A Summer's Adventure Surprise Afternoon

Editor's note: Emily was fourteen when she made the flight in the following story. She'll be sixteen in October, 1995 and plans to take her FAA flight test for her private glider license at that time.

It was a bright warm day, blue skies, puffy white cues and a blazing ball of fire above. Busy here at Sugarbush Soaring for a Friday, especially since summer had already ended most everywhere and all the Club members had taken their gliders apart for the season and carted them back in their long white trailers to Boston, New York, Florida or wherever they were from. It was also a surprise when my boss, Sean Carney, agreed to the suggestion that I "grab 08H and commit myself to aviation," because normally when I'm working, I'm there to work and he doesn't like people to have to cover for me.

I've been flying and working at the Warren-Sugarbush Airport in Vermont for over a year now. It all began with a single glider ride flown by Sean and I got "hooked" as I call it. I've soloed this summer and have accumulated a strong liking for flying a certain glider, O8H, a Schweizer 2-33. 08H is a nice color - white, instead of the bright orange that some of them are. It has much better aileron control than other Schweizers at Sugarbush and isn't so tail-heavy. Anyhow, this was the glider I was climbing into that clear afternoon.

As I did my pre-takeoff checklist, I felt with my hand below the seat to make sure I had my logbook where I log all my flights. There was no sense in flying illegally, especially if I was trying to earn a badge. I looked to my left and gave the nearby line-crew a "thumbs up" signaling that I was ready for take off. He grinned at me, copied my actions and leveled my wings. I waggled my rudder and then was off.

Take off and tow were pretty smooth and gave me a chance to scope out the area. Where were the other gliders located? What clouds looked the best for lift? Any birds nearby? These questions filled my mind when I released from tow at 3,000 feet. Finding lift immediately, I realized and hoped that maybe the lift was everywhere. I circled for a while, gaining some altitude and then moved on in search of better thermal hunting. Seeing that there was a gaggle of gliders circling above my house, I headed towards the east ridge, out of the valley. Again I found lift right off and soon was at 4,000 feet, higher than anyone else. I noticed some of the glider types below were the best for thermalling, but the pilots were having trouble centering in the lift, so they weren't gaining as much altitude as me. I liked this because it told me I had flown into a good thermal and that I had kept my skills learned over the summer.

I continued circling over my house and soon wondered how long I'd been up. I glanced at my wrist. Shoot! I'd lent my watch to a line-crew down below. Now I'd have to estimate my time. Soon the clouds were directly above me. I tried to move out into the valley in search of other lift where I wouldn't be caught blinded in a cloud, but the lift was too great. The higher I went, the stronger was my rate of climb. Momentarily, I knew I would be seeing nothing but white. My stomach leaped to my throat.

"Don't panic," I told myself, knowing I needed to quickly and efficiently escape the sucking white cloud and not hit another glider in the process. The lift continued to grow, so finally I opened my dive brakes to cause drag and sped up to a speed above the efficient thermalling speed. After a moment, I could see the cloud disappearing above me.

As soon as I'd left the secure lift that was keeping me aloft, I hit sink and strong sink it was. I searched desperately for any source of lift as my altimeter decreased. I watched the trees below get closer and closer. I could just make out their leaves and noticed that some were already beginning to change color. I glanced at my altimeter. It read 1,600 feet and still sinking! I knew I needed to be at an altitude of 1,200 feet at the Warren Pinnacle which was more than halfway across the valley so that I could successfully start my pattern and landing. At the altitude I was at, I would never make it, but still I made no sudden movements to speed across the deathly air.

I need to stay up here for over an hour and fifteen minutes and I am going to," I exclaimed. Still no lift. I became desperate. "I need you lift," I begged. "Just a couple of knots of you. No, not sink. Come on, just a little lift. I need you!"

As the veins on the orange maple leaves came into focus below, my variometer went up, signaling there was some thermal activity. I tried to center the glider under the darkest area of the cloud that I was flying under and miraculously my variometer crept upwards. I slowed my airspeed and continued to circle. Like my slowed airspeed, my heart rate quieted too and my fingers worked out of the Tibetan death grip that had been clenched around the control stick. Soon, I was back up at almost 4,000 feet, totally relieved and again almost at cloud base. The cloud didn't suck me up like last time so I smoothly moved along the ridge in search of more thermals. After much time of continuous moderate lift and then moderate sink, I realized no other gliders were nearby. In fact, I couldn't see any other gliders anywhere in the valley, the day had dimmed as the sun had slipped down across the sky to meet the mountains.

"I can't go down there now. What if I haven't stayed up long enough? I couldn't remember where the sun had been when I had first entered the sky. I did have lift though and as long as lift was in the sky, so was I. Soon, I reconsidered. My back was asleep and seemed to be glued to the seat. My legs were cramped, as were my fingers, my bladder was about to explode and I felt like I'd gained twenty pounds because I was slumped down. My secure belts all of a sudden didn't feel so secure, but just tight. I loosened them and decided I'd better start heading back to the airport, my family and friends and the world as I remembered it.

My descent was very quick, because as I moved off the ridge, I hit heavy sink. Fortunately, I made it to the Warren Pinnacle at 1,200 feet and thus started a successful pattern. I watched the runway slide by at 930 feet. I was a little too high, so on downwind leg I slipped to the left and turned onto base leg. I was still high, so I continued slipping and opened my dive brakes. I came down fast, tried to keep my airspeed up on short final as everything happened too quickly and landed near the runway on the grass. Well, it wasn't perfect, but nothing was damaged at least. My instructor, Dave Whiting, ran over to the glider and I heard him say, "Nope, sorry. You have to go back up there for another four minutes!"

"What?" I cried. "No, no. I was up for an hour and fifteen, I just know it."

"Sorry, you need another four minutes." he repeated. "Another four minutes and you'd have been up for three hours!"

"No, no, I wasn't up for almost three hours!" I exclaimed. But I had been. I was amazed. Wow! Had it been fun and gone by so quickly! I never had even imagined that I'd be capable of staying up for so long. My longest solo flight had been just over an hour, so with a goal of an hour and fifteen minutes, for a relatively inexperienced student glider pilot, this was a tremendous surprise. I turned to Dave and said, "I always wondered how some people could be going for their gold badge and attempting to stay up for five hours, Now I know."

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