An Amazing Autumn Flight
By Larry E. Large

  "Okay", Steve says, "the sun's getting low, this will be the last flight of the day. You and Noel take the 2-22 and the rest of us will walk the 2-33 to the tie-down area and wait for you there." He points toward the waiting towplane and circles a raised index finger.

  Ken barks a hoarse "clearrr prrrop!" and the Call-Air engine cranks over twice, roars to life and settles into a throaty idle. With one leg already in the glider, I swing my other leg over the cockpit rail and lower myself onto the front seat. I reach under the instrument panel to adjust the length of the rudder cables, and satisfied with their setting, look up to see Thom snag the towrope several yards behind the towplane with the hook on the end of his signal flag. Ducking in the blast of the prop-wash, he covers his cap with his free hand, turns and walks briskly toward me, rope in trail, as the towplane taxies into position.

  I find each end of the seat belt on either side of me and lay them across my lap. As I grope for the harness on the seat back I hear John say, "I've got 'em", and a strap appears magically over each of my shoulders. I slide all the ends together, and snap the assembly closed. Shimmying against the tilt of the glider, I cinch the straps snug and look across the field at the windsock. It's hanging lifelessly on this crisp, cool autumn afternoon, and the sky is a brilliant crystal blue - not a cloud anywhere.

  I hear Noel knocking around and getting settled behind me and he vocalizes my thoughts. "We should get a great view from up there", he says, and quickly adds, "but let's take advantage of the calm conditions to work on our turns, speeds, and landing control".

  I go through the takeoff checklist. The altimeter is set at zero feet above ground level, our belts are secure, and I take extra care not to bang Noel's knee as I check the spoilers. The controls squeak and squeal comfortingly, and I reach up with my left hand to close and latch the canopy. I double-check it's secure by pushing against the top.

  Thom is standing by with the ring on the end of the towrope and raises it in front of me. Through the canopy I hear his muffled question, "Ready for hook-up?" I give him an upraised thumb and reply through the plexiglas, "Ready for hook-up". He disappears beneath me except for his hook-shaped left hand. I reply by gently pulling the big red release knob mounted on the instrument panel in front of me. His hand becomes a fist and I slowly release the knob. He reappears and pulls several times on the towrope. Satisfied, he grabs his signal flag, moves to my downed right wingtip and begins searching the sky for traffic.

  I look far down the runway past the glowing yellow towplane, its glittering propeller arc clearly visible in the setting sunlight, and announce aloud my PT3 emergency plan. Since it's calm, and there are woods to my left, I will keep to the right if the tow needs to be prematurely terminated. As an added bonus, the grass strip is on the right, giving me plenty of contingency options.

  I hear a distant "Ready for slack?" and turn to my right and give Thom another thumbs up. He swings a startlingly fluorescent orange flag slowly in front of his knees and I watch as the towrope snakes and slithers away from me and gradually becomes a straight line.

  The flag comes to an arm-raised horizontal level. Another distant question, "Ready for launch?" and again I present an upward pointing thumb and echo "Ready for launch." The tilt of the glider disappears as Thom raises the wing. I place my left hand near the release knob, center the joystick with my right, and then waggle the rudder several times, eager to be on our way.

  The bright yellow rudder two hundred feet in front of me waggles back and forth in reply. Suddenly, the radio softly squawks, "Grove City traffic, glider launch in progress, runway one-zero, Grove City." I see Ken's hand reach out and close the towplane's side window.

  The towrope tautens and we begin moving. The skid below me scrapes harshly against the pavement, but thankfully, only briefly. As the speed builds, the controls become effective, and I'm able to balance us on the single whirring tire. I concentrate on keeping to the centerline with the rudder pedals and the wings level with the stick.

  The mid-field taxiway flashes past and soon after, the wheel noise diminishes, and in its place is a whistling hush as the glider lifts free and climbs. "Not so much", I chide myself, and firmly but gently squeeze the stick forward to keep us at shoulder height above the runway. The cool stable air gives a needed boost to my nascent piloting skills, and I remind myself to keep my eyes riveted on the now amazingly yellow towplane, watching for daylight beneath its main wheels.

  To savor this last flight of the day near the end of the season, I attempt to place this unfolding movie into slow motion. The low angled sunlight is casting long slanting shadows through the fiery-orange woods beside me. The deep blue sky is startling in contrast, and the clarity of the air is truly breath taking. We don't get many days like this.

  I see the towplane lift suddenly, unexpectedly, and I lag slightly in following its rapid climb. Noel prods me from behind, "up, up, up…." I correct immediately and glance at the altimeter - 60 feet, 80 feet. At 100 feet AGL I announce aloud, "one hundred feet", then shortly after, "one-fifty…clear of the runway". The towplane begins a gentle bank to the left. "Two hundred feet" I call out along with an inaudible sigh of relief, more confident now with a safe return altitude in our pocket. I bank slightly, and apply a touch of rudder to stay in position behind Ken.

  I hear Noel exclaim, "Wow, I can see traffic lights in Grove City from here!" and though I want to look, I concentrate on following the towplane which is banking more sharply now. I glance quickly at our airspeed, and compare it to the stiffness of the controls. So far, so good.

  As we approach 1000 feet the towplane levels its wings. I suddenly become amazed at the distinct clear line of the horizon just below its wheels. More amazing still are the deeply shadowed gold, bronze, and blazing red-orange woods below. We begin turning again, and near the airport, I see a gleaming white low-wing airplane approaching the end of the runway we just departed. Its shadow, far out in front, has already landed beyond the displaced threshold markers.

  A slight bit of buffet, I've let us drift down into the towplane's wake. I draw the stick toward me and we get back into position. Coming up on 2000 feet. Noel comments from the back, "And to think just a few short months ago, you thought you'd never get the hang of aerotowing!" I smile to myself and am glad my bucket hat hides my surely red ears.

  Wings level again, we pass through 2500 feet, then slowly inch toward 3000. Off in the clear distance, below the towplane's wheels, I now see Grove City's traffic lights. I tap the altimeter and the needles jump to show we're slightly over 3000 feet. I look to either side and announce aloud, "Clear right, clear left, ready for release."

  I grab the release knob and pull firmly once, twice, and declare, "Release, release!" The first pull yields a sharp thunk, and I watch the towrope spring away, then drop from view below us. Immediately, I begin a shallow bank to the right and briefly glimpse the towplane turning left and descending below my left canopy rail, the brilliant yellow of its wings and fuselage blending with the same colored trees far below.

  The roaring wind noise of aerotow quickly subsides to the now-familiar gentle whistling of free flight, and I level out my turn and adjust my speed until I hear the low tone I'm listening for. A glance at the airspeed indicator confirms we're at minimum sink speed. Noel and I talk easily now in the reduced slipstream noise.

  We are heading west into the sun, and though not blinded by the pink-orange ball, I tilt the brim of my hat and avert my gaze to avoid the glare. I turn slightly northwest toward Mercer to make sure there's no traffic coming from the west. Then Noel and I see it at the same time. A thin dark-blue line stretching across the horizon far off to the north that can only be Lake Erie over 50 miles away!

  Noel instructs from behind, "Let's see a medium bank turn, 180 degrees to the right". I glance left, then right and ease the stick over, simultaneously pressing slight right rudder. The yaw string taped to the outer canopy in front of me flickers slightly to one side, then returns to center.

  I watch the horizon tilt, and look out and down at my right wing as it pivots around a golden wheat-brown field below, framed in the purple shadows of bordering dirt roads. The wind noise builds slightly and I adjust the controls to keep from over-banking and diving during the turn. The horizon circles around and I judge we're approaching the direction we started the turn and begin to level the wings.

  As soon as we roll out, Noel and I see it together and exclaim at the same time, "Pittsburgh!"
"I can see the top of the Steel Building!"
"Wow, look at that view!"

  We both agree the clarity of the air is simply stunning. Easily greater than 50-mile visibility and here we are gliding quietly and peacefully above this gorgeously detailed and radiant landscape. I try to absorb the extraordinary views, and etch them into my memory.

  All too soon, we've drifted down to 2000 feet. We've not felt a single rising air current, not one area of lift to allow us to linger longer. No matter, the scenery is glorious, and Noel's enjoying the smooth and serene flight as much as I am. But each flight is a learning experience too and he makes me concentrate on precise speed control and several more medium bank turns, both left and right. I try to execute these as gracefully as possible, in keeping with this special evening. I momentarily lose track of where we are, and when I regain my orientation, I hear Noel over my left shoulder saying. "There goes the Bonanza."
"Where?"
"Just took off from two-eight."
"I see it now." It's skimming just above the treetops, or so it seems from here. "There's also a red high-wing approaching mid-field several miles off to the north and below the horizon."

  "Okay", Noel says, "let's get ready to land. I want you to land on the grass parallel with runway two-eight and stay high in order to practice your slip to a landing, Control your touch-down and roll-out to stop near the tie-down area."
"Okay", I acknowledge as I go through the landing checklist. "Speed…set, spoilers…good, trim…off, traffic…clear."

  As I turn toward the Initial Point of the glider landing pattern, I hear Noel speak into the handheld radio, "Grove City traffic, Schweizer glider on left downwind for runway two-eight, landing on the grass, Grove City." I'm now at 1000 feet directly above the IP, and establish my speed and direction. I note both windsocks are still limp, and as usual, one hangs favoring two-eight, the other for one-zero.

  It's dead calm, and in the cool air, I can hear dogs barking, and a car horn or two in the traffic below as I glide toward the Outlet Mall. I look for my aim point on the distant runway, and from the corner of my eye notice the towplane parked on the ramp near the gas pumps, refueling.

  Remembering to stay high, I turn onto the base leg of my pattern sooner than seems correct, and immediately open about half spoilers to test the glide slope. A quick look at the runway and I decide to go to full spoilers. Another look at the runway, and even with a slip, I feel that I will overshoot my aim point. I veer slightly away from the runway, check my speed, and then begin turning onto final approach. Yaw string straight, alignment looks good, but we're still too high. I try to pull the spoilers out farther, but they're already fully extended! Keeping my left wing down, I press on the right rudder and enter into a slip. For as often as I've done this, it still seems counter-intuitive, but then many aspects of flight are like that.

  The airframe shudders and buffets in response to the increased drag, but I intently hold this tilted and skewed attitude, and gradually the aim point rises on the canopy as our descent steepens. I breathe easier, but we're now slightly fast, so I nose up a bit, and adjust the slip accordingly to realign us with the center of the fast approaching runway.

  Just over the drainage area, I judge that I'll reach my intended touchdown spot and I begin to release pressure on the rudder, straighten the wings and level out. We whistle over the end of the runway, and as I see the bright orange touchdown cones flash past, I partially close the spoilers, and we settle with a hush onto the grass, the main wheel rumbling and rattling.
We bounce and wobble slightly across some uneven places in the turf, and I quickly dance on the rudder pedals in an effort to keep as straight a line as possible. I watch in dismay as the tie-down area comes abeam our left side much too quickly, so I nudge the stick forward to drop the nose onto the skid, and reopen the spoilers to activate the wheel brake. We gradually skid to a controlled stop twenty yards past our parking spot, my intended stopping point.

  Wings still level; I lean to the right to help the wing down, and it settles gently onto the outrigger wheel, bounces once and then stays put. As always, I pause a few moments to mutter thanks to the Great God of the Sky, and Mother Earth, and then unlatch and open the canopy.

  Noel claps me on the back and says; "Not bad, a little too fast, and a little late on the spoilers, but you'll do better next time!" I undo my harness, grinning and shaking my head, and as I stand up in the cockpit, I hear something like the polite applause of a golf gallery over near the tie-down area. I take a slight bow and nearly miss the step on the side of the fuselage while exiting.

  The sun is behind the trees now, and parts of the field are becoming cloaked in the gray fading light. Trees on the distant eastern hills are still glowing brightly, and above them, I can see the first hints of the darkening purple of the earth's shadow beginning to rise.

  Noel and I pivot the 2-22 around, point it toward its parking place and pull it over with the help of Thom who has run over to us excitedly. "What was it like up there? What did you see? What did you do?" he asks as we cover the canopy and pitot, place the gust lock over the rudder, and snug all the moorings.

  And we both try to tell him, and all the others who have gathered around us. And later, in the main hangar, and then in the lounge, maybe we embellish the details. But the simple truth is beyond words, or photographs, or any amount of story telling. For those of us fortunate enough to have shared the experience, there will never quite be anything like that amazing autumn sunset flight.

  When I see you looking at a cool crystal blue sky, smiling broadly with a far-off gleam in your eye, I'll know that you've experienced it too….

* * * * * * *

  I want to gratefully acknowledge my parents, my loving wife Joanne, and the owners, operators, staff, and patrons of Silent Wings Soaring, Inc., and of the Grove City Pennsylvania Airport for their nurturing, patience, support and assistance without which this experience would never have occurred, much less have been written about.

  I urge anyone who dreams of flying to take the first step - find an able and willing instructor, spread your wings, and fly! There will never quite be a day like today….

Copyright © 2003 L. E. Large. All rights reserved.