NO SUCH THING AS CERTAINTY
When still new in this region, I asked long-time locals for tips about particular bad areas to avoid on cross-country flights. To their credit most tried, but their answers were more confusing than helpful. Some things you must discover for yourself.
A couple years later, I was out with a student on the Sierra shearline, and came upon two racing ships circling together over Jawbone Canyon. It was obvious from their radio dialogue, they were protege and mentor, but when I hailed them from outside of a mile, neither answered. (Learned later our mic was bad, an entirely different story.)
Their thermal was embedded on our shearline and we were climbing fairly well ourselves in dolphin flight, so we just slowed, lofting nearly to their height, and cruised straight on through, rocking wings as a howdy. When they still didn’t break squelch, we nosed over again and continued as before. While they were climbing better in one place, we were pulling away at more than two klicks a minute… Then one of them said, “Let’s follow the two-seater,” and my student began to gloat.
I was tempted too, but no. “They’ll be overtaking us soon enough,” I assured. “We might hold the lead awhile if you stay exactly on this line of lift, keep feeling for more on either side, and slow up only in the strongest stuff.”
We were well past Inyokern when they caught us, still at about the same height, though now with less to spare above higher terrain. Then just as they hauled abeam we hit another boomer. All three ships pulled up at once, but where they both rolled into another climb that seemed unnecessary, we just grabbed the easy ups and pushed on as before.
Next came the punch line. Remember that unnamed sinkhole I eventually quit asking about? Couldn’t tell quite yet, but this sure smelled like it. Right away the sink demanded ninety knots, and then it deepened. How long might it last? You always suppose killer sink won’t go on forever but this stuff felt like it could, and the next airport was still fifty miles ahead. It’s why our compadres stopped to climb alright, and now we had no choice but retreat.
As they sailed high over us, still on course, the best we could do was eke a lucky save backways and draggle humbly home. Better information is what carried them safely across that high gravity zone, and superior speed performance didn’t hurt either. Before we landed they were fading beyond radio range.
So exactly where is this trap, and what can be done about it?
First, it’s not just one distinct spot. It’s a twenty mile stretch from about ten north of Owens Peak to ten south of Olancha. The high ground along there is slightly lower, allowing cool mountain air to spill down into the desert — sometimes. Fact is, though, it’s equally as apt to offer the same terrific stuff that got you there. If at least some lift is well marked or you happen to be high already, no worries, it’s only twenty miles. If not, however…
In a truly free market you're never sure what you’re buying until you own it, so the obvious solution is to get higher first (as the victors did that day), and hold only the right speed for every single moment exactly as you should anywhere else. Otherwise this might be the day you get a close look at trusty, dusty Cinder Cone Dry Lake, which no one ever sees from the highway.