Name those club members

All of them. Click on the picture for a hint.

Thrill ride

I don’t remember too much about my first glider ride, but I do remember that it was a thrilling, slightly overwhelming experience.

Then, as now, they assigned one of the more experienced pilots in the club to give the introductory lessons. Since then, I have become one of those pilots. I enjoy giving rides, but I confess that I am more interested in flying the single seater than in pointing out the local sights to tourists in the two-seat trainer. It gets a bit old after a while.

The single seat glider was ready to fly yesterday, and I was having these selfish thoughts when I was approached by one of the spectators at the field.

"We were hoping my father could get a ride today."

I was trying to think of a more polite version of "Sure, go ask someone else" when she continued, "He’s 96." That got my attention!

A moment later, I was shaking hands with an amazing gentleman named Lafayette Noda, and I decided that getting him up in a glider on this fine June day would be my highest priority. I finally realized that most of the spectators standing around were his friends and family members, and that they had all walked across the airfield to cheer him on.

"Are you really 96?" I asked tactlessly.

"At present, yes," he replied. An answer delivered with a big smile and scientific precision. It turns out that he actually is a scientist, but I didn’t learn that until later.

With surprisingly little assistance from his family and his growing coterie of glider pilot fans, Lafayette clambered into the front seat of our club trainer. Here’s a picture of Greg helping him with his seat belt.


Before takeoff, we explained a little about the glider’s instruments and controls. Sometimes we had to repeat ourselves because Lafayette’s hearing has faded a little in the past 96 years. I told him that he might have to move his left knee out of the way of the airbrake handle when it came time to land.

We took off, and we both watched the towplane during the climb to 3000 feet. It was impossible to communicate over the air noise at 65 mph, but I was hopeful that we would be able to talk when we slowed down following the release from tow.

I was unsure of what to expect in terms of Lafayette’s sense of balance and orientation in this new three-dimensional environment. He was looking left and right, taking in the sights. You’re not supposed to swing your head around like that - but he was smiling the whole time. I figured he was feeling fine.

Off tow, I found that by loosening my shoulder straps and leaning forward a bit, I could indeed communicate with my passenger. We flew into a patch of rising air, and I described to him the indications on the instruments. We watched another glider fly by underneath us, and Lafayette concluded, correctly, "He’s going down."

In fact, the other glider was entering the landing pattern ahead of us. We found some more rising air and circled in it, climbing 500 feet while waiting for our turn to land. Finally, I reached for my airbrake handle and tapped him on the knee with the other handle. He moved his leg out of the way and said, "OK, we’re landing now."

Back on the ground, we shook hands, posed for pictures, and congratulated ourselves for a few minutes before I realized that I never taught Lafayette how to unbuckle his harness. He was trapped in the cockpit, still smiling good-naturedly.

Before he was a glider pilot, Dr. Lafayette Noda, Emeritus Professor of Biochemistry at Dartmouth Medical School, was a blueberry and Christmas tree farmer. Before that, he was chairman of the Biochemistry Department at the medical school. Before that, he established a non-profit fund to provide scholarships to Asian-American students. Before that, he was a research biochemist. Before that, he was wrongly imprisoned by his own government. You can read about him here and here and here and here.

Dr. Noda, who has studied the natural world for so long, knows how to enjoy it, too. It was a thrill for me to introduce him to our solar powered sport.

Update: Dr. Noda passed away on February 9, 2013. The Noda family has published an obituary.

Night Flying at Leszno

I recently came across this story, from my 2003 trip to Poland:

After three and a half weeks in Poland, I finally got to go flying. Although I wasn’t able to stay up very long, the flight represented a lot of “firsts” for me. It was my first Wilga tow, my first Bocian flight and my first lesson in a language other than English.

Oh yes, it was also my first flight at night.

We all have stories about landing a little after sunset, but this was definitely a different experience. Night glider flying is fairly common in Poland, and the Leszno Gliding School had no trouble booking introductory lessons in the two-seater Bocian throughout the contest. Flying began every night at 9.30pm and ended around 3am.

When my turn came, the ground crew helped me strap in and explained that my instructor knew a few words of German, but no English. My German vocabulary is slightly larger than my Polish vocabulary, which is non-existent. So, Wir sprechen Deutsch.

Both the towplane and glider had position lights, of course, but the secret to success in this operation is a bright blue LED flashlight that the instructor carries. When the instructor wants to make a point, he shines a narrow beam of light on one of the instruments on the student’s panel, while describing what is wrong with the reading on that particular instrument. The light, which is on only briefly, completely blinds the front seat pilot. Then it goes out, and it’s a race between recovery of night vision and the fading of the fluorescent needles on the instrument.

I don’t remember the take-off, but the tow was quite interesting. As long as there was a little bit of apparent motion of the Wilga, it was easy to keep station. However, if the towplane ever stopped moving in front of me, its relatively dim lights disappeared against the background lights of downtown Leszno. If you think about it, this problem is self-correcting.

Off tow, flying around was fairly straightforward. Occasionally there would be a blue flash accompanied by the word “achtsig” from the back seat. For a few seconds, the only visible object in the world would be a fuzzy airspeed needle. I never was able to read the numbers on that dial.

Eventually, I heard “zwei hunnert” a couple of times, and I knew that the altimeter was about to be illuminated. Sure enough, the altimeter exploded in blue and my brain was left with the image of the big hand pointing to a 2.

At 200 meters you enter the pattern. The instructor took over on base leg and made a beautiful approach and landing. I have no idea what he was using as a visual reference for the flare. We rolled right up to the launch point, next to a kerosene-fuelled smokepot.

I got out, shook hands with my instructor, and decided that I’ll stick to day flying from now on.

New Castle Rookie Report

I've been fascinated for years by flying stories from New Castle and the annual Region 4 South championships held there. The venue is famous for its ridges, rough and tumble terrain and extraordinary hospitality. R4S is often over subscribed and always seems to draw a number of big names. It has a rep as a “big boys' regional”.



With my new/old ASW-20B working out well, I decided this was the year to try New Castle on for size. So I sent in my deposit, studied maps and flight logs, talked my father in law John Boyce into crewing and made the necessary arrangements at work and at home.

The drive seems to go on forever. About 14 hours from Manchester NH. The further you go, the prettier the scenery. “New Castle International” itself is as pretty as an airport gets – and you will not find a warmer welcome as a newcomer anywhere.

Flying at NCI, you are surrounded by mountains – mostly ridges – with tops around 3500 – 4000', valleys around 12 – 1500. I fly practice on Saturday and Sunday in unremarkable conditions. There are many more or less open fields, but at most 1 in 20 is suitable for landing. Most are some combination of too small, too rough, too sloped or rocky. The overall field situation is only fair. Airports are not in abundance. Looking around at altitude I think to myself that this is a finesse site: you get around fast here by being clever and knowledgeable. Putting “both feet behind the stick” here – ridge days being the exception – will simply get you into a valley you can't get back out of. All of this is consistent with my pre-race study. I've been telling myself that this week is more recon mission than race. John Murray is succinct on this point with respect to New Castle rookies: “Stow the ego.” Yep, got it.

Sunday evening – the first of many great meals and campfires... and the weather report. Monday looks like a ridge mission! I guess we're going to get broken in, right quick. All that study time is going to pay off....

Day 1

The day at New Castle starts with Lanier and his cannon. He gets results! The cannon, by the way, is a 3/4 scale replica of a type used in the War of Northern Aggression.


Monday morning rolls around and the forecast holds. 10 – 12 kts from 310, good thermals with Cu to five or six thousand. 10 – 12 is light for a ridge mission, we can expect some areas to be soft. The task is all about ridges, a turn area task with a 3 hour minimum time, potential to fly nearly 500k and turn points on two well separated ridges. All three classes – Std, 15m and 18m have the same task. I start near the back of the 15m pack and settle into the ridge “groove”. It's spooky because the wind is so light that the trees aren't moving at all. Speeds are decent, but we are right on the deck. There's a soft section of seven miles where the ridge is low and there is blocking terrain upwind. It's tricky and not terribly comfortable. Now we are on the deck and slow.

Nearing McCoy Falls – about 30 miles out – a pilot somehow gets on the lee side of the ridge where there is nothing but sink and trees and glides out of the wilderness to crash land in a tiny clearing. The glider is destroyed but the pilot is uninjured. Other pilots are milling about like fiberglass vultures although there is absolutely nothing that can be done to help other than relay radio messages and mark the site (one ship would suffice). I arrive minutes later wondering if they are parked because of the crash or because it is unsafe to proceed. I'm shaken and I get on the radio asking if it is safe to proceed. An experienced pilot, also audibly shaken, answers “best thing for the new guy is to figure out a safe way to fly home and land”. I acknowledge, and head back up the ridge towards NCI with several others. The seven mile “soft” section isn't as bad on the return trip. Along the way I am thinking about the fact that I am about to throw away a flight I've been dreaming about for 22 years (ever since reading "Four on the Floor" in Soaring, November 1986, but that's another story)... I reconsider all the “raw data”, decide the day is within my limits. I can do this, and do it well, so I hang a left and head back South.

With new focus and determination, I start haulin'. Ground speeds range from 80 knots up to an incredible 120 depending on the shape and orientation of the ridge and whether climbing, level or descending. I pass several gliders. The ride is fairly smooth as ridge running goes because the winds are so light. Running back into New Castle for the second turn, there is no thermal lift to be found for the required upwind transition. I turn back down Sinking Creek ridge in search of thermals to get upwind to the front ridge. Along the way I see four or five gliders trying the same scheme but not climbing well. This puzzles me – there are great looking streets a few miles further. I bump their thermal, give it up as a bad job and fly on another 4 miles or so where I connect to a boomer all by myself (evil grin). This does not go unnoticed and soon I am joined by the others. I have made up at least five minutes on these guys and I'm at the top of the stack. We fan out line abreast for the transition upwind. It works beautifully. Collectively we have a 2 mile wing span to sample the air and we bump along until connecting with the second thermal we need to complete the transition... then dive at the back side of the front ridge. There are no gaps here, so we're heading right at the back side of a 4000' ridge and hoping we've got it right 'cause it's all trees over here.

The front ridge is impressive. Just a puff of wind and 90 knots plus. I run this ridge nearly to Tazewell, the back edge of the designated turn area, both because I am enjoying the flight and because the longer I bomb along at high speed, the more I dilute my earlier detour and hesitation. Along the way we pass ridge top bird watching houses, many hawks and a few landable fields (widely scattered). My '20 goes quietly at high speed. The way I know is that I see a bird watcher gawking at a glider ahead of me. He has his back turned to me and he doesn't hear me until I am pretty close. It's hard to lip read at 120 knots, but I think he said “Holy Cow!”. Or something like that. In any event he's obviously enjoying the show.

The return trip is easy, fast and fun, but winds are weakening and thermals are drying up in the late afternoon. I time things well, arriving at Sweet Springs in time to catch one of the last thermals of the day for the short down wind final glide to New Castle. I've gone over 83 mph for 280 miles, placing 4th in 15m, a superb result for a New Castle rookie. Including the 14 mile detour, I made a realistic if not score-able 87.4 mph. I'm pleased with my decision making. No risks, no gambles, nothing scary.

Day 2

Thermal soaring today. Conditions are forecast to be weak to moderate with slow heating. We are given a short turn area task that keeps us over reasonably friendly (by local standards) terrain. The gate opens for business and the thermals bloom into beautiful Cu. The first turn area is very strong and fast with a fat cloud street running to the back of the circle. I'm the first one in. As I make the turn I see the entire 15m fleet is following – what a great sight.

The second turn is where the race is decided and it goes poorly for many of us. The fast guys got around by leaving for final glide far below glideslope and working convergence lift along the ridgelines to stretch the glide. I see other gliders doing this... and try to visualize the terrain on the way back to NCI. Is there a blocking ridge on this route? I can't recall with certainty. Visibility has declined in late afternoon haze and low angle sun. Along the way, I know of decent looking fields, but no airports. I haven't had the chance to look over those fields on the ground. I stay in U2 mode – high, observant and slow. I get home for an easy 7th place for the day and remain 4th overall. This, by the bye, is one reason you want to finish: good food, good company and the damnedest camp fire you've ever seen.


Day 3

A stronger forecast and a longer thermal task. The first leg is slow, dicey and claims a couple of “lawn darts”. The next three turns go really well... and the home stretch is simply dead. Going into Covington late in the day, I can see I've made a mistake. I've been flying fast and have burned too much altitude. The last three clouds into Covington looked exactly the same as the six knotters I've had all the way from Union WV, but they offer no lift at all. Ugh. I can't get over the mountains and into the New Castle valley. While still fairly high (> 2500 agl) I burn about 500' over the valley floor doing recon on available fields. No airports here. I make my first and second choices, mark the first on my GPS, then press into the hills to try to gain altitude. It doesn't work and I retreat to my field low. The GPS mark provides great reassurance – the low angle of the sun and nature of the terrain make my field hard to locate visually from more than a mile or two.

I sort out the details of how I plan to get into this field. It's a good pick, but not a trivial one. I see a hawk flapping his wings, note the direction he's heading, head that way myself using the last of my excess altitude. It is very nearly time to drop the gear and call it a day... but there's no percentage in giving up too soon. And here, a weak thermal. I get there first, the hawk joins me and we begin a very slow climb. About a half hour later, I have enough altitude to get over the mountains. There's little hope of getting back to New Castle at this point, but there are more distance points to be had and a handful of private airports over on the other side.

Shortly I land at a beautiful grass strip 20 miles short of New Castle. I've flown a lot of miles today – more than some of the finishers – and so score fairly well despite landing, placing 10th for the day and hanging on to 4th overall. The day has been full of mistakes, one major (Covington) the balance minor, but I'm pleased that I hung in, made the best of it and had on the whole an enjoyable flight.

Two additional days fail to yield suitable racing conditions and this proves to be the end of the competition. Competition-wise, I'm pleased. My “recon mission” has turned into a respectable fourth place finish. The guys that beat me have something like seventy New Castle contests between them, which says as much about the appeal of this venue as the value of experience in this extremely technical site. So long NCI! See you next year.

-T8

Old Story

Here's an old story, parts of which you've probably already heard.

I was at MIT in my mid twenties. The MIT Soaring Association has been around (off and on, with various names) since 1910. The modern club was re-established in 1968 by a group of alumni and professors. I joined in the fall of 1973. I was active in that club until I moved to Vermont in 1986. MITSA was absorbed into the Greater Boston Soaring Club in 2002, but it still exists on paper. I like to think that I am still an honorary member of MITSA.

The Post Mills Soaring Club was founded in 1988, and just about every rule, procedure, bylaw and financial aspect of PMSC was copied directly from MITSA. Shortly after our founding, we were visited by my friend Ira Blieden, another MITSA oldtimer (not quite as old as I am, but almost) for one of the very first PMSC cookouts. At the cookout, Ira made a speech congratulating us on our new club, which he called a "wholly owned subsidiary of MITSA." This year we celebrate PMSC's 20th anniversary, and MITSA's 40th (or 98th, depending on how you count).

Back in the seventies, when Ira and I were young punks, along with Todd Pattist, Rand Baldwin, Guppy Youngren, Dave Nadler, Mike Newman, Steve Bussolari, and others you may have heard of, the "real oldtimers" were the alumni and professors who kept MITSA on track and kept a modicum of control over the youngsters who were convinced you couldn't get hurt in a 1-26. (Once, Todd got cut off by a sea-breeze front and decided to glide across Buzzard's Bay to Cape Cod. This seemed like a reasonable decision to us at the time).

One of the real oldtimers was Walter Lob. After taking a few years off from flying, Walter became active again at about the same time I joined MITSA. I remember that he refused to use the standard pre-takeoff checklist, preferring one of his own design. It was a long checklist that included items like "hankie" and "bezel" (the latter being the item associated with noting the time on his watch. The term bezel – pronounced "beezle" – seemed strange at first, until you realized that the entire checklist rhymed).

Walter and I both finished off our Silver Badges in 1975. He had been working on his since 1941. After his Silver Distance flight in the 1-26, he calculated that his average speed for the 50 kilometers was about the same as he could do on his bicycle. I remember being impressed that such an old guy could still ride a bicycle. He was about the same age I am now.

That's the end of my old story. If you want to read a better one, read this recent account by my 89 year old friend, Walter Lob.

Smooth Talker

As predicted, the supply of motel rooms in Gorham far exceeds the demand. It's a buyer's market. After flying on Tuesday, Tony and Carol sought motel advice from the more experienced club members. Carol was wise to ignore the advice from the bachelor-types whose only criterion was minimum cost. After some discussion, it was decided that if we joined forces, we might be able to negotiate a good price for a block of three rooms at the Mt. Madison Motel, which is actually a decent place to stay. The advertised rate for a non-smoking room with a queen-size bed was $109. We nominated Tony to do the talking with the Woman Behind the Desk. It went something like this:

TM: Good evening. I wonder if you could help me. I'm traveling with two other people, and I would appreciate it if you could quote us a rate on a block of three rooms.

WBD: We have some rooms available, yes.

TM: Yes, I thought so. I believe that we are all members of AAA and AARP. And one of us is Swiss, and you know how particular the Swiss are. We were hoping that he in particular would be impressed with the quality and economy of your motel. Do you think you could give us your best price?

WBD: Have you stayed here before?

TM: Well, we are part of a group of glider pilots, some of whom have stayed here before. We would be happy to recommend this motel to our other flying friends who will be here later this week.

WBD: Our normal rates are...

TM: Did I mention that we want three rooms? And I'm sure you'll understand that we're not really interested in your normal rates. I'm sure you can give us your best rate. Have you ever been up in a glider?

WBD: Are you trying to sweet-talk me?

TM: Well, I would, but my wife is out in the car...

WBD: (blushes) Umm... how much would you like to pay?

TM: Well, I noticed that the advertised rate across the street is 48 dollars.

WBD: I noticed that too.

TM: What would you say to $40 each, for three rooms?

WBD: That wouldn't include the tax...

TM: No, no, of course not.

WBD: OK.

I love Gorham in October.