AOPA Pilot Magazine - December 2011 - 102

NEVERAGAIN

BY JOHN JOSS

Life and death at 15,000 feet
osing important pieces of an airplane, while flying, can be fatal. But you know that. Many people, including some pilots, think of gliders, or
gence—colliding air masses, like those between marine air and inland air. A sailplane is always falling relative to the air and can only be kept aloft by the pilot understanding and using rising air. This demands close attention and endless practice. I strap in securely. My crew pulls the bird to the line to hook up to the towplane and takes the wing tip in hand—with the Libelle’s single central wheel, she will “run” the wing tip as we accelerate, until air flows over the wings and the controls gain authority. The final, essential act: attach the 35-pound, four-foot-long clear plexiglass canopy by inserting a pin in its rear frame into a fuselage receptacle, out of sight and reach behind me—the canopy is integral to the sailplane’s shape, essential to safe flight. A volunteer managing the tows, an experienced sailplane pilot, does this. He assures me that the pin is inserted securely, so I close the front of the canopy to engage the emergency release, a red knob above the instrument panel, and lock it. Towline hooked up, I waggle the rudder, a signal the tow pilot can see through his mirror, that I am ready. The launch and tow are normal, at 65 knots. I retract the landing gear after takeoff. I find a convenient thermal, a rising column of warm air that lofts me to 15,000 feet, on oxygen, circling at 42 knots, climbing at 1,000 feet per minute. I tell my crew by radio, audible to everyone on the ground, that soaring conditions are excellent. I chandelle off the top of the thermal and push the stick forward, looking for 120 knots, and head south, nose pointed down in a steep dive. Then the canopy detaches suddenly, explosively, violent as a gunshot. There’s a stunning rush of air. The rear pin was not engaged. Everything loose is gone instantly. My oxygen mask is torn away; my shades, sun hat, and charts vanish. My tube mic, clipped to my shades? Nowhere. But the radio is useless in the

sailplanes, as toys. Far from it. They are among the world’s most advanced, high-performance aircraft. Beyond their performance, they are insanely beautiful, shaped by the wind. Sailplane pilots like to think of them as highly advanced airplanes that lack only that noisy fire hazard. I preflighted my H301 Libelle sailplane at Minden Airport in Nevada, just east of California’s Lake Tahoe, carefully: stainless-steel wing pin inserted and locked, tailplane secure, controls and instruments checked, maps in place, radio function confirmed, oxygen bottle at full pressure, all wingto-fuselage and tailplane-to-fuselage joints taped to minimize drag, weather predictions verified, a gallon of drinking water stowed and drinking tube available, energy bars on hand for my anticipated five- to six-hour, 350-mile flight. I’m ready for aerotow, pulled aloft by a Cessna 182. This H-301B Libelle (“Dragonfly”) 50-foot-wingspan glider, renowned as the world’s first all-fiberglass sailplane, is a racer that can fly at 125 knots and more, up to 50,000 feet (the highest I have flown it is 35,000 feet), with a 43:1 glide ratio (i.e., from a mile or 5,280 feet high, I can theoretically fly 43 miles in “still air,” although air is rarely still). I plan to fly down the magnificent Sierra to the Mojave Desert at California City, and back. The weather is cooperating and will enable this flight. Soaring pilots depend on weather. We need lift: thermals (warm air rising from the ground), wave (fast-moving air lifted behind mountains, like water behind rocks in a stream), ridge (wind deflected upward against a mountain), or conver-

SARAH HANSON

Plus— Listen to an original Never Again story.
AOPA PILOT •

102 • DECEMBER 2011

AOPA Pilot Magazine - December 2011

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