Ever notice how little things often make a flight memorable? Yes, we always recall the notable
duration and the distance flights, but frequently an ordinary flight sticks in our memory and we
find ourselves savoring it over and over again. Here are a few that I remember from 1999.
It was another lackluster summer in the mid-south, where thermals are weak and cloud bases low.
The dog days arrived in July and stayed halfway through August. Every day the same, no frontal
passages just hot humid days with teaser clouds that looked good but didn't work. Our second
annual Memphis Soaring Fun-Fly was a bust, gliders landed out all over the place. We console
ourselves around here with the thought that we can scratch with the best of them.
Uvalde
When we had taken about all we could stand, Robert Williams decided it was time for some
Texas soaring. So he called Mark Huffstutler and made arrangements for a trip to Uvalde.
In typical fashion, there was lots of excitement, but when it came down to it, only three made
the trip--Robert with his L-33, Bill Lawrence with his LS-4 (and wife Patty), and I with my
Standard Cirrus. We couldn't believe those Texas skies. From Texarkana to Uvalde they just
got better and better.
Mark and Bill Bartell had just returned from Germany and received us like royalty. Mark gave
us a tour of Sierra Industries and left us in the capable hands of Ann, who runs his front office
and takes a special interest in soaring pilots. She'd remind us to leave our keys in our
vehicles in case she had to retrieve us, and she'd stay around at the end of the day until
we were all back home again.
Day one was a blast. Bill showed up to tow us behind a brand new Waco. All he needed was a
snoopy scarf to complete the image. While on tow, I couldn't resist snapping pictures of that
Waco and it wasn't your smooth mid-south tow either. I recall Bill, after the release,
thrusting his left arm out of the open cockpit, pointing the way to the lift.
I decided to go easy that first day to get familiar with terrain and thermals. The terrain to the
East and South is flat and friendly, like back home, but with more dirt fields all smoothed out
for soft landings. And the thermals were indeed tall and strong. Eight to nine thousand
feet (msl)--field elevation 991 feet-- was the rule and were they ever bumpy and grumpy.
There was plenty of 8-10 knot lift and sink to match. I followed Highway 90 East past Hondo
to Castroville then back again. Got anxious on the return trip, approaching
Hondo at 3500 (agl)--back home I would have been glad to have it. Bill and Robert struck
out South for Crystal City.
Day two started out fine. Bill was out of town, so they arranged for D.C. to fly tow. An
elderly gentleman, he arrived in an old pick-up, with no hood. We weren't sure, at first,
if he was our tow pilot or a local farmer who had lost his way. One of the line boys
was concerned about his age until we assured him that we were accustomed to
flying behind our own old timer, C.W. Shaw, who is 80 if he's a day.
I'll never forget releasing from that tow and flying right into a gaggle of six buzzards,
I was the seventh buzzard as far as they were concerned. One of them parked himself, off
my right wing tip, going in the opposite direction, just far enough beyond my pivot point
to remain stationary in my field of view. There he was, so close and so big. There we were,
just holding position as the world turned about us. Moments later, he or possibly another
one repeated the maneuver.
What an overwhelming experience…to be accepted as one of the gaggle. My foray to the South
that day failed 10 miles out. I must have picked clouds that were in their decline, and found
only scrappy lift and sink. Finally, I high tailed it back to Uvalde and got some altitude again.
Ok, "I'll head east and try for a long triangle. Oops, it's all black that way." Robert and
Bill were on the other side of a large rain cell at Hondo and Castroville respectively.
They were talking of heading South to clear the cell as it moved Southwest. Concerned that
they would be cut off from Uvalde, I decided to play around the North edge of the cell instead
of making a run around the Western end of the cell to join them. I found lots of strong,
smooth lift to 10000 feet. The cell eventually weakened and Robert and Bill made it home through
weak sink and light rain.
Cloud cover from hurricane Bret, as it moved in from the Gulf, spoiled day three. And by day
four we were driving North with Bret nipping at our heels. So our five-day safari was cut
short by three days and we never saw those long cross-country flights we so badly wanted.
But we remember well the many little impressions of these two days and friendly folk at
Uvalde who made our visit such a pleasure.
Now Robert is talking about a field fire that's working South of Marianna. But the way to
Helena doesn't look good. So he heads North as I head South. I never saw him.
It looks good to me South of Marianna, so Robert heads South again. I decide to test the
west edge of an over-developed cell as I wait for Robert. Next thing I know I'm in smoke from
the field fire and have to pull out at 5000 feet. Helena airport is now visible and
there's a nice cu off to the East, toward the river. I head for it. It's 4:30 now, late for
this kind of thing, so Robert turns North again. The cu is good for 5000' and now I'm as
far South from Forrest City as I've ever been. There's another dynamo cu over the city of
Helena maybe 8 miles Southeast. I head for it. It's good for 5000' and now the bridge is
nearly under me. With so much altitude, I shoot across the river, into Mississippi for the
first time. I circle a few times for pictures of the bridge and gambling casinos.
There's a great cu on this side, but I'm concerned about making it home. So it's
back across the river and a return visit to the Helena dynamo, then North again. Robert inquires
of my whereabouts with some concern in his voice. "Where are all the clouds now? Where is the
field fire? Not to worry, I can easily make the remaining 12nm to Marianna." Robert is back
there again, working the only cu in the area, and it's going ragged now. "There he is, way up
there"…as I pull in at 2500', not enough for a run to Forrest City. Robert says it quit on him
and he's going home. So I go upwind of the cu, where the action ought to be, and there it
is. Back at 5000 feet for the last time, I head home too, burning off excess altitude with lazy 8's.
It was a really nice, satisfying, two-hour flight. Driving home that evening, South of
Marianna, I'm taken by the strong odor of a smoldering, field, next to the highway, and
the memory of the aid it gave me, when last I passed that way.
