QUIXOTIC GAMBIT
Sixty miles from Crystal, a friend and I were stuck near low hills at a height where any further loss would mean landing at the nearest alternate and a spendy retrieve. We happened to be flying his personal sailplane and newest prize possession, and this was the first time he’d ever soared out of sight from home. He so loved flying his new bird, I couldn't bring myself to ask for a turn when it would have been better if I had.
We'd gotten a hot start back home, but in this neighborhood there seemed no lift anywhere. Ahead on a north-south ridge stood a miles-long line of giant wind turbines that swivel individually to always face the localized flow. We could observe their orientation from miles away to determine in advance the direction and strength of wind there, maybe also deducing where convergence might be found.
We noticed right away that all the turbines on the south end of the line were facing southeast while those to the north faced northwest, but the air was so light the whole line appeared motionless. Gliding closer, we saw that two were in fact rotating – and facing away from each other. This meant currents from small canyons on opposite sides of the ridge were colliding in the saddle between those two turbines.
“Bingo!" I crowed, "Double fudge sundae. That's where we make our save.”
“You sure?”
“Well not a hundred percent, but with no other lift for the last thirty minutes, we’re only a few more from landing unless we grab this opportunity." I was starting to squirm. "Just go straight between those two live whirlies and cash in.”
“And if it’s not there?”
“Plan B. Glide around the spur at the end of this biggest canyon and back to Cal City. If we don’t grab that lift now it's what we’ll be doing anyway.”
His response was eloquent but unspellable, a sad falsetto moan of pointless worry, futile but honest.
“Just do it," I begged, "We have this if you commit right now and don’t squander any more altitude.”
I could hear him thinking he'd put himself in this joker’s hands (mine) and now had no choice but to go along. And while it was true, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. After brief deliberation with his imaginary accountant he murmured, “Okay, but you better fly it.”
Just what I hoped to hear! Nose down, directly between those turbines, each blade longer than our 20-meter wingspan. Watch to see which one turns fastest, slide in over the slower one and set up a turn into the stronger of the two winds. Then WHAM.
Uneventful as our recent leg had been, this boomer’s core was hellfire save the brimstone. We tilted 2-Gs at those enchanted windmills from what seemed arm's length over their blades' slashing apogee to a 7000-foot gain all in one quick chunk. Topped out in the big Sierra shearline, we were back on the road northbound. Magic. Like usual.
There are times you make an aggressive decision, not because you ‘think it should work’ so much as it’s the best option even if it doesn’t work. (And that’s okay so long as you KNOW beforehand that the worst-case outcome will guarantee at least a safe landing. If you put yourself in any kind of other situation may your higher power have mercy, for our hallowed sky in its grand dispassion may not.)
Hours later we approached this same area on the way home and could see from far off the turbines all facing west, and all spinning fast. Cool, stable coastal air had moved through and was now feeding the good stuff somewhere downwind in the desert – which in our case led closer to home. Did someone mention magic? Information that would have signaled defeat on the way out enabled us to eliminate a dogleg and cut miles off our final glide!
Just remember, it can as easily go the other way...