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We were relaxing over a few cold beers and I was bragging
to the champion paragliding pilot about the unique STOL ability of my
Slepcev Storch.
Godfrey owns Mt Borah, a 1500ft mountain near the
town of Manilla, not far from Tamworth, NSW, where he operates the
paragliding school, Parafunalia.
The Mountain, as the property is
known, is one of the best paragliding and hang-gliding sites in the world.
The world record distance of 335km was recently flown from the site by
Godfrey himself a paraglider. |
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Whenever possible I stash my paraglider in the back
seat of the Storch and take a two hour flight to the Mountain for some
blissful, unpowered, thermaling.
There was no backing out now. On
my return, I contacted my partner, Nestor Slepcev and put the idea to him.
To my surprise he said "Yeah! Go ahead and organise
it."
It was no problem for Nestor, as he had alreday landed the
Storch in a tiny paddock on top of the 12,000ft high Grand Sasso Mt in
Italy. For me it was to be a learning experience.
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The 16th January was a sunny Staurday and two shiny
new Storchs circled steadily up from the factory and turned their noses
westbound for Mt Borah.
With us were a still photgrapher and a
video cameraman who had begged to be taken along. After a bumpless flight
at 8000ft, we arrived at the mountain at midday to find the sky filled
with dozens of brightly colored paragliders.
We touched down in the
same landing ground used by the gliders, an alfalfa paddock right in front
of the Clubhouse.
After several demo flights for friends and
potential customers, coffee and cakes were supplied by Godfrey's mum,
Margaret, which refreshed us for the 20 minute four-wheel drive to the top
of Mt Borah for an evaluation of the strip.
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Moving rocks and logs out of the way, we paced out
the distance. The approach involved coming in over a hillock, skirting a
tree on finals ad landing slightly downhill to roll out uphill with the
brakes firmly applied.
It was a matter of making sure we nailed the
threshold, otherwise the overrun would be just enough to carry us over the
edge of the cliff at the end of the strip.
As the strip ran
parallel to the cliff edge, the real danger was being hit by turbulent
waves which periodically surged through the approach and touch down
area.
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A ground loop would mean either tumbling over the
cliff edge on the right, or a meeting with the trees on the left. The
westerly wind, which was our friend for takeoff, was our enemy on the
landing.
All plans laid, we retired to the cool embrace of the
Imperial Hotel in Manilla, and liquified our apprehensions for the
morrow.
Sunday dawned, bright and clear, with the new sun already
stinging our skin at 8am. Another hot one. We rode the Mountain Bus to the
clubhouse, accompanied by paraglider pilots of all nationalities who came
for the world class conditions experienced at Manilla every
summer.
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A last minute briefing and the Storchs were prepped
with just enough fuel for the day and ferried to the mountain top in time
to meet the channel seven TV crew which had been organised by
Godfrey.
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Both landings went smoothly, despite the altitude and
temp in the high thirties, without the intervention from the turbulance.
The new hydraulic disc brakes fitted to the Storch proved their
worth.
Shortly after touchdown, several four-wheel drives full of
amazed paraglider pilots arrived at the mountain top.
"How did
you get the aircraft up here?", they asked.
"Did you
dismantle them and truck them up?"
We did our best to look
nonchalent.
After clearing all the vehicles out of the way, Godfrey
notified all paraglider pilots in the air by UHF radio.
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The cameras rolled and Nestor stood on the brakes and
applied full power to the 912s motor. Some of the PG pilots who were a
little slow in evacuating the launch ramp got quickly out of the way when
they heard the angry snarl of the engine and saw the Storch framed in a
red dust cloud bearing down on them, with the propeller glistening and a
mad Yugoslavian at the helm.
Tail up and bumping over the rough
surface, the Storch hit the ramp on the cliff edge and leapt into the air
as soon as the wings hit the 10kt westerly flowing over the precipice.
With sighs of relief, we watched Nestor cut the power and DIVED nearly
vertically over the edge to add a little visual drama. The exclamations of
excitement from the paragliders in six different languages was a
joy.
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"Gott in
Himmel!"
"Formidable!"
"Mamma
Mia!"
"Sacre Bleu!"
"ot for
Domma!"
"F___king Hell!" etc, etc...
After some
low passes for the TV crew, Nestor brought the Storch around for another
landing. Some newly arrived PG pilots stod in the middle of the clearing
watching, not realising it intended to land - they soon got out of the
way!
These guys were just not used to aircraft on their mountain.
It was on this approach that the bogey-man raised his head. Twenty feet
from the ground a hot thermal "bullet" rolled over the cliff
edge, grapped the Storch's starboard wing and gave it three violent shakes
before letting go. With rudder and ailerons flapping wildly, Nestor popped
out straight and level and continued to a smooth touchdown. Almost enough
excitement for one day.
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We strapped a 8mm Sony with fish eye lens onto the
portside strut and strapped a TV cameraman in the back seat while Netsor
performed another cliff-launch. I will never forget the look on that guy's
face as the Storch rumbled toward the mountain edge.
After
depositing the white-faced cameraman down at the clubhouse (and conning
himself some more of Margaret's apple cake) Nestor flew once again to the
summit in order to try a tandem flight with Godfrey.
Strapped to
the enormous 42 square meter tandem paraglider, Godfrey and passenger
swooped away into the central blue accompanied by shouts of, "Go
Nestor! Run Nestor!"
After soaring for about an hour, they
landed ouside the clubhouse, 5kms away. Nestor was so taken by soaring
flight that as soon as he arrived at the tp again he took off in the
Storch and was seen ridge-soaring up and down the mountain withthe power
pulled back to idle and flaps down.
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Later Godfrey and Nestor went looking for thermals in
the Storch and were soon locked into a 700ft per minute monster that they
rode up over two thousand feet with no engine power.
The Storch's
ability to fly tight, slow turns, its 16 square meters of wing and
Godfrey's 3000 hours of thermalling experience was an awesome
combination.
Now it was my turn. I took deep steady breaths as I
started up and waited for a little oil temp to show. Upon hearing the
engine, the PG pilots started to evacuate the ramp just 20 meters ahead -
they were starting the get the idea.
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Reassuringly, some seemed to be taking refuge behind
a small tree just to the right! The waiting was making me sweaty so I
gunned it and let off the brakes.
Herr Storch seemed to be in no
hurry as he ambled toward the precipice at a frightening dawdle. At 10
meters the tail sprang up and I felt the airflow that I so longed
for.
At 5 meters, I hit a bump on the ramp and my trusty Storch was
winging away from the mountain in a healthy climb.
Now came the
erriest feeling. I have flown my paraglider for many hours at Mt Borah and
become familiar with the landscape, yet to suddenly be seeing the same
view from the cockpit of a totally different flying machine gave me two
pieces of a puzzle that my mind just could not put together. A strange
sensation.
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After a low pass to say farewell to the montain we
flew our noisy machines away to leave the purists to their graceful silent
sport. They had tolerated us well.
Nestor, still imaging he was a
glider pilot, switched off his motor and glided the 5 km back to the
clubhouse in sealth mode, arriving with 300ft to spare and taking
everybody by surprise.
Now that is has been achieved, I am quite
sure that there is no other fixed wing aircraft that could successfully
land in the space available on top of that mountain. Even the best
Thruster or Drifter pilot cannot approach a threshold at under 30 knots
and to do so any faster would just be a painful lesson in
mathematics.
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Just as exciting was that we had taught the old dog
new tricks - or rather - the Storch had revealed an aptitude and
enthusiasm for soaring ridge and thermal lift.
Such discoveries are
made by pooling the experience of pilots under unusual conditions. The
stuff flying adventures are made of.
That night while we got
quietly drunk, in a satisfied glad-to-be-alive sort of way, the others
headed to Tamworth to savor the country music festival.
I should
have gone. The sight of Nestor boot-scooting to a country band would have
been too good to miss.
But that's another story.
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