The drive from Oxford, Mississippi, to Forrest City was the usual two hour
grind. (A great soaring day for me is any day I get more air time than road
time.) Chris Podbielski was already there when I arrived at 11:00. The hanger
doors were open and he was eager to launch his L-33. Soon others arrived and we
were ready to start.
I'd been reading Paul Schweizer's "Wings like Eagles" and was impressed by how
many pioneering soaring pilots missed claims for lack of a barograph. All I
really expected was to cut the tie with FCY. But it seemed a good day to get
acquainted with the club's barograph. So Nathan Lemmon coached me through the
setup and agreed to be the official observer, if needed. When all was ready,
I was third in line, behind Frank DiBianca in the club's 1-26, and launched at
high noon. Chris was first up, about half an hour earlier.
I released in lift at 2000', centered the thermal, raised the gear, notched the
barogram and started the timer. The clouds were already showing considerable
vertical development and spreading at the bases, which were poorly defined. The
lift was easy to work and soon it was necessary to scoot out from under the
first cloud. There were plenty of friendly cu's in the direction of Brinkley,
20 nm to the southwest. So it was an easy decision to head there for an out and
return. Every promising cloud along the way received a visit in the effort to
stay high. Off to the right was I-40 and the towns of Palestine; Goodwin; Wheatley,
with its grain elevator; and finally, Brinkley. "No problem, just follow the
interstate road."
The clouds that were so promising were, in fact, late in their cycles and were
not being replaced. So, by the time I reached Brinkley I was at the western
edge of a large blue hole, and the choice for the return trip was between
clouds arching north and east or south and east. With northwest winds, the
northern route was better but the southern clouds were nearer. So, at 3500' agl
with sink everywhere, I went for the nearest lift.
There was some lift, alright, but is was scrappier than before and hard to work.
That meant more soaring and less gliding, and the southward drift was quicker
than expected. Soon I-40 was out of sight and the terrain below was totally
unfamiliar, just field after field, all the same. But that was okay. I was
bound to cross Highway 1, running south from Forrest City. Then I'd know where
I was. Even as this brilliant plan was unfolding, a look down revealed an
array of catfish ponds. "Wait a minute, those couldn't be the ones near Marianna
could they? Yep, they sure are and that's Jack Frost's runway down there with all
those yellow ag planes. This is Marianna alright. But how did I get here so fast?"
From eight nm south of FCY and 3000' agl I made a beeline for home into a
quartering headwind. It was blue sky all the way with isolated cu's out of reach
to the east and west. There was tempting lift along the way, but none amounted
to much. When it was obvious that the Cirrus would make it with altitude to spare,
I headed for Crowley's Ridge, just to the east of FCY. This is a shallow ridge,
hardly worthy of the name, but it often works when the fields are too wet.
There just might be something there.
"Who is that on the radio? 'Frank, is that you...in the 1-26? Are you still up
after three hours?'" It was Frank alright and here I was, in a Standard Cirrus
at 1000', just able to make FCY for a normal pattern. How embarrassing. "Wait!
What's that? Bank right, now! Yes, that's it, four kts up, all the way around,
smooth as silk, no adjustments, just hold it at 45 degrees." It was a perfect
textbook thermal, good to 3200'. That piece of luck saved the day and not a
little embarrassment.
Turning north in search of a house thermal, there was the club's newly rebuilt
2-33, all decked out in red, white and blue. It was about 700' above me, in a
gentle sweeping right turn. The door was open and Nathan Lemmon was holding
something outside. It was a camera and he was taking areal shots for the club's
web page. I was invited over for a photo-op and, naturally, accepted. There
were several areas of good lift along the way, so I centered in one and spiraled
up through the 2-33's circle. This was the third thermal after the save and it
was good for 5300' agl, the highest altitude of the flight.
As the afternoon wore on and cloud bases rose, the thermals were barely reaching
cloud base, so the cu's were short lived and chasing them became an exercise in
futility. So, I decided to just float around catching whatever came along. "Now
let's see...it's been four hours and 35 minutes and from 4000' at one kt sink I
can hang around another half hour and still have 1000' for the pattern. That's
it, I've done it! The five hour duration is in the bag."
As it turned out, gentle lift continued even as the sun was setting. And with
almost six hours aloft and 4000' of altitude, it was time to pull the plug and
go home. But there was Chris in his L-33 making a fast run north. He too was
still up and had decided that enough was enough. We talked and decided that I'd
delay a bit, for a full one hour margin on the silver duration leg, and then
follow him in.
Home again at last--tired, very tired but satisfied, knowing that I too had cast
out the anchor chain.
