Kahana Flush

Sunday morning started out in the usual way... After the obligatory intake of caffeine, I sat down to read the morning news. And by "news", I mean: Wind Lines, iWindsurf, NOAA, NWS, etc. You know – the news I actually care about. I was really itching to fly again, having just had my first post-fatherhood flight a couple days before, which got the ol’ juices flowing.

Kahana was looking good according to the wind sensors, but the radar showed a more easterly flow than the days prior. Sure enough, the forecast discussion and the winds aloft forecast indicated that the wind was expected to turn east to southeast later that day.

I had some work to do and some Daddy-duties to attend to for the next few hours, so I hoped the trade wind direction would hold for just a little while longer. I announced my intentions to those lurking in the Chatter Box that I intended to be at Kahana around 11:30am. Well, one diaper led to another, and before I knew it, it was 11:40 and I hadn’t even left the house. Scot and Ginny had both called about that time for site reports, but I was unable to oblige. They were heading there anyways, so I told both of them I’d see them soon.

I didn’t get going until over an hour later, but oh well - better late than never. On my way there, I used my phone to check iWindsurf – the Punaluu sensor now read EAST (84*)! I then fortuitously commented on the Chatter Box that it was already turning east, frowny-face emoticon and all.

So I called Scot to see if he'd actually headed out. He had and, in fact, was already on launch with Ginny. He said Airborne Ken was "skying out" and that he was about to launch himself. He said it looked "pretty East", but light enough that he didn't think the rotor would affect landing. I also adhere to that philosophy, when the wind is only 6-10 mph - but on this day, it was more like 10-16. The fact that Scot reported it being "light" despite all the sensor readings and forecasts was the first of many bad signs. I took this to mean that our launch ridge was almost completely in the lee of the ridge on the Crouching Lion side of the bay.

When I arrived, I was surprised to see Airborne folding his wing at Kahana. He often lands in Punaluu just for the sport of it, so I figured he’d have definitely chosen to do so on such an east day as this. He said the air was a little bumpy at certain altitudes, but was otherwise fine. In fact, he had just flown for 2 ½ hours! He did mention two things that piqued my interest... 1) While flying at the back of the ridge, he saw a single puffy cloud coming at him from out of Boogaland (that’s from the Southeast, folks!) and 2) Despite having no issues to speak of while landing, he said that it felt like there was "no wind" on the LZ when he touched down.

Scot was already in the air saying that it was still "pretty east", but OK – it was just a little "light" on launch and I’d definitely have to hike to high launch. Ginny launched from high launch but sunk out after a few minutes of scratching. She overshot the LZ a little bit, but nothing crazy and certainly nothing that we all haven’t done before. She didn’t report anything unusual, probably attributing the overshooting to her own flying rather than any weird air.

And here is my mistake, distilled into a single moment and decision... I stopped at the trailhead and made the following observations: The wind at ground level was almost still, but the trees halfway up the ridge were blowing good, but only sporadically. The surface of the water had gone smoother than when I had first arrived. The clouds were moving quite east now; some layers even appearing to be moving ESE. Scot and now Chandler (who had hiked up and launched from the North launch) were both in the air climbing and boating around as normal. I radioed one more time my concern about the direction, but damn it – it sure looked like fun up there. Besides, I had flown on other easterly days that weren’t "too bad", so why would today be any different? So, it might be a little bumpy on the way in – big deal! I then made one last minute check of iWindsurf, and it was back to reading ENE (70*). Well, that was enough for me - I’m hiking!

By the time I was setting up to launch, Scot had just landed and said he had some "weird air" but landed safely only a little short of our typical landing spot. Several minutes later, Chandler was on his way to the LZ. Hooked in and waiting for a good cycle, I heard Chandler submit a couple of garbled radio transmissions. I couldn’t understand a thing except for "[garble]...Jeff...[garble]". When I asked to repeat, he could not, but Scot said that Chandler got his wing a "little wet" but he was OK. I was literally kiting my wing above my head when I received that transmission. I got in the air where I found it quite "squirrelly", but I was actually handling it pretty well - using active piloting to keep the wing pressurized and above my head. It was weird air, but I wasn't worried yet. I was even climbing up OK. But shortly thereafter, I put "two and two together" and figured out that I probably shouldn’t have launched. I had the feeling that Chandler’s garbled transmissions must have been something to the effect of "Jeff, don't launch!" (he later confirmed exactly this).

So, I went about trying to set up a top landing so as to avoid Chandler’s fate. As I passed over the North launch, I saw the streamer blowing softly up from the valley between the launch ridges and towards the Rhino Horn! The air felt dead and weird as I screamed past the ridge on my approach. I then buzzed back over to our normal launch ridge. I was just below the normal low launch, but again going way too fast for a top landing. I decided to forgo a tree landing, which I briefly considered, and headed for the beach. Sure, I was a little lower than low launch, but definitely no lower than I’d normally head to the beach in a light wind bomb-out. But this wasn't just light wind - it was scarily silent and very sinky.

I cleared the power lines with ease and was over the water. I had the boat ramp on glide easily, but not so sure about the beach. I tried to slow the glider, briefly thinking about landing in the boat ramp parking lot, but remembered a couple of stories about pilots being dropped down hard there. So, I went back to "hands up" to see how far I could make it. I just cleared the boat ramp's far rock wall and made it to about 15 feet from shore, touching down in about 2 feet of water. About 70% of my wing fell onto the boat ramp’s concrete, with the remainder going into the water. I, on the other hand, repeatedly tripped over the submerged rocks and coral as I tried to exit, and got totally dunked each time. Ginny was on the scene immediately, and helped me pull the dunked portion of my wing out of the water.

My electronics were toast, of course. But I was on the ground and I wasn’t hurt. The "kicking myself in the ass" stage had already started setting in since somewhere over the boat ramp. How could I have ignored all those signs? Strike that... The word "signs" implies these were subtle clues that I failed to interpret. That’s not what happened here. I knew better than to fly in those conditions, but let myself go up anyway. It was, in that moment at the trailhead, irresistible to see others up there successfully and not join them.

So, my own post-mortem of the situation (luckily, that’s just a figure of speech in this case):

A) I shouldn't even have hiked up. I truly knew it was too East, but I let other pilots’ opinions and experiences in the rapidly changing conditions cloud my judgment. I was also "itching to fly" which didn't help – my over-enthusiasm got the better of me. I also made a snap judgment based on a couple of flukey iWindsurf readings that helped rationalize and reinforce my poor decision.

B) I should have waited to launch when it wasn't clear to me what happened to Chandler. I knew he was "OK", but had no other details. Sixty more seconds and a full report from him personally would have definitely had me hiking down.

C) Once I was in the air, and realized that top landing would be difficult... believe it or not... I should have climbed higher to buy myself some time and to probably land in Punaluu. It felt counter-intuitive to do so, since all I was thinking was "get on the ground now!" But, in hindsight, the air was manageable and I was going up quite easily, actually. I have no doubt I could have climbed to ridge height and went around the corner to Punaluu.

"C" is just 20/20 hindsight, armchair quarterbacking - a genuine "what if" scenario that's all too easy to entertain after the fact, yet difficult to put into practice when it all hits the fan and you feel like you've got only precious seconds to act. It may prove useful to me one day, but it's certainly not a reason to push my luck in similar conditions again.

"B" provided me a valuable lesson, regardless of the situation. It’s selfish and dangerous to launch not knowing your fellow pilots are OK and without getting some kind of briefing as to what happened.

In my case, I definitely should have stopped at "A", had a beer, and gone home.

No Wind is Good Wind, or Humiliation Vacation

I have this recurrent nightmare; a fright so profound as to awaken me, panting & sweating with fear. I’ve discussed the matter with several HPA members. After analyzing the admittedly rather “unscientific” survey data, it has become apparent to me that this particular nightshade is a shared phenomenon; variably experienced by all Oahu pilots (with the possible exceptions of Bob, Brazilian, Doug, Alex, Mad Dog, Jorge & Reaper).

I, as your therapist, am duty-bound to speak to this issue; and, if possible, provide you with the appropriate means of correcting your pathology. You know, dear reader, I am about to address and, most certainly, expose a secret wound: a shame, an inflammation, a defect in our programming; one which binds so many of us to the ridges of Oahu, never venturing to the high peaks of Haleakala, Chelan, or Chamonix. Be strong. Take a deep breath. Prepare yourself to face this demon. I’m here with you . . . don’t be afraid. We’ll begin with a little “Guided Imagery.”

You are standing in the middle of a massive well-manicured lawn, a thousand meters above a spring-blossomed river valley; surrounded by the pine-forested slopes that lead upwards to the serrated, glacier-cloaked peaks of a site you’ve never flown. Several local pilots are on hand; discussing flight plans, cloud base fluctuations, GPS waypoints, etc. They’ve all heard of the helmeted, harnessed, DHV 2-3 winged visitor from Hawai’i: A hot-shot, high-wind flying, P-(insert your rating here), from Oahu. “This guy/gal flies Makapu’u & Diamond Head!” “He/She has HUNDREDS of hours of airtime!” The locals are just hoping they will be able to keep up with you! You’re feeling pretty good. The chatter all around you is about big fat thermals, screaming varios, epic XCs, and para-drivers with 4x4’s and cold beer. This is going to be the flight of your life!!! Then, it happens; you realize (to your horror): The only way off this mountain side is a FORWARD LAUNCH!

That’s when the panic sets in: “I . . . I . . . haven’t done a . . . a freak’n forward since I was a freak’n P-1 . . . even then, I was attached to Reaper’s freak’n scooter-tow-rig!” "Holy Freak’n Crap! . . . There isn’t even a freak’n hint of a breeze!” “That freak’n student that just launched has cored that house-thermal like it’s her freak’n job!” “I might as well start freak’n hiking down right now!”

You rack your brain; desperately trying to remember the “textbook technique.” You set up, raise your A risers, and run like a fullback at fourth & goal from the five-yard-line, paraglider dragging behind you like a dying pterodactyl. Miraculously, the one & only hole on the entire launch site finds your foot and envelops it; sending you tumbling helmet over Hanwags -- gift-wrapping your self in Mylar & Kevlar. That’s the point where you wake-up . . . panting & sweating with fear. Admit it. You’ve had this dream . . . we all have.

For the record: I SUCK at forward launches! A few months ago, I asked Bob & Alex to help me improve my forward launch skills. I used my old Ozone Vulcan (recently re-named “Patches.”) After a new line set, new risers, and SEVERAL repairs, patches, and bits of tape, the wing doesn’t launch like a “new" wing. Bob & Alex suggested that the wing might not be the “best choice” for forward launching; it seems to have “issues.” So . . . I bought a new wing . . . the OZONE ADDICT. I made plans to fly to Maui, with my new wing; go to Poli Poli, and practice forward launches until I could join the “Bob, Doug, Jorge, et. al. Club.” Except . . . the new wing DID NOT arrive in time. So, I went to Poli Poli with my Vulcan . . . you know . . . the wing that should only be launched in high wind with A’s & C’s . . . ‘cause it doesn’t perform well when attempting a forward launch.

I spent four days at Dexter’s Playground, with NO WIND, demonstrating my absolute ineptitude; dragging my wing behind me like a dying pterodactyl. I fell flat on my face. I gift-wrapped myself in Mylar & Kevlar. I humiliated myself in front of God and every pilot on the island of Maui. I felt the shame, the pain, and the plain old humiliation of learning a skill (as a P-4/T-3) at which every P-1 on Maui is an absolute expert. Of course, all of the Maui pilots were extremely helpful and generous; offering advice, instructions, and demonstrations -- insisting that, (in return) when they visit Oahu, I help them work on high-wind launch techniques and power line evasion. Everyone was wonderful . . . including, but not limited to: Woody, Chris, Jason, Dexter, Jon, Zack, and Khadija (pronounced “Hadeejah”; the “K” is silent.) Each of which surrendered precious flying time in order to help me develop the skill I so desperately need.

I had some success . . . especially at the end of the last day. I left Maui feeling like I could manage to launch in a “No Wind is Good Wind” situation. I am, by no means, the expert that I’d like to be, but I am determined to become the next Bob, Dexter, Jorge, et. al. So . . . now that I have my BRAND FREAK”N NEW OZONE ADDICT . . . I intend to return to Maui and perfect the forward launch. It is a skill that I need. And . . . dear reader . . . So do you! Therefore, as your therapist, I recommend that we organize a weekend trip to Maui, lay-out our wings, and perfect the art of running off the grassy knoll . . . face-first! Admit it! You need the practice as much as I . . . maybe more! Remember . . . when you travel . . . seeking thermals & cloud bases . . . you will need to be proficient at forward launches.

Today, I flew my new Ozone Addict . . . I love her. Yes, I launched Manic’s with A’s & C’s (it is Oahu after all!), but I intend to perform forward launches every time I find myself on Cactus or Kahana with light-to-no-wind . . . even if it is just a sled ride. It comes down to this: become proficient at Forward Launching or wake up sweating and screaming for the rest of your flying career. Either that, or you can limit yourself to Makapu’u, Kahana, Lanikai, and Diamond Head; all of which are wonderful places to fly. I love them!!! However, I would also like to fly the high peaks of Haleakala, Chelan, Chamonix, etc, etc, etc.

I’m just say’n.

Aloha
Suicide

1000 Words (because I didn't take a picture)

I had a great day flying yesterday, and seeing as it was Thanksgiving, and I haven't had an epic flight since the Nats, I had an extra special day.

I went to Makapuu first thing in the morning, and watched the hangies high over the ridge in strong northerly conditions. I gave it a go on my little glider from Crazyman's, snapped an upper brake line on the launch, and was rewarded in the air with a wild ferris wheel ride in the lee of Rabbit Island. It is still not exactly clear to me how so much turbulence can be generated by such a small distant feature. Anyway, I got off the ferris wheel of fun on the next down cycle at the heiau, happy for once to have my feet on the ground. I did hear afterwards that Leo and Dave Goto flew HG for 4+ hours and that Leo flew to Kahana and back to Makapuu.

The gang was calling Kahana epic for bay crossing, so I headed out that way. I met up with CZ Peter at the LZ and hiked north launch to join the gaggle of 8 or so overhead. Peter launched in the light north flow and I followed.

The climbs were slow unless you found a thermal to go up in, I reached about 1700' (I had no GPS or vario other than my Sonic beeper), and glided across the bay, found nice light lift there and climbed up to 2K or so. I looked back and 4 or 5 guys were headed over to join me: Peter, Alex, Scrappy and some other wings I didn't recognize. I got pretty high over Hidden Valley and headed off to glide over to Kualoa ridge, CZ Peter (who is an excellent pilot and I seem to fly with him most lately) followed.

I didn't find much lift over there and kept searching for some lifting air futher around the front side. About the same time I hear people on the radio talking about the lift getting really light. I never seem to find any lift and keep on flying towards Waikane. CZ Peter heads over to Kualoa and lands there. I head on a sinking death glide towards the very tip of the spine from Ohulehule (the Pyramid) right next to Kam Highway. I spot the little pasture and circle at about 100' AGL for landing, I make one last pass over a group of trees at the edge of the pasture and get a couple of beeps on the vario. I commit to the trees and am rewarded with slightly lifting air. I start to think that this would be a real trick to get up from here. After 10 minutes I scratch out 400' and see that the prevailing breeze is coming up one side and the leeside is in full sun and I am on the only bump around to collect the heat. I eke my way up the ridge that leads to the Pyramid and backtrack to the back of Kaaawa Valley. I hit about 1800' and get spit out of my thermal and decide to glide on to the main ridge.

The ridge shows no real attack points for getting up, and I am gushing altitude again, I fly over potential LZ's and pass over the last open land at about 250' agl. I notice that the ridge starts up behind this property, and with my first true low save under my belt making me feel bold, I commit toward the ridge and trees and again find light lift the floats me up. I climb, but have to fight for altitude and limp along the ridge looking for some comfortable altitude. I am working pretty hard the whole time, but I am pumped because the hard part is behind me. Don is chatting me up on the radio, video taping and offering food if I land nearby. I actually have a dinner at my Captain's house at 4:30 near Don's, but I resist the lure of the land.

When I hit Temple Valley the flight changes its tone and I am blasted up to cloudbase, where I stay for the rest of the flight. I consider going over the back towards Aiea, but the texture on the water on the South Shore and the rows of transmission lines in my path cause me to reconsider.

I sneak up on some hikers on the Stairway to Heaven, who are a little stunned by my presence, and I throw some wingovers for Don who is filming at his house some 3 miles away. My forward progress is slowing in the strengthening wind and traveling the other direction is not an option as the wind is head on.

By the time I reach the Pali, I have a new companion, Bulldog Tom, on the radio. He sees me and offers a ride and dinner, but I am committed elsewhere, thanks though.

I have one more low moment at Five Poles in the lee of Olomana, I am losing a lot of altitude fast and consider going back towards the Pali momentarily, a bad option. So I do the hard thing and dive right up against the hillside hoping the hill forces the turbulence upwards at least. I go up and creep out of trouble as quick as the wind lets me, on half bar.

In fact to make any forward progress I ride half bar for the rest of the flight. In what seems like ages, I end up 1500' over Rabbit Island, flying at least a quarter mile from the ridge the whole way. I spiral down and pass over the LZ at Makapuu, into that ratty and turbulent air I had there in the morning. I notice the Heiau side escapes the worst of it and I go land.

It was a long flight, 3+ hours, no GPS so no Leonardo log, though I would like to look at it, I am late for dinner on Thanksgiving afternoon, when everyone has somewhere to be. Czech Peter graciously delays his dinner to drive from Kahana to pick me up, and Alex drives my van from Kahana to Kaneohe. Thanks, I guess I will do the picking up in the future.

I still made dinner at my Captain's house, and stopped by Don's for a drink after. I even watched Fearless Planet with Will Gadd flying PG at Kahana.

I think I am only the second PG to make the trip, Marty DeVietti was first with his wife on a tandem, but I had to work harder even with the Targa 3 to get there. Still Marty's flight is a great accomplishment.

I know there was a lot of good flying going down, I know Doug had a nice look at his over the back route to Wahiawa and I thought he was going to catch me up instead. CZ Peter went to Kualoa, and Chandler AZ went to Pounders, and everyone else was somewhere in between.

Thanks everybody, good fun.

Giving Thanks

Fifteen pilots flew Kahana on Thanksgiving Day, including three visitors. Seven pilots managed to do some cross country flying in various directions, with one flight in particular standing out as a local site record. Read on for details.

After three straight days trying and failing to make these northerly breezes do my bidding, I finally harnessed them to fly for six hours yesterday. I actually flew six times, if you count the five toplandings (and one bomb-out on a failed bay crossing attempt). I made a round trip to Kualoa early in the day by myself, and later I followed Dave to Kaaawa a second time, along with three other guys, but he ditched us and headed back through Kaaawa Valley to hopscotch from Ohulehule to the back range. A couple of very low saves later, he was on his way and flying to Makapuu for a local record. Doug caught a thermal to three grand over Puu Piei, jumped to Sacred Falls, and started to head into Boogaland to meet Dave on the other side, but the air back there wasn't to his liking, so he headed out of there and back to Kahana soon after.

Chandler flew to Pounders just before the five of us jumped the bay the other way. The wind was very finicky all day, coming in and out in waves to alternately buoy us up and let us down. But it always came back, and was still pumping at the end of the day when Laurent made the final bay crossing into the sunset, never to return - I assume he caught the bus from somewhere over there.

Peter had a great day flying to Kualoa for the first time, after I'd been talking about it to him all week. Visiting pilot Wataru enjoyed a great first Hawaii flight. And of course many other pilots flew too: Ken, Frank, Jetflap, Ray, Berndt, Scot, Russell, to name a few - at one point there were around ten in the air over the north face of the Kahana ridge.

Scrappy hit a light cycle over Kaaawa and had to declare an emergency landing at Kaaawa School, but he was a good sport and kindly provided refreshments for the final crew at the end of the day's flying. Thanks, Scrappy! And thanks to everyone else who came out to enjoy some holiday airtime and camaraderie. I am leaving tonight for a two week business trip on the east coast, so I am especially thankful to have finally got myself seriously airborne before I go. See you all in December!

Veterans Day at Makapuu

Seventeen pilots flew at Makapuu today! I met Doug for breakfast, and prevailed upon him to try the east side, even though the west side was looking epic by all accounts. Thanks for humoring me, Doug! I hope we didn't let the big one get away.

Most of us launched from Cactus, and it was light and scratchy flying all morning. Later in the day the sea breeze kicked in for some super smooth northerly flow. Doug managed two different XC flights: over the back to Koko and then on to Hawaii Kai; and after hitch-hiking back and relaunching, another one around the corner to Puu O Kona and over the back to Niu Valley.

Later on, I finally mustered some nerve (and altitude) and led visitors Peter and Laurent to an over the back landing at Sandy's, returning to launch from Manics for the evening session. Suicide Pete impressed us all with another narrow escape from the jaws of disaster. An exciting day, and a full day of flying for many of us. After six hours in the air I know my flying batteries are completely recharged!

Mayday! . . . Mayday! . . . I am go’n down!

“Perhaps you should take up Golf.”

I have a satellite clinic at the Queen’s Hospital. I treat simple, “one time only,” cases there. I send the more complicated cases (multiple visit, rehab patients) to one of my full-service rehab clinics. I am, basically, “on call” when I’m at Queen’s. So, I take my laptop and try to get as much work done, between patients, as possible. (Translation: I screw around on the internet and play Free Cell.) My screen saver is a picture of a red & yellow paraglider flying over the Rhino Horn at Kahana Bay. (Psssssst: it’s me, flying my Vulcan – Alex took the picture.)

The other day, a patient looked at the picture and was appalled by my choice of sporting activity. He recommended that, since I am a doctor (and most doctors golf), I should take up golf . . . it’s “safer.” I laughed and informed him that I treat many more golf-related injuries than paragliding-related injuries. He and his “Golfer’s Elbow” left my office with a nice co-payment and a forearm strap. (“Golfer’s Elbow” = Medial Epicondylitis . . . Google it.)

I thought about this for a minute. It might not be a bad idea. After all, we are all “one bad landing” away from catastrophe. So, perhaps, we should all take up golf . . . just in case. If nothing else, it would give us something to do on non-flyable days.

Sunday, 11 Nov 07. I launched Cactus and flew the entire Makapu’u ridge. It was a beautiful, strong E-NE day. I flew over towards the lighthouse and, since I had a lot of altitude, I flew around the point and soared the eastern ridge. I’d never soared that ridge before, though I’d tried several times, so it was quite a memorable flight.

Monday, 12 Nov 07. As I was setting up on Cactus, with a gaggle of gliders in the air, I thought to myself, “This is one of those amazing Makapu’u days where everyone gets to fly – P2s & P5s alike.” I also thought, “This is the kind of day that ALWAYS has some sort of 'incident'.”

I pulled up my wing and found myself dragged onto my rear-end, staring up at my wing. I kited it to a flyable configuration and prepare to stand up and run off of the cliff. Reaper, however, suggested that I lock my right carabiner, -- which was unlocked -- so as to prevent my riser from jumping out of my harness – “incident” occurred. Thus, I ran off of the cliff and flew for about an hour.

I was at 1400 ft with the windsock pointing E/NE. So, I headed towards the lighthouse. I got there, very high. So, I went around the point; so that I could soar the eastern ridge. I got a few beeps from my FlyTec . . . enough to convince me that it was a GREAT IDEA! Then, as I flew down the ridge, I noticed that I was NOT gaining altitude. In fact, I was losing altitude. I got back to the point – eye-level with the tourists at the Lighthouse Lookout. I got around the point with a LOT less altitude. I knew I was NOT going to make the beach.

I got on my radio and let all of my fellow pilots know that I was planning on landing in the murderous surf of the Makapu’u Bay. (See: title of this article.) Several pilots responded . . . offering words of advice & encouragement: “Fly out 50 meters and land in the water!” -- “Turn off all of your electronics!” -- “Put your head between your legs and kiss your ass ‘Good-bye!’”

There are SEVERAL peninsular out-croppings along the ridge; each of which has the phrase “USA 39 cents” in the corner. (That is a “postage stamp” reference – I only say that because some of the pilots on the LZ didn’t understand the joke.) I picked out one of these rocky, ugly, “this is NOT a good idea,” sections of lava. I started my final approach. I slowed the wing to stall speed – HANDS UP!; Stall speed – HANDS UP!; Stall Speed – HANDS UP! I thumped my rear-end against a boulder at a very high speed (Damn! That is uncomfortable!) and plunged my feet into the gravel. I kited my wing down and signaled to the lifeguards that I was “fine.” Then, I balled up my wing and stuffed it into my backpack.

Sure . . . I was “fine”: Except . . . I couldn’t possibly get off of this precipice without swimming, with 40 lbs. of gear, through the surf of the incoming tide; or climbing an impossible, inverted, cliff without ropes. The funny thing was: There was a golf ball sitting on this peninsula; minding its own business, right next to my left foot. (No . . . I have NO IDEA where it came from!)

So . . . I set my gear down and started to scout out a path out of this hell-hole. As I climbed, I encountered not one, but THREE more golf balls . . . just sitting there, minding their own businesses. (No . . . I have NO IDEA where they came from!) Luckily . . . “Bob-of-the-Year,” who was flying above me, was willing to top-land at Cactus; stow his gear; grab a rope & fins; and come rescue me. Doug, who had just arrived, was, also, ready to hike down and rescue me. As it turned-out . . . Doug arrived first.

He looked at my predicament: The small space on which I’d landed; the pounding surf all around; the lack of blood & gore on or about my person; and he said, “Ho! Bra! You must be, da kine one highly-skilled Advanced Pilot!” To which I replied, “Nah! Bra! Jus one Lucky-Ass-Mo-Fo Kine Advanced Pilot!” Doug had a plan of escape. It was a good one. We scrabbled up the rock, passed the gear between us, and made our way up the face of the cliff. (Of course, this left Bob . . . half-way to my location . . . without anyone to rescue. So, he turned back. Sorry Bob! Thanks for your effort!! You are the Bob-of-the-Year!!! . . . love ya!)

As I climbed the cliff, I came into contact with . . . not ONE, but TWO more golf balls!! (No . . . I have NO IDEA where they came from.) We made it back to Lazy Man without incident.

Happy Ending!

Except . . . you have to “Get Back on the Horse” . . . right? And . . . Manic’s was working. So, while Bob-of-the-Year hiked back up to Cactus to retrieve his gear, I set up to launch Manic’s. My wing was a MESS. I spent 10 minutes trying to untangle the lines. Doug couldn’t even watch -- my lines were that tangled. He cried out, “I call Bull Sh*t!” Then, he turned & went to catch up with his lovely bride. However . . . as I was getting set up . . . I noticed a hat lying on the ground at Manic’s: A khaki colored baseball cap. I thought it was an OZONE cap, dropped by a fellow paraglider pilot. However, embroidered upon this seemingly innocuous head covering, was the word, “Titlist.” Yes . . . "Titlist," the golf ball company! (No . . . I have NO IDEA where it came from!)

AHHHHHH!!!!!

Reaper helped me get untangled and airborne . . . I had a GREAT 2nd flight & and perfect landing.

------------------------

This is the point where I would NORMALLY end with an intellectually deep & emotionally profound “Moral to the Story.” Unfortunately, I don’t have one. So . . . I suppose, this is the message: We are all “one bad landing” away from catastrophe. So, perhaps, we should all take up golf . . . just in case. If nothing else, it would give us something to do on non-flyable days.

Aloha,
Suicide

Party and Meeting Report

Thanks to everyone who made it out - all forty of you! By my count this was one of our biggest turnouts ever, with at least 25 local pilots, 2 visiting pilots, and 13 spouses, family members and friends. Not to mention a gaggle of dogs and cats! Thanks again to Rich for arranging such a nice venue for us. And thanks again to Dorothy for shopping and cooking. A quick recap of our meeting agenda follows.

Peter's heartfelt nomination of our club has resulted in the selection of our association as the 2007 USHPA Chapter of the Year. Also, Bob was selected to receive a Pilot Commendation award. We have a great bunch of pilots here and I am very proud to see our group receive this kind of recognition. Look for news of both awards in the upcoming USHPA magazine.

We introduced our most recent new pilots (Doug and Nicky) and welcomed two visiting pilots who are wintering here (Peter the Czech, and Summer the Oregonian).

We reported on recent site improvements. Thanks to Dave for the carpet at Juice. Dave and Bob will also be working on erosion control at Crazys. Thanks to Dale and the HHA for the new Makapuu LZ Windsock, and to Phil for all his work on the beautiful plaque for Johan we installed at Cactus. The ongoing Makai Pier wind sensor project is awaiting the return of Submarine Steve and a renewed troubleshooting effort by Jeff McDaddy as time permits. We discussed further expenditures for this project but we decided to wait until we have more details on costs before going further.

Since this is our last meeting of the year, we recounted some memorable milestones from this past year: January's Big Island Trip, February's repack clinic (a great idea considering we saw three emergency reserve deployments this year), our best ever west side thermal clinic in March, the tragic loss of our friend and top pilot Jimmy Hall in May, our biggest ever pilgrimage to the Oregon competitions in June, and the fun Kahana Air Raid fly-in in September.

We discussed our recent problems at Kualoa Regional Park. Park personnel (including the park manager) have made it clear that we are no longer welcome to practice our ground handling there, even in the huge empty expanses of fields that lie downwind of their power lines. The park has recently cracked down on kite flying at the park because of kites getting caught in power lines, and we have been mistakenly identified by park personnel as kite flyers. In discussions with the park manager, we have explained that we are actually regulated under city policies as hang gliders. But we know that those policies require our association to have a permit for any park in which our members want to engage in "hang gliding activities". So they have asked us to seek a permit to include Kualoa Regional Park, and they have also threatened to call the police if we continue to practice ground handling there without a permit.

After a long debate on the subject, we agreed to investigate restarting the process of seeking a permit for our activities in various city parks - a process that was begun in 2003 but languished in the city's office of corporate counsel, and was apparently forgotten when the new city administration took over. Thanks for your patience with what may well be a lengthy process in our quest for legal status with the city. In the meantime, if you are willing to take your chances with enforcement at Kualoa, I encourage you to please be respectful and courteous in all your dealings with city personnel. It will only help our situation.

We held our annual election of directors. About a dozen pilots were nominated, but the status quo won the day: the directors from 2007 were all re-elected! Thanks to my fellow directors for all their hard work this year, and welcome back for another year of challenging and rewarding effort.

Waivers were signed and dues collected from members for 2008. If you haven't already, please take a moment to download, sign and hand/send in your waiver before the year begins. Thanks!