Capt. Ken's comments

By Ken Armstrong

My passenger, Jim Ord, introduced me to world of 100-inch wing span radio control gliders five years ago. Now we have the pleasure of inaugurating each other to the realm of soaring in the Diamond Katana Extreme motorglider with its 55-foot spread. Although I am quite comfortable flying anything that converts fossil fuels into air pollution whether the wings fling or whether they are seized rotor, my limited experience with gliders places me at the novice level.
Since ferrying this sleek siren across Canada strictly as a power plane, I have slowly been building some experience and confidence by climbing to a safe altitude, shutting down the engine, feathering the prop and gliding around in the search of meager lift to reduce my 224 fpm rate of descent - a quest that initially had little success. My domain has generally encompassed an area with a diameter of ten miles from Victoria International and the minimum altitude flown without power has always exceeded 3,000 feet to give me a comfortable margin. Unfortunately, this generally puts me well above the autumn’s convectivity and this results in lots of gliding - but little soaring. That is, until today.
On this flight, we are discovering an area of dependable lift over Findlayson Arm between Victoria and its international airport and it will keep us spellbound for hours. Jim isn’t my first pilot passenger who has been invited for a flight in the motor glider but he will be the novice to join me for our first major success in soaring. None of the previous pilots has had any experience with gliders and they show the same reaction when the engine is shut down; they develop a serious stare fixated on the “stopcocked” propeller and tachometer. After ten seconds or so, they glance at the VSI and electrically feathering propeller and realize, all is well. Then, the smile begins as a slight widening at the mouth’s corners and slowly spreads wider towards the ears. And so it is today.
Climbing through 4,000 feet near the upwind edge of the cloud, we have encountered wave lift or perhaps it’s ridge lift triggered by the moderate wind across the hill features that define the inlet. Perhaps, it’s a combination of both forms of lift with a touch of convectivity for good measure. Regardless, the power has been pulled back to a setting which provides zero rate of climb at our best L/D speed of 57 knots and the VSI is telling us we have 400 fpm climb thanks to mother nature. And she isn’t finished with us.
We find the lift is in a narrow band approximately 100 meters wide running parallel alongside the forming cumulus clouds on their upwind side. This is logical as the cloud forms as the relatively warm moist air is forced upwards, cooling until it reaches the dew point and forming the cloud base and topping out at the upper contours of the cloud. After that, the airflow turns downward and with the effects of compressional heating the downwind side of the cloud line is burned off. These obvious “cloud streets” tend to indicate the location of the otherwise “hidden” lift and serve as a track indicator showing us the upwind edge we must follow for maximum lift. Our rate of climb is now exceeding 600 fpm as we reach the portion of the wave that is most vertical in movement as we climb through 6,500 feet. This necessitates constantly asking Victoria Terminal for higher clearance as we exceed the previously requested altitude. (I’ve gotten a little smarter now and ask for a block of altitude between 3-6,000 on initial contact.) However, a 6,000-foot limit won’t be adequate today. The top of the cloud line is approximately 2,000 feet above and while the rate of climb is slowly ebbing as we climb more and more into a flow which will be turning parallel to the earth the thrill of free flight continues. As we approach heights nearly equal to the puffy cloud tops our rate of climb is only slightly positive and we choose to remain level of 8,500 feet and convert the slight climb into increased cruising speed. For three hours, Jim and I can’t believe our luck as we glide effortlessly in this climbing column of smooth air as it undulates and moves back and forth across the Sannich Penninsula as the wind speed at altitude changes. Inexperienced as we are with the invisible lift, we have no problem remaining in the uplift as its path is well marked by the forming edge of the cloud. Considering the lofty power of the wave, it’s amazing how smooth this river of air gently lifts our wings skyward. The beauty of wave lift is its awesome power, smooth air, high rates of climb and lengthy areas of well defined lift. Perhaps the “pros” of soaring sneer at this all too easy lift (and perhaps they are jealous if they live in the flat lands that wave lift shuns). At any rate, I will take what the Creator provides and gladly receive the energy with thanks. As a matter of fact, some professional helicopter and fixed wing pilots have used ridge and wave lift on our crosscountry flights to add extra speed as it is not uncommon for those definite “non-gliders” to pick up 15 to 20 knots - well worth a small deviation in track to fly the uplift.
Ridge and convective lift I’ve toyed with have been less smooth and more challenging to remain within as they tend to be more spotty. These forms of lift require a lot more changes in heading to remain within the small area of lift. In the case of soaring within convective lift, one seldom remains on a given heading for more than a few seconds as the pilot must constantly wheel the aircraft around while trying to remain in the generally small core of rising warmth. Ridge lift is naturally turbulent by definition as it is simply wind blowing over a barrier - giving rise to mechanical turbulence. Conservative, by virtue of my limited gliding skills, I am loathe to have the engine shut down below 3,000 feet as I want to be able to reach the main Victoria airport in the event the engine won’t start or the propeller won’t feather. Gliding into my home base - the one way, 1,400-foot strip at Butler/Howroyd with it’s typical crosswind - is not my idea of a reasonable safety margins. Because most of the ridge and convective lift is found below my 3,000-foot safety margin during the cooler fall and winter months, it is less useful lift. As a result, I pray for mediocre weather with strong winds as I know any amount of instability in the air mass will create the desired waves - even off the tiny 2,500-3,500-foot hills on the south end of Vancouver Island (with generally westerly winds). Bring the winds out of the SW and the much higher Olympic Mountain range will create standing lenticular clouds over my Brentwood Bay home. These lens-shaped mid-altitude clouds are perfect examples of cloud formations that form on their upwind edges and burn off on the downwind/downdraft side. These markers in the sky make it easy to find the strong wave lift.
There are some rather large mountains on the mainland poking up into the predominant westerly flow and I’m sure the 11,000 foot Mt. Baker just south of the border almost always has good ridge lift on one side or another. Moreover, I would be able to glide back to Canada for a landing at the altitudes that would typically be worked for lift.

(Next month: Capt. Ken offers details about the Diamond Xtreme.)