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Ça plane pour moi
Written by Hotel Tango
I'd like to share some experiences I enjoyed while at the
1998 combined Provincials at AVV Champlain near St. Dominique, P.Q. To
quote the club motto, "Ca plane pour moi." I wish I knew how to make
that into the past tense. The whole weekend was well organized, I had
lots of fun, was made to feel very welcome, made some new friends, and
benefited from flying in unfamiliar area. As an example of the
hospitality, I got invitations to join trips to Lake Placid and
Pennsylvania. That was before they saw me fly. I'm a low time glider
pilot whose only previous contest experience was this summer's "Dust
Bowl" at SOSA, my home club, where I came last, and was beaten by a
pregnant woman flying a 126. I originally volunteered to visit Champlain
to crew for her husband, so I could gain more contest experience by
osmosis. She wouldn't let him go, and since that freed up the club
Single Astir, I could go as a contestant. And, since SHE wasn't going,
my objective of not being last was a very real possibility. I got a
late start on Friday, and had the interesting experience of driving a
long trailer through Montreal during rush hour on a holiday weekend. Not
being familiar with the route led to many last minute lane changes with
this rig, cutting off lots of cars in the process, and the Ontario
plates probably set federalism back considerably.
I arrived at the club after dark, but fortunately, my crew were
already there, and helped me erect my tent. Now, the tent figured
greatly in my experiences. It was almost too windy for gliders to fly
all weekend, which made it perfect for tents to fly. This particular
tent was dome shaped, with a fly on top. The loyal crew helped
reposition the tent with the door out of wind after it filled up with
air and blew around the first time. What happened then was that the wind
strained the rigging and blew the fly so it was sort of half off the lee
side of the tent. My crew suggested that I should tie the fly down with
extra pegs, but I seemed to have less pegs than I thought I had started
with. The crew must have come prepared, because they were busy
double-pegging their own tent with some extra pegs that they seemed to
have handy. Now, if you can picture the dome tent, shaped like an
airfoil, and the wind blowing fiercely and the fly stretched out and
hanging over the trailing edge, the whole thing looked and behaved like
a wing with a Fowler flap.
Day One of the contest started out with a howling crosswind,
which enhanced the presence of the nearby field spread with fresh
manure. My crew suggested that IF I returned to land, I could tell wind
direction and speed by how far my tent had gone. I did come back, having
made only one turnpoint, and they suggested my tent might be capable of
going farther than me. A bunch of people had trouble with the day, and,
through the miracles of handicapping, neither the tent nor I came last.
You may have seen the discussion on Champlain's website about their
"extended" runway of alternate landing sites. One of the gliders tried
them all out during the impromptu contest for the most relights. They
were awarded the Spot Landing prize for the show they put on for the
folks in the camper parking area. The evening was a delightful
gathering, involving a meal you had to cook yourself. (They didn't tell
you that when you bought the ticket.) I'm not sure if this was a tactic
by Champlain to save labour or to encourage camaraderie, but it sure
illustrated the theory of what too many cooks can do. Picture seven
people (with drinks) standing around each of several thoughtfully
supplied barbecues, by flashlight, discussing when to turn the steaks
(which were excellent), or whether or not to add the house sauce (it was
delicious). For the evening's entertainment our group was given the
trick barbecue fourchette with the handle that would fall off at a
moment critique. Warm hospitality and great conversation were served for
desert.
Day Two was scrubbed, but local flying continued, so I was
treated to a ride in their upgunned Cessna 150 tow planes. I fly
towplanes myself, and I'm impressed by the way these pilots can turn
around so quickly through aggressive let-downs, and downwind landings.
I'll remember them the next time I fire up our 260 HP Pawnee. The high
point of the day was a flight I took in a Blanik with, well, let's call
him "Jean Smith" to protect his identity. There's a 1000 foot hill about
25km from the field that, given the strong winds, can be used to ridge
soar. "Jean" gave me a great introduction to ridge soaring, and since we
were too far away for final glide, an introduction to my first landout.
I later found out that Andre, I mean "Jean" had been to the hill five
times and made it back once. Out of habit, the tow pilot pointed out to
"Jean" a good field while outbound, and we were able to be towed out. To
be fair, only two of the three gliders with us made it back. The other
landout was a short-fuselaged homebuilt that easily fit onto the trailer
sideways without derigging. My impression of these Champlain guys is
that they land out so often that they have made preparations to make
retrieval easier. At SOSA you get scolded and have to buy everyone a
beer. Dinner tonight was just as much fun, you still got to cook it
yourself, but we knew in advance about the trick fork, so no burgers
landed out during flipping. One of the revelations that came out over
dinner was why there are so few females in the sport. We were
enlightened by a woman pilot who had previously been an extremely
accomplished skydiver. She said women's aversion to gliding had nothing
to do with the risk involved, as evidenced by her past. One stumbling
block is the heavy lifting involved in rigging and de-rigging, but the
real reason is that you're required to wear such a silly hat.
Day Three my partner flew, and landed out. He was wearing what he
called his "lucky tee shirt", but admitted that each time he has worn it
flying, he has landed out. I think he should trade it to "Jean" for one
of the excellent Champlain shirts. Everyone else went home, but I was
having so much fun that I stayed and ate all that was left, and, quelle
surprise, I didn't have to cook my dinner, Pierre Pepin did it for me.
Thanks, Pierre. Then it got real dark and started to rain and they threw
me out. All the folks at Champlain were wonderful, and if you wish to
visit, you'll find great hospitality, a swimming pool and a stray cat
named Pistache that needs a home. The only question I have is "Why are
there so many sex shops in St. Hyacinthe, and why do they close so early
on Saturday night?
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