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 also 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 might 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 rotation from miles away to determine in advance the direction and strength of wind there, and maybe deduce where convergence might be found as well.
We saw 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 entire line appeared motionless. Gliding closer, we found the only two that were actually rotating stood adjacent – facing away from each other back to back. This meant currents from 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 nothing’s ever a hundred percent, but with no other lift for the last thirty minutes, we’re only a few more from landing unless we seize this opportunity." I was starting to squirm. "Just head straight between those two live ones and cash in.”
“And if it’s not there?”
“We go on. Glide around the spur at the end of that canyon and back to Cal City. If we don’t grab this now it's what we’ll be doing anyway.”
His response was eloquent but unspellable, a sad falsetto moan of pointless worry, futile as it was honest.
“Just do it," I urged, "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. Yet while that was true, he also knew it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. After brief deliberation with his imaginary accountant he murmured, “Okay, but you better fly it.”
Exactly what I hoped to hear! Nose down, directly between those turbines, each blade longer than our 20-meter wingspan. Watch to see which one’s turning fastest, slide in over the slower one and turn into the stronger of the two winds. Then WHAM.
Uneventful as our prior 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. Magical as usual.
There are times you make an aggressive decision, not because you know it will work, but it’s the best option even if it doesn’t. 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 show mercy, for our hallowed sky in its grand dispassion might 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...