An End To The Suffering

The next day ,after the usual hectic morning rush to get brekky and a few joints rolled before midday I hook up the external reserve and get back up to launch around 2pm. Everybody has started spinning and tumbling without me and who could blame them. I am the last one ready clipped in along with a guy who I recognise is an elderly German doctor who arrived a week or so ago with his wife who flies also. I really want to fly today especially after yesterdays cock up but decide to let him go first. Age before beauty. We are both in the reverse launch position. I give him a friendly nod to go. Despite the fact I am gagging to fly and belying his 20 years experience however, the good doctor decides he would much rather I spent my afternoon getting acquainted with him while waiting for an ambulance, and so, to reinforce his position he goes from the reverse launch position, omitting the traditional canopy stabilising and turn, directly to the more unorthodox flight and smashing headfirst into the nearest rock just out of sight position. Nothing stirs the bushes after. For fucks sake. OK,I think to myself optimistically, maybe he’s not hurt, just a bit embarrassed. I don’t speak any German but know he speaks a little Spanish so I call out optimistically “TODO BIEN...!!?”...no answer...Oh dear.

All is well but a lack of forward planning means I have no spare reserve bag and am effectively grounded at least as far as accro goes. I’m happy enough to fly without a reserve but I’m fucked if I’m trying any more helis without one. Marcus and Eva come by that evening with a bottle of plonk and he has the whole thing on video which makes pretty boring viewing I must admit but may make it onto a compilation in the future. He has a spare external reserve he is happy to lend me too. I liked him the first time I saw him. The weather is improving after a dodgy week and it looks like I’m back in action.

Jeaves!...Bring me my brown trousers...!!

After about a week of very soft flying the weather finally gives us a good day and it feels like summer is back where it belongs. I am not quite back in native no shoes and shirt laundry saving mode but at least the mountain starts, once again, to live up to its name and I begin to practice helicopters today for a couple of hours. After my third or fourth set things are improving from time to time and I pull a lovely heli for ten revs or as many as I like controlled and stable...but this is only half the battle...such a lovely long heli has made me smile and relaxed me a little too much. The exit is a fuckin nightmare of surges, rotation reversals and expletives. By the time it is what can be loosely described as stable I have three riser twists a small cravat and the beginnings of a spiral dive. Whoops. Although the rotating has stopped the brakes are pretty ineffective with the twists, the spiral is deepening and here comes the Gs. Three leg kicking revs later the spiral’s locked in, the leading edge is pointing squarely at the ground and the G’s are making it impossible to keep my head up, its brown trouser time and for the first time in almost eight years of flying I chuck out my washing and my reserve bag is lost along with scores of others on the magic mountainside. Its round about now I get that strange sensation I’ve experienced at various points when to an extent you are in the hands of the Gods. Time slows and you almost feel like you have all the time in the world to think...”I wonder if it was such a good idea to pack that reserve myself...Andy knows exactly what he’s doing and he’d of done it for nothing...if this doesnt start to slow down soon I suppose I’ll have to make an effort to lift my head and see whats going on...”The next few seconds I spend rotating violently and staring vacantly at the trailing edge of the wing waiting for the reserve to inflate and reduce the G’s a little. The reassuring crack and tug is next with the death spiral becoming a friendly floaty oscillating descent. I realise how high I still am and decide that if that happens again Ill have to make more effort to try to fix the problem and not to be such a big Jessie just cos its spiralling with a few twists. Next comes the safe and light floaty moment under the canopy before the landing. Hmmm. Its difficult to judge your decent rate up high and I’ve seen 2 pilots taken to hospital after reserve deployments so I realise I’m not out of danger yet. I am at least not coming down near any of the power lines that go over the mountain, now, the PLF. I have demonstrated it to students at the club back home hundreds of times but never really used it in anger. Feet together, knees together, legs slightly bent arms and chin tucked in. A million rocks below. Hmm. I eventually come in for a lovely soft landing without even falling over and am greeted by 4 of the pilots that were in the landing field who help me get the washing out of the bushes.

Things at magic mountain are getting slower and slower although the word from the word is the bad conditions here are because of a depression so I decide to stick it out for another couple of days. A few more pilots forced south but the worsening conditions in Northern Europe start to show up in the landing field and I make friends with a group of 4 Swiss accro pilots, a German instructor Marcus and his girlfriend Eva who are staying on the campsite and a few others. He also is flying a little accro and has a cool collection of wings in various sizes in his van. He is a 20 year vet, a safety instructor and like me had a broken back a few years ago. At least it shows he must have been making an effort.

Verga is a bona fide x.c. venue with a fairly low 300 meter takeoff but with the right conditions and skill it is possible to gain enough height there (about 200 meters over) to jump to the next mountain, then over the back to another huge limestone 1000meter plus ridge stretching for at least a couple of k and opening the door to the entire Pyrenees. The drive there is about an hour and a quarter and Bea is waiting to show us the way to launch when we arrive. We drive up to launch in her little van. Its an easy wide matted spot big enough for three gliders. We start well gaining a 100 mteres or so almost straight away but the day is a little slow and even though she has an “s” on her chest Bea bombs out with Francois and I after only 20 mins or so. Noel however catches one of the rare thermals of the day strong enough to take him over the back which he does after first performing a quick helico over us in the l.z. Bastard. We drive back up in our remaining car for a second go but its even worse and none of us even make the l.z. A farmer driving his tractor up the road picks us up on his trailer though so at least we don’t have to walk. We eat in the landing field and the guys freshen up at Bea’s house and shower a couple of pounds of dirt off themselves. We drink a few beers and head back to Organya. Lucia, one of the trio from Barcelona has come to visit and knowing what a desert Organya is she has thoughtfully brought a bag of the needful with her. Outstanding. Another evening spent between the landing field and the close by campsite with Not what you’d call a notable xc sucsess but at least one of us got away and we all got a little airtime of which there is no such thing as bad. Its the crashing into the ground you have to watch.

Francois, Noel and I decide on a change of scenery the next day and go to attempt x.c at a fairly nearby site called Verga about 60 km to the southeast. Another pilot, one of that rarest and most valuable of commodities in our world, a pretty single female named Bea(trice) lives there, so we will be able to get a little local knowledge. She is actually a former national x.c champ with 16 years experience, I’ve seen her flying Organya for the last week or so and she recently returned home so we will be in good hands. So female, good looking, exellent pilot ,dozens of trophies, ex Spanish champion, English speaking and single with her own flat. Oh dear. Shes gonna hate me isn’t she.

I have however started to enjoy some limited success with the helico getting 4 or even 5 revs on occasion, so being sure its possible, although more difficult on a wing this size, decide to perfect or at least improve my technique in the coming days. The weather though has other Ideas, the daily flying times are becoming shorter, the people to really get the best advise from becoming fewer. Vince and Jan are the next to leave after ten weeks here, Francois, who actually taught them to fly with young Manu, who at 19 years of age can tumble with the best of them, are next. Cyrill who has been instructing a group with his father follow a few days later. This leaves another Francois, this time a French Canadian* his Argentinian friend Noel who is a pretty fair accro pilot himself, me, Jose a few locals and the occasional nomad.
*what is it they say about Canada...? They could have had French culture British know how and American engineering...instead they got American culture French know how and British engineering...lovely people though...

TheThinning of the Herd

Morning again...where did that come from...? fuzzy head...go back to sleep and wait for the afternoon.
Afternoon...thats better. Greasy bacon sarnie and off for training. The landing field as usual has some now very familiar faces around but numbers are starting to thin slightly as the comp is over and summer is nearly too. A couple of weeks will see the campsite empty, the pool close and even the diehard travelling pilots who have been around for months return to their various realities. I take more advise from Cyrill, who is one of the few competing accro pilots left around and the current French champ, Francois and Manu about helicos. Their advise is the same. I have come as far as I can on a full size wing and to really go further I need, like them, a smaller accro wing, maybe a 22 sq meter to start. I check for loose change down the back of the sofa but find nowhere near enough to buy one, I check my diary for elderly relatives who I should maybe make more effort to be nice to in an effort to boost any potential inheritance but come up blank there too so decide I will have to make do for now without infinity tumbles.

We get together in the landing field that eve and I invite them round for a plate of pasta. I cook the pasta they bring the beer and hash...everybody wins. We have an enjoyable evening discussing the various ways we have reached the point we are at(drunk and stupid), get even more drunk with some more French camped opposite and decide to go up the mountain for a moonlight fly down. This again, is not everybody’s cup of tea but we are far too drunk to pay any attention to the prophets of doom and head up to launch with a satanically giggling and drunken Jan on the roof of the jeep holding our kit down as I career drunkenly round the hairpins up the mountain. Its not so much the flying and landing in the moonlight but more the setting up in the pitch black, and the promises of people with triple vision to give you an accurate line check as you stagger forward and launch into a backwind that make the event. After a quick top to bottom more drinking and hilarity follows, things get a little fuzzy and I have no idea what time I crash but the campsite is so quiet you can hear the crickets dropping their pins.

The Magic Circle

The day after the comp I again meet Jose and Pache in the landing field and they invite me to sit and lunch with them. They have put a delicious salad together and as those of you who know me well can testify when we were in the S.A.S they taught us never to miss an opportunity to eat. I intend to fly more deep stalls today with lots of spins both of which I am very comfortable with. The deep stall is what I want to really experiment with to perfect a faster entry therefore keeping the wing more straight and stable to ease the transition to helico. I put a couple more hours work into this while watching Vince and Jan perfecting their wingovers and the big boys doing tumbles.

In the end the top 10 were all guys who we have been flying and becoming friendly with over the few weeks earlier. Finished results were, first place Raul with Horatio second Felix and Alex next with Francois, who led us to Ager that evening before, fifth and then the Accro Canaries. My other new buddy Pache is chuffed to have come 14th out of 26 in his first comp even though he and quite a few others are again drying their kit out in the sun after spinning helico landings and death spirals into the lake. With our optimism exceeded only by our motivation now we decide to race back to Organya for the evening flight and start the spinning. I begin to try helicos which are well deserving of their reputation and realise this is not something I can get in a quick session in one evening.

The comp standard continues to rise this final day with more pilots than ever hitting the raft with the timing and moves becoming ever more spectacular. Smoketrailing helico to sat, sat to tumble, tumble to rhythmic sat, rhythmic sat to death spiral with wingtip and harness on the lake then land on the rafts bullseye. A person can be an artist, not just with paint but with food, clothing anything, it just depends on how good you are. With these people their art is accro and this weekend they have created a masterpiece.

They Go Down Tiddly Down Down

We awake after a good nights sleep with quizzical expressions late the next morning at 11.30 to the sound of a screaming paramotor (sorry, I’m a big believer in freedom of choice and know they are fellow pilots but I can’t stand those things), a generator and find all and sundry have moved into our bedroom with pagodas, picnics and the like without so much as a bye or leave. About 30 people are loafing close by. They have probably started a book on who out of the three of us will wake up first. I am absolutely roasting in my sleeping bag by this time of day and far too Spanish by now to be concerned by this turn of events, so I stand up and with a huge yawn, stretch, adjust my scrotum and go for a swim in the lake to freshen up.