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Day Five changed character many times. What started out as a cool morning with some mid-level clouds quickly started to bake the pavement. The sky was bright blue and you could feel the wind blast the heat into your face like a hair dryer. I spent my morning reconfiguring the Duckhawk. Some fixed ballast here, less tail weight there and the center of gravity and wing loading was nicely sorted. I looked forward to flying it and seeing if the ship was happier.

The main theme today was when and how would the day develop. The contest administration set shorter tasks with the hope of getting everyone home by 5pm. Storms were expected to develop after then and the idea was to get everyone around and down safely before they blew up.

The day started slowly. The first class had several relights and struggled to climb above release altitude. I figured that the day was delayed somewhat and that a closer to 2:30pm start would work out fine. The 15 meter class launched and the day kicked off. I enjoyed milling around before the start, finally feeling that the glider was set up perfectly. It tracked well in the thermals, responded well to my inputs, and ran much better.

At around 2:20pm, most of the class had went and Noah, Tim and I started.  Much to our mutual surprise, the three of us evaporated into thin air within seconds of starting. We completely lost sight of each other visually or on FLARM and our flights separated for the rest of the day.

I drove out of the gate hard. I figured that the clouds ahead were working well and was keen on getting a solid first climb. Sure enough, 6.5 knots rewarded my good run. I climbed up and drove ahead, catching up to most of the earlier starters. I took the left, much more developed line of clouds, figuring that I had enough room in the second turn area to make my distance. After maxing out the first turn area, I flew toward the towering cumulus line, stopping for 10.5 knots. Safely at cloudbase, I drove off to the back of the second turn area, Jared Graznow (WR)  close behind.

It looked like right at the edge of the turn area that there should be a solid climb on the front side of the towering cu. I found good air, but nothing solid to climb in. I turned and dove off toward the sunny, developing area ahead. Jared connected at that point and our days diverged.

Nonetheless, I found solid lift, picking up to 7 knots. Up to 11,000ft, I saw that the sky ahead was starting to blow up. I thought about my options, seeing that heading east would take me on the wrong side of the storms, the west side was a bit far away to connect with, and gliders and a cloud street mostly straight ahead. I banked on the storms moving east and then the line redeveloping on the back.

After several climbs, I pushed out toward the storm. Even though there were some cumulus clouds, the air was crushed. I kept getting lower and lower. I had glide to Tatum Airport, but with not much extra to spare. About 8 miles out, I pushed the nose down, reconciled to my fate.

About 4 miles from the airport, I got flung into a strong thermal. I started climbing and saw other gliders converge to my area. At this point, the storm on my left and the storm ahead of me were throwing out lightning every 30 seconds to a minute. It occurred to me that I could sit here, work my way up and maybe wait for the storm to pass. But the prospect of being a carbon fiber lightning rod just did not appeal to me. I figured that I could try the far side of Tatum and maybe if there was a strong climb there, I could wrap further west.

There was nothing there. And looking at the menacing storm to the south, I just decided I was done. I pulled out the boards and dumped into Tatum Airport. I was the first to land there, with eight more gliders joining me over the next hour. We ran a fine operation, with each landing glider being pushed off the runway to make room for the next one coming in. Gliders were coming down into airports and fields all over. Around half of the contestants tiptoed their way around the storms, and with others running the gauntlet between some of the cells. Pilots reported experiencing 20-30 knot sink and severe turbulence. A gust front rolled through the Hobbs and many scrambled to get their ships into the box before they were flipped over.

I know of two gliders that had especially interesting retrieves. Niemann Walker had his borrowed Libelle carried out of the field and Andy Brayer’s ASW20 is still stuck in the mud.

After I landed at Tatum, I thought to myself, better to be on the ground not wishing you were in the air, than to be in the air, wishing you were on the ground.

As the Beatles sang, “It’s getting better all the time!” Day Four was another tricky blue day, but it was the first day where I felt that all the decisions were made correctly.  My execution and thermalling still needs some improvement and hopefully that will be addressed today.

The 15 meter class was up first, which made things considerably less stressful getting up and positioned for the start. After wandering over to the start line, the class was mostly linked together. It was a struggle to climb much above 9,500ft, and looking ahead to the south was not terribly inviting. It is completely unlandable in this direction, with the exception of an abandoned airstrip and an airport at the center of the turn. I was eager to wait for the group to go.

After the task opened, pilots waited and waited. But with the launches rolling quickly, we heard that the 18 meter task was soon to open. With the prospect of more company, I felt the energy of my class perk up. The race was on!

I linked up with Noah and several others. After some false starts, we rolled out on task, dragging several gliders with us. We had a long glide into the blue, settling lower and lower toward the nasty oil derricks. We sampled effectively by raking the air with three gliders abreast. When we would find a thermal, each would turn and we would look over to see who found the better core. Sometimes the solution to tricky air is simply to throw enough gliders at the problem. It usually works.

Much to everyone’s surprise, there were clouds going into the first turn area at Jal. There’s a well known military proverb that, “No plan survives first contact with the enemy.” Well the glider equivalent is, “No plan survives first contact with the clouds.” I figured I would turn early at Jal, but now I found myself with the group driving toward the back of the sector. Seven knots, thank you very much and we rounded the turn at 11,000ft.

Heading toward Brownfield, it became more and more of a struggle. We glided and glided and found nothing. Near Seminole, I saw 5,700ft on the altimeter before we swept into a good thermal. Unfortunately, Noah and the rest of the group hit a better cycle in the bubble and rose up and away. I found myself deposited alone in the blue at the top of the lift.

It is lonely and eerie flying alone in the blue. Clouds breed a certain optimism, probably because they keep your eyes up in the sky. When you’re staring at the ground most of the day, it is much easier to envision yourself somewhere down there, scratching in the dirt.

After rounding the second turn, I saw a wisp form at the edge of the sector. I drove over and found a solid climb. At this point Steve Vihlen (SV) joined me. We worked our way up, punched through the inversion and up to 10,000ft. A nice controlling position for the next leg.

Some gliders were catching up now, notably Dave Leonard in ZL and others in 18 meter. I did not mind; having help in the blue was very helpful. We picked our way through the leg, watching each other center the climbs and move on to the next thermal. A bunch of gliders converged in the third sector at Caprock. It was trivial finding a climb at that point.

Steve had pushed ahead for a while and drove the group. I caught up with him, though picked up a thermal for a couple turns while he pressed ahead. Since it was only 3 knots and I was drifting downwind, I was eager to leave. Figuring that there should be one more solid climb left and I could shadow his course, the risk seemed perfectly worth taking a solid shot for final glide. I pressed ahead.

Downwind of the windmills, I felt some burbling. I reckon they are triggering a thermal. I could see Steve wafting left and right and likewise I worked the air upwind. He turns, and I turn and we found a 4.5 knot thermal. We get together, work our way up to a MC 5 final glide and charge off toward the finish line together.

He finished just ahead of me, though we both dropped a lot of people on the last leg. It’s nice when the tricks in the bag work every once in a while.

As far as the soaring, one of the common patterns noticed is that the wind tends to get stronger at lower altitudes, back off, and then get stronger again toward the top of the boundary layer. This C-shaped profile really messes with thermals. When the wind shears, it tumbles the thermal and the thermal does not always survive the shift. The trick was to transition into each respective layer at the right time.

Going into today, my main goal is to get better at thermalling and running. I am satisfied that I am getting back on the ball otherwise. I suspect that the Duckhawk may have been a touch too far aft in C/G and this was making it less efficient in the glides and stalling out the tail in some of the gustier thermals. Today looks stronger, so a more forward center of gravity is probably warranted anyway.

In my first report, I opined whether the past nine years of experience would have helped me figure out Hobbs this time around. So far, the answer seems to be no. The thermals here remain as befuddling to me as they were back then. I feel like flying here I am constantly grasping at each point, always a step or two behind what the air is doing. The Duckhawk is particularly frustrated with me. This is a glider that needs to be flown; she will complain when the pilot does not know what he’s doing. If you anticipate the gust and pull, the glider will get a lot of energy and do great. But if you sort of aimlessly blast around, the ship will lose all the more on the backside of the gusts. It has been very frustrating.

Day Three was interesting as the conditions were to be quite good, but blue for most of the task. Only the leg to the north from Littlefield to Muleshoe was to be in cumulus. Coupled with a 220 mile assigned task to keep all the gliders together, I thought this would finally be a day that would make sense.

Getting up and to the start was much more straightforward today and the gliders merged into a coherent start gaggle. I found Noah and Tim Taylor and we were happy to stick together to play, and watch the others play their start. After losing a cycle and getting a bit lower and watching the other gliders go, we found ourselves a little below the start, but in an excellent starting position. The gaggle was ahead and it invited us to give chase.

We charged off across the start (this time BELOW the speed limit; lesson learned from Day 2) and we picked our way along the blue toward Littlefield. I quickly disconnected from the lift band and watched Noah waft his way up and up, 1000ft above me halfway up the leg. At that point our days diverged and he pressed ahead.

My main goal was to get in a controlling position on the gaggle. Once I hit a 3.5 knot thermal, I threw out the brakes and worked up and up, trying to get higher than the people ahead. Finally, going into the turnpoint things were looking halfway reasonable. I was flying with TT, MB, SV, and FS, and we were making good work of the clouds.

Approaching Muleshoe, I saw the clouds dissipating ahead. I worked my way up to cloudbase with the tailwind, finally well established in the band. We rounded the turn and I worked the east side of the courseline, staying upwind and with the several wisps. One more final climb to 11,000ft and I headed off into the blue with FS and SV.

The air was dead smooth for a while. This is particularly concerning when you’re heading toward what looks like a desolate moonscape. We got lower and lower, and more and more concerned. The gaggle was taking weak thermals, working together to core the scraggly thermals and then moving on to the next whiff. We did this the whole way to Tatum, where we finally connected with a 3.5 knot thermal. Some took it to cloudbase, I worked a bit further and found a somewhat stronger climb. Even with a meaty margin, I got crushed on the final glide. At one point I thought I would come up short and took several turns in 1 knot to just get a bit higher. I then floated my way up a little street and squeaked in above the minimum finish height.

Noah had made it home something like 20 minutes prior. He managed to get connected with the Club Class gaggle and ride the better part of the day home. He’s now first overall, having had an absolutely crushing day. Sylvia Grandstaff also had a great day, sitting several points behind in second overall in Club Class. It’s fun watching them go!

As far as I am concerned, I’ll be satisfied when I no longer feel like I’m flying like a drunken sailor. My current theory is that the thermals here basically refuse to coalesce. In most places thermals organize somewhere between 1000 and 2500ft above the ground or so into a more-or-less coherent core. Here, if this happens at all, it happens closer to 2/3 of the way up the band. This is even the case when the wind is fairly light.

Additionally, at lower altitudes the thermals will still be fairly strong, but they rarely last more than several turns before they start conflicting with a neighboring bubble. The centering and recentering here is unbelievably frustrating. Each turn you have no idea if you’re thermalling badly, or you just need to move 300 yards elsewhere.

All of this is to say, that being lower here is penalized severely. It is kind of like those days where you get cloudsuck and if you stay high and connected that you sail over all, but as you get lower, the band diverges and it can be a struggle to get back. The difference is that here this happens all the time, even with no clouds, and with little wind. If you stay within a 1000ft band, the top of which where the lift starts to weaken quickly, and the bottom where it just starts to halfway organize, then you can float along and periodically pick up a decent thermal. Ideally, it is best to do this while covering others to work the better air and get higher L/D in the glide. This favors “the long glide” approach of yesteryear, where backing off 10-15 knots to give more distance to sample for a better thermal. While the Europeans have soundly rejected this approach and in most places flying faster (in good air) does better, perhaps favoring theories from the 80’s is the way to go in a site that is from the 40’s, flying mostly with pilots born in the 60’s and 70’s.

As the days progress, each day is getting hotter and hotter. And out west, this means higher thermals and faster speeds. The big question as far as the weather was concerned was whether the day would be dry and blue or have clouds. If there were clouds, it would be better to go somewhat earlier while they contained more energy and sucked you up to cloudbase. If it was blue, it would be better to go late to catch up to gaggle that would inevitably slow down, struggling to find the lift. I figured it would be blue, so I was not too worried when I was at the very back of the grid of the last class to launch.

Before launch, there was oodles of time to wait around. Even with the 18m class launching at 12pm, it would take at least two hours before I would be up. I stayed at my rented house and moseyed out to the airport. I waited around in the hangar, talked to the folks, even got a professional consultation by Alex Fairbairn. She was more than happy to oblige and educate me about massage therapy techniques as she kept looking over her 6-week-old little girl, Olivia.

Additionally, I had the joy of seeing my good friend John Bird. One of the pilots had disaster strike the preceding day when a strong gust managed to pick up his Libelle and damage the horizontal stabilizer and undercarriage. John Bird also flies a Libelle and generously offered to let the fellow fly it for the rest of the contest. Contests are fun for the flying, but they also bring together new and old friends. It was lovely spending the day and evening with John!

I headed over to the glider and got it ready to go. But much to my surprise, when I did my pre-takeoff checklist, I found my left flaperon was binding. With the towplane whirring, I called a dead stop and got out to see what was going on. It turned out that the flaperon had expanded a fair bit on the baking ramp, and the foam seals at the wingroot got in the way. I got back in and then the rope got stuck under the wheel and back released. Hooked up once more, we were finally on our way.

Time was ticking. The gate was to open in 15 minutes and after release it was a race to find the climb to get connected with the group. I tried here, there, and everywhere and could not find any thermal that was solid enough to climb in. I finally drove off toward the Hobbs delta and got down to 1000ft under a set of gliders. 2 knots, but enough to start working my way up.

The gate opened. Gliders streamed out on course and I was nowhere near 10,000ft. Approaching 3pm, I was still 1300ft below the top of the gate, but I felt like I *had* to go. I pushed over and went to the line, forgetting about the speed limit. Double ouch, taking a speed penalty and a height penalty.

I flew hard. Pushed the airspeed up to 110 knots, intent on running down the gaggle. I found the thermals reasonably enough and worked my way higher and higher in each one. Down on my flarm, I saw TT a half mile off my wingtip passing by. And then ahead a wing flash. VW pulls into a 5 knot thermal at my altitude! I’m thrilled to join and were climb harmoniously together.

He pushes off, and so do I and we’re racing to the back of the first cylinder. By raking the air we found the better lift lines and cored the thermals quicker. After the turn, I dropped off a bit and fell behind. One bad turn and Noah was gone, both visually and on the flarm. I looked ahead and pressed hard, hoping to find him again. The next time I caught a glimpse of him was when I finally hit a 6.5 knot thermal, to see him 700ft above. The rascal!

We parted ways for a while and I raced along the right-hand street. I periodically saw some gliders in the distance, but I was in my own sky. Approaching the second turn, I look over my shoulder and there was Noah again, but now at the same altitude. We tucked in together and worked our way into the turn, just nipping and going.

The time was approaching 6pm and the day was starting to weaken. I was also fading. The heat got to me and I was exhausted. Looking ahead, we needed one more solid climb to get connected and set up for the final glide. Here and there any everywhere, the lift was just not solid anymore. I was willing to settle, but the weaker thermals also had the nasty habit of dying off sooner. Finally, I look above and Noah is 800ft above me, driving into the last sector. Seeing that I was getting closer and closer to the surface of the moon beneath me, I turned tail into the wind, starting to get desperate to connect with the last thermal.

There were some clouds left, but there was less and less to work with. I had glide made to Lovington and I needed around 1000ft to get home. A bad turn here, a bad turn there, but at this point I’d take anything to get home. Finally, a solid 3 knots. Tim Taylor slid in and sailed out above me. As I left the thermal, Noah was off my wingtip. We’re going to get home!

Upon landing and opening the canopy, I took a deep breath and let out a big sigh. My performance was mediocre. Part of it was bad luck getting up on the start, more of it was being stupid and taking a start penalty and having an inefficient final glide. Staying ahead of the heat is also crucial as I was really beat and dehydrated. I spent the rest of the evening chugging water and trying to get my body to recover. Hopefully on Day 3 I’ll do better on all accounts.

It has been wild times. My baby daughter, Anna, has just turned a year old. She is absolutely adorable and has rightfully consumed my attention. Additionally, I just defended and submitted my dissertation toward my PhD and have been on the job search. And with that comes the prospect of selling a house and moving on. It’s like you blink and all of a sudden each day you’re staring down a list of 20 items, 10 of which are urgent and 10 that are important, yet intractable. It’s easy to feel like you’re drowning, but step by step, day by day everything seems to work out.

As far as my writing is concerned, writing professionally seems to suck the wind out of my sails. Research in a PhD is measured by publications, and I currently have three in the queue at various stages of submission and revision. Having taken the rest day to get ahead on my writing, I finally feel like I have cleared enough mental bandwidth to write for fun.

So here we are in Hobbs, New Mexico. I’ve been here nine years ago at the Club Class Nationals and the biggest thing I remember about the weather is that we flew almost every day and that none of the thermals ever made sense to me. The cores are often disorganized and volatile. There can be clouds, but none of them seem to work. It was one of the most frustrating, befuddling sites I had ever flown at. It’s an open question if I had learned anything in the past nine years to get a better sense of how to approach flying at this place. I was definitively reminded about how befuddling it is for me when I landed out on the first practice day!

The site itself is tucked away on the border of New Mexico and Texas. The border is fairly apparent as on the Texas side there are huge fields and on the New Mexico side, mostly oil wells fading into the desert. One curiosity of flying near the border is that we are on the boundary of Mountain and Central Time. This kind of throws off some of the intuitions about the timing of the day, not to mention your cellphone if you happen to be on one side of the line or the other.

The landscape here is a bit sad. North and south of the airport is littered with oil derricks. The oil pads on the desert are crisscrossed with random arrays of powerlines, oil tanks, and pipelines. The older derricks kind of look like a metallic, monstrous cow, sucking up the oil from the Permian basin underneath. The newer derricks look like cleaner, vertical posts. The upward and downward action on these derricks seems to make the figurative action of raping the earth a bit literal.

Hobbs Airport (also known as Industrial) is a WWII B-17 bomber base. Over the years the airport has been transformed by the town into an industrial park, drag strip, and even a prison. The north and west sections remain an airport, though there are only several hangars and little continuous activity. Most of the airport has deteriorated, though the huge ramp and sections of the paralleling runway remain in good shape. The cross runway is also landable if you mind some of the potholes and rough sections. Nonetheless, the activity largely happens on the ramp, with the gliders parked along the perimeter, and the gridding and launching happening down the middle.

Today was our first contest day. The weather was dicey for a bit, with cloud cover in the morning and a forecast for clouds that hardly rose much more than 4000ft above the ground. There was high cloud cover forecasted to roll in from the west to east, suggesting that the day would shut down early. Today seemed like a day to be conservative, go early, and get home. Few contests are won on the first day, but many can be lost.

I was at the very front of the grid and ready to launch at 12:30pm. Looking at the cumulus above, it was not too concerned with sticking. The main challenge after release was to push into the 15-20 knot headwind and get positioned relative to the start. I ended up driving low to catch a thermal, tucking into the airspace of the neighboring airport. The controller was friendly enough, and I slowly worked my way up, while drifting downwind, correcting back upwind, and repeating the process. Several iterations later, I was at cloudbase, vents open and going around in circles, waiting for the gate to open.

The sky on courseline looked somewhat foreboding. It did not look like a day to linger. So when the gate opened and Tim Taylor was nearby, I figured it was time to go. He looked willing to oblige, and we left on course together.

We had a great run, weaving to and fro along the cloudstreet, making an excellent glide the downwind street. But then we got lower and lower, and the clouds ahead got darker and darker. The oil wells here simply turned into a sandy no-mans-land. Finally, we were down to 1300ft above the ground and I felt my neck pivoting towards Tatum Airport. I’m rapidly running out of cards to play here.

Somewhere around this time, I realized that the turnpoint ahead was “Crossroads” and I just could not help hearing Eric Clapton singing, “Went down to the crossroads… fell down on my knees! Asked the Lord above for mercy….Take me, if you please!”

We individually found our climbs, though mine was a weak 1.3 knots for five minutes. Best to stick with it and console myself that at least I was drifting downwind toward the first turnpoint. Right as it organized into a round three knots, several other gliders joined me. Finally back at cloudbase, time to get back in the business of racing.

Shortly thereafter, I look over and saw Noah Reitter pull in alongside me. The rascal mowed me down on the first leg, but boy is it great to have a friend to play with! I eagerly got on station on his left wing and we raced ahead.

We went fairly deep into Crossroads and worked the street back upwind. The idea was to nip the second sector and position ourselves to go as little as possible into the third. Pushing upwind with a buddy was very nice. We made quick work of the tricky bubbles and mostly stayed connected as we were bucking the headwind. Going into the third turn, to our surprise the conditions got stronger than weaker. We rolled into a 7 knot thermal and just kept driving and driving into the turnpoint.

I looked over at my computer and realized that it was getting time to turn to get home at minimum time. So when I had a good bead on abandoned, I looked over at Noah and gave him a salute, and banked the Duckhawk over hard to head toward Abandoned, the final steering turn. Figuring that the day was on, I drove hard, looking for my final climb.

Normally, taking a bit more sporting risk when the day is cooking and you’re looking for one more climb is a pretty reasonable bet. Not this time. I drove right out of the band and could not find a round thermal to save my life. I missed having a buddy to help me out here! Out of options again, I parked in two knots and drifted toward the back of the sector. When it petered out 1000ft below glide, I pushed upwind to slam into a 7 knotter. How frustrating! Having climbed up there, I drove toward the finish with a vengeance having lost 8 minutes on my flight by stepping into that hole.

After beating myself up the whole way back home, I was happy to finish and be in a position to fight on another day. But the frustrations ceased as I entered the pattern to land. It’s a bit surreal flying in such an expansive concrete space. Once you turn final, it’s hard not to glance over your shoulder at all the neatly spaced gliders and the hubbub of activity as you’re whizzing by. But then you must look straight, hold the glider off, make a nice landing and then taxi off right to your spot. Pull open the canopy, pull the glider forward 10 feet and you’re done for the day!