Marc Arnold

At only 60 fpm, it was hard work--a balance of intense concentration to stay centered in the thermal, yet relaxed enough to avoid over controlling. It's a very Zen process of "relaxed concentration". Fluidity is key in manipulating the controls. It's similar to many sports when trying harder leads to worse results--your actions become jerky and forced. When you become more skilled, the movement is automatic. In tennis, for example, the racket meets the ball at just the right spot, your feet move you to the right location without direction imparted by you--it all just flows! The soaring became effortless as I forgot about the bank angle, airspeed, flap settings, speed-to-fly calculations, rate of climb and G-force leaving only the air around the plane. It's like staring at a high-contrast picture and suddenly seeing the negative space around the object. Without any conscious effort, my body, my mind and the ship flowed into the lift, meeting it at just the right speed and bank and configuration. I was truly soaring.

When I first entered learned to soar, it was more a mechanical set of actions--Pull up, check the airspeed, bank into the turn, check the variometer, think about which side of the thermal was strongest, lessen the bank to move the center, tighten the bank to stay closer to the center, etc. Now, without effort, the rate of climb in this thermal had grown from its initial value of 0.6kt (60 fpm) to a solid 9 kt (900 fpm) and my altitude was now over 13,000 feet. And in the process of climbing from a few hundred feet to thousands, my field of view expanded as well. With the help of one more thermal over Lincoln airport I headed off into the mountains leading to the Swan Valley.

Jagged peaks rose on the right, each topped by a roiling cumulus cloud revealing strong updrafts caused by the sun's heat throughout the day. This resulted in a "cloud street", a band of lift topped by a row clouds. Using this street I speed along the tops of the peaks on the east side of the valley. Emerald colored high lakes passed under my wings. Each lake a windswept surface of water surrounded by near vertical walls of rock. Verdant tree farms stretched on the left. Thousands of feet above the ridge line, altitude was not an issue--the strong uplift made dolphin flight easy. Diving in the sink, pulling high G's in the lift, it was a dance with kinetic energy. The nearby scenery was breathtaking. Swan Lake passed by on the left. Then, all too soon, I rejoined the world of conscious aviation. Radio chatter replaced quiet serenity in my Plexiglas chrysalis. A moderate crosswind combined and narrow runway kept my attention high during the landing at Kalispell, MT, only a few miles from Canada.

7/17/94 Kalispell, MT

I flew under power about ten minutes to the north end of Swan valley. The previous day I flew northbound in this valley at high altitude, above the peaks on the east side in late afternoon thermals. Today, however, the morning sun was still too low in the eastern sky to heat the west-facing slopes. Fortunately, the wind was blowing strongly from the west creating strong ridge lift. This allowed me to fly below the peaks and in the valley, instead of above it. On the northbound leg the previous day, the conditions took me above the valley at an altitude of 17,000 feet. The valley and its tree farms could be seen as a whole. Now my view comprised individual trees less than 100 feet away. A pause to "S" turn in front of the slope instantly causes my altitude to zooms up and I can look down on the peaks, though most of the 60 miles was spent looking up at the peaks and at the trees off my left wing. Soaring a ridge is the provides ultimate challenge in opportunistic decision making. When the topography of the slope ten seconds ahead is likely to force the perpendicular wind upward, you keep the nose down and push for speed. When a gap in the ridge opens up ahead, you judge whether you have enough energy to cross, or whether it is necessary to slow for a period to gain altitude and store energy. The violent turbulence, high G pull-up's in lift, zero G push over's in sink and close proximity to terrain make ridge soaring the most dynamic flight regime I know. It is exhilarating!

All too soon, the valley came to an end, and I converted my 140 kts of kinetic energy to altitude over the broad open valley ahead. The rush of pounding along at high speed close to the trees and rocks gave way to the serene quiet once again of a well-sealed world class sailplane in smooth air. Cumulus clouds moving in from the west are obvious indicators of lift. The first provided 4 kts, as did the second and third. It was a normal progression of circling in thermals followed by brief dashed through sink to the next. Then I saw an unusual cloud formation ahead. The thin wisp of condensation seemed to be the start of a standing lenticular cloud. I diverted to investigate. Suddenly the air became silky smooth--all motion stopped. The wave was condensing on the leading edge of the cloud and evaporating on the trailing edge. Slowly "S" turning into the wind, the wave carried me vertically up the face of the "lennie". I surfed the rising, growing cloud. It was silent and perfectly smooth. It was a magic carpet lifting me straight up. With the permission of ATC (and mode C transponder), I rode this vertical elevator up to 24,000 feet. Then I left the wave and headed south having experienced the most amazing flight in more than 20 years of flying.

A long glide to Three Forks, Montana and Bozeman was in easy gliding range. Still exhilarated from the earlier flight, I went to the nearby ridge instead. Joining up with a Ventus A 15m sailplane, we chased each other back and forth along the 25 MI long ridge. Cavorting in the severe turbulence brought all the loose items up to the top of the canopy. Heavy G's bent the wing tips up more than 5 feet. And always the Ventus above or below or swooping alongside. The pilot was practicing for the National Championship the following week.

My perfect day of flying adventure ended as the sun set. Once again on the ramp at Sunbird Aviation, a number of local soaring pilots came out to see the Stemme. They were well acquainted with the local ridge and nearby soaring, but few had ventured across Yellowstone to the south or the Swan Valley to the north. They were able to appreciate the freedom provided by the Stemme's Limbach motor standing by.

7/18/94 Bozeman, MT

After three hours of ridge soaring with a number of the local pilots, the CU's began to pop. With baggage packed, I headed southwest. Passing Livingston, Montana, the lift was weak. I scratched along a wide valley to the south, just barely holding my altitude. The terrain was rising as I flew south. Then, over a plateau in the center of the valley a thermal bumped. With a lot of work, I extracted a few hundred feet. Then jumping to the east side of the valley, I discovered very strong lift of more than 1,000 fpm the south face of Sheep Mountain.

With daylight fading, I landed at Saratoga, Wyoming and spent the night at a delightful resort with outdoor natural hot springs.

7/19/94 Saratoga, WY

Ten minutes under power, then the motor was off once again to soar east to Medicine Bow Peak. Circling low over a landable meadow, I prepared to restart the motor, but a small bump grew. Soon I was at cloud base and turned south. Unfortunately, lower cloud bases and rain showers to the south made the prospect of continued soaring unlikely. I flew on, expecting to finish the flight under power when a fascinating phenomenon occurred.

A mass of cooler moist air was flowing upslope from the east forming lower stratus layers to my left. Drier unstable air was being heated by the afternoon sun permitting convective cumulus with bases at 2500 to 3000 feet AGL to the right. As I flew along the confluence of these two air masses, I found a zone of weak lift along my southbound course -- about 80 fpm. With fog and haze on the left and low cloud bases to the right, I was able to ride along slowly without losing altitude from Medicine Bow to South Bald Mountain, a distance of 60nm at 70 knots. Nothing the soaring books I've read described this condition other than the general proviso: Lift is where you find it.

Eventually the ceiling deteriorated and continued VFR was not possible over the higher elevations. A recent weather report confirmed good visibility beneath a 1,000 foot ceiling at Boulder and Jeffco, so I glided down the Poudre River Valley under the solid status overcast then flew under power the rest of the way to Boulder.

A friend at Boulder's Cloudbase Soaring center wanted a ride, so we took off under the stratus layer. The short, ten minute introduction flight turned into an hour long soaring flight when I discovered the second unusual source of lift in the same day. My attention was first drawn by an unusual circular dome in the status above and to the left. Sure enough, the first lift of the day was there. There was weak but usable lift as bubbles of warm air punched up against the thinning status layer above. After exploiting the first one, we were able to go directly to these "negative CU's" of clear, warm air rising into the uniform stratus layer above. We could have stayed up the rest of the day -- Truly amazing given the prevalence of stratus which generally marks the impossibility of lift. Yet another fascinating day of learning and exploration in the Stemme!

7/20/94 Boulder, CO

I spent the morning flying with Bruce Miller, a glider pilot who flies instrumented gliders in thunderstorms for the National Center for Atmospheric Research. Then I was soaring again along the Flatirons southbound to Denver's Centennial airport to meet a friend. Flying in and around high density traffic posed no difficulty. By entering downwind at 110 kts, the whole pattern can be flown with the engine off while the speed slowly decays. Even 360's on short final can be accomplished without the motor if necessary for spacing. Normally, I land with the motor off, then start it as I'm rolling off the runway to taxi to parking. I launched after lunch and soared to Colorado Springs for the night. The ramp was so full, I had to fold the wings to fit between a Lear and a Challenger. Several of the local people were aware of the Air Force Academy's decision to purchase Stemme S10's. After some interesting hanger flying, this short flying day came to an end.

7/21/94 Colorado Springs, CO

Lift off was at 10 am. I took off and immediately headed west towards Pike's Peak. Finding morning lift on the east side, I turned off the motor and retracted prop at 1,000 feet AGL and thermaled up to 14,000 before realizing that I'd forgotten to retract the gear! The electric gear switch has three positions: Down, Off, and Up. Distracted by a missed transponder code assignment, I inadvertently moved the selector from Down to Off, the middle position. Although embarrassing, it certainly wasn't as bad as forgetting to extend the gear, a situation I've not yet experienced.

Soaring around the summit of Pike's Peak, hundreds of tourists photographed the Stemme as I flew round and round. Then west to thermals over Tincup Pass. Soaring over a hiker at the top of Mt. Shavano, I used the huge updraft flowing into the base of a building thunderstorm to hitch a ride to 17,500 feet at over 1,500 fpm. As I fully enjoyed the mixture of terrain and weather phenomena at that moment, it occurred to me that only a few abnormal flights in over twenty years of flying power became vivid, permanent memories. All the rest were "uneventful" and soon forgotten. Almost by definition, every cross country soaring flight, on the other hand, has been memorable. Each leg is a challenge with no chance to become complacent, even for a minute. Perhaps this is the greatest appeal of soaring. Leaving the big lift, I soared west to Gunnison, then Montrose to visit with friends. Thunderstorms were forecast over night, so I folded the wings and put the S10 in a hanger for the night.

7/25/94 Montrose, CO

The next morning, I took off and found lift a few miles east of the airport. Climbing at several hundred feet per minute, the temperature dropped quickly. At 17,000 feet the outside temperature was down to 0°F. Leaving the lift, I flew through virga south of Crested Butte and emerged with a thin coating of ice on the plane, spoiling its laminar flow. A few thousand feet lower and it disappeared. I thermaled over Crested Butte, then explored the Elk Mountains south and west of Aspen. Then I soared for two hours with a friend already soaring around Aspen in his sailplane and then, all too soon, ended the Northern half of my Rockies tour with a landing back at Aspen.

In ten days, my travels took me 1,552 NM, not counting the numerous excursions off course in pursuit of lift and entertainment. While enroute, the average amount of time under power was just 12 minutes per day which lead to a fuel consumption of just under four gallons of gas. After a week hiatus, I resumed my travels and over another ten days, traveled south along the Rockies and San de Cristo ranges, then to Tucson and Phoenix before returning to Aspen. Total enroute fuel consumption for both legs was eight gallons in 63 flight hours aloft, covering more than 3,000 memorable miles. What a way to go!

Marc Arnold lives in St. Louis, MO and can be reached at (314) 721-5904 email: MArnold@stemme.com Copyright © 1995 -- All rights reserved