Volume 2, Number 1
March 9, 2003
Mt Brockman, 80km NW Tom Price
"There's no place like home, there's no place like home..."
There I was...
I knew it was there, I could feel it. There was movement that hinted at it's
presence. I continued patiently waiting and hoping for the surge I needed.
Then, just when I'd given up hope it came again, stronger and with greater
purpose. This was it, it was about to release, I knew it.
"Gently, Gently. Relax, let go, visualise."
Then it came. Smooth and steady. I was away again.
5 seconds later the lady sitting in 10D picked her head up slightly as my
"thermal" curled its way into her nasal passage. "Damn", I thought, "Quantas air
conditioning is usually better than this!"
Seated opposite and behind the poor unsuspecting woman I buried my head deeper
into my latest issue of Cross Country desperately holding back the laughter that
was redenning my face.
Lucky the bloke next to me was asleep - I think.
Summer 2002/3
As always I had great intentions of producing a daily version of the Daz Report
during 333 week and the WA comps. Unfortunately I'm not (yet) as good as Davis
Straub who lands at goal and promptly starts typing. Of course I also drink beer
and have been known to talk the leg of a pool table, so there's really no
comparison there at all.
After the 2002 comps I had become very used to remaining airborne for long
periods (In case you're wondering - it's really good fun), and had every
intention of continuing this practise.
Unfortunately it was not to be this summer. I'll try not to belittle the great
flights of several others by comparing my own performance to theirs. And I hope
in mentioning said flights I don't appear patronising - After all, it's only
hang gliding.
So I apologise for the brief flight descriptions. And would like to thank James,
Krista, Phil K, Phil W, Karl, Bomber, Sam and Sun for the on-going therapy.
Brockman
There'd been so many reports from the comps already that I was going to let it
slide altogether. But my ego only required slight encouragement (Thanks Pete),
and hey presto I'm back in a 3x4 donger with my laptop and nothing better to do.
As hinted, while writing I'm at the Hammersley Iron Brockman mine, NW of Tom
Price smack bang in the middle of Australia's Owens Valley (50-60km SW of
Wittenoom). 10Km North is the last Ridge of the Hammersley ranges before the
terrain levels out for 100k or so. Tops of these look to be around 2000'agl. The
mine is nuzzled against the southern side of the valley, where the ranges peak
at probably no more than 1000agl. It's red, hot, full of flies and most of the
vegetation has been cleared by recent fires. Real postcard material - not.
Cyclone Harriet pushed up the wind and instability as it slid away south, and
Saturday 8th there were wall to wall cloud streets that eventually OD'd.
Cloudbase didn't look stella-high, so it was probably only 10 grand(!!!).
And with the recent rain the septic system seems to have reached capacity. So
with the high temperature, humidity and undeniable sewerage smell I'm pretending
I'm in Indonesia, West Africa, or somewhere else exotic. This helps heal the
dissapointment that CDMA coverage is only 10km away.
Getting on with it...
The traditional build up to the state comps was particularly pleasing this year
with (I think) Richard from Kalgoorlie sparking a poetry write-off. Which I
enjoyed immensely, no doubt at everyone else's expense.
The Thermal Dynamics had suffered a significant loss this year...and even after
Bomber left we still haven't gotten over losing Scurge.
What goes around, comes around though. And we had found Sun - A pilot and driver
who had a brain, and wasn't afraid to use it. Alas though the poor man is now
smitten with cross country flying (Even after a week with the TD's), so he'll
never be the same again.
Practise Day
I bade Suzy and kids goodbye as they headed north, then headed for Karl's place
to pick him up. Bomber had come over the night before and offered to help pack
the car in return for me carting some stuff for him.
Fortunately after he left I re-packed the car, because on arrival at Karl's
place he had his entire kitchen and most of his bedroom on the verandah ready to
be picked up.
The journey was uneventful, and refreshing to catch up with Karl who I hadn't
spent any time with for some years (These things happen with marriage and
children.).
Arriving in Wylie we found the house that Philthy had organised, rapidly
unpacked and headed for the paddock. From memory the day started overcast in
Perth, and as the cloud cover broke Cu's solidified and the day started to look
good.
The CMF crew were mostly setup when we arrived and Bomber and Phil ended up
getting a good run under the clouds. Being later we had to settle for mostly
blue stuff, though I'm sure a better pilot than I might have caught the last
cloud and dragged themselves ahead.
We'd set goal at Mukinbudin, mostly downwind, and the site of a large footy
match that day. Shaun waved me off in reasonable lift which I promptly lost,
found then lost again. As usual on a westerly day the trees on the eastern end
of the Korrelocking paddock were working and I finally got going once I'd
drifted far enough over them.
This petered out at about 3200 so I pointed north and headed cross-street for
about 1km until the air improved, then turned tail and headed for the Yelbeni
golf course, which has saved me a few times. I hit lift before I got there
though and climbed back from 1500' to about 3800'. Gordo called in after landing
slightly in front of me, and I realised I was now within glide of Trayning.
This almost brought me down as I fixated on the town and tended to fly down a
line of sink rather than dog-legging to the next good line. Consequently I
passed over the tree line bordering the north road at about 800'.
I almost headed further north but it didn't feel right so I cut back SE towards
the silos and the air got drammatically more entertaining. I scooted along the
northern edge of the golf course, over a paddock I've landed in twice and fell
into 200 up.
It seemed each turn drifted me closer to the core and before I'd returned to
800' it had turned into 1200fpm.
Bar out, occasionally high-siding, with barely a puff on my face I screamed back
to about 4500. The only indication I was going anywhere was the altimeter
flipping over - sensational.
After losing this one I headed down wind until the good air subsided, then cut
NE towards the first big rock. I farted around there for too long missing a
climb and continued heading towards Muka.
Getting low again I was approaching a large belt of green that marked a
low-lying area. The recent rain had had an effect. I thought I would probably
land here given the ground appeared to be wet, but approaching 1000' I felt a
tug on the base bar. There were several rows of trees ahead of me so I watched
my ground speed as I wafted along.
42mph, 43, 42, 45 - I turned right, but nothing, back down wind - 43, 45, 51,
53, 55 - and there it was. Lumpy 200 up but good enough. A couple of eagles
joined me and we climbed to about 3500. Talking on the radio organising my
retrieve I lost the climb and headed downwind again.
I was almost within glide of Muka where Bomber and Phil had landed, and now
realised that I hadn't activated a route so Mr Happy might not pop up. I pointed
my toes and went for it. Nothing over the last rock but I almost had it, then as
I approached town I hit 600 down. The thermal was right in front and I hit the
disorganised lift at 300' as I turned onto final, about 3km short.
I looked up and saw Mr Sad with 800' next to him...The bastard!