The Good Ship 334

Compiled by Larry E. Large

The following story about our beloved 1-26B SN 334 was excerpted from the book After Solo... Soaring Adventures in the 1-26, Edited by William E. Doherty, Jr., Copyright 1974 Schweizer Aircraft Corp., and is available for purchase from Schweizer or from Bob Wander Soaring Books. If you're a fan of the Schweizer 1-26 sailplane, this book should definitely be in your library. There are many other similar stories from the Golden Age of 1-26 soaring including one by Richard Bach. Schweizer glider SGS 1-26B Serial Number 334 (N921X) manufactured in 1966 was one of the last to have the classic round tail and was ordered with all the options - wing-tip skid plates instead of tip wheels, flush riveted wings, and an open sport canopy. She was barely 7 years old when this story was written. Where were you, and what were you doing in the Autumn of 1973? Hope this brings back fond memories! --Larry

AND IT'S FUN FOR THE FAMILY

With so many single place sailplanes flying today, it is understandable that soaring could be considered a sport where the efforts of many result in the enjoyment of one. This would be the exception rather than the rule.

It is true that in major contests a great deal depends on the efficiency of the crew. How well they carry out their duties can affect the pilot's final standing. But crewing isn't just all hard work. They are an important part of the team and will share the pilot's success and excitement.

It really doesn't matter what type of soaring you prefer. A good crew will appreciably add to your enjoyment and satisfaction. With 1-26 pilots, the crew is usually comprised of members of the family since soaring is a sport that encourages family participation.

With the increasing use of radio, many 1-26 pilots are equipping both their ship and retrieve cars with VHF transceivers. A pilot and crew can remain in contact throughout an entire flight. This adds interest and excitement for the whole crew. This is especially true when some of the crew members are relatively young. Two way communications make the retrieve much quicker, easier and more fun.

Soaring has long been recognized as an excellent introduction to aviation for young people. When a youngster is not old enough to begin instruction, activity as a member of a crew or just going along on a cross-country retrieve will provide excellent experience and exposure.

The membership roll of the 1-26 Association lists many family memberships and includes a number of teams where two or more members in the family are 1-26 pilots. With a family soaring team, the sport becomes even more enjoyable and cross- country flying takes on an added dimension.

Mrs. Alberta Sterling is a housewife, soaring pilot and Secretary of the 1-26 Association who resides in Harrisburg, PA. Her introduction to soaring and subsequent exploits are covered in her story, "A Day On the Ridge, and . . .".

"Bert" and her "Sterling" crew are regulars at the various 1-26 regattas and have competed in four North American Championships. Both Bert and George are Silver "C" Pilots.

"A Day On the Ridge, and . . . "

by ALBERTA STERLING

In the second week of our marriage in the fall of 1955, my husband introduced me to his "soaring" friends and the sport of glider flying by way of a six minute auto tow glider ride. It was my first aircraft ride and was short only because that was the nature of auto-tow launches.

The pilot on this flight was Otto Zauner and the place was a former military airport at Millville, NJ. I had never before been close to an aircraft of any kind and was completely ignorant of flying things called gliders. Potential student pilots don't come any greener! The ship being used for instruction was a large ex-WW II Navy trainer known as the Pratt-Read. It offered side-by-side seats, dive-brakes, 60' wing span and weighed approximately 1000 lbs. empty. Auto-towing was the only method of launching being used. The average launch altitude was 800' and flight duration was less than six minutes. Otto really had his work cut out when he took on instructing under these conditions.

No, that first flight didn't scare me off. George, (my husband) and I did have to wait, though, until Spring to begin instruction. Our flight instruction from auto tow taught us a great deal about take-offs and landings. As a bonus, we also learned to drive and repair the tow car, handle emergency wire breaks (air and ground), repair wire breaks, etc., etc. In short, we spent much more time on the ground than in the air, but we were learning many valuable lessons and having lots of fun.

I graduated to flying solo after nearly 100 flights and less than 10 hours of instruction. Taking and passing the written private and commercial FAA glider tests followed later. However, our impending soaring family prevented me from taking the flight test. Eleven years later when our family was established, I finally became a bona-fide glider pilot.

During the eleven year period when I wasn't flying, George earned his private glider pilot license and flew in the open Nationals. When we re-located from New Jersey to Pennsylvania, he helped organize and found a glider club. Naturally, it needed an instructor, so he took on that chore after receiving a commercial and instructor's rating. He built up a lot of glider time in these years and now is giving me a chance to do the same.

When all the kids were of school age, I felt I could get back into soaring. My husband is a wonderful guy and fully agreed. His attitude and help gave me the opportunity to complete my silver "C". He encouraged my entry into local contests, and after that, the 1-26 Nationals. Approximately 80% of my 200 hours total flight time to date has been cross-country flying in a 1-26 and has given me ample experience in off-field landings. This is a must, I think, before tackling serious contests and ridge flying.

From the time when I saw Otto Zauner build and then fly a 1-26 in 1956, 1 thought it would be a great ship to own. I had flown a total of about 30 hours in the Pratt-Read, the Schweizer 1-19, 1-23, 2-22, 1-26 and the Cherokee II. The 1-26 flights had convinced me that this was my type of ship. It even fit in with our plans to engage in contest flying, as there were as many 1-26 meets as open or standard class meets to attend. In addition, the 1-26 people seemed to be having so much fun flying that they weren't overly concerned with super glide ratios and next year's model. This definitely was the group we wanted to join. It offered us so many things; all that we were looking for in soaring. We wanted a 1-26 and, in 1970, we bought Ed Replogle's ship, SN 334.

Our family really enjoys and looks forward to cross-country flying. The children help crew by map reading, manning the radio, and spotting the sailplane. They feel that crewing can be an exciting and rewarding experience. When the ship is visible it is possible for them to become as involved in the flight as I am. They like being involved.

Some of my cross-country experience includes flights using ridge lift. Following the passage of a cold front in the Northeast, there is often a north or west wind. On some occasions, this wind direction is northwesterly and blows against a group of ridges that track northeast-southwest in Pennsylvania and down through Virginia and gives us poor easterners a chance to fly for gold and diamond distances. I have tried several times. When attempting a ridge flight, we tried to leave home between 5:00 a.m. and 5:30 a.m. The drive to the ridge requires two to two and one-half hours, depending upon the weather. Heavy wind and pouring rain coupled with very low visibility when passing through the cold front sometimes made the trip even longer. Our home in Harrisburg, Pa., is about 100 miles from the best ridge. Being at the ridge doesn't guarantee the conditions will be as predicted, so sometimes a trip is made and there is a no-go situation.

My family (husband, two sons, one daughter, two pooches) and I went to the ridge on October 14, 1973, hoping I would be able to complete a diamond goal triangle task. This time our trip was completely different from past times. Instead of a cloudy, blustery, rainy day it was a beautiful, crisp, autumn day - a great day for sport flying or enjoying a walk in the woods with our friends at State College. We even treated ourselves to an unusually late start and arrived at the ridge at around 10:30 a.m.

When we got there, it was apparent that great flights were not being planned. Sailplane activity was zero. The next hour was spent weather judging. A few phone calls later, we learned that the State College Soaring Club was coming to the ridge. They thought the day might be good enough for local flying, but no long flights.

Following the ship assembly, put together mostly by George and the kids, we discussed long flight possibilities. The winds were too westerly to give good lift and probably would give no lift on the far northeast end of the ridge. A short northeast leg and long southwest leg would have to be used. This meant that to complete a diamond goal, my southwest leg would have to cross not only the big Altoona gap twice, but also the even bigger Bedford gap twice; approximately six and twelve miles respectively. Finding four thermals at the right place and time and reaching the right altitudes to get me across would be a problem.

After George and I talked the situation over, we took care of the pre-flight details (declaration, pictures, etc.) then towed the ship to the takeoff point. We had concluded that it would be wise to try the short northeast leg and then assess the chances of continuing.

A very smooth auto-pulley tow put me above the trees. Release altitude was about 150' agl. I eased over from the top of the ridge and there was the immediate sensation of being picked up by the wind. It was past noon and half of the usable day had already gone by, so there was no time to dawdle. Two hundred miles had to be covered between now and sunset at 6:00 p.m. The successful completion of a two hundred mile flight in a 1-26 with less than six hours of daylight left seemed questionable but it was worth a try.

Along the way to the first turnpoint, about 25 miles to the east, I met a State College Club glider, and we dipped wings at each other. There was nothing unusual on this leg of the flight except that my time was not as good as I expected it would be. I couldn't fly fast because the lift was weak, as expected. I reached the turnpoint, took pictures, and headed west to the takeoff site. Except for the small and large gaps, most of the ridge cruise was made at tree-top level to 200' above the ridge.

Creeping back to the start point, I made the decision to "go". When I radioed the crew to hit the road they informed me they already were on it. Because it was not a good ridge day, they had decided to follow so as to be close by all the time - and they were. They witnessed the entire flight from the road that parallels the ridge at distances of five to ten miles.

The portion of the ridge west of the takeoff field was noticeably better than the first leg due to the angle of the wind and the ridge. Trying for speed, I put the ship up to rough air redline. Flying fast along the ridge is much like being on a warped roller coaster - mile after mile and hour after hour. Knowing it would be rough, I had pulled my seat belt as tight as I could before takeoff and then George had taken up what little slack was left. This still wasn't enough to prevent me from hitting the canopy. After a few hits, I quickly adopted a "ridge-runner slouch" and the head-banging bumps were strung out farther. George had suggested making stirrups for keeping the feet on the rudder pedals, but this seemed to be the wrong time to analyze the drawbacks.

The flight was progressing well and I had reached Altoona by about 3:00 but couldn't get a thermal to take me to 2000' above the ridge, the altitude that I figured was needed to make it safely across the gap. After spending as much time as I felt could be allowed for this, I told George I was going to get as high as I could and then make a run for the other side. The mountains, or ridges, average 500' afl in Pennsylvania. As you can deduct, once a pilot drops below ridge top level there are only a few minutes of flying time remaining until landing. Also, at this gap two towns, Altoona and Holidaysburg, converge so that landing areas are scant.

The family knew a close decision would have to be made if I reached the other side of the gap as my altitude definitely would be lower than the ridge top. The big question would be whether I was high enough for the ridge wind to pick me up or would I have to scramble for a landing.

My gamble headed me straight for the mountain six miles away. I was nearly across now and flying directly into the side of the mountain. It was no longer just a mountain: but stone, trees, branches, gullies, rocks. I couldn't hold out much longer. Within a split-second of veering away for safety, I was aware of an out-cropping that wasn't rising anymore. With an immense sense of relief, I knew the wind had picked me up again. As it carried me up, the trees fell away and were replaced with blue sky.

Wiping the sweat from the palms of my hands, I thought: "That was only one gap!" Three more crossings had to be made, and two of them were at the big Bedford gap. What were my chances of success? They didn't seem promising, but I was determined to keep trying as long as I could stay in the air.

The rough ride began again. Being pitched and tossed about, I had to be constantly working controls to maintain my altitude. Sometimes it seems to take ages before a high wing responds and goes down, only to be pushed up again by the turbulence. The oil-canning and noise is nearly unbelievable. Thank goodness I am flying a reliable ship. A lot of this turbulence could be overcome by flying slower, but that wouldn't take me two hundred miles by sunset. I felt the jolts were too rough and severe to risk flying faster than the auto-tow redline.

Upon reaching the Bedford gap, I tried again and again to gain enough altitude to assure reaching the other mountain. I wasn't able to do it. The thermals weren't going high enough and time was wasting. Striking for the other side without the needed attitude was not such a hard decision to make as it was at Altoona. The area was clear and had many landing fields available near the ridge and in the gap. I was lucky and hit a thermal in the middle of the gap that insured my reaching the ridge. George and the children had crossed ahead of me. Having made this crossing, we were beginning to lose some of our reserve about the outcome of the flight and hopeful optimism began creeping into our speech.

The ridge in this area is good and it wasn't long until I was within sight of Hyndman, the second turnpoint. Without any trouble at all, a thermal lifted me high enough to gain the back ridge which I had to reach to take the pictures at Hyndman. This was the best and only large thermal of the day and it gave me enough altitude so that it wasn't necessary to worry about riding the higher back ridge line all the way to the Bedford gap.

My return to the Bedford gap presented me with the same problem as before - no lift high enough to assure making it across. Time was very much a factor but so was a successful crossing. I searched at the end of the ridge, then went back several miles to where a small group of houses were nestled at the base of the mountain, thinking lift might be triggered from them and roll up the ridge. It came up the ridge, all right, but it just didn't have enough gumption to give me the altitude I needed. From there I went again to near the end of the ridge. I just couldn't delay any longer. I knew what I had to do, my crew knew what I had to do, and a little sticker in my cockpit told me what I had to do - "HUSTLE!" Leaving the ridge and picking my way carefully over ground contours, I found just enough zero sink and minimal lift to carry me to the other side with a little extra altitude in my pocket.

The ridge lift was still good, and before long that bug-a-boo, the Altoona gap, was staring me in the face. Knowing that if I succeeded in this crossing I should "have it made", I tried and tried for extra altitude. Instead of gaining, I was losing! Pacing back and forth, I finally was able to gain back all but 100' of what I had lost. That loss of altitude made the picture very stark and clear. There was no hope of thermal lift now to get me across. The sun was sinking rapidly and the temperature was dropping with it.

Having gone so far and worked so hard, I couldn't give up now. George and the kids were parked alongside the road approximately in the middle of the gap waiting for my decision, but not saying a word. I called them on the radio and said, "I'm going for it."

After the flight, they told me they easily read the "N" numbers on the ship when I passed over them. I was heading directly towards the end of the ridge, but much, much lower than I wanted to be. Figuring the lay of the land and the wind direction, I thought there seemed to be a chance that a small swell before the actual ridge line might produce an air flow strong enough to carry me up to the ridge lift.

George broke radio silence to say the wind was still blowing on the ground.

Coming in low over some houses, I saw a clearing I had remembered from before. If I didn't fly too far from it, I might be able to turn around and use it if necessary. It wasn't very big and I couldn't tell if there were any wires. By now, I was practically holding my breath and wasn't moving a muscle or a control. I wanted to be as streamlined as possible and as light as a feather. What was that I felt? The gages weren't registering anything in the way of lift. Another half-second . . . that's it! I'm going up! I'm going to make it up to the top of the ridge!

When I was sure I was up and on my way again, I radioed the crew to give them the news, but that wasn't necessary. They had seen the whole thing and were every bit as jubilant as I was.

From here to my goal, the ridge was good, although it does begin to bend a little more to the northeast. I had begun this stretch by moving along nicely, but found I had to fly more and more slowly to maintain a reasonable distance above the ridge.

Upon approaching a power line tower, I needed altitude to pass above it. Accordingly, I slowed my speed, gained some altitude, and cleared the tower. Much to my dismay, I wasn't able to maintain this position. Slowing still more did no good at all and I had to relinquish my position and begin the slide down the side of the mountain.

The tree covered slope and my glide angle became the same. Ahead and beyond the trees there was a clearing. My immediate attention was given to conserving enough altitude to make that clearing without endangering my air speed safety margin. Coming straight in, down wind, I just cleared the trees, pulled spoilers, slipped, and straightened out for touchdown. WHEW!

The distance flown was 194 miles; gold distance. Time: approximately 5 1/4 hours.

Six more miles would have meant diamond goal . . . .

1-26B SN 334 and the Sterlings (l. to r.): Gwen, Greg, Glen, Alberta and George D.

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As this is being written, in late August 2006, the sale of SN 334 is being finalized and she'll soon be leaving Silent Wings Soaring, Inc. We bid her a fond farewell as she journeys to her new home and hope that she continues to soar high and far, long into the future. She's only 40 this year and still has a long life ahead of her. We'll miss her and we'll never forget the times we shared together. She's a good ship....

Copyright © L. E. Large 2006 as well as those held separately by all other authors, artists, and publishers contained herein. All rights reserved. Grateful acknowledgment is given to Schweizer Aircraft Corp. for their kind permission to use this excerpt and images from After Solo… Soaring Adventures in the 1-26.