Thermals

A few years ago, on a morning that promised to be a very warm, cloudless day, we were in formation on the landing strip, getting the rundown of the day’s activities. It seemed straightforward: two gliders, one tow plane, with plenty of space between to change pilots and cadet co-pilots. We were all familiar with how they operated; we wouldn’t be here if we weren’t.

As aircraft began taking off and landing, one after another, anticipation began to set in among our group of cadet co-pilots. Sure, I’d been in jet airliners before, even a single-prop aircraft, but this was unpowered. Once the tow line disconnected, that was it; we would be at the mercy of whatever speed we had acquired, several thousand feet in the sky.

After assisting with a few take-offs, it was my turn. The pilot didn’t clamber out of his seat; instead, he introduced himself to me as I made my way to the seat in front of him. Introductions needed to be kept short, lest another glider decide to come in for a landing; there is no such thing as “go-arounds” with these aircraft. I was careful not to step directly on the fuselage; my polished combat boots would sink right through the fiberglass frame should I make that mistake. I didn’t even have time to really inspect my surroundings, as the pilot told me to fasten my restraints and put on a radio headset. This would allow me to hear ground control and the pilot behind me. I noticed one particular feature on the dash: a bright yellow handle labeled tow release.

It dawned on me as the cockpit cover slid closed that this was my last chance to back out. Unlike a roller coaster, with its predictable, predefined ending on solid track, I would be in the air longer than 2 minutes. There was no secondary safety on this glorified paper airplane. Just me, the pilot and the sky. Before I could say anything, the tow cable tightened, and we were accelerating into the atmosphere. The first bit of the journey was loud and bumpy. We were at the mercy of the vortices created by the tow plane ahead of us as it brought the aircraft to our cruising altitude. I had the easy job. The pilot was busy making sure we didn’t flip over or suddenly nosedive while being brought up. My heartbeat paused when I heard his voice over the radio.

“Cadet, you wanna pull the release?”

Me? I had no business touching that thing. That was our one lifeline, giving us our momentum, keeping us in the air! I complied, a nervous “Affirmative” echoing in our headsets. My fingers shuddered as I gripped the handle and gave it a sharp yank. An awful grinding reverberated through the cockpit. I saw the cable trail behind the tow plane, latch dangling behind as the tow plane veered off to the airstrip to pick up another set of cadets.

After the plane’s engine was out of earshot, I noticed the sudden lack of sound. The faint hum of the single-prop motor purred away as it made its descent back to base, but our flimsy little shell of fiberglass and papier mâché was silent. A soft whistling of wind passed over the cabin, but otherwise it was just us and the sky. The pilot behind me began explaining what the flight would look like: we’d practice some banking maneuvers, identify some areas with thermals, which would help us gain a little more altitude, and perhaps (to my dread) we would attempt a few stalls.

After some time, I was able to take the yoke. It was odd to see the controls move in front of me, as if with a mind of their own, as the pilot demonstrated how to perform various in-air techniques. When my time came, I could feel the airflow over the ailerons, every gust of turbulence translated directly into my arms. Nervous didn’t begin to describe the state I was in. My eyes, however, were fixed on two gauges on the dashboard: altitude and airspeed. Over time, we were losing both, as the natural drag of air limited how long we’d be able to stay up. After we had gone over some particularly rough patches of air, the pilot’s voice crackled into my headset again.

“Alrighty, I’m gonna teach you how to stall the glider now. Just keep an eye on the yoke and watch how it moves as we descend.”

My hands grabbed onto the nearest thing resembling a handle, as I expected to expel the contents of my stomach after the demonstration. He pulled back, the airspeed reached zero knots…and our altitude began to decrease rapidly. My stomach dropped, and the yoke pushed down, dropping the craft into a nosedive. I barely felt what it must be like to be an astronaut before I was being pushed back into my seat, the pilot pulling us out and leveling the glider again.

“Now it’s your turn, cadet.”

Five thousand feet was what our altimeter read as I grasped the yoke between my legs once again. Plenty of wiggle room for error. Plenty of time for the pilot behind me to snatch back control should I bring us both down. I could feel my heartbeat in my ears as I pulled back the yoke; our airspeed once again approaching zero knots before pushing the nose back down.

We fell quickly, perpendicular to the earth. The loose straps of my restraints floated into view as we approached terminal velocity, and I looked up. Through the plexiglass I could see the horizon, the hills and valleys surrounding the high desert landscape of southern Washington, as well as the base and strip below. My body relaxed, and I took a breath. The pilot’s voice came over my headset again to let me know my exploration into zero-G adventures was a little more than he’d bargained for, so I pulled back up, sinking into my seat again as I brought us up a little short of where we were when we had started: 4,900 feet.

The pilot did not give me back the controls after that, but I didn’t need them. It was hot, my mind racing alongside my heart. The adrenaline rush, the incredible view, brought an odd sense of peace. I nearly whined like an unsatisfied toddler when we made our descent back to the airstrip. I already missed the sensation of weightlessness, and seeing the world from a new perspective.

Despite the apprehension I had before boarding, I had caught the flying bug. I was already thinking about when I’d be able to take control again, soaring with the thermals.