Zapata

[lbunner]

I received this from Pete L. He said I could repost here.

Hi All,

I am once again in Effing Zapata trying to fly far on my hang glider. I am going to try and keep a diary of sorts of this year's adventures, and you'll below find my first installment of what will be a somewhat irregular journal depending on how the weather/flying goes. For those who can read them I will attach the more interesting .igc tracklogs.

Regards,

Pete





Wednesday, June 22, 2011


Zapata, Yet Again, For The Very Last Time



Well, here we are sitting in our luxury Lakefront Lodge accommodations watching lightning strike and rain fall. Gary Osoba assures us that the parched countryside will quickly absorb the rain, and that conditions will “re-set” in time for Friday or Saturday to once again turn on. Davis Straub too is demonstrating his flexibility in that he finally left Austin to come down here. He had been pooh-poohing the generally good weather of the past couple of days, insisting that Wednesday, the rainy today, would be a big one. But he began this morning by distributing a weather image implying that Friday is now the “new Wednesday”. As you can see, weather forecasting is an inexact science, and involves room for considerable self-deception. I rather prefer to look out the window in the morning. And it is raining.



This year’s trip to this Texas garden spot was uncharacteristically hurried after I learned that the clan was gathering in Zapata three days earlier than I had thought. There was no time for my customary en route stops in Knoxville or Arkansas. Instead, I immediately headed west on I-70 to Kansas City, and then south to Wichita to pick up some stuff from Gary’s house before ending up in Oklahoma City to abduct my driver David Glover. The next morning we began the final twelve hour leg to Zapata, remarking as we went further south on the delightfully parched look of the countryside. They were enduring drought conditions. Oh joy; oh rapture.



In Zapata we found Gary, tug driver Russell Brown, Mike Barber and his girlfriend Fay, as well as Louie and Gita who are to drive for the five Brazilians who arrived a couple of days later. Our first day in Zapata was spent settling in, absorbing the Zapata magic, checking equipment, programming gps’ and brushing up on our Spanish. Not having been here for a couple of years we were confronted with some changes in the local landscape: the only decent restaurant had closed, as had the bowling alley. More tragically, the one restaurant which had allowed me to bring in wine has changed its policy.



If in the intervening years Zapata itself has gained nothing in the way of charm, at least the airport is still an inviting destination complete with the wrought iron sign above the entrance advertising it as “Home of the World Record Encampment”. Run by Charlie Averitt, the airport offers a neat, clean hangar in which to set up our toys. By the time David and I got there Russell and Louie had set up the Tug, while Gary had assembled his unique side-by-side two-place Gemini glider, and Mike B his Lightspeed. I set up my glider while Russell was performing an FAA Annual Inspection of the Scout, an airplane owned by the wealthy local rancher and friend of the WRE, Rick Walker. The Scout’s significance is two fold. On the one hand it is Russell’s commuting vehicle for his daily trips to and from Rick’s ranch where he’s staying, but it will also be serving as the tow plane for Gary’s heavy glider, for which reason Russell is now installing a tow hook.



The day after our arrival Mike and I decided to take an early whack at flying, egged on by Gary’s enthusiasm about the early morning convergence clouds that are the hallmark of Zapata flying. Prior to our arrival there had been very little of this “over run” as it’s called. The winds had been too southerly, bringing in none of the Gulf of Mexico moisture that is required for the formation of solid early clouds. I was a bit dubious about Gary’s assessment, but figured it was time to get back on the Zapata horse and see what happened. So, followed shortly by Mike, I launched at 9:25 in the friggin’ morning on what Gary says is the earliest “successful” xc ever from the site. In fact, success is not the term I would have used as I landed only 15 miles away after a couple of weak climbs to 2,700agl. But Mike, who’d broken a weak link in the nasty conditions early in his first tow, survived the difficult early period and made it up past Laredo before deciding to land after sixty miles. Conditions were utterly blue, and he wasn’t going to get terribly far. In any event, we’d both gotten our feet wet again, proved we could survive under the sketchy, early clouds, and we’d both been blessed with easy retrieves. I had landed in the boonies, however at a giant ranch house where the Mexican grounds keeper got David in past the locked gate for me. My fragmentary Spanish had again proved most useful.



But if I was dubious about the clouds on Monday, yesterday, Tuesday, dawned spectacularly. The forecasts (that evil word again) had been unpromising, however Gary had been up very early and detected the “over-running” occurring. He began texting before dawn, and by the time I finally looked out the window I began panicking as by 8:45 the clouds had already become spectacular and I was feeling as though we were late. Throwing my stuff together David and I bailed out of the motel and arrived at the airport to find Mike getting ready to launch. I launched soon after him, and Russell towed me two cloud streets east of the airport and I pinned off at cloud base, 3,500 msl, very high for 10:20 in the morning. The street was solid and the clouds working well enough that Mike and I both had a pretty easy time traversing the land of locked gates, mesquite wilderness and airspace around Laredo. However at the fifty mile point things became tougher. The clouds overdeveloped, shading the ground and diminishing the climbs. In addition, cloudbase remained stubbornly low, never getting over 4,000 agl as we headed north into some serious mesquite wilderness. In the end, after three hours in the air I made it 86.9 miles, struggling desperately at low levels drifting over the mesquite from one landable road to another. I finally decked it on a wide dirt road that was being heavily traveled by big construction trucks servicing the booming local gas developments. With little altitude in hand, I planned my landing behind the last vehicle of a convoy headed south when I saw a new pickup truck headed north through my landing strip Unfortunately, he saw me and then courteously stopped in the road right where I’d wanted to land. I frantically waved at him and he moved forward giving me an uneventful landing on the road. It was remarkably dusty, and I had to break down in the dust clouds raised by the constantly passing tractor trailers.



Mike continued northward after waffling about wind directions before deciding to land at Crystal City for 125 miles. Along the way he had a peculiarly Zapataesque worry to deal with. His girlfriend and driver Fay is British, and while she has already had her application for a new visa status approved, her current visa is technically expired. Unfortunately, the area over which we are flying is on the Mexican border and the area is the most heavily policed part of the US I have seen. One element of the law enforcement presence is the existence of permanent (and temporary) internal Border Patrol stations, one of which is located on the US 83, the road we were following that day. And, sure enough, their computer’s flagged Fay’s “expired” visa and the Border Patrol held her incommunicado for a while until her status was verified. In the meantime, Mike was becoming concerned enough that he had briefly headed southward, intending to land with me, before Fay was set free to continue the chase. I had been more fortunate as my silver-tongued, native-born Okie driver David talked his way past the border check despite having forgotten his driver’s license in the early morning rush.



To complete the day’s flying, BJ Herring, the excellent Colorado rigid wing pilot, had set-up his ATOS astonishingly quickly and launched shortly after me. He wound up landing at six o’clock, 240 miles from Zapata up on the Edwards Escarpment, the 2,500 msl plateau that begins north of Uvalde. It was an excellent flight, and one that looks that much better from this rainy vantage point.

[lbunner]

Here's the 2nd installment from the ebullient but somewhat scarred Mr. Lehmann:

Thursday, June 23: Zapata Re-Set
After the previous day’s deluge, Thursday began the process of “re-setting”. That is, the rain tapered off to a drizzle before finally producing a fabulous late-day sky of cumulus clouds suggesting that Friday will again have flyable conditions. Taking advantage of the off-day Russell flew the Scout out to Houston to finish up the sailplane tow-hook installation, while in Zapata the inmates killed time sorting gear, fantasizing routes, bickering on the internet, and pursuing mammals. Late in the afternoon we intended to repair to the Lakefront Lodge’s swimming pool for evening cocktails. However the pool had been over run by some good ole boys cranking country music from a pick up truck that featured buckshot holes in the side resulting from a shotgun blast by his brother. A family disagreement, apparently.

Friday, June 24 Blood on the Tracks
The re-setting continued, and the morning sky looked quite good, albeit with light easterly winds that were unsuitable for long flights. Still, it was flyable and we had a variety of flying objectives in mind. BJ’s intention was to attempt a gigantic world-record distance triangle of 260 miles, Mike Barber needed to test fly his new glider locally, while the Brazilians too wanted to do some gear-sorting and experience the tow operation. In the end, the soft lift and constant cross wind resulted in BJ’s triangle being truncated into an out’n’back to Laredo (circa 80 miles), Mike’s test flight proved his glider’s pitch to be badly out of trim, something that may have contributed to his belly- flop landing on the runway, and the Brazilians had a bunch of broken weak links, part of an unusual number that have been experienced here.
And then theres my weak link break. I had been looking forward to attempting an unusual eighty mile flight to the south east along the Mexican border towards McAllen. But the instant I came off the cart my weak link broke. That shouldn’t have been a problem as I had good speed to transition to a landing. However, I had zipped up my harness a bit too far and couldn’t unzip it in the seconds available to me. Still in my harness, I opted to belly land on the runway. Unfortunately the repaved runway has an extraordinarily coarse texture, that of a heavy grit sand paper, which resulted in my harness and knee being shredded. The harness can be fixed with Shoe Goo, but the knee required three stitches to pull together the resulting mess. The doctor who treated me at the clinic was sufficiently impressed by it to take some pictures for his colleagues. I was extraordinarily lucky, and can walk well and should be flying in a couple of days.

Saturday, June 25: Aviation Variety, and the Hell Of A Zapata Retrieve
The morning began with Zapata’s characteristic clouds and a perhaps undue general optimism. With my bandaged leg I had decided to take a mental health vacation, but David and I went to the field to help the others fly. And there were many people at the field intent on various forms of aviation.
Gary finally had a tow plane with which to get his Gemini sailplane into the air, and that is how we began. Russell pulled him up with the new hook on the Scout, and the tow went very well with Gary experiencing a reassuringly strong climb on tow with his heavy glider. While he had found only weak lift, the irrepressible BJ nonetheless soon launched in his quest to maintain an average of six hours a day (yes, that is his average), followed by Davis on his single-surface North Wings Freedom, Mike Barber, and the four Brazilians.
The soft conditions soon began to exact casualties, the first being Davis who decked it some ten miles out in the land of locked-gate gas wells. That was the beginning of an epic seven hour retrieval wait that involved two Scout airplane sorties to locate him, two calls to the sheriffs department for assistance (none resulted), and an encounter with a local whom Davis sufficiently surprised to have a gun pulled on him.
The four Brazilieros began launching, but some had trouble getting up and returned to the field for re-lights, while Moikano (Portuguese for Mohican, in honor of his customary Mohawk haircut) returned with a defective vario. Not needing a vario, I loaned him mine and he and the others re-launched successfully before heading downwind toward varied fates. None went terribly far, but one had a quintessential Zapata retrieve wherein poor Louie had to walk in some five miles in hundred degree heat to dig Paulo out of the mesquite.
In between the Brazialian re-launches the local radio control club began flying a number of marvelous 1/3 scale (enormous) model airplanes off the runway. Unfortunately one of them became a victim of gravity when a snap roll put it straight into the ground, a $2,000 mistake.
In the meantime, Mike Barber and BJ were slogging their way northward. BJ’s quest for the six hour average flight has now been upped to a seven hour average. He flew for 7:08. After finally abandoning the long flight he turned around and flew eastward to land at Uvalde airport for some 165 miles. The guy is an animal. At the same time Mikey had been suffering radio problems and the consequences having his instruments set in metric units. Fay was receiving his SPOT locator’s information, but Mike was reporting (when he could) distances that were inconsistent with the SPOT locations. The explanation was that Mike’s distances were in kilometers, and the SPOT’s in miles. Realizing how slowly he was progressing, Mike bagged it near Caterina, about 100 miles out from Zapata. He then landed inside a big new chemical complex where he was promptly greeted by an overzealous midget female renta-cop demanding id. He successfully evaded her and moved his glider off the property whereupon he was greeted by relays of Border Patrol officers inquiring as to what was going on. Zapata flying truly is unlike flying anywhere else in this great Republic.
To conclude the day’s activities, late in the afternoon Russell towed-up Gary who then had a fine two hour local flight. It had been a full and truly varied day of aviation at Zapata County Airport.

[lbunner]

Installment #3. And I thought Forbes was good!

Sunday June 26


Before recounting Sunday’s efforts I must first provide an addendum to the previous day’s stories. BJ Herring’s flight was in fact scored by the software at 187 miles after including the thirty mile dogleg to end the flight at Uvalde airport. BJ’s early route had been northwestward, taking him well west of US 83 out into the some pretty sketchy retrieve country. A very fine flight.


On the other hand, we have one more Zapata retrieval story for the ages: apparently Eduardo got handcuffed . When we gathered at the hangar for the day’s briefing from Gary, we first began with stories of yesterday’s retrieves. Davis made the point that he didn’t actually have a gun pulled on him; the guy merely placed his hand on his weapon, errh, gun. Eduardo, on the other hand, got the full treatment. After having landed at a ranch and speaking good Spanish (many Brazilians also speak excellent Spanish) someone called the sheriff and Border Patrol to report that he had illegally crossed over from Mexico. While still having a pleasant chat with the Hispanic ranch hands, five police and Border Patrol cars showed up to inquire if the FAA knew he had crossed the border. In the ensuing misunderstanding, Eduardo was invited to turn around and offered the traditional American hospitality gift of handcuffs. Eventually one of the Border Patrol officers, who is also a helicopter pilot, clarified matters and Eduardo was allowed to go.


On to Sunday’s flying.
Gary was greatly excited about the day: the wind would be good, and while the clouds were likely to dry up around the 150 mile mark he felt we would find a few enduring, high cloud lines along which one could continue for world record distances.


The morning sky that greeted us at the airport was truly excellent. Both the configuration of the cloud streets, and their direction were perfect. The wind was strong, the clouds promised to be reliable, and their alignment would make getting around Laredo easy. They were at first a bit low, but our hero BJ took it upon himself to show the hesitant wimps that the clouds were already working when he launched around 10am. Cloud base rose rapidly, and by the time Mike Barber went at 10:20 cloud base had already risen to over 2,500 agl. Davis and I launched soon after, with Alex Trivelato following a bit later. Excepting Davis on the single-surface glider, we all got past Laredo (50 miles) with little trouble. The early 18-19 mph tailwinds were moving us along nicely, however while the clouds were reliable they never really got very high and the climb rates were at best moderate.


By the time we reached the 100 mile mark at Catarina BJ, Mike and I were on world record paces until it became evident that the clouds were indeed drying up ahead of us. Mike and BJ (and later Alex) heeded Gary’s radio-relayed advice to veer northward in an attempt to remain under the mythic convergence lines. I on the other hand continued downwind to the northwest in pursuit of my declared goal destination of Garden City. The drawback of that route is that it takes one across some truly evil hilly and often un-landable terrain. I have successfully crossed it in the past without too much drama, however on those occasions I had reliable and considerably higher clouds to ease the passage. But this time around the clouds had entirely evaporated by the time I got into the worst of it, so I had to very carefully maximize my blue altitude gains and drift into the wilderness high enough to ensure that I could saw and reach a safely landable spot. I was surprised and disappointed to discover that the attainable altitudes didn’t go any higher as the terrain rose, thereby reducing my ground clearance precisely when I most needed it.


As I tiptoed my way through the bush a further concern was reaching a safe landing spot from which I could be retrieved. Much of that country is divided up into fancy hunting camps which are largely unoccupied during the summer heat. And they can be a long way off a road behind locked gates. My climbs remained erratic, and despite what should have been the perfect late afternoon time of day they were not going any higher, indeed the last couple of climbs didn’t even go as high as the previous ones had gone. I finally became stuck low over one of those luxury hunting camps, and while the swimming pool was inviting, I saw no signs of life and no easy way in. Still having a bit of altitude in hand I wandered around hoping to find a ticket out, and eventually at 1,000 agl some birds showed me a violent thermal that climbed well while awakening my dormant tumble spooks. Eventually the damn thing did mellow out, but only to completely die just high enough to allow a glide towards an inviting distant blacktop runway. Reasoning that I should be able to get to a road from such a fancy airport, I hopped over there and was reassured to see a couple of cars in front of the main lodge. I flew on a little further and after six hours and 195 miles I landed next to the immaculate 4,500 foot runway in strong, gusty conditions.


Upon landing I determined I had zero cell coverage, and no radio contact with David. Before landing I had given him my distance and bearing from Zapata, and by putting those numbers into the old Garmin 12 he should be able to get within a few miles of my location. But establishing radio contact with me behind the hills and down in the Nueces River valley was going to be another matter. And then there would likely be a locked gate to be dealt with.


So after quickly breaking down I hiked with my harness in hundred-degree heat three-quarters of a mile to the main lodge hoping someone could help me out. But after walking all around the buildings hollering “hello”, there was no reply. I found a hose from which to drink water and sat down to cool off and rest my aching leg before beginning the two mile hike out to the road. From there I hoped to establish cell or radio contact with David. But just as I was beginning to stir for the hike, I heard a muffled “woof” behind me and turned to see a woman behind a glass door with a gigantic Great Dane. She turned out to be the lodge’s caretaker during the hot months, and had been alarmed to see some guy with a big “duffle bag” (my harness). She figured I was a Mexican drug runner and was concerned because she didn’t have her gun. However when I turned around to reveal my decidedly gringo features she was immensely relieved, and became most hospitable. In chatting with her I learned that the Pinon Ranch, as it’s named, is owned by the Dallas oil billionaire Hunt family who built the pristine, paved wilderness runway for them to jet in and shoot the furry critter whose heads liberally decorate the walls of the handsome main lodge.


After it became apparent that even their phones didn’t work, she offered to drive me out to the gate where there was cell coverage. At the first high spot on the road I got in touch with David who was miraculously close to the ranch’s gate after having traversed some thirty miles of bush roads trying to establish radio contact with me. With my radioed information he had created a synthetic waypoint that proved to be within about two and half miles of me. But while that is pretty good, I today decided to order a SPOT locator. Having seen how well it works for Mike and the Brazilians I am persuaded it is the way to go for pilots flying in wilderness areas.


After driving in to get my glider we then began the long drive back to Zapata, arriving home at 12:30 am, but not before a dubious dining experience in Carrizo Springs along the way. The food wasn’t bad, but the service established a new low for the western world with a waiter who’s IQ could be measured in single digits. Most unforgivably, he forgot my margarita.


The Others


While I was attempting to solve my retrieval problems BJ was successfully continuing his quest to maintain a seven hour daily flight average. He followed Gary’s advice and headed north past Uvalde and up US 83 into the Hill Country and beyond, getting some 270 miles despite the lighter winds and lack of clouds. He is my hero. Alex and Mike too headed that way with Alex flying what I presume to be a personal best of about 250 miles, while Mike got 200 miles and a rather hairy, windy canyon landing that cost him a down tube. The miracle of Alex’s flight is not the distance, but the fact that he got retrieved at all (by BJ and his driver, Dave). He had neither a functioning radio nor a SPOT locator. He’s bloody lucky. This is not a place to be trifled with.


Finally, Davis on the single surface glider had a much harder time of it earlier, three times going down to 1,000 agl or less in his performance-challenged single-surface machine. He ultimately landed east of Crystal City for 125 miles, or, as he’d prefer to say, 200 kilometers. Earlier in the day I had been astonished at Davis’ rapid progress considering his glider’s performance limitations. And then it dawned on me: he was calling out distances in kilometers…

[mcelrah]

Superb travel writing! Thanks for posting and c'mon guys, break the record! - Hugh (flying sailplanes these days...)

[brianvh]

I think a "Tales of Zapata" book is in order. If we put together all the electronic stories of that place along with some commentary and photos it would be a very nice read.

[mingram]

I second the call for a book! This place sounds insane! XC hungry pilots risking life and limb for the world record! "The Land of Locked Gates" is no where I want to fly over. I leave that to the pros! Congrats on your flights Pete!

Matt

[lplehmann]

I ought to have posted this before, but David Glover's World Record Encampment Blog,

wre500.blogspot.com

has been running all of my (and some of his) accounts of this year's WRE. He has included pictures (the mesquite thorns are lovely) and links to tracklogs and the like. In addition, some of us were flying with SPOT satellite locators that enabled interested parties to follow our flights on the web. After years of safely flying xc in some awfully remote places I have embraced SPOTs as a very cheap insurance policy, and good entertainment for friends and family.

We are now at an end here in Zapata and I will write up a conclusion to the blog when I get a bit of time. But first it's off to the clinic to get the stitches out...

[Dave Proctor]

Stitches out??? Clinic??? we donnnnn need no stinkin clinic. Alcohol and nail clippers....Drink the alcohol and snip the little buggers.
DaveP

[lplehmann]

If anyone's interested, the final chapter of the Zapata saga is up on the WRE blog,

wre500.blogspot.com

And, Dave, yes, alcohol was later applied to the wound. Internally, of course. I am now in Austin continuing the therapy.

Pete

[RichH]

Pete, read your blog about Zapata ..really enjoyed it! I'm back flying after a lonnnng layoff hope to see you flying back at my home sites in Cumberland soon...Rich Hiegel