Mohawk Trail - Summer in April

The forecast for Friday on Thursday evening was looking great for XC. I rattled the usual cages and went to sleep dreaming of flying home across the state of Massachusetts. Pete J needed to make the go/no-go decision early in the morning so we were both checking the weather at 6 am. The forecast was less stellar but still good. By the time Pete showed up at 9:00, Rodger was calling to ask “what are you seeing that I don’t”? Dang, the updated forecast deteriorated to the point that it might not even be soarable. Pete and I searched for a good excuse to drive 4 hours. Although the computer-model-based BlipMaps indicated it would be barely soarable, the humans at the National Weather Service were forecasting a higher surface temperature. I know from experience that the NWS does a good job for forecasting the day’s high temperatures and if I used their forecasted surface temperature it would be soarable by mid-afternoon. That was enough for Pete and if it was good enough for Pete it was good enough for me!

It was surreal when we arrived at the Mohawk Trail launch. It was hot like mid-summer, but there was snow on the ground and no leaves on the trees above. It seemed a like a dream; what I saw didn’t match what I felt. The sun glared through a totally blue sky roasting us like a late summer day at the beach. We rigged and kept ourselves busy setting out streamers and cleaning up litter while waiting for the sun to heat up the northwest-facing slope under our feet. We soon saw the birds dive out of the trees and start soaring; well a little. The thermal cycles become stronger and more frequent. It was getting soarable when Brooks showed up; what good timing. Brooks told us it was 81F down in the valley, even warmer than the NWS predicted. It was time to fly.

With Pete’s help I launched first. I easily climbed above launch as I watched Pete head for his glider. I had already topped out and was heading back when Pete launched. Pete worked at launch height for awhile before getting up. Brooks took even longer, but never got below launch height. We all had a pleasant afternoon soaring in our summer gear while looking down on frozen lakes and remnants of snow left in the forests. (About half of the snow cover disappear between my flights on Tuesday and Friday). Brooks headed north while I headed across the valley. Pete was skying out as I returned at ridge height. We all spent the late afternoon criss-crossing the valley enjoying the civilized 200-600 fpm climbs to 6000+.

Pete was the first to head to the LZ at The Range, a driving range and mini-golf business that graciously allows us to interrupt their customers. As usual, the wind was switching and he decided to land on his wheels. It seemed like a great idea until he rolled into a muddy area and came to a quick messy stop! I flew over town for awhile and decided it was my time to roll the dice. I was about 1000 feet above the cemetery due west of the LZ when I first saw Brooks at the same altitude to the southwest. It was going to be enough “fun” landing without complicating it with two pilots competing for the same space, so I made a quick last-minute dive back to the ridge hoping to find lift and delay my landing. I found a lot of smooth air flowing up the ridge and decided to go with it. Meanwhile Brooks was chasing the windsock and pulled off a good landing heading directly at the ridge to the west.

I continued climbing in smooth evening wonder-winds until I was about a 1000 feet over the ridge. I yanked on the VG, snuggled into a clean cruising position, and went sight seeing. It was that time of the evening when the air is gentle and giving; I traveled north past the LZ, town, and launch and back without losing any altitude. Although I wanted to keep going south, I knew my friends would be waiting for me in the LZ. I could clearly see all the signs that cool air was sliding down the shadowed side of the mountain next to the LZ so I knew exactly where to find sink. It was bumpy on approach, but not harsh. Like Brooks I landed heading towards the ridge with a good no-stepper in front of all the golfers. Whew.

Brooks and Pete hailed a taxi to fetch vehicles while Grandpa Gary kept me company as I broke down. Its a day I’ll remember for a long time; its very rare to have 80F weather in April with dry ground and light winds. I also added another 2 hours of climbing and gliding to my flying “rehabilitation” program. Plus I somehow managed to get poison ivy all over my arms.