Paul Allen <pokyallen> writes:

Day four started poorly. The task committee had called route 2, the most technically challenging corridor. Over development was possible. Everything needed to be working perfectly.

First, the vario mount broke. I taped it to the base tube. In order to hear it, I had to push out and turn my head sideways. That got old in a hurry.

Then, as I pulled on my harness, the push to talk wires frayed. I taped the radio to the basetube next to the vario. Wind interference prevented voice transmission. My driver devised creative queries that could be answered with coded pulses of static, a great way to charge into uncharted territory.

I chose a weak cycle to launch into. Striding for extra power, I felt a strap or something slap the back of my right thigh. It proved to be a torn hamstring that would plague me with spasms and landing worries the rest of the flight. I would need wind to land perhaps a storm would provide?

Like most pilots that day, I struggled to the LZ until my fear of a no wind, one-legged landing inspired me to find a last chance thermal. I bucked the headwind across Ramshorn and on up Sunset ridge only to find the task route shut down. Black bottomed Cum/Mim and rain blocked the corridor. I waited for more than an hour for the storm to move on.

Around three thirty (at least my watch was working) the passage cleared. I found a good one and took it to 17,200' where my oxygen tank ran dry (why not?). Clouds sustained me at great altitude across the Howe Valley to Diamond Peak on the Lemhis. An increasingly strong crosswind was pushing me to the south edge of the corridor. To the north, Nikolia Ranch was distant through a veil of virga. I chose a thin spot in the curtain and punched through. A turbulent headwind greeted me but I was getting back on task and at least there seemed to be wind to land!

The sun came out in the lee of the storm and the Bonus LZ warmed. A large area of gentle lift persuaded me to look east. The Bitterroots are set way back behind ravine cut slopes. Beyond them lies the wildness of western Montana. Driver Color whispered in my ear, "Go to Nikolia?" Two clicks signaled nay. "Big Sheep Creek?" one click and we were off to Big Sky country. Glory beckoned!

I thought 14,000' should be enough, but as I drifted over the continental divide, it seemed inadequate. There were banks of snow capped peaks, and the valleys were so elevated that that finding a safe place to land focused all my attention. Furthermore, today rains had soaked the earth yielding surface heating values in the negative. It would be a sled ride into nowhere. I picked a far crease in a ridge that might harbor a creek or a road and headed out.

Below, remote beaver meadows and aspen groves drifted by. Water seeped and flowed everywhere, glistening though the tall grass. The water didn't ripple / the grass didn't wave I began to think about my leg.

"If Mickey can do it why can't I". Mickey came to King with a glider and one leg. I had monitored his amazing launch the day before and seen him at the park that evening so he must have landed right?

Dirt two-tracks emerged from the crease and I followed one north. A verdant marsh was rising to greet me (did I remember mosquito lotion?). I dropped a streamer and watched it collapse pathetically upon itself.

I'd read about 'fly-on-the-wall' landings and decided this thin air, no wind, one legged situation might be just the time to try it out! I picked a 30 degree slope, dove at it and flared.

I hopped once and let the glider settle back on it's keel.

Swatting mosquitoes is tough without hands. I needed to establish radio command of the valley and the 2,000' climb up a nearby 'hill' challenged my patience. I'd lost weight during the meet and my pants wouldn't stay up! (I should have used a glider strap but I forgot, and the leg was smarting too much to go back). So I'm limping up this rock face, thumb of one hand stuck in a belt loop, water bottle, radio, and magazine occupying the other trying to swat mosquitoes!

From my lofty perch, a sweet, sweet voice answered my plaintive call. It's 8:30, and Color has found her way to my remote valley. The 10 hour turn around using navigational clicks will earn her the driver award at the closing ceremony.