[Paddlewise] Skills and judgement

Last summer a man who has been a bastion of our local glider club expressed
a desire to fly the club's newest glider (a Russia, for those of you who are
familiar with sailplanes). Flying gliders and paddling kayaks has, at least
for me, so many similarities. One's skill against the elements being the
most basic. Flying is more structured, of course, but flying gliders is much
less so than flying power planes. Here in the desert environment of central
Washington about 150 miles due east of Seattle we are more-or-less free to
fly wherever the thermals take us. At one time, not so long ago, the
instrumentation of a glider consisted of a bead in a tube to indicate
airspeed and an altimeter that was not all that accurate. Now we have
sensitive instrumentation and communications. There are glider pilots who
think that we have too many gadgets and should get back to basics.

The pilot in question was one of the founding members of the club who found
himself, as the years went on, more and more involved with the
administration of the club activities and less involved with flying. He'd
been, by turns, an instructor and Chief Instructor, a tow pilot and Chief
Tow Pilot, a race director, the club President; he was, in short, someone we
depended upon. The club didn't revolve around him but he certainly was
appreciated... even venerated. And that almost led to a tragedy.

When he mentioned that he'd like to fly the Russia several members demurred
privately amongst each other. He was 70 years old, after all but that, by
itself, isn't unusual for sailplane pilots. And the source of their concern
wasn't the nature of the new glider, either. A Russia is not, by any stretch
of the imagination, a "high performance" glider. In fact, it's more of a
modern version of the Schweizer 1-26. Their concern was that perhaps his
flying skills were no longer up to the task of flying not just this glider
but *any* glider.

The matter was discussed and the leaders decided that he had, at the very
least, earned the right to fly the Russia. He was perfectly legal having had
his Biannual Flight Review some 18 months previous, he certainly had enough
hours both solo and dual, and the Russia was a tolerably forgiving airplane
to fly. In the end, however, it simply boiled down to the fact that no one
wanted to tell him he couldn't do it.

So on a fine sunny Saturday afternoon we strapped him into the cockpit of
the Russia (which has room for only one pilot) and gave him a careful
cockpit briefing. About this time I noticed what I thought was a "far away"
look in the pilot's eyes and wondered to myself if he was absorbing all
this. Someone taxied a towplane into position and someone else connected the
towline and almost before we knew it the Russia was moving down the runway.

It didn't take very long to realize that we had made a horrible mistake.
Even though the Russia was an easy glider to fly, the pilot skills of the
man we let fly it were clearly not up to the task and we knew it even before
the towplane broke ground. The Russia, of course, left the runway first but
instead of settling in a few feet above the towplane's tail it zoomed like a
kite on a string 50 feet into the air and then just as suddenly plummeted
towards the runway and oscillated up and down some 20 feet at a time. But
before anyone could warn the towpilot they were both moving skywards with
the Russia more-or-less following.

At 1500 feet above the airfield the glider pilot released the tow and
steerred the Russia into a landing pattern. We could see from the ground
that he was having difficulty maintaining a constant altitude and as he
descended onto final approach we all must have had all our fingers and toes
crossed. Several people audibly moaned; maybe it was me. One of the members
ran to the clubhouse to talk the pilot down over the radio. Eventually he
flew over the threshold going too fast and swooped up and down 20 or 30 feet
as the Russia slowed and then - finally - he landed hard and rolled to a
stop. Everyone started to breathe again.

There was no doubt that we had screwed up. We had let our admiration for
this man overshadow our concern for his safety. We had forgotten that no set
of skills lasts forever and that judging just when those skills have
deteriorated to a dangerous state is not easy to do. I still think that
being able to hear a voice over the radio telling him to relax and watch his
airspeed and when to deploy the spoilers and when to turn in the pattern
saved this man's life.

For kayakers who possess a bombproof roll and a belief that their skills
will save them regardless of the circumstances and who think that there is
too much emphasis on equipment rather than skills there is a lesson in this
story. Judgment and skills can fail at precisely the time we need them the
most. It's seldom one big mistake that leads to a disaster but a series of
small mistakes that add up to that one big mistake. Avoiding that chain of
errors is, of course, the trick.

Your equipment can be the one thing that changes a story from one of what
might have been a tragedy to just a learning experience and, eventually,
only another good story. We need to be very careful what we de-emphasize in
a sport that can easily take lives.


Craig Jungers
Moses Lake, WA
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