SATURDAY
Outstanding sky full of cumulus, lots of optimism, but no lift. We had 12 flights, but no one stayed up. We stood down for an hour in the middle of the day for a funeral. I have no explanation for the lack of thermals. It was such a strange day that we didn't even have a cookout.
SUNDAY
An absolutely frabjous day. 11 flights. You had to look for sink to get back down. PM flew three times, with Mike reaching 7500 feet at 5pm. Tony and I easily flew to Chelsea and back in the Blanik, and after numerous attempts, including one yesterday, Skip finally made his Silver Distance flight to Franconia:
Pete flew formation with a 1-26, a 2-33 and a hawk. Keith towed all day, aeroretrieved Skip, and then he and Sherry hosted an unplanned cookout just down the road. The operation ran safely, efficiently, and fairly under the leadership of the DO tag team of Tony and Pete. It was the kind of day you dream about all winter.
