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Mastering the Gentle Metronomic Slosh and Other Related EventsPeople confronted by the novelty of soaring inevitably ask questions such as “What do you do when the wind stops?” As mentioned in an article which appeared years ago in this paper, there are a number of ways to answer this, most of which are factually incorrect but thought-provoking. Students of the art of soaring as well as the experience-wizened warriors of The Great White Fleet tend to be equally predictable, if only in their complete disregard for the more prosaic aspects of life in favor of the fascination of flight. If you have any lingering doubts about this, just ask a close relative, friend, casual acquaintance or distant neighbor about any soaring pilot’s ability to stop a conversation, party, Bar-Mitzvah, funeral service or other event by looking up and announcing to no one in particular with a longing tone: “Look at that wave!” Everyone will look up, (except at the funeral, where almost everyone looks up, too) and at least one spokesman for the group will ask, “What happens when the wind stops?”The soaring student is constantly confronted by new challenges to dexterity and common sense. Having finally mastered the confusion of tow (“Was that the turbulence, the tow pilot, the instructor or me that just caused us to roll inverted?”), the fledgling pilot is now asked to “box the wake”. Why not—but, will UPS ship it? Bob Messner has coined the phrase that seems to best describe the motion of the glider on tow in the hands of a deft student who is just mastering this skill: The Gentle Metronomic Slosh. This term implies an almost rhythmic harmony and is a surprisingly poetic way to emphasize the instructor’s refrain: “Use the rudders!!!” Another of the questions first asked by someone completely new to the sport of soaring is: “Where do you land?” The obvious answer for any competent, experienced, knowledgeable and wise contest pilot is: “How do I know?” That’s right! After learning everything there is to know about his or her sailplane and flawlessly mastering flight planning, written tests, flight tests, FAA regulations and Mandatory Service Bulletins, the sailplane pilot is encouraged to go away from the airport and never come back until he or she has landed in some God-forsaken pasture in East Corinth. Upon return and repair of the glider, repayment of retrieval crew and armed farmer, the pilot receives the accolades of fellow pilots. Yet this makes sense in the world of soaring. Have you ever tried to explain soaring to someone who doesn’t fly? Have you ever described a circular staircase without using your hands? We might as well face it. When we fly we live in some glorious parallel universe where a 1500 foot tow can launch one for hours in a blue and white world devoid of other people, fighting the good fight in the midst of primal good (lift) and primordial evil (sink). If one loses, the battle is only postponed until the next flight; if one wins, the reward is a view of a new and silent world more perfect than any that can be experienced on earth, and the promise that the wind never stops. Rick Hanson |
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Soaring Association. All rights reserved. |