Lauri Waterfield Fine Art

Growing up in Roanoke, VA, I'd known about the Newcastle Gliderport and was always terribly curious about those big silver birds- but assumed that they were off-limits to the general public. Through the years I've passed the little airstrip dozens of times and gawked at the elegant gliders soaring high above the car….but for some reason, the last time as I passed by, my attitude was different. Rather than assuming the door was closed, I felt more inclined to knock just a bit and see….

So, a Google search for the gliderport raised the Blue Ridge Soaring Society website (http://www.brss.net ), and my inquiry was met with an encouraging note from Peter Pfortner, inviting me to fly!

I arrived on Saturday to find a quiet pair of hangars at the edge of a lush and gorgeous field. But the quiet was shortlived, because as noon edged closer (official start time- evidently thermals sleep late), people appeared here and there, conversations drifted in and out, sailplanes were pulled from their roosts and things became quietly industrious.

 The day was heating up in front of a small cold front, and there was lots to do before the flight window closed. Being the novice and completely bedazzled by it all, I found it best to stay out of the way rather than help, especially as the guys started to pull the wad of intermeshed gliders from the hangar.

I think this one's drooling…

When I was shown the craft I'd soon fly in, a long, graceful-looking Blanik with forward-swept wings and a "doublebubble" for two, I was more than happy to help get her downfield. Linked by towrope to a golf cart, the sailplanes each get a "wingwalker" who holds the starboard wingtip level and walks the plane downfield to the takeoff. Expecting it to be quite heavy, I was amazed at how light the incredibly long wing was….and how it seemed anxious to taste every tiny breeze that fluttered by.

That cockpit sure looks small…..

Our towplane was a retired cropduster, perfect for the job because of it's quick maneuverability, responsiveness and its ability to fly at much slower speeds than other small crafts- all assets for towing. Suddenly my heart was beating so fast- I wasn't nervous until I slid into that reclining seat and fumbled with the five-point seat harness. Then before I could notice, a wingwalker appeared to my left, first nodding to Peter behind me, then motioning to the towpilot with a circle of his arm….and suddenly he's running with us….and we're bumping along the ground, fast and faster…the swish of the short grass audible above my beating heart. I could feel every bump & divot in the ground below and the thought had just started to form about how thin the plane's skin must be…when, even before the towplane left the ground, our eager little craft was already in the air!!

 With a crazy similarity to the sensation of being towed on an icy road on a trashcan lid behind a pickup truck (even the best of us have a little redneck in our past…), we took to the air along the mountains.

We made a slow, lazy arc back towards the take off, with the mountain ridge climbing up below us….and my brain was so overloaded with the sights and sounds and ideas that when Peter asked "Are you ready?" I almost didn't realize…..and suddenly we were free. The towrope dropped away and our gentle towplane slipped sharply to port, leaving us in our lazy flight over the trees.

I will not pull the red thing, I will not pull the red thing, I will not..

Far too fascinated for fear, I suddenly realized that this was a far more intimate, revealing view of a land that I've loved all my life- and it looked different than I'd imagined. Individual mountains merged into long, ambling ridges, little Newcastle laid out below in crisp white blocks, and Sinking Creek Valley appeared as a softly hazed bowl, so delicately formed I wanted to reach out and touch it. It's even graced with a lacy waterfall that remains well hidden at ground level. And the mountains! What a wonderful surprise to see that they are largely wilderness. In my head-down flurry of activity in recent years, and after living in big and bigger cities, I'd come to the conclusion that VA was largely "tamed"- cut and sawn into blocks of towns and farmland, with little or no wild places left. Not so! And the realization was nearly as thrilling as the flight….or almost…

After a few judicious questions about how I was feeling, Peter asked the one question that should be a tip off to everyone, "Do you like rollercoasters?" Suddenly we slid nosedown and sped so fast that the air whistling through the little porthole nearly drowned out my laughter, matched with his. As it turns out, a "Noseover" is a maneuver used to gain altitude and loft in a thin thermal- and a trick instinctual to any seabird. We swooped up, G-forces pinning me to my seat, unable to use my camera and glad to simply enjoy the moment and its sensations without trying to photograph it.

Returning to level flight and back to our lazy circles at the edge of the ridge, I happened to glace below us at just the right instant to catch a glimpse of a beautiful redtail hawk, circling far below in the same thermal. Fascinated with hawks, the moment was a meaningful one for me, and I know I'll never view them again without that image. At almost the same moment, Peter directed my attention to another glider, sharing our skies.

All too soon though, on a low thermal afternoon, our flight was over and we were called in to allow the next folks their flights.

Occasionally in this life you wander into a  group of folks who seem almost familiar, and the activity, whatever it may be, although new and confusing, seems to "fit" like a comfortable glove. It's a little like coming home. I'm looking forward to my next flight, to getting to know these interesting and quirky folks, and getting to know these hills and the air above them in a new and fascinating way.