The large Wedgetail Eagle dropped out of the weakening thermal it had been sharing with us for the last 15 minutes or so. It flapped uphill towards the base of Wilpena Pound. For a moment, I pondered whether to follow, in the hope it might lead us to the climb we so desperately needed. One look down at the uncomfortably close, unlandable terrain below convinced me otherwise! We needed all the distance between us and the ground that we could possibly get! It was either scraping away from here or else... I did not want to contemplate the alternative yet! Completing the next circle in zero sink at best, I got one last glimpse of the Wedgie as it disappeared with powerful strokes behind a tree about halfway up the hill.
For the next few minutes, I concentrated hard on flying as precisely as I could and tried to sense even the faintest gust of rising air through the wings of our ASK-21 twin-seat sailplane. In the front seat, knowing that the last thing I needed now was any kind of distraction, Joanne remained quiet and clutched her half full heavy-duty, zip-lock freezer bag, careful not to spill any of its malodorous contents. Despite her many flights as my trusty co-pilot, she has never been able to overcome her airsickness although she thoroughly enjoys our soaring adventures.The audio vario softly beeped its up and down indications at me, and the averager dithered about the zero mark. With all my mental strength, I willed this measly updraft to pick up and carry us back into the bright blue sky where we had come from. Several more circles resulted in nothing other than the altimeter reading roughly the same that it had for what seemed like hours. Once we had actually gained perhaps 200ft, only to gradually lose the precious margin again before I managed to shift our circles into better air once more.Retching sounds from the front seat – for the second time on this flight – broke my concentration for only a second but it was enough to let the glider slip into a less optimal orbit. Shallowing our turn in the hope to reconnect to this scanty trickle of solar energy, I set up a wider search loop through the next few degrees around the compass – to no avail. Without any significant lift right now, we were not high enough to complete another circle with sufficient margin for a proper circuit of our only landing option.Dejectedly I rolled out of the turn parallel to the Wilpena airstrip for our downwind leg, gave a smart, hopefully professional sounding circuit call on the radio – the tourist pilots from the commercial flight operations at Wilpena and possibly Rawnsley would be listening in – and went through my landing checks. Joanne had finished her ‘business’ and zipped up the second freezer bag on this flight. I told her that I was going to land and turned onto base leg. A neat, well-banked turn – we might have professionals watching here – had us lined up into wind on a precise final approach. A measured dose of airbrake and we touched down precisely on the threshold of the gravel strip. With the remaining inertia, I taxied the glider off the runway and pulled up into an empty slot past a tied down ‘Stationair’ next to the car park. That should have impressed any onlookers but even after I had helped Joanne climb out of the cockpit – ever mindful of ‘The Bags’ – there was no one to be seen.Once ‘The Bags’ were disposed of in a bin next to the little hut at the entrance, I peered inside through the open door. Apart from a few tools, tins of oil and hydraulic fluid etc. it was empty. I had hoped for a phone or radio connection to the nearby resort, but there was nothing. My mobile, too, indicated ‘no service’. I went back to Joanne and we settled in for a bit of a wait in the shade under our glider’s wing. Back on terra firma and after a drink, she felt visibly better. There were two cars in the car park so someone would turn up eventually…It was the Balaklava Gliding Club’s annual pilgrimage to the Flinders Ranges. One by one, the familiar cars and 4-wheel-drives of our fellow club members arrived at the Arkapeena bush camp, some with caravans or camper trailers, others with the club glider trailers in tow. Tents were pitched, caravans manoeuvred into position, annexes erected. Slowly the little community took shape and a large communal campfire was built, around which we would gather to cook our meals and enjoy each other’s company long into the cool, dark nights.Next morning our operating base was set up at the old airstrip not far from the camp. The four club gliders as well as several private ones were rigged and carefully checked; the large tie-down pegs were driven into the ground and the winch wire was laid out. Before long, the first glider lifted off to soar silently above the rugged landscape around Wilpena Pound.Every year, usually in spring, we shift our club operations up here for a week to take advantage of the good soaring conditions and to admire the breathtaking scenery. Gliding in this part of the world is not exactly for beginners. Apart from the few airstrips, there is nowhere to land and the weather always has surprises in store. Conditions can change in no time at all. For the more experienced glider pilot, though, this is a magnificent playground. Given the right wind strength and direction, the long, craggy cliffs and ridges produce strong updrafts and sometimes standing lee waves that extend to well above 10 000ft. The sunbaked rocks generate strong thermals that often reach 6 - 9000ft or more.Yesterday had seen our white planes with their long, sleek wings float effortlessly to 8000ft into the cloudless sky above the Chace Range and the Pound. I had just taken off for a sightseeing flight with my daughter Jessica in the front seat, when I heard excited reports over the radio of a bikini-clad beauty sunbathing on St Mary Peak. A concerned parent, I turned the radio down to protect my minor passenger from the adult content and concentrated on working the nice big thermal that steadily carried us aloft. An awe-inspiring panorama slowly rotated beneath us – the Elder Ranges, Hawker township in the distance, Chace and Druid Ranges, the ABC Range, the long band of nameless rocky ridges snaking north towards the horizon, the unbelievable vista of Wilpena Pound and Lake Torrens in the far background.After several encores, the scenery gradually sinking away from us, we reached the top of the thermal at 8000ft. From this lofty height, we did an easy half lap of the Pound and soon joined two other gliders in a thermal overhead St Mary Peak to top up for a second time. Jessica was delighted. Neither her brothers nor her mum had been here in a glider before. We were both enthralled by the view. My own enjoyment was only negligibly marred by the sight of a group of hikers descending on the trail just below the summit. After a quick dash over Edeowie Gorge, where another strong thermal made up the few hundred feet we had lost on the glide there, a fast cruise brought us back to Pound Gap in only a few minutes. With plenty of height for safety, I cut the corner, accelerating across the inside of this large, crater-like formation and aimed for Rawnsley Bluff at its south-eastern corner. As the ground of the opposite rim rose up closer to our glide path, our high speed became very apparent and I could see Jessie’s wide grin in the canopy reflection. She was absolutely thrilled. We skimmed low and fast over the rocks. Then the cliff fell away, giving us plenty of height to span the short distance to the Arkapeena airstrip.Naturally, the rest of the family was green with envy and after hearing the story of our adventure for the umpteenth time, my better half developed very specific expectations for the following day. It was her turn for a flight after all. But as always when plans are made – especially for a glider flight – the weather would demand a say as well.With my task firmly set, we took off into a slightly hazy, late morning sky. The gliders that had taken off earlier reported reasonably good lift to 5800ft. With no more than perhaps 3000ft above the lower ground to play with – much less above the ridge tops – this flight would require a lot more skill than the ‘walk in the park’ yesterday. But I do like a challenge. I was encouraged by the radio calls of two higher performance gliders who had made it across to the Wilpena side of the Pound and found ridge lift from a northerly breeze. The prospect of being able to do a few high-speed runs along the weathered rock walls spurred me on. I vividly imagined zooming low over the scrub and crippled trees that cling to the stony outcrops for mere survival, the wingtips unnervingly close to the sheer cliff face; then pulling up into a fast climb, our destination quickly sinking away below us; a slow 180° turn high above the peak, then dive down to accelerate for another run…The thermal we had found shortly after release from the winch felt quite different from the wide, powerful ones yesterday. It was narrower and weaker, requiring me to turn steeper to stay in the core and get a decent climb rate. By the time we reached the top at 5500ft, we had drifted a short distance to the south-west. I headed for Rawnsley Bluff expecting that the light breeze would be caught in the narrow ravines to be channelled upwards and heated by the sun-exposed rocks. My theory proved correct and a stronger but very rough thermal carried us aloft once more, a few hundred feet higher this time. Knowing my dear wife’s reaction to the tight manoeuvring required in these conditions I asked her how she was going. We could just turn for home now and enjoy the great view on a direct and lazy glide back. No, She was unwavering! Very well, I always do as She says. So I pushed on, trying to maintain a straight and level cruise. However, pockets of strong sink and the narrow working band between the rocks and the tops of the thermals demanded more frequent height replenishment. Another narrow column of warm, rising air about three kilometres past Point Bonney propelled us back to our previous height, reinforcing my confidence. The slopes above the Wilpena resort were now in easy reach. This was where the first freezer bag found its use. Again, my offer to turn back met solid opposition. We were very determined to see St Mary Peak!As we coasted on a westerly heading toward Pound Gap, the air suddenly became suspiciously smooth. I stuck to the jagged ridgeline, gently zigzagging above it. If not pushed up the slope by the breeze, the air here would be warmed by the rocks in the direct sunlight and should thus rise in bands along the north-facing ridge. Relentlessly we sank towards the harsh terrain. I was desperately looking for gliders or other indications of lift and told Joanne of our situation. Abeam the resort we were barely above ridge height following the contours down into the Gap. A look at the windsock at the Wilpena airstrip told me that there was no longer any hope of ridge lift – it was firmly indicating a light easterly – parallel to the slope. That was when Joanne pointed out the eagle below us. Skimming low over the rocks, it was very obviously in search of lift. Cautiously I followed, staying wide to the eagle’s right to increase our combined search area and thus our chance of finding lift. Occasionally we caught the eagle cheating – flapping its wings once or twice – not a good sign! The cliff edge was now above us, rising up towards our intended destination. The undulated, rock-strewn landscape below was definitely no place to land a glider.I left the Wedgie to fend for itself and headed towards the low-lying hills north-east of the Wilpena airstrip. The early afternoon sun scorched the hillsides at right angles and the easterly breeze should trigger the resulting hot air to rise. If there was still lift to be found at all then this would be one of the few places. It was also the perfect position for joining the Wilpena circuit, right on the downwind leg.The ground dropped away and shortly after we intersected the end of the runway with barely 1000ft of air below our wings, I could feel the telltale signs: a little turbulence followed by increased sink and then the mounting seat pressure. The thermal was nothing spectacular but as long as we were still airborne, there was hope. We might just be able to scrape away.Halfway around our first centring turn we both spotted our friend the Wedgie again, furiously flapping its wings. It had obviously followed and, with a glide angle worse than ours, was now even further below us. I expected it to catch up to us very quickly, but it took a surprisingly long time. We were both doing our best to cling to this mere puff of rising air, staying opposite each other in the circle and shifting our orbit towards where we perceived a relative gain on the other. It was fascinating to watch the animal close up in its element. Every tiny movement of a feather was with purpose. That was when we started loosing ground again and the Eagle threw in the towel.
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