[wingspan33]

Rick,

I've had one good friend die in a hang gliding accident. That was back in the late '70s. I've been acquainted with one or two others that have had fatal accidents.

It's very tough to hear that a friend has died in a flying accident. So when a collapsible canopy pilot dies it's not hard to imagine how their friends and family feel.

For a long time I have stated honestly that it's not the people who hang from soaring parachutes that I dislike - it's the collapsible canopy and its ill suited design that I disagree with.

I have since expanded my disfavor to those people who market and sell PGs - knowing that at least one canopy they sell will seriously hurt or kill that customer. Because it crumpled up in mid air, became non-aerodynamic, and dropped that person to the ground - hard!

It's hard to cry for people who you've never met, but only hear about in a news story or some other accident report (after report, after report, after report, . . . .etc.).

The seemingly obvious absurdity of people flying PGs in turbulent (thermal) conditions eventually begins to come off as comical. It's almost as if people who attach themselves to soaring parachutes see themselves, not as real people, but, as cartoon characters. You know, . . the ones who bounce back to their feet after falling too far to the ground, Wyle E. Coyote style.

Perhaps that's the problem. Too much fantasy mixed with too little reality in their minds. They think their canopy will pop open in the nick of time OR they'll just bounce back joyfully to their feet (yippee!).






PS - I suppose that it's a kind of good thing, . . . I probably have many more hang gliding friends (mainly from back in the mid to late 1970s) that have died of old age or from other causes. For the most part they have had good, long, and full lives.

[Rick Masters]

On a lighter note, I just now came across this tidbit in the Feb 17, 1995, Paris News (Texas):

TODAY'S SPORTS: On this day in 1986, hangglider Robert R. Harris took his engineless plane to 49,009 feet, a world record altitude.

[Rick Masters]

And then there was this, from a British soaring parachutist ex-hang glider pilot who may wish not to be named:

I can't remember when I first heard about Owens Valley. It has always been synonymous with hang gliding. I have not bothered to work out the statistics but it looks like 95 percent of hang gliding world records have been set there. I have read many articles about Owens Valley in "Skywings," the British hang gliding/paragliding magazine.
Its reputation is two-fold. On the positive side, the potential for increasing your personal flying skills and the potential for massive thermal cross country flights are legendary. On the down side, the turbulent air, particularly found in June and July (also the world record breaking season), has been responsible for flipping hang gliders and many a reserve ride. I am told that even commercial passenger jets avoid the area at this time of year.
After having moved over from hang gliding to paragliding, I have always felt paragliders to be a stronger and more stable aircraft. It was with this theory in mind, and against a lot of advice, that I arrived in Owens Valley with my paraglider on July 7, 1990 intending to break the world record for distance.
I arrived at [Walt's Point] at 9 a.m. on Sunday morning. There must have been approximately 50 hang gliders rigged and ready to go in the car park, and more being unloaded. The first couple of guys I spoke to formed the opinion that I was mad. They said, "You can't possibly fly a paraglider from here." They took pains to explain to me that this was no ordinary site and that I couldn't possibly understand what I was taking on. It was decided that I should see the Site Monitor and he would decide whether or not I should be allowed to fly.
The Site Monitor was wearing a hat with "Site Monitor" stamped across it and carrying a clipboard. He was much more positive. He didn't want to stop me from flying; he just wanted to be sure that I was qualified. I showed him my log book and my American Paragliding Association membership card. He said I could fly if I wanted to, but only if I was sure that I could handle the conditions. I spent the next half hour talking to three or four pilots trying to glean as much information as I could about the site, the conditions and probable flight plans. Everybody was very friendly and helpful. For two hours I watched the hang gliders take off. They flew straight out for about 200 meters into a gully and started to thermal up, winding round and round in tight circles. One of two launched at the wrong time, missing the cycle, and went down. When they had nearly all gone and there was enough room, I laid out my canopy, got harnessed up and ready to go.
Two of the pilots wing-tipped the canopy out for me. They did not have to be told what to do. I thought being hang glider pilots, they instinctively knew what had to be done. I later found out that more than one of them had done a little paragliding, but mostly from top to bottom from foothill in smooth air at winter time. I had two abortive takeoffs; the canopy was not inflating properly. The wind seemed to be coming from behind even though the handfuls of dust thrown over the edge showed that there was quite a strong breeze coming directly onto the ridge. The canopy was obviously in a rota. So I walked over the edge four or five paces down a steep, loose slope. The sand was soft and the rocks moved beneath my feet. This type of launch gave me practically no chance for aborting the takeoff if anything went wrong. I would probably slide 50 feet or so down the slope, before snagging on a tree stump or some scrub brush, but at least it meant the canopy would be launching into clean air. I snapped the canopy above my head, it cracked open - it was all there nice and square. I applied the brakes to stop it from overtaking me. Two more paces and it swooped away toward the spine that ran at 90 feet from the takeoff slope. The spine was sparsely populated with pine trees. It was producing 2/3 up. I banked my Free Spirit over into a nice tight spiral and wound up.
Two or three minutes later I found myself approximately 1000 feet above takeoff. I was looking straight down at one or two hang gliders that had yet to launch. I was feeling rather pleased with myself, so far so good! It was at this point I made a bad decision. I figured I could fly around the corner and head north, soaring the anabatic coming off the mountain ridge. With a nice stiff 15 mile per hour breeze behind me, it shouldn't be long before I made Bishop; my primary objective 60 miles away.
I round the corner and start a downward dash along the ridge at approximately 500 feet above the rocks. I am descending at 300 to 400 feet per minute; the standard sink rate at full drive, with no lift at all down to 200 feet. Still no lift; at 100 feet I am getting worried, 50 feet nothing. Four thousand feet of bare rock baking in the sun and no lift. It was not like this was the Alps! The rock faces there work like convection heaters. I had expected to be cruising at 200 to 300 feet and to have time to turn out away into the valley to gain some ground clearance. I fly out 50 feet or so and get a couple hundred feet of nothing below me. In front of me there is a spur that runs out from the ridge towards the road. The road runs down the middle of the valley towards Bishop. It looks like I will just clear it. The ridge slips away towards my right. I can easily make it by flying out away from the ridge but I don't want to do that. I am still trying to stay close, hoping to pick something up. As I near the spur the vario beeps. I gain height, alternating between one up and zero as I go over the top. Then I can see the ridge is almost perfectly razor-back. As I hit the sink the vario squeaks at me. Damn! It was just a patch of dynamic and now I am paying the price. I should hit some nice turbulence by the time I get into the middle of this gully, I think to myself morbidly.
Sure enough, five seconds later all hell breaks loose. The canopy collapses and I start to drop. Looking up I can see the proverbial "bundle of wash." This is a big sink - not the kind of sink I am used to. The kind of sink I can put up with goes something like this: canopy shuts, canopy drops, canopy bangs open again. It takes about three seconds. But the sink I am in now is: canopy shuts, canopy drops, drops, drops, drops, drops - all lines are loose, there is no rush, the air is going down with me, no signs of re-deployment. I am looking at the reserve handle. It crosses my mind that there is a chance in this kind of air it might not open. Anyway, it is a square and I haven't really got the height to cut away. The canopy bangs open. Thank God for that! The canopy shuts, canopy drops, drops, (I don't believe this) drops, cracks open again. I hit the brakes to stop it surging forward and tucking. The digital altimeter is telling me I am approximately 6000 feet above sea level. It looks like I have dropped a thousand feet in this little escapade, over the last 20 seconds. The canopy has now been open for a full two seconds. Then the canopy shuts, drops. This is my first time in the States and over the next three weeks I am due to visit Las Vegas, Disneyland and Hawaii. I wish I had done that first - what a waste of money if I get killed now! Drops, drops, bang I look up and it's all there; we are flying again. I make sure I am heading out into the middle of the valley.
The air is very rough. The Free Spirit keeps trying to tuck every ten seconds or so. I manage to anticipate the tuck and damp it down with the brakes. It is not as bad now, the big sink's gone and no more shutdowns. I'M DOWN TO 200 FEET, I hope it doesn't shut now. I'm down to 100 feet and the canopy is still bucking. I know: turn into the wind. I am looking down the valley, back toward launch point, drifting backwards slowly. It must be pretty windy. No wonder I was getting so much crap from that spine. Fifty feet and I am still fighting the canopy and have no penetration. If anything happens right now I might get away with broken legs. Touch down. I collapse the canopy and manage to run around it.
I was a bit worried about being dragged through some thorny, waist high scrub. The canopy was all snagged up. It took me half an hour to disentangle the lines before I could pack it away. I was relieved to be down in one piece. I had about a mile to walk out to the road. I was a bit worried about the rattlesnakes I might run into (we don't get them in England) and thought, "When I do get to the road I am going straight to Las Vegas to continue my vacation and I am never, ever going to fly here again."

[wingspan33]

And to think that more or less [in]experienced collapsible canopy occupants are (still) showing up in the Owens Valley.

I have a hang gliding friend, J.J. Le Marsh (not sure I've got the spelling right) who visited the Owens Valley with his new WW Ram Air - back in the early 90s. He hit rough air and tumbled, but recovered from it. That story, along with others, caused me to not be too anxious about visiting the Owens Valley - even in wing with a frame!

So, why is it that soaring parachutists DO want to go there? Perhaps it really is their cartoon character like self image. Heck, the terrain is pretty close to that in the Road Runner Cartoons. They're probably looking to emulate their hero Wyle E. Coyote. As in, . . . fall to the valley floor, create a mushroom dust cloud on impact, then come back to life and chase the road runner, again, right after the commercial break!

Dang! I think I've stumbled on a new psychological illness classification, C.C.M. (Cartoon Character Mentality). Those guys who film the JackAss movies and similar Youtube videos have the SAME problem!

Hmmmmmmm, . . . could "Support" Groups be formed?





.

[AirNut]

Rick,

I've had one good friend die in a hang gliding accident. That was back in the late '70s. I've been acquainted with one or two others that have had fatal accidents.

It's very tough to hear that a friend has died in a flying accident. So when a collapsible canopy pilot dies it's not hard to imagine how their friends and family feel.

For a long time I have stated honestly that it's not the people who hang from soaring parachutes that I dislike - it's the collapsible canopy and its ill suited design that I disagree with.

I have since expanded my disfavor to those people who market and sell PGs - knowing that at least one canopy they sell will seriously hurt or kill that customer. Because it crumpled up in mid air, became non-aerodynamic, and dropped that person to the ground - hard!

It's hard to cry for people who you've never met, but only hear about in a news story or some other accident report (after report, after report, after report, . . . .etc.).

The seemingly obvious absurdity of people flying PGs in turbulent (thermal) conditions eventually begins to come off as comical. It's almost as if people who attach themselves to soaring parachutes see themselves, not as real people, but, as cartoon characters. You know, . . the ones who bounce back to their feet after falling too far to the ground, Wyle E. Coyote style.

Perhaps that's the problem. Too much fantasy mixed with too little reality in their minds. They think their canopy will pop open in the nick of time OR they'll just bounce back joyfully to their feet (yippee!).






PS - I suppose that it's a kind of good thing, . . . I probably have many more hang gliding friends (mainly from back in the mid to late 1970s) that have died of old age or from other causes. For the most part they have had good, long, and full lives.

I've got no problem with people killing themselves pursuing a seemingly pointless endeavor. High-altitude mountaineering is a good example of this, particularly on the 8,000 meter peaks, e.g. Everest, K2, Lhotse etc. On these mountains, climbers have to spend a lot of time in the so-called 'death-zone', where pulmonary edema or cerebral edema can kill with little warning or respect for experience or ability. There doesn't appear to be any pattern in whom, nor when, it will strike. And there are many other random ways to get killed. For example, one of the most dangerous areas on Everest is on the lower approaches in an area known as the Khumbu Ice Fall, where towering ice-cliffs called seracs can collapse on you without warning and, again, with no way of predicting when it will happen (there was a case recently of 13 Sherpas getting buried in this way).

The similarity of high-altitude mountaineering with paragliding (at least paragliding in thermic conditions) IMO is the randomness of the threat. Out of the blue, with little or no warning, something can kill you. And the longer you keep doing it, the more likely it is that this will happen. This randomness is something that is almost entirely absent in hang gliding (unless you count getting tumbled in big air).

But high-altitude mountaineering differs from PG in that most mountaineers (usually) understand the risks and accept them willingly, random or not. I've got no problem with that - that's every individual's choice, no matter how foolish it may seem to others. But in PG, many of its practitioners (particularly newbies) are ignorant of the risks. That's the sad, even infuriating, part. And the fact that some of this ignorance appears to be deliberate borders on the criminal.

[wingspan33]

On a lighter note, I just now came across this tidbit in the Feb 17, 1995, Paris News (Texas):

TODAY'S SPORTS: On this day in 1986, hangglider Robert R. Harris took his engineless plane to 49,009 feet, a world record altitude.

Rick,

I'm presuming that Mr. Harris may have been a hang glider pilot but that (on that day) he was flying a sail plane. It gets very cold at ~50K feet. An oxygen source and maintaining warmth are much more possible in an enclosed cockpit.

[Rick Masters]

I've found that journalists are very competent at recognizing dead bodies laying on the ground. The farther they get away from that, the less reliable the information is.
-------------
Bob Harris is in trouble. He's about to have his pilot's license revoked.

For although Harris' flight was certified by the national and international associations that govern soaring, he made it without obtaining permission from the FAA's air traffic controllers, who by federal law must maintain "positive control" over any pilot who flies higher than 18,000 feet, where jetliners roam.

Harris does not deny that he broke the rules. But he contends that many high-altitude glider pilots do the same. He believes that he has been unfairly singled out simply because he went public with his high-altitude flight to claim the record.

"It's turned out to be the worst year," he says. "I'm very bitter about it."

The FAA's proposed revocation of Harris' license, which is still pending, has made life awkward for the Soaring Society of America. While the 16,000-member organization certified Harris' record, it also prides itself on working closely with the FAA on safety issues.

The soaring society's magazine has virtually ignored Harris' flight, merely listing it at the end of a small-print table of new records and soaring badges without comment. By contrast, Outside, a national magazine devoted to outdoorsmen, recently lauded Harris' accomplishment as one of the top 10 feats of 1986.

The question of whether Harris should be praised for his persistence and daring or condemned for potentially hurting other glider pilots' access to controlled air space has divided rank-and-file pilots, most of whom engage in cross-country flying rather than risking high altitudes.

Clearly, Harris' flight was a testament to the romantic spirit that makes men and women want to soar without the constraints of engines or other people or, most importantly, other people's rules.

http://articles.latimes.com/1987-01-11/ ... ider-pilot

[wingspan33]

Great post AirNut.

I would add that Mountaineering, like hang gliding, probably isn't that easy to learn. It takes a required amount of physical ability, training, and skill before you head off to the BIG mountain(s). That tends to filter out the ignorant participant.

And I agree totally with your analysis regarding, what amounts to, the PGing Industry's predation on the naive buyer/participant. Borderline Criminal(s) = Borderline Organized Crime.

. . . Perhaps that's the problem. Too much fantasy mixed with too little reality in their minds. They think their canopy will pop open in the nick of time OR they'll just bounce back joyfully to their feet (yippee!). . .

I've got no problem with people killing themselves pursuing a seemingly pointless endeavor. High-altitude mountaineering is a good example of this, particularly on the 8,000 meter peaks, e.g. Everest, K2, Lhotse etc. On these mountains, climbers have to spend a lot of time in the so-called 'death-zone', where pulmonary edema or cerebral edema can kill with little warning or respect for experience or ability. There doesn't appear to be any pattern in whom, nor when, it will strike. And there are many other random ways to get killed. For example, one of the most dangerous areas on Everest is on the lower approaches in an area known as the Khumbu Ice Fall, where towering ice-cliffs called seracs can collapse on you without warning and, again, with no way of predicting when it will happen (there was a case recently of 13 Sherpas getting buried in this way).

The similarity of high-altitude mountaineering with paragliding (at least paragliding in thermic conditions) IMO is the randomness of the threat. Out of the blue, with little or no warning, something can kill you. And the longer you keep doing it, the more likely it is that this will happen. This randomness is something that is almost entirely absent in hang gliding (unless you count getting tumbled in big air).

But high-altitude mountaineering differs from PG in that most mountaineers (usually) understand the risks and accept them willingly, random or not. I've got no problem with that - that's every individual's choice, no matter how foolish it may seem to others. But in PG, many of its practitioners (particularly newbies) are ignorant of the risks. That's the sad, even infuriating, part. And the fact that some of this ignorance appears to be deliberate borders on the criminal.

[Bob Kuczewski]

Sure enough, five seconds later all hell breaks loose. The canopy collapses and I start to drop. Looking up I can see the proverbial "bundle of wash." This is a big sink - not the kind of sink I am used to. The kind of sink I can put up with goes something like this: canopy shuts, canopy drops, canopy bangs open again. It takes about three seconds. But the sink I am in now is: canopy shuts, canopy drops, drops, drops, drops, drops - all lines are loose, there is no rush, the air is going down with me, no signs of re-deployment. I am looking at the reserve handle. It crosses my mind that there is a chance in this kind of air it might not open. Anyway, it is a square and I haven't really got the height to cut away. The canopy bangs open. Thank God for that! The canopy shuts, canopy drops, drops, (I don't believe this) drops, cracks open again. I hit the brakes to stop it surging forward and tucking. The digital altimeter is telling me I am approximately 6000 feet above sea level. It looks like I have dropped a thousand feet in this little escapade, over the last 20 seconds. The canopy has now been open for a full two seconds. Then the canopy shuts, drops. This is my first time in the States and over the next three weeks I am due to visit Las Vegas, Disneyland and Hawaii. I wish I had done that first - what a waste of money if I get killed now! Drops, drops, bang I look up and it's all there; we are flying again. I make sure I am heading out into the middle of the valley.

I am also a paragliding pilot, so I'm not opposed to the sport. But this story should be a MUST READ for all paragliding students to make them aware of the limitations of their wing.

Thanks Rick

[AirNut]

One of the great rationalizations of the more rational PG people (particularly the ex_HG pilots), is that the collapse danger can be safely avoided by only flying in smooth laminar air, in which case the non-rigid airfoil is not a problem. I suppose this is true enough, but the big hidden assumption in that rationalization is how do you know where the laminar air is, or, the corollary, how do you know where the dangerous turbulence is? In the case of a PG newbie, this is critical.

And even more experienced pilots are still at risk. I remember one time back in the day at one of our local sites, I (still a novice and wary of turbulence) had decided to take off because we had smooth air blowing straight into the take off. This site was an inland mountain site, 1400' above the landing area, thick forest with takeoff through a slot. The wind was about 15 knots, but felt quite smooth. This about 9 in the morning on an overcast day, so no thermal turbulence expected. There were even a couple of experienced pilots there who also expected the air to be smooth (I asked them). What could possibly go wrong?

So off I went, expecting a smooth ride with maybe a few soaring passes, but instead got a nightmare washing-machine thrashing nearly all the way down to the landing area, 1400 feet in under two minutes. The problem was that the general wind was nearly 50 degrees or more off to the left, but was flowing straight up the slot due to the funneling effect of the mountain's shape. And of course there was a protruding spur off to the left happily generating massive sink and rotor a few hundred feet out in front of takeoff. So after about thirty seconds of nice smooth air, all hell broke loose. I was immediately thrown into an involuntary wing-over. At the same instant I heard and felt a fairly loud bang, so I immediately thought that something had broken. It was the worst turbulence I've ever been in before or since, with weightless wire-slappers and huge jolts. I struggled on down to the landing area, with one eye on the chute handle all the way down.

After landing (and kissing the ground), I checked the glider for the source of the bang and found one of the dive sticks with a 45 degree bend in it. I assume this was made by negative AOA air over the tip when I was thrown into the wing-over and subsequent side-slip.

Of course, the moral of the story is that I (and the others) had convinced ourselves that the air would be smooth but I still ended up getting mightily hammered. Had I been in a paraglider, I'm sure that I would have become one of Rick's statistics (at one point I was only 200 feet above the trees near the protruding spur and still getting thrashed in rotor).

This just illustrates that even flying a PG in laminar air is a risky business that depends hugely on pilot judgment and experience. But these are precisely the things that are lacking in newbie PG pilots who can easily get in over their head (because PGs are so 'easy' to learn). I certainly got in over my head on that day, but one thing certainly saved my bacon...I had an airframe.