Torrey Pines 1999

OK, we have a long story about a few days in June 1999.

Where to start...

In the beginning there were slope races.  Planes and pilots would fly against and - with enthralling regularity - into each other.  The adrenaline and buzz factor was high, indeed almost as high as the cost and time involved in sticking the pieces together again.   Being sensible types, pilots from Nordic regions started to race against the clock and compare times.  Mid air race terminations became a thing of the past, bank managers smiled and wives were happy.

Before too long the idea skipped across the North Sea and British pilots began to realise the fun to be had flying and not repairing.  There are still those who get their kicks from man on man racing and these are generally derived from smaller aircraft limited to 60" span.

Things progressed merrily for many years.  A championship known as the Viking Race flourished and national leagues were set up.  The last Viking Race was in Wales in 1998 was the largest in the race's history with entries having to be restricted to a total of 70 from 18 countries.

At the same time as this European love of F3F blossomed our American cousins started to bemoan the almost total loss of racing from their slopes.  The American format usually involved unlimited aircraft flying up to 4 at a time on a 200 metre course with the pilot standing at one turn-point.  The longer course to some extent minimised collisions but they were still too common for comfort and the result on an unlimited racer would often be financially distressing, and was eventually cited as one of the reasons the format all but died.

In the same way as the British took a little convincing, the Americans were deeply sceptical about the adrenaline buzz that could be had from racing the clock. This was compounded by a few attempted races using the same 200m course as previously with the only adversary being the clock.  I can fully understand how flying a 200m course de-skilled by 50% as a result of standing at one of the turn points could make even thermal soaring look tolerable.   It's little surprise that matters stagnated for a while.

This is the point that the story starts to take shape.  You can say lots of thing about the Internet but there can be little doubt that it has made the world seem smaller and far more accessible.  It was through e-mail that jaded American racers started to hear stories of the thrills Europeans were getting from F3F.  Surely though those pasty limeys knew nothing about adrenaline and flying their sissy one up against the clock format would never catch on with real men (or even Americans)?  Enough good publicity was being spouted about F3F to open a large enough chink in the armour of Southern Californian slope racers to allow a seed of doubt to enter.  All that was needed was a spark to ignite the smouldering embers of an area with a strong racing background.

A spark eh?   Whilst I've called him many things before I don't immediately recollect the use of the word spark to describe Richard Frawley.  There can be little doubt however that on this occasion it was indeed his enthusiasm and promise of a decent cash prize that fuelled the fires enough for the Torrey Pines Gulls to set a date at the world famous Torrey Pines Glider Port in Southern California for their first F3F event.

At this time reluctantly residing within the confines of old blighty were several F3F pilots who knew the British climate did not suit their requirements.  Each year brief encounters at F3F competitions in sunnier climes left no doubt that opportunities were there to be seized.  It was in a moment of such weakness only days after a reluctant return from a Spanish excursion that the news of the race at Torrey Pines hit the wallet.  The bank manager flinched, the wife wifed, the hamster fell off its wheel.  Step by step, bit by bit, brownie point by brownie point, it soon became apparent to all that it would actually be fairly rude not to go.  Anyway we were almost definitely going to win heaps of prize money so the trip would probably pay for itself.

That was how I found myself in Steve Cooper's back garden at 9.00 pm one Wednesday in June 1999 busily stuffing expensive bits of plastic into a sacrificial box.  By midday on Thursday John McCurdy, Steve Cooper and myself were receiving strange looks at the Virgin Atlantic check-in desk.

Generally I'm a believer that luck is a question of perception and preparation but baggage check-in proved that good fortune sometimes just happens and in hindsight proved to be the theme for the next few days.  Steve and myself were using purpose designed model carriers that had been commissioned by Stuart Blanchard (and in my case loaned by Jan Wozny, thanks pal) whereas John was using a cardboard box lined with 1 inch polystyrene.  Both were right for the job but represented two totally opposite schools of thought.  Our boxes were absolutely bomb proof, had carrying handles and were manufactured using seriously dense material, read HEAVY! John's box was strong by design rather than by materials and was small in the frills department, read LIGHT!

Back to the plot sees our transatlantic trio babbling on to the poor confused Virgin check-in girl whom it just so happened pointed at Johns box to be weighed first. Johns 2 Ellipses ensconced in their lightweight hangar barely registered on the scales leaving the clerk happy in the knowledge that it wasn't worth weighing the other two boxes, we may as well just stack them to one side with the other delicate items!  Thus it came to pass our baggage was not excessive.

Eleven hours of non-stop Nintendo later and we'd reach LAX and the welcoming arms of American immigration.   Forms completed I was soon ushered through to speak with the nice armed man (large gun, not nice arms - that would be stupid).  All went swimmingly, in fact all we did was chat about the clothing optional beach at the foot of Torrey Pines before he pronounced me fit for America.  On I strolled only to be pursued by the man's (also armed) supervisor suggesting we did it all again but this time with a few more pertinent questions.  Great start, two hours in the States and already pursued by the gun toting authorities.

Next stop customs.  Ever been stopped by US customs?  Nope, me neither until now.   After opening every single box, case and bag there remained many questions to be answered.  It was only when yours truly mentioned my day job that they dared break the stern faced (hard assed?) approach that they seemed to so enjoy.

Humour restored and boxes re-packed it was time to move on.  As ever getting the hire car involved more hassle than could have been anticipated.  In this case an upgrade from large station wagon to bloody great van was necessitated by our somewhat irregular amount of baggage.  By around 11.00 pm LA time John's GPS had steered us to Torrey Pines where for some reason we felt the need to stumble across the front of the sheer cliff face in the pitch black to "inspect" the slope.

All good fun until John pointed out it was late, we had nowhere to stay, we had not slept in well over 24 hours during which time all we'd eaten was airline food.  Retiring for grub wasn't as simple as you might think.  Eventually we passed a Pizza place whose lights were still on.  Yours truly dived out of our van to see what I could scavenge.  It wasn't looking too good as the door shrugged off my less than subtle efforts to get in.   A tired, impatient figure appeared in the background and shouted something that was lost to the moment.  My best attempt at looking pathetic obviously proved sufficient as the door opened and the proprietor explained he was shut.  More looking pathetic (it's good to have a skill) had him explaining how he'd waited up for a customer who hadn't showed and he was about to bin two huge pizzas.  A deal was hastily struck and I returned triumphantly to the van happy as a Ninja turtle. 

The next few minutes were spent devouring the most excellent Pizzas that any of us had ever encountered.  The only time we looked up from the trough was when a car screeched to a halt outside the Pizza place, a huge gorilla of a man charged out and banged angrily on the door for a while.  The only time his anger was diverted was when he heard some muffled laughter from across the road.  Fortunately at this point the light of the Pizza place went back on and the door opened diverting our benefactor's attention long enough for us to execute a hasty getaway.  Great Britain 1 : USA 0.  Ha! 

The next hour or so was spent touring the areas surrounding Torrey Pines looking for competitively priced accommodation. It was getting into the early hours local time and well into the next day UK time.  We were desperate, tired and ignorant of the areas that we stumbled through.  Moments before an agreement to sleep in the van was struck we happened across the Sleepytime Motel.  So it looked a little seedy, we were beyond rational thought; and it was cheap.  After paying up front at a booth and reading the numerous warnings about locking doors and not taking drugs into the rooms, we retired.

Steve and I were sharing a room and soon became a little disappointed with our choice of lodgings.   Without being too picky, obvious characteristics that steered us to this conclusion included the evil stench, the polyfillered holes in the wall that looked suspiciously like repaired bullet holes and the TV dating from the early 1950's.  That's before mentioning the air-conditioning that sounded like a turbine with damaged bearings and the unusual carpet.  We had a lot of fun with that carpet.  Remember when you were a kid and tried to get from one side of the room to the other without stepping on the floor...  Failure in this instance involved either sticking to the carpet or, even worse, sliding across a slimy patch in a bizarre kind of carpet surf.

Tomorrow's another day and luckily for us it started early thanks to the heady combination of jet lag and the raucous swearing that a few of the motels less salubrious female guests treated the other inhabitants to as they vacated their rooms.

Our van was packed in a matter of seconds and the area vacated at speed until we hit upon the altogether more attractive surroundings of La Jolla (pronounced "La Hoya" unless you enjoy being mocked by the locals).  A fantastic breakfast was enjoyed outdoors under the shade of palm trees overlooking the small town surf shop opposite.

The surf shop was everything you would expect and had its full quota of teen beach dudes.  So friendly were they that we felt inclined to share our accommodation predicament with them.   Directions were immediately forthcoming to a clean and cheap place on the beach.   A brief stroll to the said establishment revealed it was everything we could hope for.  No time was wasted and the manager was consulted as to room availability.   He explained that unfortunately they only had a few basic rooms left.  No matter thought I; so long as carpet surfing became a thing of the past, I could put up with basic and enquired as to what the cost would be.  "We could do them for $400 a night each" was the response through a beaming smile clearly indicating that the guy thought he was doing us a great deal!

I looked at Steve who could barely disguise his smirk.  We both turned to John who was rubbing his chin that he had evidently bruised when his jaw dropped to the tiled floor.  We motioned that we would look for something a little less basic and may be come back later!   It's at times like that I wish I were a Yorkshireman, or perhaps Basil Fawlty, so that I could unashamedly share my true feelings on the moment.

In true blokey type manner we resolved to worry about the accommodation when we were tired and that it was time to go fly.  Arriving at Torrey in the daylight was a truly magnificent experience.  The Cliff is 400ft(?) high with the car park, shop and burger bar at the top and the previously mentioned clothing optional beach underneath.  The whole of the top is arid and in some areas covered in scrub expect for a landing area that is reminiscent of a bowling green with it's lush green grass benefiting from the daily use of their sprinkler system.

As we arrived and emptied the van of our kit a few of the many paraglider and hanglider pilots took to the air in what they were describing as the best conditions they'd experienced in months.   After signing in at the shop, paying the required $5 and having the local rules explained we took to the air.  You will probably have heard of the tales of crowded skies over Torrey and they are not exaggerated.  On the plus side, experience has taught them the benefits of caution and co-operation.  Separate areas for models and full size are designated and if a full-size needs to overfly the RC area he blows his whistle.  It took a little getting used to but seemed to be working OK.

The flying itself was exceptionally pleasant.  The lift was not enough for continuous aerobatics but was astoundingly smooth and surprisingly thermic for a sea cliff.

Landing on that grass was splendid fun.  Strictly the grassed area was for the hang/paraglider pilots but in reality there was plenty of room to slide in on the edge of the patch.   Despite the pleasant conditions, of the many flights I enjoyed that day few were longer than 10 minutes, simply because the landing was such fun.  The air was silky smooth, there were no obstacles, the wind was just enough for the crows to bite and the grass so smooth you could steer the plane with rudder once it was down.

On the occasions that I strapped my camcorder to the Pike the point of touchdown is not actually discernible, it simply slides to a halt.  Indeed on both occasions it was so easy to judge the approach that even with the extra weight of the camcorder both landings ended with my feet in shot!  The footage itself was stunning with Sony quality really bringing out the incredible colours of the sea, the beach and the lustrous grass of the landing area and the famous Torrey Pines golf course. The beach? Of course not!

After an hour or two of pure enjoyment we had clearly overdone things as it was necessary to retire for a spot of lunch at the rather convenient cliff top burger bar.  A goodly amount of consumption later saw the bloated but happy trio trudge the 100 metres or so back to the flight line to try and force some more fun down, this time at Steve's expense...

Mr Cooper was standing on the cliff edge, resplendent in T-shirt, shorts and sandals, contentedly cruising his Ellipse 3 back and forth in the smooth ocean lift.  Along strolls good friend number one, John McCurdy, who happens to notice a moderately large snake of the rattling variety sunning itself only a few feet from Steve's naked toes.  John, of course, on seeing the potentially fatal nature of the situation calls over good friend number two, me, for advice.  Our hushed deliberations soon produced a plan.  We casually strolled back to our kit, armed ourselves with several cameras, and bravely returned to the scene.  By this time Sherlock Cooper had gathered something was afoot and was nervously doing some kind of slope dance.

The snake was obviously not a great fan of Steve's gyrations as it ponderously started to awaken.   No matter how we dressed up the situation we could not persuade Steve to Mambo his way into shot with his new friend.  Thus it came to pass that we have rattler photos and sandal photos but none that combine the two.

As the day drew on Richard Frawley and his accomplice Tim Cone phoned to announce their arrival at Montgomery Field airstrip a few miles away.  Packing completed, we set out on the 1/2 hour to Montgomery.  Two hours later we were still wandering around the perimeter of the huge field listening for Richard.

We decided that a bar come night-club on the edge of the field would be the most likely place for him to surface, so made ourselves known to the other patrons.  Shock horror, not 10 minutes later Richard and Tim show up.  Not having seen Richard for a few months, or met Tim at all, it took quite a while for the obligatory exchange of insults.

Once the formalities were over we decamped to Poway slope to invest the remaining 6 1/2 minutes of daylight in combat.  Around half an hour later someone pointed out that given   we couldn't actually see any of the planes, or the vicious cacti littering the crashing area, sensible people would probably go and eat.  So after another half an hour or so of stealth combat we went and ate.

The next day was the first of the competition and as you would expect sea mist had drifted in leaving visibility a real issue.  After bumming around for a while a few mutterings about checking out the slope were heard but Richard was not convinced it would be worthwhile yet.

The rumblings continued until to prove his point Richard fired up his Cessna and flew us across to Torrey to check.  The mist was clearing and a few people had started to arrive, although no one was flying yet.  In fairness, I suppose they couldn't really fly as some lunatic has beating up and down in a Cessna.  A brief tour later and we landed back at Montgomery field for the short drive to Torrey.

By the time we arrived a few aircraft were drifting around in the light lift. Once all the registrations were complete CD Tom Copp clarified the rules.

Since that day at each UK briefing when all the competitors are huddled around like amorous penguins shielding each other from the elements I close my eyes and treat myself to a fantasy.   Other than the amorous penguin orgy, the most frequent is being back at Torrey during that briefing.  The sun is doing its best to fight through the SPF20 cream, the breeze is keeping temperatures manageable and Tom's cool Californian accent is advising competitors that they "wanna be smokin' in on 28".

Where was I? Down penguins, down. Oh yes the competition.

Round 1 kicked off and it was immediately apparent times weren't going to be fast.  The thing that surprised me was the variations in lift coming through on a sea cliff.  Richard's theory of the land behind the cliff being thermic and drawing the sea breeze at a different rate seemed to correlate well with what was happening.  In thermic inland air often the best lift is in the least wind, here it was the opposite, indicating that it wasn't thermals off the beach or sea but, as Richard surmised, slope lift being dragged in at different speeds.

Whatever the reason for the variance in the lift I certainly wasn't complaining as in round 1 it presented my Pike with a 47.27 proving plenty good enough to win the round.  Second in the round, and the only other competitor below 50 seconds, was Tom Copp flying his Hades very neatly to clock a 49.92.  John McCurdy crept into third with 50.83 using his Ellipse 2V.

Round 2 and Richard blew away the cobwebs flying a 44.54 using his trusty Mantelpiece.  Tom Copp was again second, this time with a 49.64.  Patrick Dionisio came in third flying his Synergy 914 very tightly to net himself a 51.76.

Both John McCurdy and myself lost ground.  I meandered around the course in a less than spectacular 57.43.  And John meandered spectacularly into the course in no time at all!  Base A was situated on a rocky outcrop that at times had some strange air curling over it.  John's known for his terrain following technique and was only inches clear of the rocks during his turn when the squiffy air took all the grip from his tyres. The Ellipse did 99.9% of a flick and that was just enough to drag a tip into the cliff, which turned out to be plenty enough to drag the rest of the plane in.

Round 3 and it was Doug Reels turn to get the 1,000 points with a 48.87, using his rather cute Opus.   John McCurdy flew his spare Ellipse 2V into second place and Richard was third.

John continued to pull back the points by winning round 4 in 53.52 seconds.  Tom Copp was second and Doug Reel was third.

Time was getting on and the lift wasn't inspiring anyone to stay around, so that left eating.   A fine meal was enjoyed in some fine company.  One side I had a crazed Australian, the other a tree-hugging hippie.  Face left for mellow, right for manic.   It worked quite well, you should try it.

Day two of the competition and the previous day's mediocre lift was made to look brick lifting.

Round 5 (the first of the day) went to Richard with a 56.63.  Mark Navarre came in second flying a Diamond and Eric Larson was third using a CR Raider.

Round 6 and Tom Copp took the honours with his 48.90, crippling the scores of the others.  Second was Doug with a 54.51 and third was Patrick Dionisio.

Round 7 and Tom again took the 1000 points in 49.89. John was second and Patrick again took third with some very accurate flying.

Round 8 and guess what, Tom won again, this time with a 50.73.  Doug was second and I scraped into third.

The final round was number 9 and John took this one with a 51.41.  Tom was second and Richard third.

Even before the scores were fed into the laptop it was clear to all that Tom would be the winner.   He'd flown a consistently tight course, had reasonable air throughout and never really put a foot wrong.  Nice one Tom, not bad for a tree hugging hippie.

Richard Frawley nipped into second, a fraction ahead of John McCurdy in third, with fourth going to Doug Reel.  I crept into fifth, or, more accurately, Mark Navarre lurched out of fifth following some disastrous cuts towards the end dropping him to sixth.

With the competition finished there was enough time for a brief trip to Poway for an hour or so of combat/slalom through the flagpoles that announced the arrival of a new housing estate.   Much fun was had until it was scarily apparent that all American Tim Cone had swapped accents with Steve Cooper.  Tim became all "I say chaps" and "Tally ho" whereas Cooper was overcome with bouts of "You're da man" and "Pretty pissed."  This all got very disorientating and it was decided to leave before the contamination spread.

The brief journey back to the hotel was prolonged somewhat as Steve swapped his sitting in the back with a bearded grin duties for Johns slightly more complex driving the vehicle to where we intended to go duties.  All was going splendidly for ten or fifteen seconds, then John fell asleep.  Another 10 to 15 seconds passed by which time Steve and myself were paralysed with laughter necessitating an emergency parking manoeuvre half on the central reservation and half in the fast lane.  The car horns and gesticulations aroused (!?) John, who pointed out that American road rage involved guns and calmly led us on our way.

Next day, as a reward for being the only person adult enough to drive, John got to ferry himself, Tim Cone and all our belongings to Agua Dulce airstrip.  As penance for our sins, Steve and myself had to make the trip in Richard's Cessna with only one a single stop in order to be shown around the Robinson helicopter factory! 

That was an experience in itself, very interesting, although it didn't get off to a particularly auspicious start.  We flew into the airport where the factory is based and strolled across to the oppulent chrome and leather reception.  Steve and myself made it our duty to test the luxury of the sofas, whilst Richard introduced himself.  As if by magic an efficient, although apparently rather well fed, woman appeared and started delivering her spiel to Richard.  She motioned Richard towards a nearby door and at the same time caught a glimpse of beard face and Mr Baldy sprawled over the furniture.   Trying not to hide her disappointment she stared briefly at us through both nostrils, turned to Richard and asked "are they with you?"

We assured her of our domesticity and she conceded, allowing us to tag along so long as we walked a few steps behind.  I am of course kidding, she showed us around their most impressive establishment the whole time wowing us with her knowledgeable sales pitch.

It's at this point I've given up, I'm beat…

You've only missed Richard flying us to Agua Dulce airstrip near Parker.

DS'ing with Joe Wurts and Pat Bowman.

John's Ellipse doing a sycamore.

Flying over the Hollywood Bowl.

Me and scOOp nearly missing the flight back having over-relaxed in the airport bar.  "Mr Newton and Mr Cooper your aeroplane is waiting".  I can hear it over the tannoy now.

Thanks to everyone who made it so much fun.