I flew Sugar Hill in Lakeview on Thursday (July 5th) and I am extremely
lucky to be able to write this report about it.  When we arrived at Sugar
Hill around 11 am strong cycles were already coming up launch.  The lulls
in the cycles were 0 mph and the peaks were strong, I don't remember
anybody measuring them, but I put them at 15 mph and perhaps even 20 mph at
times.  My first impression was that the conditions were far to strong for
me to even consider launching.  Other pilots were feeling things out as
well.  As I sat on launch and monitored the cycles I realized they were
well defined, started out predictably, and you could hear the rustling in
the trees that preceded the peaks of the cycles long before they arrived.  
I eventually came to the conclusion that I'd be able to time my launch and
get off safely and so long as everyone else was going to give it a try I
might as well too, and if I didn't like it after launching I could always
just go out and land.  I ended up being the last PG pilot to launch at
about 12:45 PM.

My flight was short and brutal.  I launched, climbed above the ridge in a
thermal, but was starting to drift behind the ridge, so I started to push
back out.  During this push I hit massive sink and after several seconds of
sinking I could feel that I was on the edge of thermal and was poised,
waiting for the beep beep of my vario, and then it hit me and it was a
boomer.  I looked up at my glider and I didn't recognize it at all.  It
just appeared to be in a heap above my head.  Tom Nosack, who was flying in
the area said that the thermal "accordion folded" my glider.  Before this
happened I already knew I was low, but I waited for my glider to restart to
see if there was any chance of recovery.  My glider restarted unevenly and
I found myself very quickly in a spiral dive, at which point I threw my
reserve without hesitation.  I felt my shoulder straps go tight and I knew
the reserve had opened and shortly thereafter I found myself perched in the
top of a spruce tree.  I radioed that I was ok and was in a tree.  Nathan
(Nate) Johnston, a good friend and CPC member who was getting prepared to
launch radioed that he was on his way to help.  Many thanks to Nate for
sacrificing his flight and time to free me and my glider from the tree.

From the time I found I myself miraculously unharmed atop the spruce tree I
knew I was lucky and that I had dodged a bullet.  I was low to the terrain
when I took the whack that left my glider balled up above my head.  I knew
I was in the zone of 100-200 ft above the ground where everything needs to
go perfectly and reserves don't always open.  In my case everything went
right and mine did open.  

As the day drew on I got a chance to talk to more people who had seen parts
of my episode and try to figure out exactly what happened, how high I was,
was there anything I could have done differently, etc.  Tom Nosack was
flying near me and had witnessed the event from start to finish.  His story
seemed to support basically what I had seen first person.  It wasn't until
I was driving home that I recalled I had bought a new flight instrument
while at the Rat Race, the Flymaster Nav, which being a vario + gps would
have recorded my flight path for the entire incident.  When I got home I
downloaded the track and viewed it in Google Earth.  From the GPS track and
the numbers provided by GPSDump I can quantify what massive sink I was in,
how monstrous the thermal was and how low I was during this episode.  The
numbers confirm that I am indeed a very lucky man.  In fact, the only thing
that goes through my head when I think about what happened is how fortunate
I really am.  

Attached is an annotated picture of my flight path during this event.  
Point A is where I entered the glider-destroying thermal.  Point B is where
I was rocketed to by the thermal one second later.  And Point C is the top
of the spruce tree where my flight ended.  In the photo I've labeled
heights in relation to point C which I've set as 0 ft.   Prior to point A I
was sinking at an average of 8 m/s (1,500 fpm) for several seconds (with
recorded sink rates as high as 10 m/s).  At point A I entered the thermal
which lofted me 75 ft (23m) to Point (B) in a single second.  That 23 m/s
climb rate equates to 4,500 fpm.  At point A, when I entered the thermal I
was only 95 ft (29m) above the spruce tree where I landed, a second later I
was thrust to 170 ft (52m) above the tree.  I estimate that I probably
threw my reserve slightly below point (A) where you can see I was in a
pretty tight spiral dive, which slowly starts to "unwind" as I approach
point C.  The unwinding I believe to happen after the reserve opened.  My
estimate is that I threw the reserve at about 100 ft above tree level.  The
curious thing I find while analyzing this track is that my sink rate was
never excessive, even while in a tight spiral.  The numbers I see in
GPSDump show 2-3 m/s or 400-600fpm.  My best guess is that the thermal that
nearly destroyed me, in fact, saved me by slowing my descent rate
dramatically as I was diving in rising air.  At any rate, I'll attach a kml
file if any wants to analyze the track any further.  I still have the track
on my GPS and can send it to anyone in any format GPSDump will spit it out
in if you want to analyze it further.

No incident report would be complete without pointing out some valuable
lessons.  It's debatable if much could be done to avoid or recover from
such a substantial hit at such a low altitude.  If I were higher, say 500
ft + burying the brakes to hold the glider in a full stall when I saw it
bunched up above my head would given me control over how it would
re-inflate, but in this case, the last time I had seen the ground it was a
mere 95 ft below me, which was not nearly enough altitude to consider that
as a course of action.  For me, the lesson is much simpler.  I knew when I
arrived on launch that the conditions were too strong for me.  I saw other
people flying and convinced myself that I'd be able to launch and land if I
felt I was in over my head.  I learned the hard way, that you can't always
just go and land.  There have been days where I elected not to fly and
others have.  Deep down I knew I had made the right decision, but I would
second guess myself after seeing others have good flights and sometimes
think that well, maybe I should have at least tried.  Those thoughts played
into my decision to fly that day.  I know now that there is going to be
someday in the future when I am not going to fly and others most likely
will, they may even have the flights of their lives, but I'm not going to
regret my decision.  Last Thursday people had great flights at Sugar Hill
and I fortunately walked away from a situation that could have gone
drastically different.

Matt W

annotated_log.png 1205K Download

2012-07-05_19-43.kml 22K Download

  Thanks for the report, glad you were able to write it! "Many thanks to
Nate for sacrificing his flight and time to free me and my glider from
the tree." yeah he was probably really itching to go fly after seeing
that. Good job tossing!

Bigger is not always better when it comes to lapse rates. From the CAPE
it looks like they weren't calling for Tstorms? 0-15 0-20 mid-day
usually will have me driving retrieves not launching a paraglider. The
other option launching early is fine but you need to do it with the idea
of staying up a long time as I don't want to land mid-day in the desert.
Chelan has the added benefit of the river which usually makes it easier
to get down and land if you decide you don't like the air. I know cold
beer and a cheeseburger has also drawn me in to land at the football
field in Mansfield more then once when I wasn't enjoying the air.

SF

On 7/8/2012 8:44 PM, matt w wrote:

Lakeview.JPG 215K Download

cape.JPG 198K Download

Thanks to both Steves for the advice.  Steve Forslund, this incident
actually happened on Thursday, not today, so the weather wasn't quite as
bad.  Steve Roti, initially I had climbed quite a bit higher.  Before I hit
the massive sustained 8+ m/s sink I was 450 ft above the spruce tree where
I ultimately ended my flight.  Things really seemed to be going well, then
I hit an elevator down, followed by a rocket upwards.  I've attached an
annotated photo that shows the entire flight.  I guess my biggest question
is: is sustained 8 m/s sink followed immediately by 23 m/s of lift an
extreme event?  

full_flight_path.png 1333K Download

sf

On 7/8/2012 11:02 PM, matt w wrote:

I felt as though I was hit by the invisible air equivalent of a locomotive,
so I wouldn't be at all surprised if the gps track is pretty close to
reality.  If you look at the very first attachment in this thread
'annotated_log.png' you'll see that the curves on the segment before point
(A) and curves on the segment following point (B) are smooth and
continuous.  Something pretty extreme took place between (A) and (B).  I
have this track in its original format on my Flymaster still.  I can bring
it to the meeting on Tuesday if anyone wants to run any further analysis on
it.

My wing suffered a 3-4 inch rip in the upper surface.  I had some help
taping it up by Jon from Chico (somebody thank him for me if you know who
he is).  I think it's probably ok to fly for now.  If anyone is wondering,
I learned to pack my reserve from Dave Cantrell and Matt Henzi this year.
 Dave helped me to repack my reserve after it got wet during a Spring
Carnage day at Bingen and I later attended Matt Henzi's repack clinic where
I was able to reinforce the repack skills needed to do it on my own.  I had
my gear all ready to fly again on Friday.  I went to Abert Rim to take a
glassoff flight.  I took one look at the "launch" (and I use that term very
loosely) and I said, no way, I want to fly again asap, but I want to do it
at a familiar site.

Matt, thanks for the clarification. I've been flying the Lakeview area
sites since 1994 and I have a lot of respect for the air down there. I've
experienced thermals on the order of 2000 fpm at Sugar Hill but nothing
like 23 m/s (4500 fpm) so I'd say yes that was an extreme event.

I like the lesson you described in your first post because it applies to
all of us: "For me, the lesson is much simpler.  I knew when I arrived on
launch that the conditions were too strong for me.  ... I know now that
there is going to be someday in the future when I am not going to fly and
others most likely will, they may even have the flights of their lives, but
I'm not going to regret my decision."

Steve

Thanks to everybody so far for your comments, both on this thread as well
as the one over
here: http://groups.google.com/group/cpcl/t/4edbc354ca5b565.  I think my
main question has been answered.  If the track on my Flymaster is in anyway
a representation of reality, then I was hit with an especially ruthless
piece of air.  That is important to me because I realize how lucky I am to
have walked away from a near disaster, and lucky is the phrase I'm using
because I can't find any other words for how fortunate I am.  Flying is the
only hobby I have that I like, so I have no intentions of giving it up, but
I do want to do all I can to minimize my risks.  I realize every time you
launch you are rolling the dice, and I'd rather play with loaded dice
rather than leaving things to chance.  I'm definitely going to be more
selective about the days and sites that I decide to fly.  

I'm late on this thread, but it sounds like a dusty to me.  A dusty can snake around so portions of it are nearly horizontal.  If you then pass through it, one side is going down and the other up, within feet of each other.
Mike

Date: Sun, 8 Jul 2012 20:44:21 -0700
From: matchemat...@gmail.com
To: cpcl@googlegroups.com
Subject: CPC: Sugar Hill Survival

I flew Sugar Hill in Lakeview on Thursday (July 5th) and I am extremely lucky to be able to write this report about it.  When we arrived at Sugar Hill around 11 am strong cycles were already coming up launch.  The lulls in the cycles were 0 mph and the peaks were strong, I don't remember anybody measuring them, but I put them at 15 mph and perhaps even 20 mph at times.  My first impression was that the conditions were far to strong for me to even consider launching.  Other pilots were feeling things out as well.  As I sat on launch and monitored the cycles I realized they were well defined, started out predictably, and you could hear the rustling in the trees that preceded the peaks of the cycles long before they arrived.  I eventually came to the conclusion that I'd be able to time my launch and get off safely and so long as everyone else was going to give it a try I might as well too, and if I didn't like it after launching I could always just go out and land.  I ended up being the last PG pilot to launch at about 12:45 PM.

My flight was short and brutal.  I launched, climbed above the ridge in a thermal, but was starting to drift behind the ridge, so I started to push back out.  During this push I hit massive sink and after several seconds of sinking I could feel that I was on the edge of thermal and was poised, waiting for the beep beep of my vario, and then it hit me and it was a boomer.  I looked up at my glider and I didn't recognize it at all.  It just appeared to be in a heap above my head.  Tom Nosack, who was flying in the area said that the thermal "accordion folded" my glider.  Before this happened I already knew I was low, but I waited for my glider to restart to see if there was any chance of recovery.  My glider restarted unevenly and I found myself very quickly in a spiral dive, at which point I threw my reserve without hesitation.  I felt my shoulder straps go tight and I knew the reserve had opened and shortly thereafter I found myself perched in the top of a spruce tree.  I radioed that I was ok and was in a tree.  Nathan (Nate) Johnston, a good friend and CPC member who was getting prepared to launch radioed that he was on his way to help.  Many thanks to Nate for sacrificing his flight and time to free me and my glider from the tree.

From the time I found I myself miraculously unharmed atop the spruce tree I knew I was lucky and that I had dodged a bullet.  I was low to the terrain when I took the whack that left my glider balled up above my head.  I knew I was in the zone of 100-200 ft above the ground where everything needs to go perfectly and reserves don't always open.  In my case everything went right and mine did open.  

As the day drew on I got a chance to talk to more people who had seen parts of my episode and try to figure out exactly what happened, how high I was, was there anything I could have done differently, etc.  Tom Nosack was flying near me and had witnessed the event from start to finish.  His story seemed to support basically what I had seen first person.  It wasn't until I was driving home that I recalled I had bought a new flight instrument while at the Rat Race, the Flymaster Nav, which being a vario + gps would have recorded my flight path for the entire incident.  When I got home I downloaded the track and viewed it in Google Earth.  From the GPS track and the numbers provided by GPSDump I can quantify what massive sink I was in, how monstrous the thermal was and how low I was during this episode.  The numbers confirm that I am indeed a very lucky man.  In fact, the only thing that goes through my head when I think about what happened is how fortunate I really am.  

Attached is an annotated picture of my flight path during this event.  Point A is where I entered the glider-destroying thermal.  Point B is where I was rocketed to by the thermal one second later.  And Point C is the top of the spruce tree where my flight ended.  In the photo I've labeled heights in relation to point C which I've set as 0 ft.   Prior to point A I was sinking at an average of 8 m/s (1,500 fpm) for several seconds (with recorded sink rates as high as 10 m/s).  At point A I entered the thermal which lofted me 75 ft (23m) to Point (B) in a single second.  That 23 m/s climb rate equates to 4,500 fpm.  At point A, when I entered the thermal I was only 95 ft (29m) above the spruce tree where I landed, a second later I was thrust to 170 ft (52m) above the tree.  I estimate that I probably threw my reserve slightly below point (A) where you can see I was in a pretty tight spiral dive, which slowly starts to "unwind" as I approach point C.  The unwinding I believe to happen after the reserve opened.  My estimate is that I threw the reserve at about 100 ft above tree level.  The curious thing I find while analyzing this track is that my sink rate was never excessive, even while in a tight spiral.  The numbers I see in GPSDump show 2-3 m/s or 400-600fpm.  My best guess is that the thermal that nearly destroyed me, in fact, saved me by slowing my descent rate dramatically as I was diving in rising air.  At any rate, I'll attach a kml file if any wants to analyze the track any further.  I still have the track on my GPS and can send it to anyone in any format GPSDump will spit it out in if you want to analyze it further.

No incident report would be complete without pointing out some valuable lessons.  It's debatable if much could be done to avoid or recover from such a substantial hit at such a low altitude.  If I were higher, say 500 ft + burying the brakes to hold the glider in a full stall when I saw it bunched up above my head would given me control over how it would re-inflate, but in this case, the last time I had seen the ground it was a mere 95 ft below me, which was not nearly enough altitude to consider that as a course of action.  For me, the lesson is much simpler.  I knew when I arrived on launch that the conditions were too strong for me.  I saw other people flying and convinced myself that I'd be able to launch and land if I felt I was in over my head.  I learned the hard way, that you can't always just go and land.  There have been days where I elected not to fly and others have.  Deep down I knew I had made the right decision, but I would second guess myself after seeing others have good flights and sometimes think that well, maybe I should have at least tried.  Those thoughts played into my decision to fly that day.  I know now that there is going to be someday in the future when I am not going to fly and others most likely will, they may even have the flights of their lives, but I'm not going to regret my decision.  Last Thursday people had great flights at Sugar Hill and I fortunately walked away from a situation that could have gone drastically different.

Matt W