Accidental Aviation

 

In 1980 I met up with some flying friends out at the Sod Farm next to St. Michele Winery to watch one of them fly his Kasperwing.  The “Kasper” was an ultralight aircraft built by another friend, Steve Grossruck, who I had flown hang gliders with for several years.  His gliders were always heavily modified or self-built and usually of his own design.  He took to motorized-gliders like a duck to water and was soon collaborating with other notables on the design that would incorporate the “Kasper Tip” and become the Kasperwing.  It was a beautiful creation and after a bit I was goaded into sitting in it.  

Gerry, the wing’s owner said: “Go ahead, Jon.  Fly the mother”.  

I had no interest in flying an ultralight and absolutely no intention of taking off in this or any other one but I acquiesced by agreeing to taxi around the huge field.  You know, just drive it around on the grass and make everyone happy.  So, after driving it around for 5 minutes or so I came back to the group and Gerry suggested that I go back out and just add a little speed.  “No big deal” he said.  “Just get the front wheel light and then back off on the throttle and it will settle right back down”.  

I looked at Jean who was giving me this questioning look like “WTF are you doing”?  She knew that I viewed ultralights as sport-death-machines so I gave her my most reassuring look, hoping to convey my intentions of absolutely not flying……..which was true.  I figured that after one more run around the Sod Farm I would shut it down and call it a day.   

I have to say that I was surprised and more than a little pissed when that damn wing jumped into the air and took off.  

“Shit!"  I thought, “This isn’t going according to plan.  This ain’t good!”  

But there I was in the air skimming above the Sod Farm.  Not high but not going down, either.  I gently pushed forward on the yoke and backed off a tiny bit on the throttle causing the aircraft to approach the ground but it wouldn’t settle and I feared stalling it so I just zipped along in ground effect. 

I uttered a second “Shit” as I approached the fence at the end of the field.  It was coming up fast leaving me the options of figuring out the landing sequence in the next few seconds, running into the fence and stopping in a very abrupt and expensive fashion or applying more power, climbing over it and figuring it out.  

I chose Door Number 3 because:  

I wasn’t confident that my cognitive capabilities would allow me to learn how to perform the landing sequence under power in the few seconds remaining.

I had hit a fence or three (maybe four) during the course of my life for various reasons that I won't elaborate on here and those encounters always ended in pain and bleeding.  Call me a slow-learner but by 1980 I had learned that running into them never resulted in a desirable outcome.

I understood Bernoulli’s Principle and Lift VS Drag so I chose to fly the Mother.  What could possibly go wrong?

With power increased I cleared the fence and continued into a shallow climbing turn.  I was being uber-careful and it probably looked to my admiring Bride-to-be and the accompanying entourage like I had it wired.  While this power-thing was an unfamiliar element it wasn’t completely unpleasant and bought me time to ponder the landing sequence.  Still, I fully recognized that I was somewhere that I had never been before and that shit had plenty of time to go bad. 

I continued to climb to a couple of hundred feet during that 180 degree right turn and was now looking down on the grounds of the Chateau St Michelle.  Though, only 4 years old the chateau had been constructed in the style of classic French estates and was surrounded by rich green grass and trees.  The low green ridges of the Sammamish Valley framed my view to the east and west while the Cascades and Olympics lined the distant horizons.  Mount Rainier's bulk rose to the south.  It was easy to imagine myself somewhere over a European countryside flying an open cockpit prop.  It was green in all directions except for the fields that would be green soon and they were signaling their willingness to comply.  The view was unsurpassed.  

Other than the annoying drone of the engine and prop a foot or two behind me I was taken away and would have continued to turn right and just climb forever in a that lazy right turn.  It was too easy.  Here I was over a verdant and cool green landscape that hadn’t generated a thermal since Hector was a pup yet I was climbing without effort.  “How high could I go?” I wondered.  

Somewhere along the way I realized that I really wasn’t a World War I Ace and still had to figure out how to land so I backed off on the throttle to the point where I could start descending.  I cleared the fence by 20 feet and started cautiously trying to get closer to the ground but I just wouldn’t let myself go slow enough to overcome that darn ground effect.  Too soon the end of the field was coming up but this end was defined, not by a fence but, by powerlines.  I suppose that I must have looked confident and a showoff after having taken off when I had promised not to, flown around the Winery, made a low approach over the fence, skimmed the length of the field and then powered up over their heads and the powerlines to make another pass.  What they weren’t aware of was that the takeoff was accidental, all of the low passes were desperate attempts to get back on the ground and everything they had witnessed was me failing and being scared shitless.  Finally, I realized that my most valuable tool at that moment was knowing how to to take off, fly and land without power and while I had never seen it done with an ultralight before I knew how it would work so I just shut the engine off.  

The silence was sudden and in stark contrast to the screaming gas engine.  Just wind in the wires, over the wing and past my face.  Everything was as it should be and I was descending at a constant rate.  With a gentle bank onto base leg and then a turn to final I lined up to touch down on a perfect, cleanly-cropped grass field.  I focused on my speed and not forcing the landing.  Ground effect extended my glide in such a delicious way and I glided just above the ground as if in a dream.  Just the sound of wind and the sight of the onrushing green field that became a green blur as it passed into my peripheral vision.  It felt so good and the contact of the rear wheels with the ground was so perfect and gentle that I didn’t even know it had happened.  I was still in a zone and locked into a landing sequence that I had never before experienced.  When the front wheel softly touched the wet grass and spun dew up into my face, I knew that we were down and I awoke from my dream.  We coasted to stop in the middle of the field where I smiled, stretched my arm down and ran my fingers through the wet grass.  

I reached down for the pull starter, fired up the motor and taxied back to face Gerry’s laughter and Jean’s wrath. 

 

People who commit themselves to any sort of flight are different.  They live in a dream world where they haven’t really evolved to exist, a reality that they have struggled with since their first toddler dreams of flight.  Along the way they, hopefully, find a path that provides them access to the sky.  I managed and have so many strong memories.  Among them:

The first time I felt my feet pulled off the ground and had hopes for fulfillment of my toddler dreams.

The first time I flew high enough that the ground stopped moving.

My first soaring flight when dreams I hadn’t yet dreamed were achieved.

The first time I got high someplace that nobody had ever gotten high at before and saw something nobody else had seen.

My first real thermal flight and the resulting trip to cloudbase which scared me to death and opened doors.

The smell of cloudbase and how it stung my nostrils. 

Some bad launches that should have hurt more than they did but turned into learning opportunities.

Flying in glass smooth wave lift so freaking high and soft that I could drift off and go to sleep.

Digging a thermal off the deck and circling to cloudbase.

Being beaten up and concerned that my wing couldn’t withstand the pummeling that went on for longer than I could imagine while wondering if I had the resources to survive it. 

Spending hours circling with Eagles in the North Cascades. 

 

It’s funny that my first and only flight in an ultralight would end up being accidental and provide such a strong, pleasant and enduring image  It wasn’t the flight, though, it was that dead-stick landing.  I will tell you that when I glided in and landed that “Mother” at the Sod Farm it was perfect in every way.  Thinking of it now makes me smile as much as it did 41 years ago.