Alby flight No. 43 pin No. 20 - Rand Baldwin 6/30/2012

Rand Baldwin successfully flew with Alby in his LS-8 from Moontown Airport (just east of Huntsville) to LaGrange on Saturday, June 30. Congratulations to Rand!

Georgia on My Mind

By Rand Baldwin “NN”

My planning for the 21st leg of Alby’s journey began after my soaring buddy (and SoaringCafe.com partner) Bill Elliott trailered his JS1 Revelation to Sylacauga on June 23rd and received custody of Alby from Eric Hey. Bill made sure Alby was comfortably tucked away in his JS1 and then soared to our home base at Moontown Airport (3M5) near Huntsville, Alabama. Bill and I are both long-time members of the Huntsville Soaring Club, which has operated from Moontown since 1985.

Bill suggested that I consider flying the next leg on the following Saturday, June 30th. The synoptic forecast looked OK, although the weekend would be a scorcher. Max forecast ground temperatures for Saturday and Sunday were 107F! Temps that high are extremely rare in the Southeast, especially in June. The soaring forecast, however, was extraordinary. XC Skies predicted thermal heights at 7,000 to 9,000 feet and climb rates of 5 to 7 knots. It has been very dry in the South this spring, so it would be blue around Huntsville with perhaps some cu near my destination at Georgia’s LaGrange-Callaway Airport, southeast of Atlanta and home to the Southern Eagles Soaring (SES) club.

On Friday, the night before my flight, Tim McGowin (2EZ), a long-time soaring buddy and SES member, called to tell me that my friends and SES members Mary Jo and Wally Berry (WB) had graciously offered to put me up for the night if I made it to LaGrange. I’ve known Mary Jo and Wally for two decades, but hadn’t seen them for a couple of years, so I was tempted to take them up on their offer.  

Flight Plan: Moonville to LaGrange

LaGrange is 143 miles from Moontown by air, so it’s not a particularly challenging cross country flight on a decent day. My only concern was the terrain along the latter half of the route. Much of the area along the Alabama-Georgia border and toward LaGrange is hilly and heavily forested. Although there are small airports every 20 to 25 miles near a direct course between Moontown and LaGrange, landable fields are few and far between. If the forecast panned out, of course, I should easily be able to hop from one airport to another. Landing out would be far down my list of concerns. Nevertheless, with the terrain in mind, I chose the following route: Moontown – Guntersville – Albertville – Gadsden – McMinn – Anniston – Ashland – Roanoke – LaGrange: 153 miles.



As expected, Saturday morning dawned hot, hazy, and blue. High pressure, which in the absence of the extreme temperatures would normally suppress convection, dominated the area, causing visibility to suffer.

A couple of days before, I had contacted a fellow HSC pilot, John Mittel, whose ASW-27 is undergoing repair, to find out if he could crew for me. John kindly agreed to retrieve me, which was a major commitment, since a round trip by car between Moontown and LaGrange is an eight to nine hour road trip.

We wanted to assemble the glider early, so John and I met Bill at a Waffle House for breakfast. Bill was on his way to Tullahoma, Tennessee to fly his JS1 with Dick Butler, who would be flying his brand new Concordia.

After breakfast, John and I drove to Moontown and stopped at the HSC trailer hangar, where my LS8 spends most of its down time. We were joined by former HSC instructor Don Gamble and HSC tow pilot (and Grob Astir owner) Doug Morris. While checking the trailer lights, Don pointed out that I had no left turn signal and that one taillight was brighter than the other.

Fortunately, Doug tackled the trailer lighting problem with a vengeance and managed to successfully troubleshoot the issue and fix it (Thanks, Doug!). Unfortunately, we lost about an hour of time, so we had to assemble after the ground temps were well into the 90s. Finally, the ship was ready to launch and scurried around making sure the last few items were in the cockpit. By that time, I had decided that I would either stay with Mary Jo and Wally or try to get a tow at LaGrange if I landed early enough and there was time to make the return trip. So John was off the hook.

I launched at about 1:00 PM CDT and soon found a 2 knotter that took me to ~ 5,200’ AGL. The sky was blue as far as I could see (~15 miles), but by 1:20 I was high enough to get started, so I pushed the nose down and headed southeast toward Guntersville.



Guntersville Airport and Lake Guntersville

A few miles down course, I ran into the first decent thermal of the day. I averaged 3.3 knots and climbed to 6,800’ AGL. I was relieved to get that high because Lake Guntersville, which is a large bulge in the Tennessee River, lay a few miles ahead. I had crossed Lake Guntersville and the river many times and usually experienced much weaker or non-existent lift in an area extending to 5 or 10 miles on either side of the lake. Sure enough, as I approached Guntersville, the air became ominously smooth. I slowed to ~65 knots and hoped that by the time I reached Albertville, about 10 miles east of Guntersville, I would run into a thermal.

I glided for about 20 minutes and lost 4,000’. I flew over the edge of the town of Albertville and felt a few bumps, but nothing worth circling in, so I turned toward the airport, hoping the runway or a nearby construction site would trigger lift.


Albertville Airport from on high

I flew over the runway from north to south, getting down to 1,600’ AGL before the vario came to life. I rolled into a right turn and held my breath. It started off slowly, but the climb rate increased and in a few minutes I was at 6,500’. Even better, there were cus ahead! On the way to Gadsden, I circled under a couple of nice cus and worked my way up to 8,300’. Cloudbase was still above me. The forecast was right on!







First Cumulus

Short of Gadsden, I headed straight for McMinn Airport, working a couple of clouds along the way. The clouds proliferated and grew in size as I flew further south, so the rest of the flight was pretty much a cakewalk. My concerns about terrain evaporated. Who cares about the ground when you’re at 8,000’?


On final glide eight miles from LaGrange over the lake












The rest of the flight was high and fast. At 3:23, 47 miles from LaGrange, I started a 30-minute final glide. Except for one circle, I flew straight to LaGrange and arrived over the airport at 3:56 CT.

Before landing, I called Tim McGowin, who was preparing his glider for its annual inspection at the SES hangar. The hangar is on the west side of a beautiful wide grass landing area, which lies between runway 3/33 and a taxiway near the hangar. On final, I saw Tim waiting for me. As I rolled to a stop, he ran out and caught my wing. 

Rand at LaGrange

First things first: As soon as I stepped out of the glider, I retrieved Alby from his perch behind my seat, and turned him over to Tim, who will shepherd Alby to his next stop at Chilhowee Gliderport in Tennessee.
 

Rand (R) presents Alby to Tim McGowin (L)

After Tim helped me move the glider off the runway, I relaxed in the hangar, made a few phone calls, and enjoyed the air conditioned comfort of the pilots’ lounge. Later, we shuffled gliders around and made room for my LS8’s overnight sojourn in the hangar.

 

Epilogue:

Tim gave me a ride to Wally and Mary Jo’s home near Auburn, Alabama, where Wally is a professor of agriculture and a specialist in poultry science. The Berrys had recently built a new house in a wooded area outside of the city, so I was treated to a tour of their beautiful new home. They did much of the interior work themselves and it is truly a work of art!

Rand, Mary Jo, and Wally . . . and the dogs

We had dinner at a nearby restaurant and stayed up late catching up on the years since we’d seen each other. The next morning, I enjoyed a wonderful breakfast, courtesy of Mary Jo, who also packed a cooler with lunch and dirinks for a morning at the airport. Back at LaGrange, Wally assembled his Libelle H-301 and we conferred with Chris Ruf, Tim, and Dieter about the weather and their tasks for the day, which was forecast to be another good soaring day.



Chris, Rand, Tim, and Wally under Tim’s wing awaiting tows at LaGrange

We began launching around 1:00 PM. About 20 minutes after I release, I found a strong thermal under a large cu near the airport. Tim and Wally were higher but in the same thermal, and waited for me to climb up. I intended to fly back to Moontown and they decided to join me for a while, so the three of us headed NW toward Roanoke with Chris Ruf a few miles behind. 

Tim McGowin in 2EZ



Wally’s H-301 Libelle

The cus were clearly overdeveloping even before we left LaGrange, but the lift was great. When I passed Ashland/Lineville, the others wisely decided to rurn around and head back to LaGrange before the sky blew up.

For me, the flight all the way to McMinn was high and fast, but after turning toward Gadsden, I ran under blow-off from a storm to the north that had dissipated. It was shadowing the area ahead, but I had plenty of altitude to make it to the turn, so I wasn’t too concerned. Mother Nature, however, had other plans. I was soon running through interminable sink. My netto was indicating a constant 3 to 4 knots down, and the altimeter was winding down at an alarming rate. This continued unabated for several miles, until I became concerned that I might not make Gadsden Airport. There are few places to land on a direct route to the airport, so I deviated to a private strip, Golden Pond, about 10 miles south of Gadsden, hoping to find something going up around there.

The sink finally abated, but by that time, I was ~1,500’ above Golden Pond and the shadow from the high altitude blow-off had apparently killed the lift. The dying cumin must also have dumped cool air, which caused the large scale sink. I was stunned at the dramatic turn of events, but I had to accept my fate. Gear down, spoilers out, land. . .

Golden Pond turned out to be a nice wide, grassy strip with no surprises. As soon as I collected myself, got out of the cockpit, and surveyed the strip, I called Doug Morris, who was waiting for my arrival at Moontown and requested an aero retrieve. Doug fired up the Pawnee and was there within an hour.

On Golden Pond

We took a few pictures, pushed the ship back, hooked up, and took off. The tow back took about 45 minutes in relatively smooth air. The clouds had all but disappeared and we ran into only three or four bumps along the way. The day had definitely died.

After passing Guntersville, I released from the Pawnee and raced the 25 or so miles back to Moontown at ~90 knots. When I landed, club members John Mittel, Randy Stout,and Stu Venters were there to greet me and help me disassemble my bird. As I was getting out of the glider, Randy handed me a beer, which I gulped down immediately.

I am honored to have participated in Alby’s voyage. It was great fun and I enjoyed a wonderful weekend of soaring in outstanding weather and seeing old friends. Thanks Alby!

Alby flight No. 42 pin No. 19 - Bill Elliott 6/24/2012

Bill Elliott flew Alby from Sylacauga to Huntsville, AL Sunday , June 24. Congratulations to Bill on a terrific flight.

Eric Hey hands off Alby to Bill Elliott in Sylacauga, AL.

Bill, almost ready to go.

Bill and Alby away.

Alby arrives in Huntsville, AL. Nice flight, guys.

View flight on OLC

Alby flight No. 41; pin No. 18 - Eric Hey; 5/7/12

Eric was towed to 3,500' agl and was on his way with Alby towards Sylacauga, Alabama. He landed at Sylacauga at 4:45 pm with Alby. Here, Thomas (left) passes Alby to Eric for the next leg.

Eric with Alby.

Alby flight No. 40; pin No. 17 - Thomas Sippel; 5/6/12

Thomas Sippel in the PW-5 and Carey Hardin in the Citabria delivered Alby to Bob and Eric Hey at the Shelby County Airport SE of Birmingham AL. Departure from STR was 12:37 and Arrived at Shelby Co. at 3:15 pm. Within moments Alby was transferred into the waiting Laister Nugget LP-15 (N97DT) piloted by Eric Hey. The aero tow was performed by Carey Hardin in Citabria (N662V). Alby now awaits a flight from Sylacauga to Huntsville, Alabama.

Alby flight No. 38; pin No. 16 - Bob Herndon; 6/26/11-8/6/11

Vicksburg to Starkville, MS

Alby arrived in Jackson by Fed Ex. We were not able to meet him in Vicksburg. He was not happy as he was supposed to fly from Vicksburg to Woodbridge airport, just North of Jackson, MS. Since he expected to fly the whole distance, we planned to fly him back to Vicksburg. With my first try on June 18 in our ASW 20, N3EB. I couldn’t control the plane adequately with Alby’s case on my lap, the case got in the way of the stick so I didn’t have adequate right aileron range. I had to release at 200 feet because of slack rope and made a quick 180 and landed. Alby was not impressed.






Notice that it is a sunny day. Scattered lift. I only got to 3200 staying close to home in the Grob 102.




The next try, on June 26, we flew Alby, without his case back over the Vicksburg airport where he could see the Mississippi flood, which was receding by that time. Lift was weak and it took almost a half hour to get to cloud base. Alby insisted that he could do much better on his own and didn’t seem impressed with my thermalling skills. Nevertheless, once we got to cloud base the trip proved fairly easy and we never got below 2,500 AGL until descending to land at Woodbridge. Alby got a good view of the Mississippi Delta. Since there are very few land out spots in the area around the Big Black River I was a bit nervous crossing that area but did not have any trouble with it.

On July 10, I took Alby on our first try for Starkville – It was a good day locally with cloud bases at 4,000 msl and expected to rise as the day progressed so it looked to be a good day all around. Unfortunately, half way to Carthage which is about 25 miles to the North, there was a big blue hole and the few tiny clouds in the area had bases at about 3,000 msl or 2,500 agl. Lift was weak, there were no good land out areas and I had to turn back. I got some good lift and tried again about a half hour later but again ran into the same big blue hole. Lift west of the Pearl River looked a bit better but by then it was too late to try again.

August 6 time for another try. Conditions looked fairly good with cloud base at 3,800 msl and, since they usually go up through the afternoon I expected 5,000 to 5,500 msl cloud bases by late afternoon. There are essentially no decent land out areas between Woodbridge and Carthage so getting to Carthage was a bit tense but there were some good cloud streets so I went ahead. I didn’t ask Alby what he thought of a rough off field landing but fortunately didn’t have to land out. North of Carthage, there are more airports and land out possibilities so I proceeded despite the fact that conditions were a bit overbuilt and the cloud base remained low, about 3,500 msl or 3,000 agl. As I approached Louisville, the lift appeared to be dying and I got down to about 1,200 agl but was quite close to the Louisville airport so I kept searching and was just starting a turn toward the airport when I finally hit a strong thermal and worked my way up to 3,500 msl. There was a thunderstorm just North of Louisville and between there and Starkville and Alby didn’t want to be too close to a thunderstorm. “Leave that to the Storm Petrels”. So we skirted the storm to the West and arrived at Starkville after a 3 hour 22 minute flight. George Bennett came out and had arranged a tow which got me about half way back as there was no longer any lift. I landed at Kosciusko and was picked up by my close friend and fellow CFIG in our tow plane and he brought me on home. Had I known that ceilings would remain as low as they did, I would not have even considered trying a long cross-country but it all worked out. Alby was happy to be out of his box and moving again and seemed fairly impressed with the distance and I didn’t even have to flap my wings.







Dr. Bob Herndon arriving home after taking Alby to Starville MS. Landing after rain and cloud covered afternoon.





That is among the longest flights for our club. Probably the longest was made on a good day (cross country days are a rarity here, almost all in the Spring or Fall. We have had a 9,000 foot day but only once since the clubs inception in 2003. The longest flight was probably 60 nm to Greenwood and Back by Stan Music. I think this is the second longest and the longest direct flight to a goal by a large margin. Certainly it is the longest on a 4,500 ft. max day. I did a flight of about 95 nm. round trip a few years ago but under much better conditions.

IGC file 

Reflections on flying with Alby - Dean Forney

Monday, June 15th

After much soul-searching, I have decided to go ahead and tell you a few things about Alby that I’m sure will surprise you. Who knew that Albatrosses have a temper? I guess I was so smitten with the image of Alby the adventurer, and Alby the free spirit, that I was caught completely off guard the first time he blew up and started screaming at me. I might add that he can be quite sarcastic in some of his remarks. He first started in on me when I was unloading him after landing-out in York’s pasture. I had to explain to him that this was just all part of the cross-country experience, and part of the adventure. He said he didn’t think much of it, but would try to bear with me.

The next episode was after I landed at Cypress River. That’s where he really showed his temper and we got into quite an argument. It got so heated that at one point I threatened to throw him out in the swamp and let him find his own way on without me! I know that was a childish, petty statement on my part but he insulted me by saying that a 6 month old Albatross chick knew more about soaring than I did! After we both cooled off, we made peace and apologized to each other. As I was driving home, we had a long talk. He told me that he was getting sick of riding in my truck, that he hadn’t signed on for this, nor had he agreed to sit in my study in a box for 6 months. He asked me if I had confused his race for that of Polar Bears or something else that hibernated during the winter.

Albatrosses, as I found out by listening to him, are a very patient bird, accustomed to soaring for days on end. But they do have their limits, he told me. On my side of the discussion, I explained all about how humans mimic his species the best we can, but circumstances of varying terrain and the vagaries of the weather will screw up our best-made plans from time to time. He said he understood. I had to remind him that his part of the bargain meant that he would have to just put up with our shortcomings in order to learn about our sport.

We finally both agreed that we could do better and promised to show more tolerance for each other’s differences. I’m glad we cleared that up. I just thought I should warn those of you who are traveling with Alby from here on, to be aware that if you inadvertently cause Alby to be confined for too long a period at one time, you should be prepared for the consequences. On the other hand, if you treat him to long flights, and frequently, he will talk, or even sing to you your praises. If you keep him in the right mood, he will teach you things about soaring that you could never learn on your own.

Godspeed Alby!
Dean Forney

Alby flights No. 30; pin No. 15- Dean Forney; 4/26/10; 5/24/20; 6/13/10

Notes below are from Dean Forney, recounting his 3-part flight from Midlothian, Texas to Gilliam, Louisiana. Congratulations to Dean on this exceptional leg of the journey! Ed.

The last legs from Texas to Louisiana was filled with new adventures over unknown territory and although quite challenging and very difficult at times, it was never the less a wonderfully rewarding experience.

Part 3. Cypress River, Texas to Gilliam, Louisiana

Sunday, June 13th, 2010

I had checked with Wayne to see if the towplane would be ready the weekend of June 5th and 6th. It wasn’t, and the weather was not cooperating either. They were under a Tornado Watch as I was speaking to him. I continued to check the weather as the next week wore on, and it was iffy. When I looked at Dr Jack’s Blipmap for Sunday, it looked favorable and I decided to give it a try. Friday after work I rounded up my trailer and parked it in front of the house. I loaded up everything except Alby before I went to bed. I work from 3:30 in the morning until 2 PM on Saturdays, so when I got home I grabbed Alby and hooked up the trailer. I was on the road to Louisiana shortly after 3:00. The fastest route had me traveling east across north Texas to Texarkana, Arkansas then south to Shreveport.

I made a couple of phone calls along the way, first to Wayne Crank Jr. in Shreveport, arranging to meet him at Gilliam the next day, then to Glenn and Liz Maynard to keep them posted on the latest developments regarding Alby’s Voyage. When I talked to Glenn, he and Liz were actually at The Lone Star Aerobatic Championships near Sherman, Texas where they were both competing. I passed by about 10 miles from the Grayson County Airport while I was talking to him, and was very tempted to detour there and give my support to their efforts. I still had nearly 200 miles to go before bedtime though, so had to keep on the road. By the way, Glenn took first place in his category, and Liz placed in the upper third in her advanced category, flying their Giles G-202. They wished Alby and me luck on completing this last leg out of Texas.

I checked into a motel on the north side of Shreveport around 8:30 and hit the sack. The next morning I grabbed a quick breakfast and drove the 25 miles north to Gilliam. Just as I was pulling into the Airport, I saw an Aeronca coming in to land. It was piloted by Shreveport Soaring’s Ralph Forrester and his passenger Doug Olson. They showed me where to park and then the three of us quickly put the Libelle together. Ralph is one of those guys that do anything and everything that needs to be done around the club. Today he would be our winch driver. Doug is a new member in their club and has had a couple of lessons so far. Doug’s day job is flying B-52 “Buffs” out of Barksdale AFB located at the east edge of Shreveport. It was still early and Ralph and Doug had some chores to do, so they took off to go get a lawn mower somewhere and I decided to drive over to have a look at Thackers airstrip some 8 miles from Gilliam as an Albatross flies. What I saw was dense trees, sloughs and creeks and no place to land once I got away from the Red River farmland about 3 or 4 miles out. Shortly after I got back to Gilliam Ralph and then Wayne arrived. There were also a couple of fellows waiting for the local Skydivers that operate out of Gilliam. I found out from Wayne that the club had conducted around 25 winch launches the day before, and several people had managed to climb out to cloudbase around 3000 agl. Today looked like it would be about the same. This encouraged me. While I was driving in the day before, I had ample time to think about the real possibility that today might turn out to be a series of winch launches followed by landings, or something worse (as far as Alby’s Voyage is concerned) such as a 8-10 mile flight with a landing at Thackers, Vivian, or even 28 miles away at Cypress River! I was eager to get started. The fellow that owns the airport came by and introduced himself: Mr. Danny Logan, a really nice Southern Gentleman, keeps his own 172 on this airstrip, and allows a crop-duster as well as the Skydivers and the Shreveport Soaring Club to operate here. Thank you Mr. Logan for letting Alby fly from your strip as well.

I had looked back through my logbooks a couple of days ago, and discovered that it had been over 15 years since my last winch launch or auto-tow. After talking it over with Wayne and Ralph, we all decided that it would be wise to do a couple of check rides in their 2 place Lark. Wayne got in the back seat and I in front. The first launch only netted 700 feet due to me starting the climb late. I was happy to note a couple of good bumps as I entered the pattern. The next climb was a little better, but only got about 850 feet. While we were hanging around for a minute or two, we ran into a thermal and climbed up to 1200 feet or so. Wayne suggested that we might as well stay up where it was cool for a while, but I was really eager to get back down to start the “Voyage”.

I was soon settled in the cockpit of my Libelle and Wayne was attaching the winch wire to the cg hook. My first launch resulted in 750 feet and I didn’t contact lift after release, so back on the ground for an immediate re-light. This time I got 900 feet and ran smack into the house thermal right after release. I steadily worked my way up as the wind drifted me north 2 or 3 miles. I was looking down on the paved drag strip located 1.5 miles from the airstrip. I had been warned by Wayne not to even think about landing here, because the drag strip is lined with lights and you can’t see some of them from the air. It looks just like a nice paved runway, even has a taxiway along the side. I couldn’t see any clouds within reach directly towards Cypress River, but there were some south and a bit west of Gilliam and more or less in the direction of Thackers, so I ran over to them. I was back down to 2000 or so when I got there. As I slowly climbed back up I was studying the location of clouds on course. There was pretty much nothing directly along the course line, but there were several around Thackers and a few west of there. When I topped out here I was at 3500 and so headed on to the next one. It was 6 or 7 miles out there and I was back at 2500 feet when I arrived. I wasn’t averaging much of a climb rate, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I was getting between 2 and 3 knots in the climbs.

Now I was located about half way between Thackers to the south and Vivian to the north and I was well away from the farm fields. I could look straight down and see swamp water amongst the trees. To the west there were no clouds, and the cloud I was milking gave out on me at 2900 feet. My inner voice was telling me it was time to move away from the trees, so I started back towards Gilliam. This was the right move and at the right time because I slowly but relentlessly sank toward the ground. I ran through a teeny thermal just before I got out of the swamp, but only managed to get back up to 2300. I could see that I was staying in a very safe position, and had it made back to Gilliam, but would soon be landing if I didn’t find something. It kept on until I was only half a mile from Gilliam and at 1100 feet. Literally at the last minute, I found the house thermal, and cranked my way back up to cloudbase, and yep, drifted back over Thunder Road again. The clouds were right about where I found them the first time, but had improved in the sense that the tops on some of them were building and a few had developed those good looking concave bases. In fact, by scouting around different spots under the cloud I was working, I found a sweet spot that gave me 4-5 knot lift and topped out at 4200.

Now I was ready to make a serious charge out west, and off I went. I ran out to a cloud that was about the same place where I quit the first venture, and got from 2600 back up to 3800. This afforded me the chance to go for a couple more clouds off to the southwest. My dilemma wasn’t an inability to get along the course; it was getting enough altitude and/or close enough together to be able to stay in the lift band. It’s one thing to be able to make it to a landing place, and quite another to arrive there with enough altitude left to hook up with some more lift. It accomplishes nothing if you land at a checkpoint along the way. After one more run to the next cloud, I was a couple of miles north of Cypress River and working some mediocre lift. The wind was blowing out of the south, so I was drifting farther away from the airport as I climbed. By the time I topped out I was at 3500 and was wasting more time than I was gaining. At least I had enough to run into the airport for the remote start, and I crossed the runway at 3000 feet.

After 2 ½ hours in the air, Alby was now officially on his way to Shreveport. There were neither clouds nor lift that I could find around Cypress, so off I went back north to the cloud I had come in from. It had moved quite a way farther north so it cost me 1000 feet to get there, only to find it had completely died while I was gone. All of a sudden the situation changed from good to bad. There was nowhere to go except for the safety of the runway back at Cypress River. I set a course straight for the airport, desperately scrutinizing the ground for anything that might make a thermal. About the time I had resigned myself to the fate of a forced landing at Cypress, I spotted a small area where the trees had been clear-cut around the top of a small hill. I veered my course off to the right, and just like the textbooks promise, there was the nicest little thermal you could ask for. I was only a mile from the runway, at 1100 feet above sea level and the terrain here is around 300 msl. Folks, that means that I was 800 feet above the ground. This was one of the best saves I have ever pulled off. I worked it for all I was worth, too! You can bet that I wasn’t going to blow this one. I had to go pretty steep to stay in it, but the higher I got, the better it got. This is what soaring is all about!

A cloud began to form above me, the lift had picked up to 3 knots (I thought this was excellent by the day's standard), I could see another cloud to the east that would be reachable and was right on course for home. Then I saw a rainbow between the next cloud and me. Cloud base was 4100 feet. I left it with a light heart, and a thank you on my lips. I tanked up again at the next cloud. It was one of those that have a multi-level base. The west side where I was working was higher than the rest of it, and lift was strong. I got to my highest point of the day at 4350. I was 22 ½ miles from Gilliam, and no worries about needing a bunch of reserve altitude, so I set a straight course for home. I was passing under the low part of the deck when all of a sudden it began to rain. Little beads of water formed all over the canopy then it started really raining with a big sheet of water running across us. I could see the ground by looking straight down and had pushed the speed up to 80 to get out of it as fast as possible. It didn’t take long and I soon broke out into the clear.

For a brief period I was sinking like a brick, as thousands of little spoilers formed all over the wings. They soon blew away and I was back running at best L/D. I wasn’t real sure that I was still high enough to make it now, but was confident that I could easily detour to Vivian or Thackers if needed. Now I could make out the white spot that is the bleachers at the drag strip, and from there I picked out the gap between two cornfields that is Gilliam’s runway. It was pretty low on the horizon, but I knew I was going to make it. I arrived a little too high for a straight in approach, but a little too low for a standard pattern. I veered off to the north, then back south, making a very large split-s approach, and touched down about half way up the runway. Wayne was the only one left at the airport. He greeted me with as big a grin as I had. We shook hands, and then I made the official presentation, turning Alby over to his next pilot. I can’t find the right words to tell you what a grand adventure this has been for me, but I can say that this has been the most rewarding series of flights I have done in many years. I believe that this is what Alby’s Voyage is all about.

With Wayne’s help we de-rigged and loaded the Libelle. I headed back home, and Alby went to spend his first night in Louisiana at Wayne’s house. I stopped in Texarkana for supper and gas and was at the house around 1 AM. I’m still grinning every time I think about my part in Alby’s Voyage!

View Flight on OLC

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Part 2. Mineola to Cypress River, Texas

Monday, May 24th

Almost a month had gone by since Alby and I landed in Russell York’s pasture just outside of Mineola, Texas. The time had been spent repairing the landing gear and then when the ship was ready to go, waiting out the weather. Finally we were set to go. Getting a towplane to meet us at the Mineola Airport took some doing. First try was with the Shreveport Soaring Club 101 miles away. This was when I learned that their towplane was in the shop getting an engine overhaul. Next I checked out the Commercial operation at Midway Airport, 85 miles away. While this was viable, the cost was more than I had hoped for so we put this option aside as a reserve plan. After our home club, North Texas Soaring, (Captained by Jim Vickery) chipped in on the cost of using our tug, and after Tom Dowdy volunteered to take off work on Monday to ferry the Cessna Ag-wagon back and forth as well as do the tow at Minneola; and seeing as how we would not interrupt normal week-end club operations at Decatur, the plan was put into motion. Mineola is 130 miles from Decatur, and Tom lives a fair distance from the club, so he had to get up early in order to be on time for a noon launch.

Glenn and Liz Maynard were once again ready, willing, and able for crew duties. We repeated the rendezvous at the Denton Airport, switched vehicles, and headed out southeast to Mineola, Texas. We arrived around 11:00 and immediately set about rigging up the Libelle. It didn’t take long to get Alby and me ready to launch. Shortly after we finished up, Tom came sailing in about 2000 feet over the trees with our tug, and entered the pattern. From here on the countryside for about the first half is mostly trees with farm fields sprinkled along at irregular intervals. There are lots of ponds, or what is known in this part of the country as “Stock Tanks”. There are also two very large lakes, and eventually some big areas of swampland. I had carefully planned the route with checkpoints selected where landing strips were located. I had never flown over any of the territory east of Dallas, and because satellite photos show mostly unfriendly terrain, as far as I was concerned, I would consider land-out fields to be non-existent. By now, medium looking cumulous clouds were scattered about. It was time to hook up and go!

Take-off from Mineola

Tom towed me into the wind out south of the airport and then looped around back over town to arrive on the west side of the runway at 3000 AGL, where I released. I headed for a cloud over town and connected with lift. I was disappointed to see that everything was rapidly drifting northward and so knew that my forward progress would require extra time. It was important from a safety point to stick to the planned route.

I pushed southeast toward my first checkpoint, a ranch strip named Rhodes. I also spent some time exploring the optimal lift zone to work and found it to be between 4000 and 5000 with average climbs of 4 knots. I was encouraged, and so set off to the east and the next checkpoint at Holly Lake. I made pretty good progress for a while, but bogged down when I got to the city of Gilmer. I could find lift around town under the clouds, but it was all very weak and was taking forever to climb back up.

I had a long hop to go to the next checkpoint of McKenzie, and it was located on the other side of a very large expanse of water, namely, Lake O’ The Pines. There would be no place to land along the way, and I needed to tank up large before heading out. Finally, by waiting it out mostly, and grinding away at it, I got into some decent lift and actually topped out close to 6000 feet. Now I was off and running and Alby was even talking to me again. I found 2 more decent clouds along the way and was topping out between 5800 and 6000 each time. I really was feeling optimistic, however I could see a pretty good-sized blue hole coming up.

I could see more clouds to the south, but they were too far away from my known landing strips for me to consider trying. It’s funny, (not) how quickly things can go from elation to that gut-gnawing sinking feeling. I was high enough to make it to the next checkpoint, but probably wouldn’t be able to do anything but land when I got there unless I could find some good lift along the way. My only choice was to press on and hope for the best.

You know, the odds of finding lift on a decent day like this are pretty good over a 15-mile glide. As I kept on going mile after mile I found nothing. I’m guessing that the blue hole was due to a mass of cool marine air from the lake. There was absolutely not a bump the whole way in. I veered off course each time I spotted anything close that might produce a thermal, but to no avail. I raised Liz on the radio and told her about the situation. She told me that they were already at Cypress River Airport and she spotted me coming in. After I got about a mile away from the airport, and was at 1800 feet, I turned around and ran over to the town of Jefferson, about 3 miles away to try to find me a thermal. I was able to scratch a little weak lift here and there and got up to about 2200 at one point, but it was a losing battle. So, once again I returned Alby to Texas when I landed at Cypress River.

I really loved this flight, up until the part where I had to land. We saw some beautiful and interesting country, experienced some good soaring for a while, and moved to within 15 miles of the Louisiana state line. I won’t bore you with the details of how Glenn and Liz (and Alby and me) took the glider apart, put it in the trailer, drove 200 miles back to Denton, etc. etc. etc. Alby arrived back in my study in Gainesville at 2:00 AM. I will tell you what he had to say about that later. We all had some really good pizza on the way home.

View Flight on OLC

I checked with Wayne Crank Jr. at Shreveport Soaring to see how their towplane overhaul was progressing. He told me it wouldn’t be ready the weekend of May 29th, but possibly would be by the following weekend. I didn’t even bother checking the soaring forecast; I did chores and yard work instead. The next weekend I did check, and it was dismal. Strong winds, broken weak lift, and an absolute dead zone centered right on Cypress River. The towplane wasn’t ready yet, so it didn’t much matter. While talking to Wayne, he had mentioned that his club was using a winch to launch their gliders during the time the towplane was in the shop. He said that we might be able to trailer the winch over to Cypress River and get me launched for the final leg. I began to think of possible ways of doing the job. The problem with setting everything up at Cypress River was a matter of logistics. It would require a crew of people to drive there from Shreveport, conduct the operation, wait around to see if I could find lift, possibly would involve multiple tries to get started, and would take the only means of launching gliders away from Gilliam, effectively shutting down operations for the whole club for at least a day. I would also need someone to bring my pickup and trailer from Cypress River to Gilliam. Not the best plan, I reckoned. On the other hand, if I could launch from the existing winch set-up at Gilliam, it would not upset normal operations at all for the Shreveport club. Also, my trailer would already be waiting there for me when I finished the task. Wayne told me that launches at Gilliam would result in average climbs of 1000 to 1200 feet. That means that you just about need to be in a thermal when you release, obviously a landing is imminent if you don’t connect with one. Now you might well think that this would be a piece of cake. It should be and could be on a day when you have respectably high cloud-bases or tops of thermals. However, I am remembering that I had just completed two hops along the way, 85 miles and then 75 miles, and I had learned that cloud bases kept getting lower as I moved farther east through this particular country, and that the availability of safe out-landing sites decreases at about the same ratio. While neither of the previous 2 flights netted large distances, I feel good about them. I would stick to my plan of hopping along established landing strips while crossing unknown hostile terrain; it’s the safest way to do it.

So this would be the plan: winch launch from Gilliam, fly across the swamps and forests to the west side of the Cypress River, Texas Airport, make a remote start from there, then do the official Alby Flight back (across the swamps and forests) to the Shreveport Soaring Club at Gilliam, Louisiana. There would be only two possible landing spots along the way, and neither was directly on the shortest route between Gilliam and Cypress River. One is Thackers, a private airstrip 4 miles inside the Louisiana state line. The other is the Vivian, LA. Airport, 2 miles inside state line. It is 20 miles from Cypress R. to either of these fields.

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Part 1. Midlothian to Mineola, Texas Sunday, April 25th, 2010

The Soaring forecast didn’t look that bad, but showed there would be strong winds. The fact that the winds were pretty much blowing from Midlothian straight towards Louisiana caught my attention and made me decide to give it a try. Unfortunately, Liz Maynard was down and out with a bronchial infection and Glenn was scheduled to fly a trip from DFW to Tokyo, so neither was available for crewing. I decided to press on anyway, and thought that I would not worry about how to get home until after I landed. It’s all a matter of priorities and number one on the top of my list was getting Alby moved (safely, but not necessarily conveniently) on down the road and as soon as possible. So I got up early Sunday morning and trailered the Libelle the 90 miles south to Midlothian.

I put the glider together and put Alby on his perch behind my head. We were all set to go except for one thing. The wind was blowing right across the runway with gusts over 20 knots. I waited a couple of hours, hoping things would improve, but they didn’t. Conditions were just not conducive to making a safe take-off. Finally, after 3:30 came and went, I scrubbed the attempt. I tied the Libelle down, parked the trailer out back of the hangers, and put Alby back in my truck. Alby was getting a little up tight by now (more about that later). After I got home I called Liz to keep her informed of the (non) developments, and was surprised when Glenn answered the phone. He had not taken the Tokyo flight after all, and I was pleasantly surprised to hear that he and Liz (ever faithful to the Alby Cause through sickness and health) would be available for crew duties for another try the next day.

Glenn Maynard and Dean
Monday, April 26th, 2010

I left home at 7:30 and drove south 35 miles where I met up with Glenn and Liz at the Denton Airport close to where they live. We left my pickup there. We arrived at the Gliderport south of Midlothian a couple of hours later. We got the Libelle untied, readied, and Alby loaded onboard. We hooked my trailer up to Glenn’s truck and soon were all set to go, both in the air and on the ground. The winds were still fairly strong but had switched around from yesterday’s cross component to a more favorable direction for take off. Our towpilot had some morning appointments and so we didn’t get to take off as soon as we would have liked to. When he got ready and we were briefing each other about the tow, he informed me that the forecast didn’t look good at all, with a plus something thermal index. That turned out to not be accurate but alas, the part about it not being good was true. Undaunted, and casting all negative soaring thoughts behind us, we hooked up, took off, and soon were 3000 ft AGL and into the first thermal.

The wind was a factor on getting started because as I was working under my first cloud, I drifted under the DFW class B airspace and had to watch that I didn’t get above 4000 ft. As it turned out, I didn’t need to worry much about it because the thermals were not going above that anyway. I cloud hopped my way around to the east and north, passing south of Midway and then Lancaster Airports imbedded in the Dallas Metroplex. Now I was clear of the Class B and struck out on course for Louisiana.

The first part of this flight was comfortable enough because after leaving the city there were a lot of farm fields along the way, plus several landing strips, which were major checkpoints along the planned route. It was slow going though. There was a temperature inversion sitting at about 4000 feet putting a lid on the tops of the thermals. You could see heavy haze in most any direction and the cu’s appeared to dissolve into the stuff beyond about 10 miles. There also was still a pretty good crosswind blowing south to north. The good news was that I kept finding useable lift marked by small low cu’s just about anytime I needed them. The disappearing cu’s were just an illusionary effect of the haze, because new ones kept coming into view out of the murk as I trudged along. I never did get very high, the lift was running between 2-3 knots, occasionally 4, and was topping out between 2700 and 3200. My high for the day was 4200 and that was only once. Three times I got down to 1200 ft but each time I ran into the needed thermal and scratched my way back up.

I had passed my checkpoints of Harper, Eisenbeck, Erco, and Goode. I crossed over Interstate 20 shortly after passing ND Ranch and this is about where I begun to run out of farmland and into the beginnings of the east Texas forests. Right about here is also where I noticed funny things happening with my electrical system. My audio vario was giving me different tones than I was used to; one of my varios quit all together and my data logger also gave up. I finally woke up to the fact that system battery voltage was down around 5 volts. (I discovered later that the battery had developed a short in one cell). I shut down everything except one vario and this worked ok for the rest of the flight. I now had no radio contact with Glenn and Liz as well.

I continued to work my way eastward using the clouds and was now over some mostly wooded terrain with a few low hills. Ground elevation here is around 500 feet above sea level and I had been seeing 2800-3000 feet on the altimeter for the last few climbs. The thermals were getting weaker also, averaging 2 knots. I finally came to the end of the trail when I got low over a timbered area with a few fields scattered around. I was still a few miles from the next checkpoint, and was only a tad over 6 miles southeast of the Mineola Airport, but couldn’t reach either. I picked out a good field, flew a pattern around it twice while still hopefully searching for lift. I actually got my teeth into a bit of lift and circled in and out of it for a while but it was too little too late. I made the decision and switched my focus to the job of landing.

My field was located at the junction of two county roads that wander through the woodlands, and was close to a tall narrow cylinder painted light green which I assume is a water tower and would prove to be a visual aid for Glenn and Liz to find me. The field had some low terracing which followed the contour of the slope it ran through. I could see a few houses scattered along the roads. I set up a right hand pattern and turned final over the tops of some trees. Everything went as planned with a normal approach and touchdown.

As I was rolling out and slowing nicely, my left wingtip caught a tussock of grass on the uphill side and swerved me to the left. In doing so, it put an abnormal side load on the main gear and actually popped the wheel out of the strut, as well as bending the A-frame pieces. I coasted to a stop in the grass with no other damage to the ship and none to me. To add insult to injury though, Alby chose this exact moment to tell me what he thought about the whole day. I will defer further description of the conversation, but promise to tell you about it later.

After removing the canopy and climbing out of the ship, I activated the message button on Glenn’s SPOT device. He had loaned it to me and explained that he had a pre-recorded message set up which would call his cell phone and report the coordinates of my present position automatically. I also checked the Alby SPOT device and saw that it was still functioning normally with both LED’s blinking properly. I then called Liz on my cell phone and found out that in spite of no radio contact, they had been following the Alby SPOT signals via Glenn’s I-phone screen and so were less than five miles from me and were on their way. Modern technology is truly wonderful, I thought.

I remember many occasions in my early years of cross-country attempts when I walked from my landing spot to some ranch house and used their telephone to call home, then waited hours, sometimes into the middle of the night for someone to come fetch me. In the mean time, I set about trying to find a gate that would allow access into the field. There was a house across the road, and while I was walking the fence line, a fellow strolled over and struck up a conversation. He hadn’t noticed the sailplane sitting in the field and said he thought I was inspecting the fence or something. I explained what was going on, and told him my friends would soon be there with the trailer. He said that he wasn’t the owner of the land, but knew Russell York, the man that was leasing it. In fact, he dialed Russell’s number on his cell phone then handed it to me.

I introduced myself and explained the reason for the phone call. He began to give me directions on how we could get into the field, but then decided it would be easier to just come on over and show us. A few minutes later, I saw Glenn and Liz arrive and shortly thereafter Russell York and a friend of his, Markeith Buckner showed up. Before long the whole convoy had come in through a neighbor’s pasture and a back gate into this field and pulled up to where the Libelle was resting. After introductions were made, we spent some time telling Russell and Markeith all about sailplanes, soaring, cross-country flying in general, and Alby’s Voyage in particular. They were fascinated with the whole project and we gave them information on how to check the past and future progress of Alby on the website. We also told them to be sure and look for this story to be posted because they were going to be included in it. Meeting helpful and friendly people like Russell and Markeith is one of the greatest parts of this whole adventure. Thanks again guys, for all of your help and hospitality!

Because of the lack of main wheel, we had to use a modified procedure to de-rig the ship. With the help of our new friends we wrestled first one wing then the other off and into the trailer. Then we all lifted the fuselage up and onto its’ cradle. It didn’t take long at all and we had everything secure and ready for the trip back home. We made it back to the Denton Airport around midnight and swapped the trailer from Glenn’s rig to mine. Alby and I were back at my house in Gainesville about an hour later.

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Special thanks to Dean, Elizabeth, Glenn and Tom for their extraordinary contributions to these flights. Ed.

The Dallas plan

Note below is from Terry Stroud, volunteer and perhaps pioneer on the Decatur, Texas-to-Gilliam, Louisiana leg. We trust his skills and wish him well. Ed.

Alby watchers.....

Alby has landed in Texas, south of Dallas. After visiting with a new ground-bound friend (see picture) the talk turned again to flying eastward. Alby then learned that the next stage is something of an adventure, a journey into the unknown.

It turns out that while humans know all about (and travel all over) the land underneath the leg ahead, very little is known about the air itself. Just 20 miles east of Alby's location marks a point that human just don't normally go beyond. Unlike Alby, the humans use maps of the sky and "turnpoints" to navigate from place to place on the currents. "Turnpoints" are a kind of collective wisdom of the humans who have glided over these markers. "How is it around Kaufman?" they ask. "Not bad" says another. "Just stay away from the lake to the south." Just east of Alby, turnpoints do not exist. No one goes there. It is not impossible for motorless flight, it just gets so much harder.

The first difficulty, Alby learns, is water. Water and waves are friends Alby knows well, but on the big expanse of land, it seems that water can be an enemy to flying. Water from rivers and recent rainshowers have soaked the ground that lies ahead. The wet ground greedily soaks up the warmth of the sun and lets the air have very little of it. Also ahead is an obstacle not created by the earth, the water, or the air. Alby has experienced this strange obstacle before, this odd set of rules that govern the sky called "airspace." This time it lies right where the distance would be shortest, right where, indeed, the water can be avoided. The airspace can be traveled around but the price is longer distance and less choice of path.

There is no danger ahead, just study, trial, and perhaps error. Alby thus settles in with his next airborne guide to study the land, invent new "turnpoints", and explore the air that the human flyers know so little about.

A little about Alby's next guide....

Terry has close to 1000 hours in the air, and about 24,000 miles of cross country experience. He has flown a 2-33, a 2-32, a 1-26, a Grob 103, a Puchaz, an ASK-21, a PW-5, a Stemme s10, a Glasflugel 303, a Duo-Discus, an ASW-27, a 304S Shark, and currently owns and flies a Ventus Ca.

Alby flight No. 25 and pin No. 14- Elizabeth Maynard 7/25/09

Alby Flight No. 14 – Decatur to TSA

Two weeks before the Alby flight…

I must have had sunstroke because after three days of playing with airplanes and gliders in record high temperatures of 108F I announce that I will fly Alby from Decatur to TSA. I, who only got her gliding licence last September and who had never flown more than 16 miles from her takeoff airport, now thinks that flying 65 miles for a first cross country, over twice that required for the Silver distance, makes perfectly good sense. When I get home, I email Dean Forney, one of the most knowledgeable glider pilots I know, and inform him of my decision. “Go for it”, he writes back. I email Francis, one of the officers of our club, and ask her to let Sergio know. She does, but politely asks me “isn’t it rather like jumping into the deep end after just learning to swim?” That strengthens my determination to do the trip. I always rise to a challenge. So it is all set; everyone is informed. But by Thursday, when the sunstroke is fading and the reality of the task ahead is sinking in, I realise I must have been very ill indeed.

You may wonder what gave me the audacity to believe I am capable of such a distance with such little experience. Since buying a beautiful Russia (AC-4C) earlier this year I have wanted to fly cross country. I have been practicing all the exercises suggested by the experts. I have practiced flying small cross country triangles around Decatur. I have made many flights of over 2 hours and if other pilots can stay up, I usually can too. Through writing articles for my club newsletter I have spent much time considering landing out and cross country planning. I was beginning to feel ready for the club standard 35 mile jaunt up to Gainesville. Then along comes Alby.
One week before the Alby flight…

As Alby gets closer to Decatur, on the wings of Dean’s Libelle, I can see more clearly what I have volunteered for and I start to think I have made a really stupid decision. I email Sergio so no hopes will be built up. Two things I don’t tell him. Firstly, I will actually have to fly 85 miles around DFW’s class B airspace. Secondly, my small trip to an airport 16 miles away was actually at Moriarty on a day when other pilots were flying 500 km courses. His reply informs me many people will be following my flight. Secretly I pray for an internet meltdown.
One day before the Alby flight…

I had originally intended to fly to TSA in very loose formation with my good friend and gliding guru, Steve Altman. But as I watch the weather forecasts, it looks like I will be able to make the flight the weekend after Alby arrives at Decatur. I know Steve will be working then, so hope I can delay the flight until the following weekend. I meet up with Dean on Friday afternoon. He gives me a serious look over his café au lait. “Well, Liz”, he says. “It looks like tomorrow will be the best gliding day of the year”. I know I can’t pass such a day up and will have to make the flight without Steve. It will be just me and Alby.

The Alby Flight...

The most important things I take with me into the cockpit are three pieces of advice:
1. If you don’t want to deal with an emergency, don’t create one – Jim Vickery (He actually tells a short story, but this is the moral of the tale.)
2. Get high, stay high – Dean Forney
3. Only worry about the waypoint behind you and the waypoint ahead of you – Steve Altman

Launch No. 1:

I had arranged with the tow pilot for a 12 noon tow and things are going pretty much on time. I plan on sampling the conditions before I leave. I am not going if the conditions are not as good as Dean has promised. After releasing at 2500 ft AGL into a clear blue sky I find a marginal thermal that keeps me from descending, but doesn’t offer me any decent lift. But feeling it might grow into something bigger, I decide to work it for a while. Unfortunately it is in the power aircraft traffic pattern and, for the first time ever since I have been flying at this normally very quiet airport, three training aircraft simultaneously arrive to practice touch and goes. Floating 500 ft over them makes me nervous and I move off hoping to find another thermal. Nothing. Neither lift nor sink and I gracefully float back to earth.
Launch No. 2:

Despite the still blue skies, and despite two other pilots launching and finding nothing I relight immediately. I release into a strong thermal. It takes me up to 3200 ft AGL and then breaks up. I lose it, try to find it again, give up, try to find another thermal, hit sink, head back to Decatur, hit strong lift on final, deploy full spoilers and still need a slip to get down. I land and look up. Cumulus clouds are beginning to develop. High ones, with dark concave bottoms and well defined development. I run my glider backwards up the runway to get relaunched.

Launch No. 3:

A little before 3 PM I release at 2400 ft AGL, this time into a whopping thermal that drives me up to 7000ft AGL. I know this is it. Just to be sure before leaving Decatur’s airspace, I fly towards a neighbouring cloud and again, find 4-6 kt lift. No question, this is it. I radio to my ground crew, a.k.a. husband, to switch to 123.5. This is the signal for him to start driving south.
My progress is slow going. Firstly the winds are from the southwest, with a 10 kt headwind component. Given that the best L/D of my Russia occurs at 50 kts, my ground speed is unimpressive to say the least. Secondly, I am following Dean’s advice and staying high. Cloud topped thermals are abundant and I am able to dolphin from one to the other, straying only slightly off course. Occasionally I stop to thermal in the strongest for the pure joy of rocketing upwards at 6-10 kts. (You have to understand, here, 2 kt thermals are normal; 4 kt thermals are considered a treat.) In this fashion I am able to stay above 6000 ft AGL…until I get to Parker County Airport, a third of the way on my route.

Then everything seems to stop – the road I have been following, landmarks, the abundance of clouds. A few scraggy, poorly developed cumuli break up the blue, but these are miles apart (25 miles at my guess), far too infrequent for the glide performance of my Russia. I stop in a thermal just south of Parker County and try to squeeze every last inch out of it. Given that the southerly wind is blowing me back up my track, I know this isn’t a great idea, but I need time to think. Was I about to create an emergency? At that point my crew asks for my position. After I answer, a second male voice comes over the radio.

“Are you the pilot bringing Alby to TSA?”
“Yes,” I reply. “If I make it.”
“I’m the next Alby pilot,” he says. “And you’ll be fine. You’ve got a few hours left.”

For the first time I look at my watch. 4:30 PM. I have paid no attention to the time until now and it is later than I would have liked. I can feel panic seeping into my bloodstream. There’s no way I can do this, I think. It’s too late. There’s no lift out there. I’m doomed. And the internet meltdown hadn’t happened. I start irrationally veering off to the west towards a deceptively good looking cloud. Panic is beginning to affect my thinking. I kick myself as best one can in a small cockpit. I read Steve’s words in my mind – one waypoint at a time. I look south. I can see the bend in the east-west road that curves around Bourland airport, 11 miles away. I am at 6000 ft AGL. I have two choices. I can land now and end this anguish. Or I can just head out to Bourland. I have enough altitude to make it there. I will either find lift or not and once I get to Bourland I can re-evaluate my position. So like a diver jumping into the water, I hold my breath and turn south.

There is little I can do other than fly along like a blind man with a cane and hope I will bump into another thermal. I can’t reach any of the clouds and the ground is uniformly brown and barren, offering few clues about thermal generation. After only 5 miles a small bubble allows me a few turns and I gain a 1000 ft, and so pass by Bourland at 6000 ft AGL. Things are still not too bad. My next waypoint is Embry, almost 20 miles away, although there are a couple of landout airfields enroute if I need them. I fly in smooth air for 10 miles and then finally stumble into a moderate thermal that bears me back up to 5500 ft AGL. I continue on, my vario alternating between crooning and lazy chirps. Three miles later I feel something good. I turn but sink like a rock. I have just been tricked out of 500 ft. I am down to 4000 ft AGL. With one of my landout airfields almost under me I continue southeast, expecting that I will soon have to turn back and land there. I give it a thorough checkout as I fly by. This is where it will all end. The slow descent is like a slow death. Part of me wants to land and get the inevitable over with.

Some gentle lift tickles my wings. My vario chirps with a little more enthusiasm. I slow to milk this for all I can get. Then suddenly…Bam! A giant bubble of air slams against the underside of my glider. My vario screams like a hyperactive canary. I throw the glider into a 50o bank, drop the nose a couple of degrees on the horizon and kick the rudder to quickly get my nose around. There is no way in hell I am losing this one. And bingo, I hit the bullseye and ride 6 kt lift like an express elevator through 4000 ft AGL…5000 ft…6000 t then…

Ding.

My GPS gives me an airspace alert. The southwest wind has blown me uncomfortably close to the Class B. I have no choice but to leave and pick up a heading that will keep me close to, but out of the airspace. And so I learn a new definition of pain – leaving the only thermal this side of DFW while it’s still bubbling like the brew in a witch’s cauldron.

With enough altitude to continue on, I start looking ahead for Luscombe, my next landout field. I see it and it looks like a comfortable glide. I check the distance on my GPS and I notice that TSA is now within gliding range. I pause. I am surprised. I had been so sure I would be landing out I had forgotten about TSA. But now it slowly dawns on me I might actually make it and a small flame of hope ignites in the back of my mind.

I turn east. If I hit sink, I can still make Luscombe, but I find neither lift nor sink. For 15 miles, nothing. Absolutely nothing. Luscombe becomes an unreachable dot on the horizon behind me. My GPS tells me TSA is only 4 miles away. In this featureless terrain, I still don’t see it. I am at 2200 ft AGL and I can’t see the place I’m hoping to land at. It is disconcerting. But the numbers tell me I will make it, and I have no choice but to believe them. Still, I am picking out suitable fields as I go. I see a long whitish building and I remember a long hanger on the airport diagram on their website. That must be it. I head straight for it.

At a little after 6 PM I cross the centreline of the runway at 1600 ft AGL. I have little altitude to spare. I enter the traffic pattern and land. As I step out of the cockpit it occurs to me that if my life was a movie, at this point the orchestra would start up and I would give some teary speech about this being the best moment of my life. But, after hours of keeping my emotions under a tight rein so reason and common sense could prevail, I can only feel hunger and the need for the bathroom. We tow the Russia in. I wake up Alby who’s fallen asleep watching the barograph. After Terry Stroud lands, I pass Alby into his care for the next long and difficult leg of Alby’s voyage.

The day after the Alby flight…
My excellent crew and I sleep late, then treat ourselves to a leisurely breakfast. I am still exhausted, but Glenn needs to get his gliding fix so we head out to the airport, arriving later than usual. We are assembling the Russia when Dean drives up.
“Hey Liz,” he calls. “Everyone is waiting for you in the hanger.”
As I walk in I am greeted by congratulations and well dones from my fellow club members. Jim presents me with a bunch of flowers. Dean shakes my hand.
“Well done, number 14,” he says.
“Thank you, number 13,” I reply. I can’t help smiling. To hell with reason and common sense. This feels good. This feels really good.

Elizabeth Maynard

Alby flights No. 23 and 24 and pin No. 13- Dean Forney 7/19/09 and 7/21/09

Alby's Log, Leg #13: Littlefield to Decatur (leg one)

I met Steve and Reba Altman at the North Texas Soaring hanger in Decatur after I got off work Saturday. After looking at a couple of driving routes to Littlefield, Steve suggested we drive the one that was closest to the planned flight route so that we could study the terrain and check out possible land-out sites. We hitched up the Libelle trailer to Steve's truck and headed west at around 3 PM. We saw some vast areas of beautiful and colorful country. We saw some vast areas of ugly land-out possibilities. When we arrived in Littlefield, we drove out west of town to find the airport then checked in to the newest and nicest Best Western Motel in town. The lady at the desk gave us directions to a great authentic Mexican restaurant where we enjoyed a great meal. The forecast for Saturday was for a 40% chance of thunderstorms. As we left the restaurant we were treated to a spectacular display of lightning and could see the glow created by a large field fire caused by lightning strikes. I think all of the 40% thunderstorms hit Littlefield overnight; the other 60% went somewhere else.

The plan was to get an early start, utilize the legendary west Texas thermals to climb somewhere up in the teens and then cruise east 280 miles and land back home at North Texas Soaring in Decatur.

Take-off from Littlefield 12:35 July 19

I got off the ground a little later than planned, but as it turned out; it didn't much matter because the legendary west Texas thermals were late starting. I got off tow at 3000 AGL west of the airport and in dead air. I could see that most of the flat fields surrounding the airport were pretty wet. I found the first thermal just east of the airport, and it was not legendary. Due to the wind being around 20 knots out of the south, it leaned way to the north and was scrappy and fell apart just before getting back up to tow release altitude. I decided that the best bet would be over town where there was some dry asphalt and dry roofs to maybe generate a legendary thermal or two. There was a huge black field south of town, the one that burned up the night before. It consistently kicked off thermals but they were still the non-legendary kind that leaned over and fell apart at 28-2900 AGL. For almost two hours I kept grinding my way across Littlefield, circling and drifting north, gliding back south to start over again. I bet the folks that live there are still talking about it.


My plan at this point was to just keep sampling the thermals, wait it out until one of them became legendary, then head east. Finally I was getting a little higher, maybe 35-4000 AGL and then Steve called me and said he and Reba were about 10 miles out of town and were waiting to see what happened. They said I answered by saying something like "ummm, wellll ok, guess I will head out too". So I headed pretty much due east for my first checkpoint which was the town of Abernathy. Tom Pressley and the guys at Caprock Soaring had told me that if I stayed north of Abernathy I would be safely out of Lubbock's class C airspace. It actually wasn't that bad. The thermals were regularly spaced and gradually were getting a little higher, but still costing me in a lot of drift across course while climbing.

After clearing Lubbock the plan now was to just keep pushing east, correcting for the relentless wind drift and staying as close to course as possible. Slowly the checkpoints of Cone and then Crosbyton slipped past my wings. There were some medium high cloudstreets every now and then, but they all ran north-south and were spaced about 20 miles apart, and they gave up altogether as I approached the edge of the Caprock, where the elevation of the terrain drops off fairly quickly from 3500 MSL to 1500 then 1000. This is also where the badlands start and where there is 40 mile stretches of unlandable stuff. Just before leaving the high country, I finally found a couple of almost legendary west Texas thermals, showing 8 knots to my highest for the day of just a tad over 9000 ft.

For the most part, I was staying high enough where I could see landable fields scattered around the badlands within reachable distance. By that I mean that with the use of a thermal or two I could reach them, and failing that, I could leave course and head over to the highway where Steve and Reba were going east, and land there.

The only bad period I had was caused by a tactical error. After heading out off the Caprock with a comfortable amount of altitude but over the longest stretch of bad terrain for the day, I could see a very large blue area which no doubt contained a lot of sink and not much lift. North of the highway about 20 miles or so is a string of huge wind turbines and I could see several areas of flat farm fields scattered around them. There was also a few cumulous clouds there so I decided to veer off course and go around the blue hole. You know what happened next. The closer I got to the clouds the more ragged they became until they completely dissipated. Now all I found was sink and lots of it. The blue hole was pushed north closer to the wind farm and some better looking stuff had drifted in behind it. I turned back to the south to get out of the sink and surveyed the situation. I was within gliding distance of the highway about 15 miles away but didn't have enough altitude to get to the east side of the badlands. I headed a bit to the east but mostly back to the highway. About three miles north of the highway and 2500 AGL I found a fair thermal and climbed back up high enough to continue east to some landable ranchland. If I had just continued on course but aimed into the wind, I would have been able to skirt the south edge of the poor stuff and saved a lot of time and gained some extra miles as well.

Next checkpoint is the famous 6666 ranch. Pioneer oilman Amon Carter won the ranch in a poker game with a hand of 4 6's. It covers almost all of a very large Texas county and is still owned and run by his heirs. It is out in the middle of nowhere, folks. There is a world class paved and lighted runway adjacent to the highway on which family and friends come in their biz-jets. The ranch complex looks like a well maintained small town. I am told that they frown upon people landing there without a really good reason to. It looked like mine might be the classic glider pilots' reason: the wind quit, or least that was what I was going to have to make the ranch hands believe was my excuse.

Steve and Reba were parked in the shade of a few Mesquite trees at a rest area a couple of miles west. I could plainly see them sitting there. I was finding a thermal every now and then, and while I wasn't getting very high I was encouraged to keep pushing east. By this time the day was waning, and I was finding lift was topping out around 4500 or so, but it was still there so I kept on marching along. The next checkpoint was Munday and as I was getting closer to it, I could definitely feel that the day was almost done. There is a nice airstrip at Munday, but to go there I would need to deviate south of course by about 5 miles. On the other hand, the airport at Seymour requires that I go north of course about 5 miles but puts me further east and that much closer to the goal at Decatur. I could actually see what I guessed were water towers and grain elevators way off to the east, and thought that must be Seymour. I am 22.8 miles away and not high enough to make it. Just then I ran into the last thermal on earth for this date, and thankfully cranked around into it. It was a nice ol' thermal and by hanging onto it and milking it, I managed to get just a bit over 5000 ft and earned a nice final glide.

I arrived at Seymour with 700 AGL and entered a right hand pattern and landed to the south. Steve and Reba showed up about 20 minutes later (they had gone to Munday earlier). We had planned on leaving the Libelle tied down overnight, but after remembering what it was like at Littlefield the night before, and also seeing a big black wall off to the North West, I decided to de-rig and put the Libelle back in the trailer. We parked the trailer between two hangers and hit the road for Decatur. I was proud of my old ship for doing such a good job on such a challenging day, proud to get Alby moved on 180 miles closer to the sand dunes at Kitty Hawk, and extremely proud of and thankful for Steve and Reba's support. I would not have been able to make this flight without them. It is such a great relief and boosts your comfort level tremendously when you have a crew supporting you from ground level, and especially when you get the expertise and advice of a super CFIG like Steve Altman thrown into the bargain.

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You.

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Alby's Log: Leg #13, Littlefield to Decatur (leg two)

At my home in Gainesville I woke up to the sounds of thunder and heavy rain. This was the next morning after landing at Seymour, and I had planned on finishing Alby's Voyage to Decatur today.

Late night phone calls from Steve Altman and me to Francis Berryhill and Jim Vickery, the ramrods of our club, North Texas Soaring, had placed the next phase of this adventure in motion. Steve and Reba would not be available to continue crewing because of work schedules, so it was arranged for Glenn and Elizabeth Maynard to take over. Towpilot John Thomas quickly rearranged his work schedule at Lockheed so he would be available after noon.I got a phone call from Glenn in Denton where it was also pouring rain, and he asked me if I was optimistic about the chances of making the flight. I had just checked Dr. Jack's Blipmaps and my interpretation was that the flight could be done if the rain quit early enough. The weather forecast was for the same thing for the next three days, chances of thundershowers in the AM and clearing in the PM, with 15 to 20 knot winds out of the north. I told Glenn that we should go for it, so he and Liz met me at the North Texas Soaring hanger in Decatur at 10:30 AM. It was still raining, and radar showed solid thunderstorms all the way to the Red River north of Wichita Falls. Glenn suggested we adjourn to Starbucks for further consultation, so we did. I called John at work and advised him that we were on hold for now. Finally the stuff began to dissipate and move off to the south, with clearing coming in behind it, but by now it was 12:30 and I could see there was quite a bit of high cirrus coming along behind the thunder cells. So the game was called and rescheduled for Tuesday. We all went home.
The next morning the same thing happened, woke up to the sounds of Thor slinging his hammer around the skies and rain pouring down at my house. Weather radar looked about the same as yesterday, except it looked like it might move out earlier this time. Dr Jack's Blipmaps didn't look as good because of expected winds tearing the thermals apart. Still, it looked possible, so I had my breakfast, kissed Sharon and granddaughter Sydney goodbye, and headed for Decatur. I got there early enough to get our good old Agwagon ready for John. Put a tow rope in, charts and jumper cables just in case and she was good to go. Glenn and Liz showed up shortly after that, and after a final phone call to John in Ft. Worth telling him it was a go, we were off to Seymour. I must say that as far as crews go, Glenn and Liz showed every bit as much hospitality as Steve and Reba had. They continually offered me goodies like Starbucks high octane brew and deep fried stuffed Jalapeño peppers. As we drove on through Bridgeport, Jacksboro, Olney and into Seymour we constantly were looking for and grading potential land-out fields along the way. I was encouraged to see small cu's developing but wished they would get up higher. They appeared to be 2000 to 2500 at this time.We had just arrived at the airport in Seymour and hooked the trailer up when we heard the Agwagon coming and saw John enter the pattern. He landed just in time to help rig the Libelle and it didn't take much time at all before we were all set to go. The wind was blowing straight down the runway out of the north and the windsock was standing straight out.
The plan now was to take a tow, release west side of the airport and see if the thermals were holding together in the stiff wind. The plan was to use the plentiful cu's for markers along the route, staying as high as possible below cloud base which was at this time, less than our planned 3000 ft tow.The first thermal I got into off tow was a good one, held together OK, but Oh My Word! You talk about wind drift. The airport is about 4 miles north of town and as I circled in the lift I crossed the town north to south in a matter of minutes. Now it was time to get to work and get moving along course. Because I couldn't get high, I flew from cloud to cloud in a zigzag fashion. I would fly at about a 45 degree angle between course and wind direction, aiming at the next best looking cloud upwind. Almost every cloud I came to was working so I would take as many turns as I wanted in the good stuff, and just dolphin through the mediocre ones. While circling, the wind would shove me south and then I would head out northeast and repeat the process. I could see that this was not going to be a record breaking pace as the lightning bolt shaped course was netting me just about half of the groundspeed I would have achieved with no wind.
Even so, it was so easy that I imagine a Caveman could do it. Cruise at about 60 - 65 knots, climb under any cloud you want, push it a little faster through the occasional sink between and next to clouds, don't get too low, repeat process. I caught sight of Glenn and Liz twice along the way. They had no trouble keeping up with my pace, even though Glenn had to stop at every Dairy Queen he came to and get some more of those Jalapeno Poppers.It even got easier for a while because cloud base had crept up a bit during the strongest part of the afternoon, and the wind speed had eased off a bit as I got further east and south. Along with that, however was the fact that overall conditions were softening. As the sun moved lower toward the horizon, the wet ground and milder temperatures became more of a factor. After the flight, Liz told me from the ground it appeared as if the Munching Critters from a PacMan game were gobbling up the clouds after I used them, and they were gaining on me.They finally caught up with me about the time I came to the Bridgeport airport and began to eat up the clouds ahead of me as well. It was about this time that Alby and I began to have chats. He would say "Dean?" "Yes, Alby" I replied. "Are we getting in trouble here? It seems that we are just going around in circles and not gaining any altitude" "I agree. The day is dying so fast that I'm beginning to wonder if we may have to land." "Dean?" "Yes, Alby" "How much more do we need?" "Alby, if I could just find one more thermal, we could make it." "Dean, there are three of my Turkey Buzzard cousins, climbing rapidly, over there about 3 miles south of us. I'm sure they wouldn't mind if we went over there and used some of it." "Good idea, Alby. Let's go for it!"

Alby is one smart bird! Even though his cousins did mind (they ran away as soon as the big bad Libelle started circling with them) there was a brief period where one of the Buzzards was circling off our wingtip about 100 feet and watching every move we made. It was great, got us back up to about 3700 agl and was good for a pretty fast dash home the last 15 miles.







Once again, Kudos and more for the crew(s). Thank you all so very very much for making this truly wonderful adventure possible. Jim, Francis, John, Elizabeth, Glenn, Steve, Reba, and the guys at Caprock Soaring.

Thank You All. Dean Forney
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