SAFA Skysailor Magazine

20 SKY SAILOR July | August 2022 matter of life or death. My sheep’s brain knew that landing meant a day in the heat, far from the cool air of altitude. What I didn’t understand at the time was the ebb and flow of the thermic energy of a flat- land day in high summer. The day builds, the sun providing a mammoth amount of power for thermals to cycle up. The middle of the day is cranky and demands all your attention and skill. The day peaks, crescendoing into the afternoon lull when the air is more settled and predictable. After spending the middle of the day fighting, I was tired and all I really wanted was to have a nap. Yet, I knew others had reluctantly landed and the clouds were calling. The rest of the day was a blur. We hugged a river, a snakelike streak of green and grey through a red and orange landscape. There were dust devils and one little town off to the west. There was radio chat from the van on the ground giving clear instructions of which road to follow. Others listed landmarks ahead as we flew crosswind towards sunset. I ate and drank on glide and climbed to 3200m. I peed in my diaper and tried to spot the other pilots. Aside from occasionally radioing to inform everyone that I’d hit a new PB, I was alone with my wing. The sun tracked predictably across the sky and the clouds grew at a slowing rate. As the sun was setting, I landed. After flying for over nine hours, my legs and brain were jelly. Unbeknownst to us, a big storm was coming as I buzzed with exhausted elation, having flown 227km. As the gust front hit not long after packing up, a wave of gratitude cemented the day; the flatlands had asked what I was made of, and I’d answered. Towing is not for the faint-hearted