The Dolomites have been on my bucket list ever since I started climbing, let alone flying.
Worth watching in HD if you can – turn on the subtitles to follow the narration if you don’t speak German 😉
Tag Archives: hangglider
Freedom Day Free Flying
27 April in South Africa is Freedom Day, celebrating the anniversary of our first democratic elections 18 years ago. Seeing that I was on call for the night shift, I had the public holiday available for whatever recreation beckoned. What better way to celebrate freedom than by flying, unhindered and free as a bird? Cue hang-gliding montage…
The wind looked promising for flying at Sir Lowry’s Pass, where the highway from Cape Town exits over the Hottentots-Holland mountains to begin it’s route up the country’s east coast. SLP ( as it’s colloquially known) offers a few different launch sites for paragliders and hang-gliders, with the main (but most tricky) site being at the viewpoint where the highway crests the ridge at about 450m ASL. Here the wind is channeled through a gully, past several rock outcrops that have claimed their casualties over the years, and over a small eroded patch of grass barely large enough for one glider at a time. A well-executed launch and nimble right bank allows one to soar the inevitable lift along the road and rail embankment and nearly guarantees an immediate climb to the ridge-top, where it can be remarkably thermic and long out-and-return runs are possible. A botched lauch ends at best in an 8-minute glide out beyond the power lines to the landing field at the bottom of the pass; at worse one ends up adding your score in blood to the rocks. For the more cautious, a friendlier top launch suitable for paragliders is about 15-20 minutes walk away; hang-gliders can carry 5 minutes down to a lower take-off below the highway. I’m not convinced either of the ‘safe’ options add much real safety by the time you have factored in crossing a multi-lane mountain pass highway on foot…but that’s another subject.
Paul (another biwingual who mostly flies HG these days) and I met up in the landing area around midday. The wind was northerly but going NW, and the forecast good. We decided to use the bottom takeoff, which given the wind strength at the top was a good call. The neatly trimmed fynbos on the steep launch has been growing back in force, which makes both rigging and launching a challenge, but after half an hour of toil I was ready to go – Paul, being a gentleman, uttered something to the effect of “Looks good: you can go first.” It felt a tad silly to don three layers of clothing and then gloves and a pod and then stand there in the sun with little breeze waiting to launch fully expecting a sled glide to the landing field, as the wind seemed to have backed off.
I waited a few minutes for a promising cycle and then ran hard at the protea bushes a few meters ahead of me. Bless her: the Sonic scooped me up and wafted into the air with ease. My vario gave a delighted squeal as I banked left into the bowl and let the bar ease out from takeoff speed, and then settled into a steady beeping. Climbing! Within a minute all thoughts of a short flight were erased as we effortlessly left the ridge below and flew out into a good thermal. I thought I’d test out the air while waiting for Paul to launch, but as I steadily climbed I set a lazy course west towards Gordon’s Bay and settled into the flight. I could see his glider on the slope…clearly he’s still getting into his harness.
Despite not being a pre-frontal NW, the wind had a pronounced gradient, and at above 800m ASL on trim speed I found myself going backwards. Paul’s glider was still on the ground, so I pulled in to a comfortable speed and carried on down to the end of the ridge, about 10km from takeoff. The view was beautiful: Steenbras Dams and the Kogelberg mountains to my left, the whole of False Bay under puffy clouds to my right. Flying accelerated along the ridge was tiring, however: the Moyes Sonic is not VG-equipped and maintaining a good speed requires a fair amount of input. Also, my harness was not locking nicely in a prone position, which meant I had to keep pushing with my legs to stay flat. Beyond Gordon’s Bay I decided to use some of the height flying out over the sea to the north and then looping back towards the ridge later, thus hopefully staying out of the stronger winds. By now Paul’s glider was no longer visible, so I presumed he had launched and was chasing me.
One great thermal near Gordon’s Bay took me back to cloudbase, so I set off on glide straight for SLP. Along the way Paul and I found each other; he’d been able to fly a lot quicker on his VG-equipped Airborne and had caught up easily. Without radio comms (his is still in creation) we couldn’t discuss plans. I thought I’d try a jaunt to the east to the big mountains, not knowing that he’d already been a few kilometers that way and had encountered a strong headwind and turbulence. I met this with vigour to the east of the pass. Somewhere in a rowdy thermal, my extra pressure on the kick-stap to maintain prone position snapped the cord, leaving me in a semi-upright high-drag position. This is not pleasant for flying, adding considerable strain on the arms in the lumpy air. One particular strap was also pressing into my upper abdomen, and after a few minutes I began to feel a little queasy. After touching it out for while I decided that it wasn’t fun anymore and headed down to the landing field. It was still quite thermic on the ground, turning my landing approach into a dolphinesqe dance of blips and dips. Paul saw me landing and thought it was due to a rush to get to work, so he came down too, perhaps more gracefully as the clouds moved in and the land cooled off.
What a great day for flying. Paul, who has flown HG at the site for many years, reckons it could have been a day to fly further down the coast, across Kogel Bay and all the way to Cape Hangklip. Something for next time, certainly! I’ve got some video clips which I’ll try get into a useful format ASAP…and will soon have to replace the sunken GoPro, as this kind of flying is not conducive to one-handed snaps!
Gratuitous flying
Apologies to people reading this who are not paraglider or hang-glider pilots… it may not make much sense (but then again, does your life make sense if you’re not a free-flying pilot? Think about it…)
I was blessed with an actual day off today, and even more fortuitously one on which my wife is stuck in the hospital on call, so I could fly without any smidgen of guilt. After consulting the wind gods (aka windfinder, windgurur, xcskies etc) I elected to head for Llandudno (aka Little Lion’s Head) so that any and all non-Sport rated pilots could join in. Not wanting to miss the window of opportunity, come 09h00 this morning I was comfortably ensconced at a coffee shop on the Camp’s Bay beachfront, and soon thereafter joined by Niel Marx and his beau, Tessa. Due to the entire lack of atmospheric air velocity, we breakfasted in style, interrupted only by calls from Gavin Ashwell and Ian Cowie seeking advice regarding our movements, and a surprise encounter with Ant Allen in his pink-and-white cycling tights. (Fortunately I am a medical professional and was not too perturbed by this sight.)
Come 10h15 we decided that the skies had decided to shift from nothing to light NE, and therefore the progression to N then NW could be expected. We embarked for Llandudno, leaving a car at the bottom, and headed up to launch. Gavin planned to meet us there, but Ian and Ant elected to aim for a PPG flight at Soetwater (near Kommetjie) instead.
The short and pleasant stroll to take-off at LLH behind us, we found a strong breeze (perhaps 25km/h) at the mast, and after briefing Niel I suggested we move to the traditional takeoff, where it was a little lighter. The wind was now a steady N. I launched and climbed easily, spotting Gavin on his way to the takeoff. Niel launched and was soon searing easily, but aloft it was evident that the expected NW wind gradient was in force, and he (sensibly, on a 1/1-2) elected to stay well in front of the mountain. Gavin was soon climbing, too.
Due to my chronic itchyfootitis, I felt the compulsion to cross to Karbonkelberg, where the high north-facing cliffs promise easy lift to the wandering pilot. Before long I was kicking my heels above 950m of clear winter air, watching Niel and Gavin fly out to land at Llandudno beach. Both felt that their penetration was poor; I was in less compressed air (further from the Apostles) and still quite comfortable off speed-bar. Trying to jump back to Little Lion’s Head, however, was not easy: I lost 250m for little real progress and scuttled back to the lift at Karbonkelberg.
Clearly the very northerly wind precluded a run down the Apostles, so I was left with a choice: try hard to get back onto LLH, perhaps landing at Sandy Bay in the process (hardly a hardship unless the old-and-wrinkly brigade was out in force), or try something I’d been itching to do for a long time: go over the back into Hout Bay and fly further south. A quick radio call to Niel/Tessa confirmed that they were willing to drive chase (Tessa does really like driving the Pajero), and so Plan B went into action. I plunged into the best lift over Karbonkelberg on half bar and climbed up to 950m ASL before slipping round the corner into Hout Bay (see the panoramic picture – click on the image for much more detail).
The ride across the valley was swift and beautifully smooth, losing less than 200m altitude, and soon I could climb out again on the western flank of Constantiaberg. From 900m again I set off over Hout Bay itself, giving Noordehoek Peak a very wide berth (to avoid eagle disturbance) and aiming directly for Chapman’s Peak.
Arriving at over 700m, I didn’t find much lift, and so put the northerly at my back and headed for Kommetjie. I had a vague hope of getting onto Slangkop and from there to Misty Cliffs, but although I went overhead Kommetjie at 300m ASL this wasn’t enough height to get lift again, so I landed near the main road… about 500m short of bettering Abe Meyer’s distance record (who narrowly beat Ant Allen… it’s a cut-throat world in the South Peninsula). Interestingly, if you look at the paths of my two last XC flights in the area (starting quite close but heading in opposite directions), both are almost exactly 22km. Curious.
In any case, Tessa and Niel (bless them) were hot on my trail, and by taking a quick minibus ride I met them in Noordehoek. (“Vyf Rand Vishoek toe, Meneer!” “Wat as ek net Noordehoek toe wil ry?” “Net vyf Rand dan, Meneer!”). Along the way I was cussed properly by every PG pilot who phoned to hear how the wind was (Not mentioning names: you know who you are). It was by now blown out at LLH, but a light shone in the windy darkness: Adam West (chairman of the HG club, for those not in the know) called and was enlivened to hear that the NW had appeared, and was headed to Signal Hill. We deciede to go check it out.
Needless to say, wonderful flying was had at Sigs (several tandems also in attendance) before the wind backed off and left nothing else to do but raise glasses to a great day down at Mouille Point. I still think I owe T&N more beers, but more is nog ‘n dag.
