Magic Wings

by Alden Moffatt

  I had, until that day, never successfully circled in a thermal. I usually had turned the glider too steeply and had spilled sideways toward the ground, or I had not turned soon enough and had fallen into the sinking air beside the thermal. What I was climbing in now was a big, big thermal and no one could have missed it, not even a beginner. I could not have fallen from it despite my inexperience. And so, clutching the control bar and gritting my teeth, my body tense and ridged, I tried to control my fear as I climbed away from Earth.

  ‘Head for the gully and the sinkhole’, a part of me said. ‘Stay with the lift and see where it goes’, said the braver me. I probably didn’t get a thousand feet over the mountains that day when the thermal dissipated, when a cloud blocked the sun from heating the ground below me. And I was not more than a couple of miles from the field where I would eventually land. I was at the top of my flight and a huge wilderness of confusing mountain ranges I had never seen before spread out to the horizon to the north, south and east. The landing area was one of the anonymous, postage stamp size fields to the west. I looked at every one of the thousand fields checker boarding the huge valley and could not recognize which one to fly toward. The wilderness had absorbed me and I could not see my way home.

  How strange it must have been for the astronauts, looking back from space toward the Earth for the first time, wondering where Florida was, underneath the clouds. Where would the end of their journey be. Nothing could have been recognized. Nothing could have looked familiar. All pilots have had to grapple with the unknown, the loneliness of flying too high into unfamiliar territory. I was in that wilderness now, all alone, flying between black clouds of a progressively more threatening sky.

  The lifting air died and I eventually sank to the mountain tops, then down the side slope toward the valley. As I descended, the landscape become more defined. The fields became large and a flag next to some hot springs marked the place where, in a few minutes, I would try to land. I centered myself over the field and then zigzagged back and fourth. Buildings became larger and my movement appeared faster. I passed over the steaming springs with a hundred feet to spare. Then I pulled in to pick up speed as I approached the landing area, which now seemed wide and long.

  There were many gliders parked along the perimeter of the field. I saw my car pulling into the parking lot, alongside the parked gliders. When I was near the ground, when my feet kicked the tall grass and the glider slowed to a stall, I pushed the control bar out. The wing and I parachuted the last few inches down and I planted both feet firmly on Earth. My wife and son greeted me as though nothing had changed. I didn’t worry them with what I had seen.

  Greensprings

  Duke had been flying hang gliders for many years. I had about a hundred and thirty flights now.

  Duke called me early on a Sunday, late in summer, to see if I wanted to fly. The wind was just right for flying at several sites, but because it was more west than north that day we chose to pioneer a site that I had located the year before. We set out for the pastures where we would probably land along Emigrant Creek, close to my house. Most of the valley was dry except for the few hundred acres where it was irrigated. The grass had been eaten down by cows but there weren’t many cows left to be seen. At a rustic house in mid- valley we located Jim, who has been leasing the land for many years. We introduced ourselves and told him our plan. He said “ A hang glider crashed here about ten years ago, said he flew here from Gold Hill then he crashed over there.” He pointed to a side valley. “ He came to this house a little shaken up, to use the phone. Sure you can land here. I have an open mind to that sort of thing. Just keep it clean and let me know when you’ll be here.”

  Duke handed him a paper with our names and addresses on it. I said “ If it turns out good, other pilots may want to fly here. Otherwise, this may be the last anybody flies this area.

  “ I’ll let you know if it’s getting out of hand”, said Jim. “If a bunch of people start landing on this property, we’ll probably have to tell the land owner. He doesn’t live around here.”

  It was a sunny day and a light wind was blowing up the valley from Emigrant Lake a mile northwest. Duke set up a big flag on an old cedar post at the most desirable landing area, then we drove to several other places that were suitable for landing. The closest two to the launch area were pitted by cow hoofs when the fields were muddy in spring and had dried very rough, but they were big fields and could be used if we needed them. The wind seemed pretty steady from the northwest throughout the valley.

  We drove up the Greensprings highway, stopping for a moment to contemplate a tiny field at a sharp bend in the highway that would be our landing area of last resort if we failed to keep enough altitude to clear a Bonneville power line corridor which spanned across every possible flight path we might take. We could land there facing the hill, away from the wind, a situation that would surely do some damage to our gliders. We drove further up the highway looking over some lava rocks that might generate thermals on the south slope of Tyler Creek and we admired the view of Pilot Rock and the Siskiyous. We turned onto the dirt road at the summit for a little ways then we crept down the 4wd road that leads the last half mile to a large west facing meadow on Greensprings Mountain that would be our launch.

  It took a few minutes to carry the equipment the last 200 yards to our setup area on a grassy hillside with an expansive view of the whole Rogue Valley. While we put together the gliders alongside some beautiful old trees, we listened carefully to the wind in the treetops. Thermals were coming up the hill but they were weak and the prevailing wind was from the northwest at five to ten miles an hour. We needed a west wind to launch. It was about two o'clock.

  Duke looked at his altimeter: 4760 feet. The landing pastures were about at about 2400 feet elevation and it was a little over two miles to the first good landing ground.

  As both gliders were completed, the thermals had picked up a bit and were now about 40 seconds long with an equal time in between. But the prevailing wind was also getting stronger and our wind sock, which we had set up on the hillside, rarely came straight up the hill. We sat in the meadow for what seemed a long time, talking about the route we would take, contemplating the stretch to our green pasture far below in the valley. We talked about the power lines and where best to cross them, for except for the huge metal towers that supported the wires, much of the line was invisible to us. We would surely try to cross them near a tower. Then we talked about how the wind must surely be wrapping in some way around Buck Point to the north west of our flight path and how this might affect the air we would fly through. Duke stood up. “I’m not committed til my feet are off the ground,” he said. But then he put on his flight suit , hooked himself to the glider and turned his glider around to face the wind. A few minutes went by with the wind twitching and lurching and he stood there with his wing on his shoulders feeling for some clue that would help him make a decision about whether to fly. Finally be said in a low voice, “ maybe it never gets any better than this.” But then all the flags faced uphill and Duke charged forward to meet whatever lay ahead.

  The first hundred feet of the flight was skimming across the ground then he gradually gained altitude. Then his glider was bounced up and floated out over the gully. For a while his glider was rocked back and fourth , jolted downward then lifted back up again. The flight was like that for several minutes until he had crossed the gully.

  I still hadn't put on my flight gear and I watched Duke’s flight seriously considering putting my glider back in its bag and carrying it safely home on top of the truck. But then as Duke approached a ridge on the south side of the gully his flight became smooth and he began to rise steadily. He circled several times in a wide thermal and climbed fast. He later told be that the air was rising 600 feet a minute. Duke easily cleared the power lines at their highest point along the ridge and then he floated out over the open skies over the valley.

  I harnessed up excitedly, all thought of driving home abandoned.
I put on my helmet and locked my carribiner to my glider. I looked over the glider again and again and could see nothing unusual. I tested my straps. And then I whipped the glider around to face the valley and the wind.

  I noticed I was biting my lip and my hands were clammy. The down tubes slipped in my hands as I knelt under the glider waiting for the right wind. Duke was circling over the wide green field now, where he had left a flag. It was almost a half hour since he had left the hillside where I waited and waited. “ Come on baby. Give me something I can work with, “ I said to the wind. The wind said nothing much. Finally the grass on the hillside bent over below me and I could see my thermal coming. I took a deep breath. Wind spread across the launch area. I picked up the glider and waited for it to balance on my shoulders. Then I ran forward like my life depended on it, and it probably did.

  I tried to relax my clammy hands on the control bar. I had a sense of being an explorer and relaxation didn’t seem to be a part of the experience. But I tried to relax anyway and I tried to tell myself that this was old hat, that I had been here before, though I had no idea if I was going to be alive in five minutes or what monstrous eddies lay ahead.

  The bumps came. I was surprised that they weren’t more turbulent considering what Duke had apparently gone through. A quarter mile out and over a rocky area I couldn’t see from the launch a thermal picked me up. I didn’t turn to stay in it, though maybe I should have. I wondered about the consequences of falling out of it if it was small. So I kept going straight toward the south ridge where I had seen Duke circling. The ground was far below me as I entered the turbulence in the rotor of Buck Point. My glider was thrashed back and fourth and I was falling then I was tossed back up. Then I glided gently down toward the tree covered hillside, constantly loosing the altitude I would need to cross those horrible power lines. Why did they have to be there? I was practically even with the power lines when I arrived at the south ridge. Somehow I would avoid the wires, I knew, but to do that it was looking more and more likely that I would have to land in that tiny field at the bend in the road. It did look tiny too.

  But some luck came my way. Along side the hill winds compressed and I left the shadow of Buck Point. Up I went, above the ridge. I climbed smoothly in a straight line down the center of the ridge and was a quarter mile away from the power lines and 200 feet above them when thermals or convergence lift kicked me up another few hundred feet. “I’m going to make it”, I said aloud. And it was quiet so I heard myself talk.

  But my hands were still clammy, even worse now, and I could feel nervous sweat dripping over my face. I assessed the wires and the tiny landing bailout again and again. Some head wind made progress forward slow and I kept drifting south to the back of the ridge top. I’d correct the problem then I would drift again. I struggled to stay just northwest of the ridge where it seemed like the lift was best. I was gaining elevation quickly and the power lines looked pretty narrow, no wider that my fist on the control bar looked. I looked at my clenched fist then concentrated on relaxing it, with some effort. Was I high enough or were my eyes playing tricks. I tried to ignore the wires as I floated oh so slowly over them . I still wonder if I was safely high enough. I began to loose altitude. A knob on the ridge was approaching and a side ridge was slicing the wind that gave me lift. If I could clear the knob straight ahead I’d float out over the main valley with a thousand feet to play with to get me to the landing area. If I had to swing around the top of the knob to the north I’d loose that margin of comfort. I pulled in the control bar a little to speed the glider up through this sink hole and I went over the top with 200 feet below me to the ground. The ground fell away quickly from that point and I found myself following the greensprings highway several hundred feet above the cars that were driving on it. And I thought about how dangerous that road was. How many accidents have occurred there. How many cars have lost their brakes going down that treacherous hill. There were a few thermal kicks off the highway . I flew straight through them. For a few minutes I could relax as the ground became far away.

  Duke had landed and was standing next to his glider. A car had pulled up next to him, somebody who had watched the flight.

  I passed the southern most landing area with plenty of altitude so I headed toward the field where Duke was taking apart his glider. I wanted to land in that green pasture. But more likely I would have to land a bit further south as I was sinking fast in the cool air above Emigrant Creek. After a few turns, quite quickly, I landed on a dry flat near the road.

  Duke later said that when he touched down he swore that he’d never fly Greensprings Mountain again. I walked up the road to meet him. When he saw me coming he changed his mind about that resolution. If Aldo could do it anyone could. It really wasn’t that bad. We just had to find the way, like rock climbers have to find the crack in the rock that leads to the top. There were a bunch more routes and endless conditions to try, but the experiments would again have to wait, because the days were becoming shorter and the winds soon changed to their winter, southerly flow.

  Cabin Fever

  ChiChi said, ”You’re always whining and moaning about how bored you are. You always want to be somewhere else. Maybe you’d be happier if you just changed your attitude. I can’t stand you when you don’t go flying for over a week.” ChiChi turned toward Duke, who was standing in our kitchen. “You know, all summer he bitches cause it’s too hot or there’s too much work to do. All winter he complains about the rain. ‘When am I gonna be able to go flying?’,” she mocked me. “Fly, fly, fly. That’s all you want to do anymore.”

  Duke said, ” Well it’s not all that bad of a thing to want. After all, he could be one of those guys who’s only interest outside of work is going to the bars.”

  “That’s right babe”, I said. “After all, you’ve had a few of those guys before I showed up and you didn’t like it either. Besides, I’m charting new territory. I’m gonna find out something about the world before I’m done. I’m an upstanding citizen. Look. I’m trying to make a difference.”

  “Yeah right,” said ChiChi. “Sounds like bullshit if I ever heard it. You crack me up laughing.”

  “Well at least I get credit for that”, I said.

  “I think there is some important stuff you can learn up there in the sky,” said Duke. “I just haven't figured out what it is yet. You got another beer?”

  I reached in the refrigerator and grabbed one and pried it open.

  “You know,” said Duke. “I come from a long line of religious ancestors. My dad was a minister. I hope you don’t mind me talking about this stuff.”

  “Well, keep it light and fluffy. I hate it when people start talking and they don’t have any proof except it’s what they believe in,” said ChiChi.

  “Well, I just wanted to say that flying could be construed as a religious act. Some people waste a lot of time in church. I waste the same amount of time they do, but, flying, I’m looking at the world for what it really is. That way, when someone starts bullshitting me, telling me how the world is and what’s going on here, I know if they’re just seeing and hearing what they want to and making up cutsie-pooh little stories to make their fantasy world seem to make sense. I mean, just imagine how much crap you could hear in your life surrounded by people who learned everything they know from one book that was written thousands of years ago.”

  “So I take it you’re talking about the Bible?” I said.

  “I’m a Catholic,” said ChiChi. “And I subscribe to some of the stuff I learned when I was a kid, but so much of it just doesn’t jive with what I see out there. I think a lot of people use the Bible as an excuse. First they do something horrible and then they go to church to make themselves feel better. You see it all the time. First someone will be a drunken, drug addict looser, and then all of a sudden, they’ll say they found Jesus, and then they’ll hate you for drinking a beer in front of their kids.”

  “So ChiChi. What exactly would you change about my attitude? You said my
attitude stinks,” I said. “ I think everyone who doesn’t have any interest in getting to the truth about this planet has a bad attitude. This winter, dragging on, is wasting my time. If I can’t get outside and have an adventure now and then, how am I supposed to know the difference between the truth and a pack of lies. You think I should watch more TV?” I said sarcastically.

  The rain was pouring on the roof. A fire was burning hot in the wood stove. The hang glider training hill was framed in the kitchen window but was barely visible through the sheets of rain.

  ChiChi and Lily retreated into the living room and sat down on the couch and started rubbing each others feet.

  “Jeez,” I said. “I can’t believe the bizarre stuff women do for entertainment. Is that how you keep your attitude so perfect and cheerful?”

  “You know Aldo,” ChiChi looked over at me. “You could get a blow job if you rubbed me this way.”

  Duke was grinning. “ I hope you don’t have the same ambitions as your wife. I don’t like other guys touching me.”

  “No way,” I said. “Man. I gotta go flying. Being stuck in the house all winter is making me see things.”

  “Hey Duke,” said Lily. “You didn’t have to come here today. You could have stayed home and painted the bathroom.”

  I took the lid off a beer for myself then went to sit next to the fire. August was playing violin in his room with the door closed.

  Duke said, “Boy, I wish I had a violin player in some corner of my house. He’s sounding pretty good. So,” he turned toward me. ”What have you been doing lately?”

  “Not much important,” I said. “ I’ve been thinking about moving to someplace where winter isn’t such a big road block in the way of doing what I want to.”