Flying With Hawks

A few years ago I wrote a piece I posted here about flying with the
baby red tail hawks in my hang gliders. Many EAA chapter wrote me and
used that in their newsletters. Some even sent me copies when they
printed it. The problem is, I've lost it and I want it. Anybody got
it on their machine?

How about you Oyster or Amp meter? I think Johansson or O'ring might
still have that somewhere. How about you Want-a-jaw or Bourbon? I'd
ask Wingy, but he probably wasn't born yet when I wrote that.

If anybody has it, don't email it to me because I never look at this
'Skypilot' email address. Just tell me you have it and I'll get it
from you privately, or post it here.

Thanx,

BWB

On Sat, 24 Jan 2004 17:51:17 GMT,
(Badwater Bill) wrote:


A few years ago I wrote a piece I posted here about flying with the
baby red tail hawks in my hang gliders. Many EAA chapter wrote me and
used that in their newsletters. Some even sent me copies when they
printed it. The problem is, I've lost it and I want it. Anybody got
it on their machine?

How about you Oyster or Amp meter? I think Johansson or O'ring might
still have that somewhere. How about you Want-a-jaw or Bourbon? I'd
ask Wingy, but he probably wasn't born yet when I wrote that.

If anybody has it, don't email it to me because I never look at this
'Skypilot' email address. Just tell me you have it and I'll get it
from you privately, or post it here.

Thanx,

BWB

For some strange reason, I keep getting requests for this
piece I did
a few years ago. I promised to send it to Scott McQueen
then forgot.
So I thought I'd post it tonight just for fun. Here it is
once again
for those of you who might have missed it. I wrote it one
night while
I was reminiscing about flying hang gliders.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++
Flight of the Human Buzzard

Many years ago I flew hang gliders off a 1000 foot ridge
south of the
city of Las Vegas. Hang glider flying was the most
spiritual form of
flight I ever experienced. We launched off a horizontal
ramp that
extended out into the lift band of the ridge. You'd hook
in, do the
hang safety test, pick up your glider and simply walk off
the end of
the ramp into the sky. There was no sinking if the wind was
up to 15
knots or so, you simply stepped into the sky and rotated
your body
horizontal between the two down-tubes above the horizontal
crossbar.
In this configuration your head was out in front of the
leading edge
of the wing above you and you had no view of the ship around
you at
all. It was like flying under your own power with your own
wings.
I've thought many times too that it resembled the old
Superman movies.
Clark Kent would peal off his clothes and jump head first
out of a
25th floor window propelling himself horizontally through
the air.
The feeling of walking off a cliff into the sky under the
wing of a
hang glider is very similar. Because of this strange and new
sensation
of flight I began to have dreams, like the ones I had as a
child, of
flying under my own power. As a child I routinely had
dreams of
levitating or flying like Superman but those went away as I
got into
my teens. Hang gliding rekindled that spark which
stimulated such
dreams.

Peter Lert writes here of the turkey farm and his 1-26 being
interpreted as a large buzzard. It brought back a memory of
my
experiences with red-tailed-hawks and hang gliders. In the
spring of
the year the baby hawks would hatch and start to fly. Each
spring
there was a new batch who would share the lift of the ridge
with the
hang gliders. It may be hard to believe but it's true that
the babies
couldn't fly very well at all in the beginning. They had
terrible
landings, especially in wind. They'd crash and tumble and
ground-loop.
They had trouble staying up and they couldn't find a thermal
to save
their hide. We had great fun watching them learn to fly and
floating
with them on the ridge. In a hang glider, human beings
could slow
down to 18 knots, wrap the thing up to 60 degrees and core a
thermal.
For the first time in the history of man this machine
allowed us to
fly at the same speeds as the baby hawks. They'd watch us
find a
thermal then enter along with us, usually above and at our
six o'clock
position. If you stretched your neck a bit you could see
them in the
rear, turning with you at your six. It usually took about
three to
five minutes for them to accept you as something that wasn't
out to
eat them. Once that happened the fun began. They would
usually dive
on you, shoot by your upper surface and leading edge then
drop down
right in front of your face about two meters ahead of you.
From this
position you could watch their multivariable dynamic wings
work. What
a gorgeous sight as they would pull in the wing on the
inside of the
turn and extend the outboard wing to stay in the thermal.
Or, they'd
pull in both wings if a gust hit them to counteract the
increased
lift. They could change the angle of attach of each wing
separately or
even span-wise so each segment of their wing was producing
lift
differently. What an advantage.

I remember how I perceived their general collective
personality. Once
they weren't afraid of you, they accepted you in their sky
and the fun
began. The best way to describe them is they acted like
baby kitty
cats. We would make up some small dough-balls from flour,
lots of
sugar, egg and water the night before a spring flight. We'd
dry them
in the oven and load them into our flight suits. The
dough-balls were
easy to retrieve while in flight and would penetrate the air
if we
threw them toward a bird. Actually I remember flicking them
with my
thumb like shooting marbles. The baby hawks loved to eat
these
dough-balls. If a bird would miss grabbing the ball as it
went by,
you got to see absolutely wonderful flight dynamics. Many
times the
bird would roll inverted, pull his wings flush to his body
and change
direction by twisting and redirecting the flight path with
tail
feathers. They looked like a torpedoes shot from a
submarine since
they could streamline themselves so well. Then they would
compete.
Sometimes I would fly with three to five birds in the same
thermal.
I'd have a bird off to my right, a couple ahead of me, one
on the
inside of the turn and maybe even one over head. I'd flick
out a
dough-ball and watch them all go for it. They'd roll
inverted, spin,
split-S, hammer-head, whatever it took to get to the
dough-ball first.


As I said, they seemed to have personalities like small
house cats.
That best describes how I felt watching them. They were
funny and
they loved to play with the big bird of the thermal (me).
They were
very intelligent. It was unusual for them to fly with you
in the
ridge lift but if you started circling they knew you'd found
pay-dirt.
If you snagged a thermal and did more than a couple turns
you'd have
two or three heading at you to cash in on the lift. Once
established
in the core they could just leave me in the dust. Their
sink rate was
much lower than mine and their ability to change the dynamic
shape of
their airfoils gave them far superior performance. I've seen
them
enter the thermal below me and go whizzing by me vertically
at
astonishing rates. However, they would usually throw away
their climb
performance to stay with me thinking they might get a
dough-ball.
Here's where they really got fun. It seemed like the most
common
maneuver was to out-climb me to get the superior energy
edge. Perched
behind me and above, they'd do that diving attack-like move
until they
were in front of my face and applying speed brakes, all the
while
turning in the thermal. From that position anything would
happen.
I've seen them roll on their backs and pop their wings
(inverted) for
a couple seconds then cut inside on the turn and climb above
and
behind me to the superior energy position once more only to
repeat the
same move. If you got two or three of them to start playing
among
themselves and include you it was spectacular. They'd dive
at you
from six o'clock high and roll together right in front of
your face.
Then you'd see them split-S and go off in different
directions below
you. They'd hide from you by flying somewhere behind and
above your
wing again for the next run.

It occurred to me many times as I said above that what we
were doing
here was putting ourselves into their environment for the
first time
in the history of man. I had flown sailplanes for years and
never had
this happen. Sailplanes just fly too fast. Even an old
clunker 2-22
flies at about 40 mph for minimum sink and stalls in the
high 30's.
Flying hang gliders was the first time man could slow down
enough to
match their speeds in thermals. Slow down and without a
noisy engine
to scare them away. We too used them as thermal finders.
If you saw
one circling, it was show-time. Interestingly however, if
you entered
a thermal with them established first, they would leave for
a few
moments then reenter. I sometimes thought that might have
been some
kind of built in survival mode since I was so much bigger
and scarier
to them. Once they determined you weren't there to eat them
they
loosened up and joined you. Then their curiosity got the
best of
them. Although they could out climb you, they usually
stayed and
played with you, diving and rolling and spinning. Once you
got this
far with them you could flip them a dough ball and it was
all over.
You were buds for life. You couldn't shake them if you
wanted to.

Garfield, Dave Pincus, Carl and a couple of the others have
been
playing with me on the news-group over the past couple days
about my
inner self . That's all being done in fun and they are
really funny
men. However, I've spent hundreds of hours watching the
hawks and
buzzards soar the ridges in the heat of the dessert down
here in the
Southwestern U.S. When I flew hang gliders I always felt
like a big
buzzard, sort of bulky but still pretty capable of
thermaling with the
hawks. Although most of these posts are tongue-in-cheek
I'll bet
many of you never thought I really had a reason for admiring
the
buzzard. Carl Johansson (who is a PhD. Ornithologist)
points out the
buzzard's lack of manners or it's eating habits and that's
funny.
But, you watch one fly and they don't fly funny. In fact
they fly
better than man ever has. They are an animal to behold
while in
flight. I'd be so lucky to be able to fly like a buzzard!
Now, the
buzzard's and my eating habits, social graces, etiquette?
Well, now
you know why, the buzzard! Yes! Behold the Buzzard!!

Best Wishes, Badwater Bill

Thank you John. I forgot what I titled it. A mind is a terrible
thing to waste. Hey, I just called you and you aren't home. Are you
in the new home?

Bill

On Sat, 24 Jan 2004 17:51:17 GMT, (Badwater
Bill) wrote:


A few years ago I wrote a piece I posted here about flying with the
baby red tail hawks in my hang gliders. Many EAA chapter wrote me and
used that in their newsletters. Some even sent me copies when they
printed it. The problem is, I've lost it and I want it. Anybody got
it on their machine?

How about you Oyster or Amp meter? I think Johansson or O'ring might
still have that somewhere. How about you Want-a-jaw or Bourbon?

Here ya are, you old buzzard.

http://makeashorterlink.com/?K1A926F27

- J.O.-

Here ya are, you old buzzard.

http://makeashorterlink.com/?K1A926F27

- J.O.-

Thank you Johnny.

Badwater