University of Virginia Library

Rushing Air, Quiet Sensation, Fantastic Panorama Greet Soarers

By DAVID KENNEDY

Do you remember the first
time you went on a
roller-coaster? How you were
so sure you wanted to go until
they locked you in and started
slowly up that hill? You
probably asked yourself why
you were there, probably out
loud and even a little
frantically.

Well, if you have, you know
how I felt last Saturday when
Ernest Klimonda, an officer
and pilot in Capital Area
Soaring School, strapped me
into the soarplane with the
pilot, Frank Phillips, behind
me in the tiny cockpit.

As the pre-flight checks
were completed, all I could
manage was a very weak smile,
a thumbs-up sign and a
preoccupation with my
camera. The main
photographer, 14-year-old
Harry Tufts was in the
towplane with Mr. Klimonda,
and he didn't even look
nervous. I figured that Winston
Churchill, in the cause of
journalism, wouldn't have been
afraid.

The towplane wobbled
along the muddy field, with
one glider in train. The ride at
first was a series of mushy jerks
as our only wheel caught in the
mire of the open-field runway.
As we gained speed, I noticed
the towplane's wheels leave the
ground and suddenly we, too,
were airborne. The towline was
quite taut, smoothly guiding us
along. I grinned hideously, half
from excitement, half from
disbelief. Though still unsure
of what I was doing there, I
had to keep face.

We had reached the point of
no return, I reasoned, so I'd
better decide to enjoy the
flight. I hunched forward and
caught the sun's glint off the
tow-plane's wings.

After ascending to an
altitude of 2000 feet, Mr.
Phillips asked me to pull a
black knob in front of me,
which I innocently did. Klunk.
The towplane slowly pulled
away from us as the line
released. We were free. I
couldn't help but think that
our "umbilical cord" had been
slashed. I managed another
hideous grin. As Mr. Phillips
maneuvered the sailplane and
explained its handling
characteristics, I got my first
sensation of true, unrestrained
flight.

There were no throbbing
motions, only the rushing
sound of air flashing quickly
over the wings. This sensation
of quietness was surprising; Mr.

Phillips and I had no need to
shout over any outside noise.

While Mr. Phillips busily
manipulated the stick and
pedal controls, he explained to
me that soaring is not
non-powered flight, as is gliding.
The distinct exhilaration
experienced in soaring lies in
the nature of the power which
keeps the craft aloft.

"It's all a matter of energy,
and all energy comes from the
sun. The towplane uses the
stored energy in gas, and we
use the thermal energy of
sun-heated air to keep us up,"
my pilot lectured. I was glad
that something was helping us
out.

Mr. Phillips circled high
above the field at 2000 feet,
dipping the wings for a better
view. The rolling countryside
sprawled beneath us. He then
demonstrated the technique of
thermalling, using the rising
warm air to lift our craft to
higher altitudes. The sure
hands of the pilot banked us
into a steep spiral to the right,
and my example of the
amusement park ride couldn't
better describe the effect.

For the first time since our
release from the towplane, I
flashed another hideous,
somewhat queasy grin. "You
see what I mean," Mr. Phillips
inquired. "Uh...yeah," I
mumbled. As we broke from
the spiral and began cruising
again I was relieved, but
strangely wanted to 'thermal'
again.

The panorama visible from
our cockpit was fantastic.
Unlike propeller-driven planes,
there were no visual
obstructions and the
blown-glass canopy afforded us
with a real sight-seeing
adventure.

The way Mr. Phillips
handled the sailplane made me
realize that while soaring is an
enjoyable sport, it is also one

that requires a great deal of
skill. The air is your only
support, and since we had no
parachutes, it was reassuring to
know the pilot knew his job.

As I was beginning to learn to
control those hideous grins and
enjoy the adventure, we began
our descent. Unfortunately, we
had come late in the day, and
only through the kindness of
Mr. Klimonda and the
willingness of Mr. Phillips was
the flight permitted. "Soaring
is a social sport," Mr.
Klimonda had remarked to
Baldwin on the ground. Only
through the combined efforts
of these volunteers was my
flight (and indeed, all flights)
possible. I was impressed by
the informality and cordiality
of the School's staff.

But before I could
philosophize too much, we
plunged towards our landing
field. The sailplane seemed to
rock back and forth as Mr.
Phillips raised the flaps "to
slow us down by exposing as
much wing area as possible to
the air." To my inexperienced
and worried eyes, we seemed
too high to make the field,
which loomed precariously
near. My hideous grin flashed
again, quite involuntarily. But
soon we touched down on the
grassy field and came to a halt
as the ground crew rushed
towards us. The rumbling
landing seemed to be a
reminder to us that the
freedom in the air had to end
sometime.

I asked Mr. Klimonda how
he became interested in such a
different type of sport. He
replied that he began gliding at
age 15 through a
state-subsidized summer
program in Czechoslovakia.
"One could learn to drive a car,
or a motorcycle or do many
other things at a nominal cost.
I wanted to learn to glide," he
explained. "We started at first being
pulled in primitive gliders from
a hill into the wind."

The Air Park in Warrenton,
Va., houses the Capital Area
Soaring School, Inc., made up
of two grassy runways in an
L-shape, with soarplane and car
parking along the runways.
Flight instruction is given from
8:30 to dusk on Wednesdays,
Saturdays, Sundays and
holidays dependent upon
satisfactory weather and field
conditions

From Charlottesville, the
Warrenton Air Park is east on
Route 29 on the south side of
the town.

So, if you happen to be out
that way Saturday or Sunday,
wave to that guy with the
hideous grin.