Riders on the Storm
77km from Porterville towards Worcester

[Sound intro : Riders on the Storm]
[Final playout : And another one bites the dust]

The day before a cold front can often be exciting. On the last prefontal day at Porterville, we heard of Chris Hill (aka Ballistic Missile) flying to Wellington in short order. So when the clouds began to break, and the wind was steady up the front, we set our course for Worcester. The weather forecaster warned of strong north-westerlies towards afternoon. Boy, was he right!

The first bit of the flight, along the ridge past Porterville, was nice, with the wind quartering from behind, and thermals spaced regularly. Cloudbase at 1500m asl made the glides short. Chris Hill and I left the end of the ridge at 1250, and headed out to the Saron Peak, which stands a way out in the valley. The crossing was fine, without severe sink, though we were just above tree-top height when we sneaked in against the mountain. We worked some strong lift, but the wind was 25kph N, making further thermalling impossible across the main face. We scuttled around the corner, and glided on to the low ridge before Gouda. Being in the lee of the Saron Peak, and with a fairly gentle gradient, the slope had only scrappy, rubbishy lift with turbulence and sink. Chris went a bit wide on the pencil-sized core, and lost it, having to walk out to Gouda for about an hour. I held on to the 0.2 that was left of our thermal, and floated on along the ridge, praying for something big. After about ten minutes of floating, 'big' came through, boosting upwards at 3m/s and over into the Tulbagh valley. My first time over, and what a magical flatlands valley!

The tar road wandered around somewhere near the centre of the valley, and the wind was still NNW 25, an ideal recipe for good distance. Unfortunately the thermals were weaker now, and widely spaced, so it was hold on to everything possible. Craig (aka Man of the Month) Richards radioed from Gouda, saying I'd better hurry, because he was coming to catch me. I stamped on the speedbar, and got low, repented, got low again, and limped in to the mountains behind Wolsely. This is where things started to become a bit challenging. The peaks seemed to block the wind slightly, and I managed to climb up the north-ward facing slope with a little penetration. But once near the crest, the wind began to push through. Looking to the west, I could see the classic band of orographic cloud forming over the Hottentots Holland, kind of the reverse effect of what happens in a howling South-Easter. The wind was about to come through, ooh boy, she looked mighty angry about something.

When I got to the next mountain foothills, I noticed something was decidedly wrong. My Spear seemed to have lost all ability to go forwards. I angled to the left, and was alarmed at the speed - someone had inserted after-burners in my harness, and the groundspeed was 75km/h on trim. Hmm. I radioed to Craig that the mountains had now become a baaaaad idea, and that he should head for the flatlands. Tramping the speedbar, I edged out into the valley, all the while skidding unavoidably downwind. lower level of bouyancy at just above tree-top height allowed me to sneak out a bit further, and add on a good few kilometres, until a mighty powerline ended play. Now I'm stuck in a shallow river gully, going nowhere, and its rough as a witches tit down low. Thankfully I landed in a safe heap, and collapsed the wing rapidly. 77km via Saron. A mellow one-hour walk-out on flat, sandy roads.

"Hey Craig, the wind's blowing about 40 - 45 down here. How're you doing?" I pan the sky for my pursuer, but no! alak, alas, there he is 400m overhead. "Nice one Craig! I'll see you in Worcester." A town which was 20km away. Neither of us knew he'd be there in about 15minutes, looking desperately for an overdrive in his Allegra. The storm hit. While I was folding my wing in the gathering wind, Craig worked his last few thermals, and scudded over Worcester, hitting 2m/s down just in the wrong place - over town. Telephone lines, little houses packed close together, and the Zwelitemba township, a hotspot in the past. And turbulence the likes of which can be found at Cape Horn in a rowboat. Craig overtook a few cars, turned into wind, and noticed that things didn't look much better. Going backwards at 40km/h can make even the most benign scenery look evil. The rubbish tip had sand blowing off the top of the gravel mounds, the dam had breaking waves, and thecemetery was directly below his feet. Ever been in a car accident? Remember that last second, where you know you're going to hit? Stretch that over a few minutes, and take away your side-impact protection beams, airbags, seatbelts and metal bodywork, and you get an idea of what such a landing feels like. No fun at all. With the help of massive sink, and thorn-scrub to catch the glider, Craig managed to stop being dragged, after somersaulting backwards on landing. The reserve handle caught on a bush and deployed, but luckily the rag didn't inflate. Otherwise we'd still be driving to find Mr Richards (aka Drag Racer.) Over a burger in the Worcester MacDonalds, we pondered on the route, the race, and the really good retrieve (thanks Tom!).
99km via Saron, and the season's biggest distance so far. Well done Craig and his Allegra! Ever since stepping onto this wing, Craig has been unstoppable. Well, until he met with a real Cape prefrontal NW'erly. Butr then even the tick-birds were going backwards. 'nuff said.