This was written in 1999 about a 100 mile flight I had during the Snowbird X-C competition. The same Day Bill Belcourt flew 154 miles, Todd Bibler flew 150 miles, and Bo Chris flew 70 miles.

                    We had seen similar conditions the previous day, not quite as strong, and I was optimistic as I headed up the canyon. When I heard the wind aloft  forecast once we arrived at the base of the mountain, I began doubting the viability of the day, but headed up the tram anyway. Conditions seemed surprisingly good on top. Light cycles were coming up the Southeast (sunny) side of the mountain instead of the forecasted southwest side that faces into the wind shadow of AF twin peaks. We proceeded to dither away an hour fiddling with gear and getting ready while keeping an eye on the cycles, which remained fine. As soon as we were ready, of course the wind switched to SW, and Bill was able to get off into a light thermal, climbing nicely to 15,000.' Bo, Todd and I stood waiting for the next cycle, and waited...     When it finally came thru, it seemed pretty good, and Bo took it, or more accurately, It took Bo, thrashingfloppingragdollandall, and plucked him skyward. Bo did a splendid job of keeping his glider under control, and flew away from the hill in lifting air.

    One must question the judgment of someone that would willingly choose to
launch right after watching that, yet my only thought was, "here's my chance, if I don't take it, I wont get off" and Todd and I launched, not wanting Bo to have all the fun. The climb was one of the roughest I've ever seen, and we were getting tossed around in sort of a generally circular pattern. I was glad to be sharing the air with such good pilots, as I trusted them to keep their gliders under control. We never got too high over Hidden peak, but ended up running down the ridge towards Park City, where I watched Todd get low at Jupiter peak. I came in behind him and ended up in the same position, nearly on the ground and scrambling in a little nasty scrap. Todd had found something, and it seemed to be working a bit better above me. Bo rejoined us, coming in over me after finding a strong shot in Big Cottonwood. At this point, I remember turning into wind and really looking at the low leeside position I'd managed to get my sorryself into, and realized I'd need to track this squirrelly little thermal like I'd never tracked before. When I finally opened my eyes, I was climbing nicely towards cloudbase in a big, beautiful thermal, with Todd in his usual position, specked out and miles ahead, and Bo not far behind him. I finally started to relax a bit, and really enjoyed the climb to base. A cloudstreet was forming from Coalville towards Evanston, as well as one towards the Northeast off into no mans land. I had lost sight of Todd and Bo by the time I reached Echo reservoir near Coalville, and decided that Bo's radio wasn't working. I determined that the cloudstreet heading towards Evanston was still building and might develop more to the East, so I headed that way. I was staying between cloudbase and @ 14000' most of the time, taking time to climb when the lift got better, but staying under the clouds and flying them with ground speeds of @ 40 mph + at the higher altitudes. The cloud street petered out over Evanston, But the lift continued, and I cut the corner up towards hwy. 189, circling in whatever scraps I could find. With groundspeeds like this, all I needed was to stay up as long as possible, and not think about how far I would need to walk if I sank out.....

    I was now flying between 14000' and 12000,' and my oxygen ran out. after hours at higher, colder altitudes, I now started getting uncomfortably cold, and looked up to see my glider shivering along with me. At least I wasn't alone in my discomfort. I drifted towards hwy. 189 just south of the power plant, and started getting lower as I approached the hogback that parallels the highway. I was starting to warm back up again, but now needed to decide whether to follow the lift over the back of the hogback into desolate desert, or try and ridge soar the hogback north along the hwy. I decided that the ridge soaring concept was a poor one, but was unwilling to commit to the empty desolate desert. I followed the lift some, but kept trying to cheat my way north, not wanting to get too far away from the road, and left the thermal that would have gotten me back up in order to stay nearer roads and houses.

     I was still hearing Ken on the radio, nearly 100 miles away back on Hidden peak, and could hear Bill and Todd ahead of me. I was amazed at the range we were getting, and knew there was a chase vehicle out there somewhere looking for me. What a comforting thought, as evening approaches and you're getting low over the sagebrush desert. But I also knew that Bill and Todd were still getting good climbs, the thermals were still out there! I drifted NW towards hwy. 30 where it passes thru Opal, and hoped to find another one, but ended up ridge soaring a little ridge for several miles to the North, before finally touching down exactly 100 miles from launch, and a mile or so from the nearest houses, just west of Opal, WY. The family that I interrupted in the middle of dinner were gracious, and let me use their phone, before giving me a ride out to the Highway, where I was quickly retrieved.     Thank you Ken, Janet, all the volunteers and fellow competitors that made this such a great comp.