms in such a wet place? He knows all of the best
spots around the aerodrome and now he is venturing further away in
his quest for the best omelette at GGC.
When I came back from my trip in
Provence, Rémy and I met for our regular bi-weekly meeting. This is
when, after a sweaty session of Bikram yoga, in front of a beer and
Chinese food we spend half of our time talking about gliding, KB
maintenance and flying in general. Rémy debriefed me on his wet
landing and updated me on what had happened at GGC while I was away.
- “Kilo Bravo
is all cleaned up and ready to go”
-“More gliders
at GGC have FLARM installed now. Maybe we should think about getting
one”
-“The new
floor in the club house looks great”
-“I have not
yet found what is the issue with the Borgelt vario”
-“Don’t
forget to get the dolly from Ulo when your back at the club, he had
some wheel issues with his 1-35”
-“We have to
redo the W&B soon”
-“KB main
wheel brake is adjusted properly now”
- etc...
A Triangle
So when I found myself on the low side
of the altimeter over the Gatineau hills last Saturday, I knew I
could count on our faithful ASW-20 to perform a good landout. Why was
I getting so close to the lakes and mountains around
Notre-Dame-du-Laus? I am not sure exactly why but I had not been
bold. In fact I was on this northerly 219 km triangle because I had
scaled down my ambitions of completing my 300 km goal triangle during
the flyweek.
We all had been hoping for the weather
to improve throughout the past week. And improved, it had. Tuesday
had been a washout but Wednesday saw some flying. By Thursday, I was
back at declaring triangle in the Colibri. On Friday, I was even able
to complete the triangle I had declared that morning. I was all set
to go for the Big Three Hundred on the next day. And the
forecast looked so good... Biblical was the word that came out
of Roger’s mouth as he stared at the XC-Skies screens on Friday
night. Well, Alleluia!
But as we all know, Dr Jack is a jerk.
The next morning, the heat maps were not that epic anymore. At 14:02
Zulu, the forecast did not improve much so I decided to save the 300
km attempt for another day. But it was still going to be a nice day
and even though it would likely stay blue in the South, the North was
going to be very good. Most of the pilots at Pendleton that morning
kept their hopes up. We DI’ed and pull the aircrafts to the end of
Two-Six and then we waited for the Cu’s to pop up. I powered
up the Kobo and declared a flight that seemed achievable: Pendleton –
Huberdeau - Notre-Dame-du-Laus – Pendleton. It was now almost one
o’clock, time to go. I launched at 12:55 and was on my way heading
North-East.
When I fly cross country, I hear voices
in my head. The voices of instructors and fellow pilots giving
advices on what to do or what not to do. When crossing the river to
the North, the voices always agree: “Go high and stay high”.
I sure was going to take their advices and decided to reach for cloud
base early in the flight and stay snugly in the shade of the cumulus
for the rest of the day. It took some efforts to get started but
after a while the thermals began to work for me. With a good
averager and a good ceiling, I progressed on my route. First
Huberdeau, then Notre-Dame-du-Laus.
On the second leg, north of Lac Simon,
I renewed my commitment to stay high in the sky.At this latitude, the
flight computer displays some alternate landout options but those
airfields seem so far on the horizon that you really hope you will
not have to go there. I did conservative flying using only the very
top of the soaring lift band. Cloud base, soar a little, climb back
to cloud base, more gliding, rinse and repeat. It all worked
fine for me and this part of my task went without a hitch.
It was now 15:15 and I was the King of
the Hills! Eleven kilometre from the last turn point of my task I
would just need one more climb to cloud base, and then the victorious
final glide to Pendleton. Simple plan. A short bio brake, a push
forward to notch the turn point, and then head back home. I was
getting so good at this X-country “schtick” that I had
already spotted the cloud, on course of course, that would be my last
refuelling station after Notre-Dame-du-Laus. But things did not work
my way.
A Landout
The chosen cloud was fine and giving
some lift but I lost patience at this meagre two knots. I had seen my
averager buzz most of the afternoon at 500 fpm and I wanted to do
good time on this last lap. Anyway, the cumulus were all lining up on
the track toward home so I figured I’d get my lift at the next big
black cloud.
There is nothing as disheartening then
the sound of a sad variometer. The annoying, sagging, low tone has
always made me want to cry. And after I left my last wimpy
thermal near Notre-Dame-du-Laus, this is the only sound I heard! I
did try all of the tricks in my playbook, nothing worked. I did aim
straight for the dark bulge under the next cloud, I did turn 90
degrees, I did sniff around all corners of its huge mass, I even
stretched to the neighbouring cumulus, nothing! Sink, sink and more
sink. At this rate, it was not too long before I was way below my
margin to fly over the hills. And indeed all of this “Sylva
Borealis” was getting to close for comfort. I turned back
toward where I was coming from back to Notre-Dame-du-Laus and the
rivière du Lièvre valley.
Over Pendleton we are lucky to be
surrounded by nice farmland fields; lots of them. Unfortunately the
region I was in is better known for its lakes and hills. It is
cottages country not pasture land. I could spot few fields cloistered
by rivers and forest but the choice was limited. I aimed for a couple
of fields that looked acceptable from the distance. My choice was a
big brown field west of the village and a small green one by the
highway just south of town. When it comes to landing, big and brown
is usually better. I drifted toward this one as my first option while
keeping tiny green in sight in case I needed a plan B. The
glide slope was getting all the more shallower, and I hardly dared
looking at my altimeter at this point. The depressing sound of the
vario was still humming in the cockpit and the lakes were getting
closer. On a hill, just beside the larger field, I noticed a tall
antenna with its tip already above the horizon line! It really was
time to think of the landout now.
- “Big brown
field, small green field, big brown field, small green field, wait a
minute...”
- “What is
this shinny grey stuff on the side; can this be rocks?”
- “And what
kind of funky surface is that? Nope!”
- “Time to
switch to plan B. It looks small but it looks right”
- “OK, SSSLOW
now”
- “Slope:
Parallel to the road and river”
- “Surface:
Nice uniform green”
- “Stocks:
Nothing here”
- “Length:
Well I see 7 hydro poles. That should be long enough”
- “Obstacles:
I see the poles and the wires. There are trees at both ends and a
kind of island of bush to the side of the field but I will be able to
clear all of these”
- “Wind:
it has been light all day and seem even milder on the lake by the
road”
- “All right
then; it is time to commit”
- “Alpha Tango
this is Kilo Bravo. I am about to land out. Turning off the radio now
and will report once on the ground”
We are animal of habits. It was
therefore with a left hand circuit
that I was about to commit to Tiny Green. It was the right
choice providing a good view of the poles, wires and other obstacles
I had to clear. The downwind leg was just over Lac des Pins and the
Rivière du Lièvre. A quick glance at the altimeter showed 1800.
With this reading in my mind, I got tempted to try to fly around and
try one more time to find the mythical low save. This trick
has sometimes worked for me in the past around Pendleton. But my
landout training stopped me on this track. I was over a lake, below
the hill tops in an unfamiliar environment; I was committed to this
landing and I was not going to mess up my circuit. I shut up the
Borgelt and kept on flying my circuit.
It was a perfect circuit followed by a
perfect approach in a perfect field. The touch down and roll out were
smooth and gentle. If only my friends at Pendleton could have seen
this landing, my personal best. I took a deep breath, looked around
and enjoyed the moment of peace after such a flurry of thoughts,
decisions and actions. All was now quiet in the cockpit of my 20. But
something was odd with the altimeter? It registered 700 Feet! I had
just landed without taking into account the field elevation in my
circuit planning. Flying over the hills all afternoon, I had lost 500
feet as the ground kept on creeping up on me. I did not have height
to spare when I read 1800 feet on the altimeter. The circuit that
looked right when I was at the entry point over the river looked this
way because it was just about right. Lesson learned. From now on I
will add Elevation to my landout checklist (SSSLOWE).
A Retrieve
After all this excitement, I knew I
would have plenty of time to cool off under the wing of my glider. I
knew the last leg of my triangle to Pendleton was more than 70 km.
This meant that via road and ferry it would take a long time for my
crew to show up. And I was wondering if my good karma would be enough
to draw volunteers for such an expedition north of the river. I
called the club house standing in my field just beside the glider. I
may have been in cottage country but my cell was still reading 3 bars
strong. I gave all the details about my position and requested that
the crew called or texted me on their way from Pendleton.
I left the field via the main exit and
noticed the gate was padlocked with a chain. I walked across the road
straight to a fruit stand that was part of the greenhouses I had
overflown on my base leg. Michèle, who was working the cash, was
very helpful in trying to find where I could find the owner of the
field. She made few phone calls and even offered the keys to her Jeep
for me to go to the house next door. “The family owns this field
but on a nice day such as this, they may well be boating on the
river”. The house was indeed empty but when I returned, Mr.
Bergeron who had stop at the stall for corn, knew where to find
members of the Thauvette family. He was kind enough to drive
me to André’s house which happened to be just next door to his
place. André welcomed me with a wide grin and the standard: “Did
you ran out of gas?” No André. Out of luck, out of wit, out of
lift, out of skills, but not out of gas. André did drive me back and
unlocked the field.
On the ride out of the village, I
noticed the tall antenna which I had spotted earlier that day. “What
is the field behind this antenna” I inquired? “This is not
a field my friend, this is le Lac à la Vase”. This big brown
patch I was aiming for is in fact an old lake that has been ensnared
over time with mud and sand. You can walk briskly on its surface but
if you stop moving, you slowly sink to the bottom. People have lost
horses and cows in there. Had I stick to my original field selection,
Kilo Bravo may well have ended up in quick sand!
I had my quota of emotions for the day.
I was going to grab my book, sit by the road and wait for my crew to
arrive. By this time, Tim and Claude had texted me to let me know
they were on their way. The ETA from the car GPS suggested 18:20.
With an hour and a half to kill, I had a chance to chill out and move
few chapters forward in my novel. I laid back in the shade of poplars
and enjoyed this peaceful summer afternoon. I could hear people
having fun with their boats on the water. I watched an hydroplane
taking off from the lake and spotted a Robinson helicopter en route
for the cottage. The sun was slowly gliding down in the West and the
colours began to slide to amber. Time passed. At 18:45 I began to
worry again because my crew was 30 minutes late. I tried reaching
Claude via text but I did not get any reply. I had been warned that
the signal on the highway between Notre-Dame-de-la-Salette and
Val-des-Bois was marginal.
While I was monitoring anxiously each
car coming from the South on the 309, Mr and Mrs. Thauvette and their
son pulled over the road next to me. Rémi Thauvette was André’s
brother and he was here to have a look at this silly pilot who had
run out of gas. We drove together to the glider and I offered a
little overview of the ASW-20. I explained what had happen, how nice
their field was and how I would be out of there in 15 minutes once my
crew showed up with the trailer. “Do you mean these long white
trailer with a fin on top?” asked Sébastien. Huh ?!? The whole
family had crossed such a trailer a while ago few kilometres south on
the 309! This meant that my crew should definitively be here by now.
Were they lost? Could they have driven by and I missed them because I
was so deep in my reading?
I was just beginning to figure out how
I would run after my renegade crew when, at last, the Cobra trailer
appeared at the bend on the road. What had happened is that Tim and
Claude had followed the GPS directions which was aiming for the
Lat-Long coordinates I had transmitted over the phone. Were those
coordinates accurate in the first place or did I read them
incorrectly? Were they recorded properly at the other end of the
phone line or was it just that the GPS device was too dumb to find
the right way to the field? We will never know for sure. My crew had
ventured on a logging road and had to turn around after getting
nowhere. It did not matter much at this point. We would derig KB on
the double, tuck her in the trailer and head back home.
I was all prepared for the retrieve.
Tapes removed, L’Hottelier disconnected, equipment out of the
cockpit. I was going to time myself and in 15 minutes flat, we would
be in the Sonata, on the 309 heading south. I had just bragged to the
Thauvette’s how easy all of this disassembly was going to be. “We
just pull those two pins and then we’re done”. Back up the
trailer, lift up the Cobra’s shell, pull down the ramp, wing
dollies back, Fuselage dolly...?!?
-“Don’t
forget to get the dolly from Ulo when your back at the club, he had
some wheel issues with his 1-35”
Epilogue
It all turned out fine at the end. Kilo
Bravo slept safely in Mr. Thauvette’s barn. The crew and I had
pizza and beer in the village. We did drive back in the glow of the
full moon and by the time we reached Buckingham we decided to head
for Gatineau instead of GGC. Shower and good warm beds were awaiting
pilot and crew. The next morning I fetched the dolly at the club and
Dan Daly volunteered to give me a hand for the second retrieve which
this time was smooth and easy. A 500 km retrieve in total, lots of
ups and some downs, one happy landing and a good weekend adventure.
Special thanks to Tim Tuck, Claude
Poulin and Dan Daly for volunteering as a crew on a very long
retrieve. Thanks also to the whole GGC family for making such
adventures possible. Happy landings to all.
