By Gary Carter

(This article appeared in a shorter version in the June 2007 issue of Soaring.) 

There have been a lot of requests for me to write this story because it's a bit different from most land out stories. I though at first it would be a good flying story, but as I wrote it, I realized that the real story is about unselfish acts by good people who are the heart and sole of soaring and who for a few hours contributed to one of the best days and stories of my life.

The plot is rather simple. Day 2 of the 2006 Region 4 South Contest at New Castle saw blistering fast runs on the ridge. The frontal passage appeared to be setting up for a classic Appalachian Mountains ridge day. Five glider pilots: Bill Elliott - WE, Peter Pfoertner- PF, Skip Pate - P8, Al Tyler - 8H, and moi - HK who were all essentially out of the running after poor performances on the first day of the contest (land outs for various reasons or less than desirable performance) decided that this frontal passage meant the very realistic possibility of making a 1000 km flight. After all, New Castle is known for 1000 km flights, several ridge running gurus were available to coach us with maps and plenty of advice, and all but one or two of the five of us had any real chance of winning, so ,what the heck, let's go for 1000 km's.

On the eve of the flight, after some planning and many discussions with the gurus (John Good, Hank Nixon, John Seymour, forgive me for others who chimed in and I did not get your name) who'd made this flight en mass in 1990 during a previous New Castle contest week with about fourteen other guys, we felt we had good enough information and forthcoming conditions to proceed with the task. The next day, as we put together and got our gliders to the grid, we realized that in our haste we had not adequately considered the crew ramification. That is, who in the heck is going to come get us somewhere between middle Virginia and Bedford, Pennsylvania should we have not make it. One pilot had a definite crew, another had an untried crew who had never pulled a glider trailer, and three of us were crewing for each other during the contest so we would obviously be unavailable. We were so focused on the planning of the route, setting up our databases, and getting water at a contest site where water is not used that we frankly just didn't think about crew details. It was at that point that Kim Kristof along with husband Bruce, who would be launching us for the flight boldly stated "don't worry guys, we've got you covered." Naturally that was a BIG load off and now we felt we had all the bases covered.

To make a short story long (and in making preparations for telling it again many times in the ensuing years), we all took off at approximately 9 AM in the morning. It was only after a couple of hours and through various interventions by Mother Nature we were pretty quickly down to a flight of three - 8H, WE, and HK. We crossed the beautiful ridges of Virginia and as we did, we started getting separated. I was delayed at our first major ridge crossing near Maggie, but later caught up to the other two pilots out a head of me. Then one by one we separated again as we crossed other ridges and valleys. Later in the flight I caught up to 8H over the Seneca Mountains contemplating how we would get north past the dreaded Knobblies (southwest of Cumberland). Later we found that our other pilot (WE) had forged ahead, but had not been able to negotiate the Knobblies primarily due to a lack of local knowledge about the terrain. He therefore out landed in West Virginia in a nice field that was owned by equally nice farmers. At one point, 8H and I thought we were not going to make it past Seneca Mountain until this beautiful wave cloud appeared to our west. In any event, 8H and I pressed on into the wild blue, using wave, thermals, and serious ridge lift. While it was a bit unnerving, we were on the move and the sights were spectacular!

We reached Bedford, PA and on our return it was getting late in the day. I was following 8H and once again got a bit separated near Covington, VA where we had our last major transition from the ridge we were on over to what is called the "front ridge." As it turned out, we were coming back from Bedford on a different ridge that we had gone up on. I had fallen behind 8H about a mile as I was wondering if we should have jumped back to the eastern and higher ridge we had traveled up on as I was not sure exactly where this ridge would take us other than it actually appeared to be more direct than the ridge used earlier in the day. We decided to stay on this ridge as it was getting late in the day and we still had over 100 miles to cover before it got dark So, I fearlessly plunged on down this ridge thinking that I would catch up to 8H and would be able to follow him through the next transition ... not!

As it turned out, we where heading down a descending ridge (although I did not sense this). I could not see anything ahead other than smaller ridges in the distance. I was thinking at the time that I hoped these ridges worked as the wind seemed to be diminishing a bit as we were descending. Then all of a sudden, "whoosh" I am out over a small reservoir in the middle of a big forest in the middle of nowhere with only water and trees around me. Uh oh! I quickly shot out over a tributary in the lake and headed for the higher ridge to my east. I mean no problem right? It's higher and I'd been working ridges all day from nearly the floor up with impunity: but, no cigar this time. I had descended down the ridge to a height of about 400 feet above the water and unfortunately below the ridge lift. 8H had gone to a lower ridge towards the west and over shadowed by a higher ridge even further to the west of the ridge he was on and which I was willing to bet was totally dead with only trees to land in. He did mention that he might be joining me soon if he could not sustain. As it was, I was low when I popped off the main ridge and only had enough altitude to make two or three passes on the ridge to my west that I had hoped to climb out on. You know, zero sink just doesn't last long these days.

I made a quick survey of the situation and landscape and saw a pretty good sand bar off a point in the lake. 8H who was hanging on to a bit of lift on his low ridge shallow ridge also noted there were two sand bars to consider or better fields further away. However, fields further away was not possible and one of the possible lake landing areas had considerable undulation so I quickly narrowed down which one was the best choice; that is appeared flatter and safer. I radioed 8H about the secluded appearance of the sand bar I was choosing, but he said some invaluable words "don't worry about it. Just fly the plane." In any event, gravity won out and I was about three hundred feet or so from serious H2O so made my approach into the sand bar.

As it turned out, the sand bar I chose was actually a mud bar had a tiny bit of undulation. I also had water leak from my left wing bag during the day so as I got slower near touch down point the heavier right wing drooped into the elevated portion of the mud bar and when my main gear touched down I quickly converted from forward progress to sideways progress, or in another words, I did a 90 degree ground looped. Fortunately, the mud was soft and gooey and ground looping in mud isn't so bad. Its interesting seeing nature go from left to right out the front of the canopy while sliding merrily through the oozy lake mud. When I finally stopped, exited the glider and did a quick walk around, I felt confident that the glider and I were both OK. As it turned out later, there were a couple of dings in the wing and a LOT of mud in the wheel well. My ego was the most dinged out of the whole deal ... trust me. Reality quickly set in that I was within one or two reasonable ridge transitions and a perfect ridge day I was about a hundred miles from a goal that I have dreamed of for many years. I was not a happy camper.

Speaking of camping, it also didn't take long to realize that the mud bar I landed on did not have any access other than by things that float. The only road into the lake was on the other side of the lake. However, I would have damaged my glider and probably me if I had used any other area on the lake to land and I am sticking to that story. Looking around at the very quite lake and sun setting in the west, I felt like I was the only person in the world at that moment. Then the radio crackled me back to task and I found that 8H had climbed out of trouble on the small ridge and was able to talk with me on the radio long enough to confirm that I and my sailplane were OK, but marooned on a desolate mud bar on a lake (is there a movie or reality series in here somewhere?) Now, imagine 8H radioing later on when he was near New Castle telling them that HK landed in the lake on a sand bar. That quickly translated into landing in the lake or even better yet, a water landing.

OK, it's late in the day and I am on a mud bar definitely on the wrong mud bar from an auto access standpoint. I could see a tiny marina about a half mile away, but there was no activity around it and the temps were suppose to drop into 30's from the 70's and I was dressed for maybe 50 degrees. I figured at the very least that I would walk along the shore line towards the marina to possibly get some help. However after looking closer the marina was also on the other side of the lake and I could not walk far enough down my side to get close enough to even hail someone. At that point I had to consider that it might actually be a camping event with good ole HK. I started taking note of my supplies. There was some water and a small Gatorade, about three Cliff Bars, my canopy cover, a land out bag with knife, matches, and a space blanket, and plenty of drift wood for a fire. Unfortunately, there were also plenty of deer and fresh bear tracks all over the mud bar. Did you know that Cliff Bars are made with molasses which delight bears only slightly second to honey or so I hypothesized? And worst of all, I was bone tired from getting pounded the past 8+ hours on the ridge and a bit depressed about my quandary of getting the heck outa of there.

Hark! I hear a motor in the distance as it goes flying by up another tributary, but too far off for me to see and vice versa. Well old boy, there is still life on the lake today and maybe that boat might just come up this way on his way to the marina. Hope loomed. I can trade Cliff Bars for favors.

Not long after the boat disappeared another boat came puttering up the tributary I was on. Hey hey, things are looking up. However the boat was still a long way off and on the opposite shore; probably about two hundred yards away. As we pilots say from altitude, they looked like little ants at that distance, but he was still coming my way. The boat finally pulled up to the opposite shore and dropped someone off. As soon as the engine shut down I went over to the water's edge on my side of the lake and begin to make like a bull horn blaring for help. Not the desperate kind, but just the hey buddy, I'm over hear kind. Did you know you can holler at a very high decibel levels when you feel real needy? I could see at first they were trying to see who was yelling, and I think they thought I was calling to someone else. Soon however, they realized there was no one else and one of the boat people started the boat and headed my way. Hot dang!

You know, we in soaring should learn to dress better for land outs such as wearing clothes more expected in the wilds. I had on my dumb flop hat, a wrinkled blue wind parka with light cotton pants. Not exactly Daniel Boone. I looked pretty dorkie if you ask me so I figured I had one shot with this guy. As the boat came closer to the shore (but definitely not all the way), I told the driver that I landed an airplane on the mud bar. You know, glider just doesn't register with most folks. I think he was ready to cut and run after my brief explanation, but I prevailed, "no kidding, just drive up the tributary a bit and you'll see it." Actually, he could see the top of the tail and I guess felt bad for a guy in dumb clothes who flew gliders around a lake. He asked what he could do and I told him that "I need a lift to the marina to find a phone." After I got in and we headed up the tributary, he could finally see the glider and broke into a big smile and appeared to be glad to be helping out. Before we actually headed to the marina, we first ran over to tell his wife that I landed a plane on the point and he was running me up to the marina to get help. I am not too sure she believed it all at first and elected to stay on the shore rather than going with us.

During our cruise to the marina, we were having the usual post land out conversation about what had transpired a bit earlier, soaring, how the gliders get up in the air, what happens when the wind quits, where he was from, where I was from, etc. While we were puttering along towards the marina (he only had a little gas left in his tank) I noticed that his deck boat had nice padded rails on the front. Gee I thought, would this guy (Bert) let me haul my glider on this boat ... in pieces of course so I asked, "Hey Bert, you wanna make some money?" He grinned and asked how and I told him my theory about transporting my glider piece by piece on his boat to the marina. Well, he said that the fishing frankly was horrible and he didn't have much to do that evening so "why not!" He did think he best get his wife back to the camp ground first and then grab someone to help out.

At the marina, I found a phone that sort of worked. I called the Region 4 South contest retrieve manager Virginia McWhorter (Patron Saint of Great Retrieves and Land-out Psychologist) who is totally unflappable. I said in a somewhat depressed tone "Virginia, can you see if Lanier (Frantz) has a boat and send him and my trailer and crew?" She could sense my desperation and forced me to laugh at the situation, but promptly reassured me that she had things well in hand. That was all I needed because when Virginia is on a "cause" stuff happens and things get done. I did tell her that I thought I had a way of getting the glider to the marina and just send my crew. Bert gave her driving directions for the crew so I felt confident that we were on the right track, but oh lord, we had to float a glider to safety first. Also, a fellow that was Bert's friend name "Howdy" came around and Bert filled him in on the plan. Howdy was pleased to be in on it since the fishing was bad for him too; this also gave him something to occupy his evening. After thinking through the process of getting the glider apart and loaded, we grabbed a ladder hanging on the side of the marina office and headed out. We would need it to support the second wing after removing the first.

Bert and I went to get his wife off the shore and take her to the camp ground where Bert would get some supplies for the hauling event and to off load some things from his boat. He and Howdy rearranged Bert's boat by draining the livewell, transferring bait fish to Howdy's boat, getting rope and an anchor, and finding lights. I think they thought this would be a well into the night project, but I told them if we hurry we might get it done before full darkness set in. And, it was also getting colder.

When we all arrived back at the the mud bar, we had to move HK out of the mud and up onto a dryer part of the point. Even with three people it took about all the strength we had to get it on dry ground and move it 50+ yards closer to the boat. We were so tired after moving the glider to dry ground, I was really worried we would not have the strength and day light to proceed with the de-rigging. In any event, we finally proceeded to get things out of the cockpit and the ladder wing stand ready for de-rigging. Man, I've held many a wing root and walked them to their trailer dollies a few feet away before, but I've never carried the root end a hundred or more feet by myself. My arms were about two inches longer by the end of the evening or so they felt. We moved the wing over and up onto the boat where we set it crosswise on the padded cushions rather than longwise on the boat floor. The cushions were not slippery and I had no fear of having a wing slide off, but I did fear that a wing along with my bulk in the front of the boat might swamp the bow. So, Howdy ended up holding the wing and I ended up back on the stern as ballast to keep our nose up above the water.

Once each wing was transported to the marina, we had to carry it up a hill about 50 or 60 feet to a nice patch of grass were we laid it down gently and hopefully so my crew would see them and know they were in the right place. On the second wing trip, we left Howdy to hold the fuselage upright for about 20 minutes while we deposited the second wing off. Now, Bert, Howdy, and I aren't spring chickens, so we were getting pretty tired after the two wings and we still had the fuselage to deal with.

While at the marina with the second wing, I grabbed a four foot 2 x 6 board to be used as a ramp from the bank to the boat. Unfortunately, when we got back to the glider, I did not have a tool to remove the horizontal stab so the tail had to be lifted over all the seats and drivers console to reach the back. I really did not think clearly about the difficulty of putting a twenty foot fuselage in a sixteen foot boat until the moment the tail hit the back couch on the boat and the main wheel of the glider was still not on the boat. The openness of the boat made it look like an easy fit ... wrong. Further, we got a scare as we begin to think that the fuselage area where the wings connect looked like it was too big to fit through the little door in the bow. But as luck would have it, it did just fit. As it turned out, we were able to set the tail boom up on one of the padded side passenger seats allowing the tail to be over the back seat and give us more room to pull the glider on board. We labored to the main wheel resting on the tip of the bow. Well, it's put up or shut up time and when we tried to back off the mud bar, we were stuck. The gliders weight was mainly on the bow and we were stuck pretty securely in the mud. I got my sizable weight as far back in the boat as possible to counter the glider weight, but Bert and Howdy ended up having to get off the bow and push the boat off the mud bar before we could putter away. After we got moving Howdy also had to move to the back of the boat to keep us from becoming a submarine and thereby keeping our nose above water - no pun intended. To say we were concerned with a heavy nose is putting it mildly, however, once we got moving in the calm water and weren't taking any water over the bow we were fine. HK looked like a big white shark on this tiny little boat.

About the time we got to the marina on this final trip, my crew Kim Kristoff (who along with Paul Cordele had earlier helped on of our other pilots out of his land out field), Bruce Kristoff, and Peter Pfoertner arrived. Peter was initially one of the 1000 km pilots who got shot down on one of the early transitions and who subsequently landed back at the contest airport, flew the contest day, and came in second in 15 meter. As we approached them pulling up to the concrete boat launch ramp, you could see their wide white eyes and "holly cow" smiles. It took a few attempts to use a small dock to steady the boat at the very edge of the concrete ramp so we could roll the fuselage off the boat onto the boat ramp all the while keeping the boat hull from hitting the concrete. Additionally, we had to reposition and support the wooden board ramp from the boat to concrete ramp to get the glider off. Peter kindly waded in the cold water to position it on the bow under the glider wheel and then Kim held it in place while all hands finally and gently rolled the fuselage onto the proper side of the lake and surprisingly, with only a few scratches for the worse.

Bert, Howdy, and their wives (who drove to the marina and also helped with the fuselage at the boat ramp) remained with us while we loaded the glider in the trailer. While tired, the comments were fun and spirits where high and I was needless to say very very relieved. When it was time to finally get on the road back to New Castle, besides my tremendous relief and the eternal thanks I expressed to Bert and Howdy and their wives, I offered to pay them for their help. However, they would not take a cent; not even consider it. I tried three times to pay them for their efforts and at least allow me to buy Bert a tank of gas, but "no thanks" says Bert. He said, "the good lord's taken care of me in times and I'm just paying it back." Of course they did say, the fishing was really bad and "we have a great story to tell ... for a long long time."

Well, the story should end here, but it's not quite over. On our two hour trip back to New Castle, about half way, the tow car started over heating. We had to force feed the coolant expansion tank, radiator, and subsequently the engine with water about every five or ten minutes. Between my water bottle and a cooler in the car, we made our way until we found a store and a hose to tank up and load on extra water. As it turned out, we had a bad thermostat and the trip took four hours instead of two. But, as we look back it was pretty funny, we laughed a lot, and it just adds to the tail.

As I said in the beginning, this story is not really about gliding, out landings, and boating, but rather the friendship, trust, compassion, integrity and love of people that other good people show towards others. There was Kim and her husband who told us minutes before our flight that they had our crew requirement covered and who along with Peter late that evening came to get me out of the lake. Then there was Virginia who stayed by the phone to give me encouragement and made sure my crew were given proper directions to find me. There was Leonard who got up early and towed us in petty rough towing conditions. Of course there was Carol (Elliott) who has never made a retrieve nor pulled a trailer before boldly going to get her hubby Bill Elliott - WE 195 miles and over four hours away in West Virginia by herself. Note: Bill is still alive and active in soaring (Carol didn't kill him); and, Carol now has some good stories herself to tell and a "golden ticket" to redeem for some serious "bling". Then there were the good farmers who helped Bill who I'm sure now have their own unique story to tell. There was also Paul (Cordele) and Kim who helped 8P out of his field earlier in the day. And of course, there was Bert, Howdy and their wives who completely trusted a dorky looking guy who came into their lives and who without a second thought helped me get my glider out of a bad place and back to its traveling sanctuary simply because they are good people. These are the kind of people that make soaring unique, fun, safe, and most of all, makes it work.

Congratulations to 8H - Al Tyler who got his 1000 km Free Distance. Conversely, I didn't get my 1000 km, but I got a great story for life, became the Rear Admiral of Blue Ridge Soaring Society, and most importantly, made a bunch of new friends and was reminded of how wonderful people can be even to people who fly gliders with dorkie hats.

By the way, a year later at the 2007 Region 4 South contest, I had the pleasure of seeing Bert and his wife at the contest.  I invited them to attend one of our pilots meetings.  After quickly recapping the story, I had the pleasure of introducing them to everyone in which they were promptly treated to a standing ovation. Bert, noted that "he now had the only aircraft carrier on the lake!"

I hope your land outs bring you as much friendship and fun as mine have.

Gary Carter
HK