An Unexpected Soaring Adventure
Fredrick, MD, July 3, 2001
I arrived at work at a leisurely 9:30 on a cool Tuesday in July with plans for continuing work on my Magellanic Cloud research. Instead of the usual greetings, my officemate Mark said, "Are you doing anything important today?"
"Not especially," I replied, hurt that he didn't concider my normal work to be important. "Why?"
"[Prof] Holland Ford came by and wanted to know if I knew of anyone else who might like to go soaring...."
"Whaaaa? Ug? ...errr, yes! Definitely!" Opportunity knocks but once after all. Dr. Ford is one of the senior astronomy faculty here at JHU and has been a sail-plane pilot for a dozen years or so. I know that he's been taking folks out every now and then for rides but, not being his student or having much contact with him, I figured my chances of getting to tag along were slim.
We convened at quarter of eleven and had arrived at the airfield out in Fredrick at just shy of noon. The weather had improved on the way out and it was now pleasantly warm, with bright sun and a good stiff breeze. The Mid-Atlantic Soaring Association (second largest such organization in the US) has built a long hanger on one side of the airfield grounds and uses the long grass strip beside the paved runway for their gliders.
When we arrived a number of people were milling about and the activity level was higher than I would have expected for a Tuesday. Perhaps a dozen trailers were parked at the south end of the field along with a number of cars. Many insectile, elegant gliders were deployed in a neat row in the grass, some covered carefully with white canvas covers, others obviously more ready for use. We put our names on the list for a tow and set to work orienting ourselves. Holland owns a one-persong glider and has a share in a two-seater. Unfortunately, the two-seater suffered a collision (with the garage door, nothing spectacular) and the tail was currently detached. We had the use of the club's rental glider and the identical one owned by Elizabeth and Tom. The whole atmosphere was about as different from a typical airport experience as you can get!
Gliders wait in line for the tow plane to return.
Out on the grass airstrip the Pawnee D, a single-engine prop plane which would not have looked out of place on the sets of a WWII documentary sat idling. A row of three gliders sat on their single wheels in a row behind it. A rope was stretched from the tow plane to the first glider, attaching either at the wheel or in a depression in the nose. The pilot was strapped in, the canopy closed, and various hand signals given. While one bystander held up the left wing, the tow plane pilot gunned the engine and both craft headed down the field at a good clip. By the time they passed the hanger at mid-field, both were airborne and quickly rose over the trees on the other end. The Pawnee D seemed to be able to launch one glider about every ten minutes. While we waited our turn, I put myself to use pushing the gliders around and helping run errands.
 Mark and Holland strapped in and ready to go. |  The rear instrument cluster and controls |
Mark took the first ride. The two-seat gliders are slightly longer and heavier than the tiny solo models. While there are two sets of controls, Holland took the front seat for the better visibility while Mark was relegated to the back. The canopies were closed and they were soon roaring down the field. Through binoculars I could see them wheeling and soaring overhead for perhaps 35 minutes before they came swooping in for a silent, graceful landing. Mark reports that the trip had been incredible. They hadn't found much in the way of lift and thus couldn't stay aloft for as long as they'd hoped.
The Pawnee-D pulls Mark and Holland skyward.
A bit more time passed as we waited our turn at the two-seat glider again. I took a moment to examine the tow ropes. Being a rock climber, I've come to be quite a rope snob. I expected that something as important as a glider tow rope would be something quite impressive. Instead, it was just a peice of fairly thin, braided nylon rope with a metal ring in each end. It was explained to me that the breaking strength of the rope should only be about 60% of the weight of the glider (500 to 1000 pounds). That way, the rope would break long before it could get either aircraft into serious trouble should a problem occur. We discussed the subtleties of one aircraft towing another and the special challenges this raises. Fascinating stuff!
By about 3:30, the 1ET was free again so Holland and I climbed aboard and strapped in. The canopy closed firmly on the left and I had a small window through which to stick my hand for ventilation. Between my legs was the control stick and a pair of pedals (which was warned not to mess with!) controlled the rudder. The instrument cluster featured an airspeed indicator, an altimeter and a pair of meters indicating rate of climb or descent. A yellow knob would release the tow rope and a small microphone would allow me to talk on the radio. I hoped to be completely passive in my participation with all of these gadgets.
Yours truly with the 1ET.
We were hitched to the Pawnee D and were soon rushing down the bumpy field accellerating much faster than I'd anticipated. Since thermals were not readily to be found, we were going to ride the tow plane as high as possible before releasing. We quickly gained altitude and swung back and forth, up and down 200' behind the powered plane's tail. After a couple of ascending turns around the field, Holland pulled the release at about 2600'. The Pawnee D banked up and left while we pulled down and to the right. The bumpy ride up imediately became a little smoother and quieter though not as much as I'd been expecting.
Two gliders circle the airfield with us. The long building on the left side of the airstrip is the MASA hanger.
What a view! Directly below was a golf course, a housing development and a large section of cleared land probably destined to become a warehouse parking lot. A small river wound between them headed south for the Potomac. The town of Fredrick could be seen to the west with the ridges of Catoctin and South Mountains farther still. To the south, the bulk of the Sugarloaf Monadnock disrupted the light blue, hazy horizon. Two other gliders could be seen wheeling away below and above us. One of them seemed to be getting some lift somewhere and Holland pilotted over to investigate.
No lift was found however. What thermals there were were either too low or too narrow to provide us with any lift. Even with a glide ratio of 40:1, I watched as the altimeter sank inexorably lower and lower. Finally, at about 1600', we started to get a bit of lift. For the next fifteen minutes or so, we climbed back up to 2000' and hung out there for a while. Our course took us looping and figure-8ing over the same housing development and golf course time and time again. Some of the banks seemed pretty steep but probably weren't more than about 45-degrees. One of the gliders landed and the Pawnee D reappeared towing another one up above us. A mile overhead we could see big jets on the approach path to Dulles. Occasionally, a small powered plane would scoot by below and land on the main Frederick runway. Far below, ant-sized people could be seen swimming in a pool and gliders could be seen being shuffled around in the stack waiting for launch.
All the dodging and weaving up there was beginning to take its toll on me. Plus, despite the small vent on the left side, it was becoming extremely hot under the canopy. While not someone who usually gets motion sick, I was starting to feel distinctly queasy despite the amazing scenery! I mentioned this to Holland and he pointed out the airsickness bag in the small pocket on my left.
"Here, do you want to take the controls?" he asked.
"Ummm, sure," I replied feeling anything but confident. Just like that, I was holding the stick in two very tense, very sweaty hands keeping one eye each on the horizon, the altimeter, the air speed indicator, the yarn tell-tale taped to the outside of the canopy and the vertical speed meter. After about thirty seconds of very tense flying, Holland took the controls back and we headed out to the west where a small puffy cloud announced the presence of a possible thermal.
"Wow, that made me feel a lot better," I commented. Indeed, my insipiant air sickness had been completely banished by my brief stint at the controls.
"Thought it might. About half the people I take up feel queasy. Sometimes having control makes you feel better."
Ah, there was the lift! We quickly gained a thousand feet of altitude and were officially above where the tow plane left us off. Gravity would eventually win the war, but we had won a small battle! More wheeling and soaring ensued over a different set of scenery this time. My queasiness returned gradually and once again I was given the controls while Holland fiddled with the radio. I flew for a couple minutes this time and did a little better. It felt very much like piloting my grandfather's sailboat; lots of very tactile feedbacks which didn't make any intuitive sense. Only by lots of trial and error did my muscles learn what the proper responses were. Very much like sailing, only this sailboat was moving at 55 knots and in three dimensions 2000' feet above terra firma!
We'd been up for about fourty minutes at this point and other people were waiting for this glider. Holland took over again and we began the descent. A set of vertical spoilers popped from the top surface of the wings and we began to drop, seemingly, like a stone. We entered the approach path at about 1000' feet and made a big sweeping loop around a farmhouse. Banking steeply to the left, we quickly descended past rushing trees and a water treatment plant.
The altimeter still read 400', but the ground was getting disconcertingly close the the trees were whipping past at an alarming rate. But the airfield itself is at over 300' elevation. We rushed toward the field encountering more turbulence than we had higher up. Right in front of the hanger, the craft's single wheel touched the turf and we bumped across the field with airbrakes on full. Finally, we came to a gentle stop 47 minutes and change after taking to the air. The canopies were released and I got shakily out marvelling at the sensation of ground again. What an incredible trip!
The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same manner. Evelyn, another friend of Dr. Ford's arrived. Just before she was to launch, the engine on the Pawnee sputtered and died. Several of the cognoscenti conferred over the raised cowling and even spun the propeller a few times by hand (I didn't know people DID that in this day and age!). The faithful Pawnee was pronounced dead for the day and a press gang of us pushed its surprisingly light airframe across the field and stowed it in the hanger. The Supercub, the backup tow plane was readied and deployed. Nobody likes the Supercub because it is very loud and not nearly as powerful. But, as someone pointed out, it was more powerful at the moment and was the only means by which any further soaring would get done.
The clubs training glider which we (very unofficially) dubbed the "Spruce Moose" taking off. It doesn't have the same glide characteristics as the newer vessels, but is good for learning.
This delay dealt with, Evelyn and Holland took flight and were followed by a number of other gliders. A big yellow training glider (which we dubbed "The Spruce Moose") made a couple of flights including an exciting simulated rope break a couple hundred feet after take off. I did what I could in the pushing gliders and holding up wingtips department. Eveylyn and Holland landed after a short flight and took another go to get more air time. The 1ET was put to bed and activity started to slow. By quarter of seven, we put the glider to bed, packed up and headed for home, sunburnt, tired and thoroughly elated.Many many thanks to Dr. Ford for taking us on this excellant adventure! Not at all the way I'd envisioned spending the day, but entirely worth it. You never know when opportunity will knock. When it does, open the door and do what it tells you....
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