No one read, thought or planned that this was Alby flight number 13. Christian Mackin arrived at Cal City around ten a.m. on Friday. I asked what his plans were for the weekend, and he claimed only that he wanted to soar. I responded, “Great! You can take Alby to Jean, and I will crew for you.”

“What’s Alby?” A short explanation followed, as I chased Christian out the door to rig his lovely AS-W 27, ‘33’. His only real question was whether I believed the soaring would be better Friday or Saturday, and I truthfully answered, TODAY is better. A quick post to rec.aviation.soaring alerted the world to the attempt almost underway.
A rush to rig, collect charts, discuss landable locations, upload a database, review potential routes, pack snacks and the Alby box, and warm up the SPOT tracker (which I had failed to operate correctly on flight 11 and locate correctly on 12) ensued. I added a small nylon strap to locate the SPOT trackers high on Christian’s parachute straps, his and Alby’s together. The belt and suspenders system worked, as Alby’s tracked while Christian’s didn’t.
Looking at the fully packed cockpit, I backed up to snap the commemorative launch photo. Christian insisted on grabbing my little Elph and taking it along. A quick hook-up and he was away, a little later than optimal, but into fair lift for the day. I knew he would try the northerly route once again. Alby will get to see from high to low on this beautiful continent. And thanks to this pilot who can scratch, as well as click, for you get to see the flight scenery also.


Pilots can download the OLC trace for the gory details. It suffices to say, there was plenty of cockpit pain and drama to honor the memories of the 1849’s crossing the alkali and heat of stark desert and the laborious climb across the pinnacles of major mountain chains. A save from 475 agl near Inyokern while jousting with a Bonanza calling a pattern, a transition from thermal glides to ridge essing onto the Inyos east of Lone Pine, completely strange and new territory crossing Panamint Valley and Range while the evening shadows stretch, made us both slightly regret not managing a launch of 30 minutes earlier.
The north-east and east side of the Panamints did not provide any thermal climbs at 5:30.
Wildrose and Telescope peaks refused to bow under the belly of the elegant Schleicher. The cockpit held a trusty satellite phone. It was time to reach out and 'phone a friend.Christian was faced with the choice of a low glide into a place he couldn’t see, and had never visited, versus a generous letdown into a safe place well-known to his crew. Either way, Alby would not reach Jean this afternoon. Cindy urged the prudent choice, a nice generous runway, a known retrieve locale, a hotel and meal service versus the unknowns at Shoshone.
Really turning back for letdown was a simple choice, regardless of the difference in retrieve mileage. I let him know he would have zero cellphone coverage in Death Valley, and to eat and rest, as I wouldn’t get there until late, late.
The road east and north from Cal City was greeted by the full moon out of the Fremont Valley, over the Kramer Hills past the Peerless Valley, through the Mojave River bottom, over the Cady, Cronise and Soda Mountains, a little slip downhill into Baker, then north and up again…. Silurian Valley at 500 MSL rises through Salt Hills, to Ibex Pass of 3200 ft. in twelve miles. A five mile drop into Tecopa Hot Springs leads past Shoshone on thirty upstream miles of Amargosa River bottom, snaking through a canyon, climbing steadily a bit and a bit, to Death Valley Junction. 1800 ft to 3400 MSL again, and only a skip north of Dante’s Viewpoint to Badwater.Traffic, once off Interstate 15 was very light. I counted passing cars in the tens and twenties of minutes. The ghoulish lumps of massive stone and lava under reflective moonlight were sufficient entertainment to keep drowsiness at bay. Everywhere I went it seemed I was driving uphill, yet going to the lowest airport on the continent.
A little twist of downhill, slower on those curves would be kind to the trailer, and whoops! Civilization. I cautiously pulled in to the very narrow driveway of Furnace Creek Inn. Valet parking was absent at the foot of the flagstone stairs, yet the desk clerk in coat and tie greeted me cheerfully, and told me my guest/friend was down the hill at the Ranch Resort rooms. What had me more concerned was the possibility of pulling forward through the tunnel , under the hotel, to exit the loop of the fleur-de-lis driveway! The incongruity of scale of the hand of God’s creation and puny marks of mankind were foremost in my mind.

Out from under the hotel, and down the hill, Christian had anticipated my arrival nearly exactly, and flagged me off Hwy. 190 into safe parking. (Did I mention we have crewed for each other before?) A recount of the day’s stories, and a review of the Elph’s trove of pictures were rushed. No dinner, no dessert, just a shower, fresh sheets and air conditioning from the 85 degree outside temperature, and a wake up call for 5:30 a.m.We greeted the –27 in pre-dawn pinks and glows, on a breezy apron. The diurnal cycle of hill and valley flows are strong enough to engender signage to tie down safely. We boxed 33 before sun-up, searched for coffee pre-6:15 a.m. in a resort (nada) and headed home via all new roads for us. By 7:00 a.m. in Stovepipe Wells, coffee and pastry were found to accompany the chart-following and runway I.D. contest for the return trip.
Everything out of Death Valley is uphill, again! Towne Pass held a brilliant variety of wildflowers. Reminders of the travails of early pioneers were abundant, and I regaled Christian with tales of long-ago soaring pilots across these valleys and ranges. We arrived home, as I had forecast, at ten in the morning, ready for another day of soaring business.But who would take Alby on the road again, next? Will they have such gorgeous, stark scenery? Such contrast? Snow to alkali? I think it will not be the same, but there will be more Alby tales to tell.
Cindy Brickner, crew for Flight 13
View Flight on OLC
