KILO BRAVO (by Karl Boutin)
Kilo Bravo is a great glider for landouts.
This ASW-20 will bring you anywhere you ask it to go and if you misjudge what
is needed to get back home, KB will gracefully obey the pilot commands and put
herself down in any decent field. She really is a fine sailplane and season
over season, Rémy and I get out of our way to make sure she gets lots of
practice at landing out in new foreign fields.
This year is not different from any other
except, perhaps, that Rémy did decide to perform the initial Aux Vaches
of the season. I usually am the one who warms up Kilo Bravo to landouts but
this time my partner chose to do one in June while I was away in St-Auban. Rémy
has to plan better his outlandings; A cross-country pilot should know that you
cannot expect to get any edible crop from a retrieve done in June. I heard getting the glider out of the
field that day was a muddy affair. Maybe my partner expected to find another good stash of chanterelles
mushrooms in such a wet place? He knows all of the best spots around the
aerodrome and now he is venturing further away in his quest for the best
omelette at GGC.
When I came back from my trip in Provence,
Rémy and I met for our regular bi-weekly meeting. This is when, after a sweaty
session of Bikram yoga, in front of a beer and Chinese food we spend half of
our time talking about gliding, KB maintenance and flying in general. Rémy
debriefed me on his wet landing and updated me on what had happened at GGC
while I was away.
- “Kilo
Bravo is all cleaned up and ready to go”
-“More
gliders at GGC have FLARM installed now. Maybe we should think about getting
one”
-“The new
floor in the club house looks great”
-“I have
not yet found what is the issue with the Borgelt vario”
-“Don’t
forget to get the dolly from Ulo when you're back at the club, he had some wheel
issues with his 1-35”
-“We have
to redo the W&B soon”
-“KB main
wheel brake is adjusted properly now”
- etc...
A Triangle
So when I found myself on the low side of
the altimeter over the Gatineau hills last Saturday, I knew I could count on
our faithful ASW-20 to perform a good landout. Why was I getting so close to
the lakes and mountains around Notre-Dame-du-Laus? I am not sure exactly why
but I had not been bold. In fact I was on this northerly 211 km triangle
because I had scaled down my ambitions of completing my 300 km goal triangle
during the flyweek.
We all had been hoping for the weather to
improve throughout the past week. And improved, it had. Tuesday had been a
washout but Wednesday saw some flying. By Thursday, I was back at declaring
triangle in the Colibri. On Friday, I was even able to complete the triangle I
had declared that morning. I was
all set to go for the Big Three Hundred on the next day. And the
forecast looked so good... Biblical was the word that came out of
Roger’s mouth as he stared at the XC-Skies screens on Friday night. Well, Alleluia!
But as we all know, Dr Jack is a jerk. The
next morning, the heat maps were not that epic anymore. At 14:02 Zulu, the
forecast did not improve much so I decided to save the 300 km attempt for
another day. But it was still
going to be a nice day and even though it would likely stay blue in the South,
the North was going to be very good. Most of the pilots at Pendleton that morning
kept their hopes up. We DI’ed and pull the aircrafts to the end of Two-Six and
then we waited for the Cu’s to pop up. I powered up the Kobo and
declared a flight that seemed achievable: Pendleton – Huberdeau -
Notre-Dame-du-Laus – Pendleton. It was now almost one o’clock, time to go. I
launched at 12:55 and was on my way heading North-East.
When I fly cross country, I hear voices in
my head. The voices of instructors and fellow pilots giving advices on what to
do or what not to do. When crossing the river to the North, the voices always
agree: “Go high and stay high”. I sure was going to take their advices
and decided to reach for cloud base early in the flight and stay snugly in the
shade of the cumulus for the rest of the day. It took some efforts to get
started but after a while the thermals began to work for me. With a good averager and a good
ceiling, I progressed on my route. First Huberdeau, then Notre-Dame-du-Laus.
On the second leg, north of Lac Simon, I
renewed my commitment to stay high in the sky.At this latitude, the flight
computer displays some alternate landout options but those airfields seem so far on the horizon that you
really hope you will not have to go there. I did conservative flying using only
the very top of the soaring lift band. Cloud base, soar a little, climb back to cloud base, more gliding,
rinse and repeat. It all worked fine for me and this part of my task
went without a hitch.
It was now 15:15 and I was the King of the
Hills! Eleven kilometre from the last turn point of my task I would just need
one more climb to cloud base, and then the victorious final glide to Pendleton.
Simple plan. A short bio brake, a
push forward to notch the turn point, and then head back home. I was getting so
good at this X-country “schtick” that I had already spotted the cloud,
on course of course, that would be my last refuelling station after
Notre-Dame-du-Laus. But things did not work my way.
A Landout
The chosen cloud was fine and giving some
lift but I lost patience at this meagre two knots. I had seen my averager buzz
most of the afternoon at 500 fpm and I wanted to do good time on this last lap.
Anyway, the cumulus were all lining up on the track toward home so I figured
I’d get my lift at the next big black cloud.
There is nothing as disheartening then the
sound of a sad variometer. The annoying, sagging, low tone has always made me
want to cry. And after I left my last wimpy thermal near Notre-Dame-du-Laus,
this is the only sound I heard! I did try all of the tricks in my playbook,
nothing worked. I did aim straight for the dark bulge under the next cloud, I
did turn 90 degrees, I did sniff around all corners of its huge mass, I even
stretched to the neighbouring cumulus, nothing! Sink, sink and more sink. At
this rate, it was not too long before I was way below my margin to fly over the
hills. And indeed all of this “Sylva Borealis” was getting to close for
comfort. I turned back toward where I was coming from back to
Notre-Dame-du-Laus and the rivière du Lièvre valley.
Over Pendleton ,we are lucky to be
surrounded by nice farmland fields; lots of them. Unfortunately the region I
was in is better known for its lakes and hills. It is cottages country not
pasture land. I could spot few fields cloistered by rivers and forest but the choice
was limited. I aimed for a couple of fields that looked acceptable from the
distance. My choice was a big brown field west of the village and a small green
one by the highway just south of town. When it comes to landing, big and brown
is usually better. I drifted toward this one as my first option while keeping tiny
green in sight in case I needed a plan B. The glide slope was getting all
the more shallower, and I hardly dared looking at my altimeter at this point.
The depressing sound of the vario was still humming in the cockpit and the
lakes were getting closer. On a hill, just beside the larger field, I noticed a
tall antenna with its tip already above the horizon line! It really was time to
think of the landout now.
- “Big
brown field, small green field, big brown field, small green field, wait a
minute...”
- “What is
this shinny grey stuff on the side; can this be rocks?”
- “And what
kind of funky surface is that? Nope!”
- “Time to
switch to plan B. It looks small but it looks right”
- “OK,
SSSLOW now”
- “Slope:
Parallel to the road and river”
- “Surface:
Nice uniform green”
- “Stocks:
Nothing here”
- “Length:
Well I see 7 hydro poles. That should be long enough”
- “Obstacles:
I see the poles and the wires. There are trees at both ends and a kind of
island of bush to the side of the field but I will be able to clear all of
these”
- “Wind:
it has been light all day and seem even milder on the lake by the road”
- “All
right then; it is time to commit”
- “Alpha
Tango this is Kilo Bravo. I am about to land out. Turning off the radio now and
will report once on the ground”
We are animal of habits. It was therefore
with a left hand circuit that I was about to commit to Tiny Green. It
was the right choice providing a good view of the poles, wires and other
obstacles I had to clear. The downwind leg was just over Lac des Pins and the
Rivière du Lièvre. A quick glance at the altimeter showed 1800. With this
reading in my mind, I got tempted to try to fly around and try one more time to
find the mythical low save. This trick has sometimes worked for me in
the past around Pendleton. But my landout training stopped me on this track. I
was over a lake, below the hill tops in an unfamiliar environment; I was
committed to this landing and I was not going to mess up my circuit. I shut
up the Borgelt and kept on flying my circuit.
It was a perfect circuit followed by a
perfect approach in a perfect field. The touch down and roll out were smooth
and gentle. If only my friends at Pendleton could have seen this landing, my
personal best. I took a deep breath, looked around and enjoyed the moment of
peace after such a flurry of thoughts, decisions and actions. All was now quiet
in the cockpit of my 20. But something was odd with the altimeter? It
registered 700 Feet! I had just landed without taking into account the field elevation in my circuit
planning. Flying over the hills all afternoon, I had lost 500 feet as the
ground kept on creeping up on me. I did not have height to spare when I read
1800 feet on the altimeter. The circuit that looked right when I was at the
entry point over the river looked this way because it was just about right.
Lesson learned. From now on I will add Elevation to my landout
checklist (SSSLOWE).
A Retrieve
After all this excitement, I knew I would
have plenty of time to cool off under the wing of my glider. I knew the last
leg of my triangle to Pendleton was more than 70 km. This meant that via road
and ferry it would take a
long time for my crew to show up. And I was wondering if my good karma would be
enough to draw volunteers for such an expedition north of the river. I called
the club house standing in my field just beside the glider. I may have been in
cottage country but my cell was still reading 3 bars strong. I gave all the
details about my position and requested that the crew called or texted me on
their way from Pendleton.
I left the field via the main exit and
noticed the gate was padlocked with a chain. I walked across the road straight
to a fruit stand that was part of the greenhouses I had overflown on my base
leg. Michèle, who was working the cash, was very helpful in trying to find
where I could find the owner of the field. She made few phone calls and even
offered the keys to her Jeep for me to go to the house next door. “The family
owns this field but on a nice day such as this, they may well be boating on the
river”. The house was indeed empty but when I returned, Mr. Bergeron who
had stop at the stall for corn, knew where to find members of the Thauvette family.
He was kind enough to drive me to André’s house which happened to be just next
door to his place. André welcomed me with a wide grin and the standard: “Did
you ran out of gas?” No André. Out of luck, out of wit, out of lift, out of
skills, but not out of gas. André did drive me back and unlocked the field.
On the ride out of the village, I noticed
the tall antenna which I had spotted earlier that day. “What is the field
behind this antenna” I inquired? “This is not a field my friend, this is
le Lac à la Vase”. This big brown patch I was aiming for is in fact an old
lake that has been ensnared over time with mud and sand. You can walk briskly
on its surface but if you stop moving, you slowly sink to the bottom. People
have lost horses and cows in there. Had I stick to my original field selection,
Kilo Bravo may well have ended up in quick sand!
I had my quota of emotions for the day. I
was going to grab my book, sit by the road and wait for my crew to arrive. By
this time, Tim and Claude had texted me to let me know they were on their way.
The ETA from the car GPS suggested 18:20.
With an hour and a half to kill, I had a chance to chill out and move
few chapters forward in my novel. I laid back in the shade of poplars and enjoyed
this peaceful summer afternoon. I could hear people having fun with their boats
on the water. I watched an hydroplane taking off from the lake and spotted a
Robinson helicopter en route for the cottage. The sun was slowly gliding down
in the West and the colours began to slide to amber. Time passed. At 18:45 I began to worry again because
my crew was 30 minutes late. I
tried reaching Claude via text but I did not get any reply. I had been warned that the signal on the highway between
Notre-Dame-de-la-Salette and Val-des-Bois was marginal.
While I was monitoring anxiously each car
coming from the South on the 309, Mr and Mrs. Thauvette and their son pulled
over the road next to me. Rémi Thauvette was André’s brother and he was here to
have a look at this silly pilot who had run out of gas. We drove together to
the glider and I offered a little overview of the ASW-20. I explained what had
happen, how nice their field was and how I would be out of there in 15 minutes
once my crew showed up with the trailer. “Do you mean these long white
trailer with a fin on top?” asked Sébastien. Huh ?!? The whole family had
crossed such a trailer a while ago few kilometres south on the 309! This meant
that my crew should definitively be here by now. Were they lost? Could they
have driven by and I missed them because I was so deep in my reading?
I was just beginning to figure out how I
would run after my renegade crew when, at last, the Cobra trailer appeared at
the bend on the road. What had happened is that Tim and Claude had followed the
GPS directions which was aiming for the Lat-Long coordinates I had transmitted
over the phone. Were those coordinates accurate in the first place or did I
read them incorrectly? Were they
recorded properly at the other end of the phone line or was it just that the
GPS device was too dumb to find the right way to the field? We will never know
for sure. My crew had ventured on
a logging road and had to turn around after getting nowhere. It did not matter
much at this point. We would derig KB on the double, tuck her in the trailer
and head back home.
I was all prepared for the retrieve. Tapes
removed, L’Hottelier disconnected, equipment out of the cockpit. I was going to
time myself and in 15 minutes flat, we would be in the Sonata, on the 309
heading south. I had just bragged to the Thauvette’s how easy all of this
disassembly was going to be. “We just pull those two pins and then we’re
done”. Back up the trailer, lift up the Cobra’s shell, pull down the ramp,
wing dollies back, Fuselage dolly...?!?
-“Don’t
forget to get the dolly from Ulo when you're back at the club, he had some wheel
issues with his 1-35”
Epilogue
It all turned out fine at the end. Kilo
Bravo slept safely in Mr. Thauvette’s barn. The crew and I had pizza and beer
in the village. We did drive back in the glow of the full moon and by the time
we reached Buckingham we decided to head for Gatineau instead of GGC. Shower
and good warm beds were awaiting pilot and crew. The next morning I fetched the
dolly at the club and Dan Daly volunteered to give me a hand for the second
retrieve which this time was smooth and easy. A 500 km retrieve in total, lots
of ups and some downs, one happy landing and a good weekend adventure.
Special thanks to Tim Tuck, Claude
Poulin and Dan Daly for volunteering as a crew on a very long retrieve. Thanks
also to the whole GGC family for making such adventures possible. Happy
landings to all.
