We had heard that some locals were getting good flights at Burch so we went for a look-see. I was with Black Weasel and Bob Stadshaug. Light thermals were cycling up launch out of Nahahum Canyon but what sounded like freight trains were rushing up the back from Swakane. Black Weasel launched first and started circling up fast. Bob and I were running to clip in when we saw Weasel go over the falls and through a series of scary out of control maneuvers. He sunk out so fast it was unbelievable but we saw him land safely in an alfalfa field below launch. We unclipped and went to sit in the shade.
We waited at least two hours until the freight trains quieted down and the thermals at launch strengthened. Both Bob and I had thermalled before but neither of us had gotten stinking high. Consequently Bob was wearing only a t-shirt. I had my ¾ length sleeve "Lucky" rugby shirt on that I donned whenever I sought divine intervention or thought that I might die. Bob launched in his 10-Meter and I followed closely in my yellow Oly 160. Bob skyed immediately while I bumbled around even with launch trying to catch a thermal and a clue.
It's said that sometimes even a blind squirrel finds a nut and whether I found the nut or the nut found me is still open for debate. Very soon, though, I was shivering at 9500' and thinking that I had attained stinking high status at last. I mean, it was a new sensation to be so high and I was certain that I could see the curvature of the earth. Maybe even the sky was turning from blue to black. Yeah. That's the ticket. I wondered why others who had been stinking high never said anything about seeing the blackness of outer space or the curvature of the earth. Whatever, I decided that I should fly 11 miles west to Leavenworth. No telling where Bob had gone as I hadn't seen him since right after launch. Little did I know he was 2,000' above me. Along my way west I started to realize how cold I was and how the air seemed freaking rough. I was physically uncomfortable and having trouble separating paralyzing fear from motivating fear so I turned back and circled down to land at the Cashmere High School. Bob landed soon thereafter and I learned that he really had gotten stinking high while I had only gotten kinda-smelly high. Speaking of smells, Black Weasel experienced smells in new and unusual ways.
Landing in an open alfalfa field had been an adventure as switching winds in the canyon provided guesswork on approach. Once down safely he noted he was surrounded by a large population of yellow jackets who expressed their displeasure by inflicting numerous stings. There was no shade so he sat under his baby blue Oly, picked at the stings and tried not to piss them off further. Dripping sweat he closed his eyes and tried to nod off but soon heard the impossible sound of an irrigation sprinkler starting up. He could hear the spray approaching as the arm advanced through its cycle and he imagined how great it would feel to get hosed down and lay in wet alfalfa under a wet glider.
Just before the spray reached him he sensed something unexpected and possibly unpleasant as he got a big nose-hit of manure just before the spray drenched him and his once-baby blue Oly. That's right. After a terrifying flight, a pure-luck landing and numerous yellow jacket stings he was covered with poop!
Getting skyed-out took on a new meaning for me that day. I
learned that I had only gotten kinda-smelly high, Bob had gotten stinking high
and Black Weasel? Well, he stunk like shit.
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