midtoad’s mess.ages
excellence in creative mediocrity

Last Friday, July 29th, while I was flying my hang glider cross-country along the range south of Golden, BC, another pilot was critically injured and died a couple of days later. His name was Charles Warren, and he was flying a paraglider. I’m sorry to see him go, and though we weren’t close, I’ll miss him. He took over from me as HPAC webmaster, and had made many improvements to the site.

On the day in question, there were strong thermals present, 7-8 m/s (1400-1600 ft/min) or even stronger, and there was a moderate west wind forecast and actually blowing at the time. The air was rough, and rougher still above the peaks, where the wind was stronger than it was lower down. It was definitely advanced flying conditions. Any thermal that you took up from the peaks quickly drifted behind them. In the hang glider I felt reasonably safe due to the angle of drift (about 45°, or a 1:1 glide), and due to the fact that I always ensured I had a low point nearby that I could scoot to in case I hit unreasonably strong sink or headwind and could not clear the peaks; however, I never came close to the peaks nor had to take any evasive actions. But paragliders have much less forward speed than a hang glider (typically less than 50 km/h, compared to 100 km/h or more on a hang glider), and worse glide ratios.

Way back in 1990, I ran the Canadian PG National championship, and at that time I advised visiting pilots to always maintain a minimum 1:1 glide ratio to the peaks, plus a 300m height margin. In other words, I suggested they never go behind the peaks unless they were at least 300m over them, and even then only if they could maintain a 1:1 glide ratio to that point. Fifteen years later, I see no reason to change that recommendation; indeed, the events of that day underline those guidelines.

The pilot that died was experienced, having flown at Golden for about 10 years. How could the accident occur? Probably the very fact of his advanced skills got him into trouble. He had been flying aggressively, trying to win the contest, and thought he could use his advanced skills to get him out of trouble. He made a miscalculation and paid with his life. Not what he intended, obviously. How did it happen?

Charles had been flying along the range, and had gone already about 60 km. He had reached a point near Harrogate, where several fingers stick out from the range as ridges that extend into the valley. This is the precise area where hang glider pilot Barry Bateman was tumbled in 1991, and only 5 km from where Steve Best tumbled his hang glider in the same period. Obviously, it is a generally rough area (though Charles may have been unaware of this history, or would not have thought it relevant). But he had been seen flying a considerable distance behind the range that day, drifting way back with thermals as he climbed. Probably when he topped out in his last thermal, he felt good about his altitude and began gliding forward and cross-wind to get back to the peaks. In all likelihood he initially thought he would clear the peaks, otherwise surely he would have turned and run, going for a safe landing in the Beaverfoot Valley. Probably as he dropped lower, he eventually realised it would be a close shave to clear the peaks, and at this point he may have used his speed-bar to accelerate the wing to its top speed. And therein lies a trap.

A paraglider with speed-bar engaged, i.e. accelerated, is much less stable than an unaccelerated one. It will more rapidly fold a tip, or have its entire leading edge tuck under in a frontal collapse, or even wind up entirely into a tangled mess that can take some time to unravel. The advanced gliders may not even recover at all from a serious collapse, and the pilot may have to deploy a reserve parachute to sort things out.

In this case, Charles may have been gliding forward as fast as possible with speed bar when he encounted the rotor behind the peaks. In a flash, the wing would have collapsed, surged forward and droped underneath him, or even wound up into a spiral. If he was low at the time, there would have been only a few seconds to try to sort things out before the hit the ground. He never threw his reserve parachute (from what I’ve been told), which suggests that he was fully absorbed in recovery and didn’t see the ground coming up to meet him. Those final moments must have been truly terrifying.

But what prompts pilots to take such risks? We’ll never know in this case. But the risks weren’t even definitely necessary. Another pilot, Nicole McLearn, flew 132.5 km from Mt. 7 to Fairmont Hot Springs that day without ever drifting over the back, as you can see in her OLC tracklog. The stricken pilot’s judgement may have been influenced by his own desire to win the contest at all costs, or perhaps by the presence of another pilot, an unlicensed, insured pilot from Vancouver by the name of Dennis. Dennis had been earlier observed perhaps 1 km behind the peaks; in a picture taken by Mark Fraser, he appears as a tiny speck. Our pilot had been flying along the range at the same time as Dennis, perhaps in close proximity at times. If they were together or near each other when the accident happened, then Dennis is a very lucky boy. I can’t tell if he was aware of the accident or observed it, but he disappeared from Golden the next day and didn’t return, so no one could ask him any questions.

I’m shocked, dismayed, disappointed and angry at this accident. I’m angry because the pilot has created pain and suffering for his family and friends as a result of selfishly pursuing his own pleasure, and killing himself in the process. The risks he took weren’t necessary. He was pursuing some kind of glory, but it slipped from his grasp in an instant; now he’s just dead. He was in the prime of life, almost 43 years old, and in good health. He had no reason to die at this time. If he were presented with the possibility to go back to the critical moment in his flight and be given the choice to try to win or to try to stay alive, which would he choose?

Some other pilots argued with me the next day about the accident, saying that each of us has to be free to pursue our own path. According to these arguments, we could avoid all risks by giving up flying altogether, and just sitting at home. But then, would we still enjoy life, would we still be the same people we are today, could we even survive with no adventure in our lives? Where does reasonable risk in pursuit of pleasurable activities end, and unreasonable risk begin? How do we balance being focused enough to win a meet against keeping a perspective on unreasonable dangers?

I have no answer to these questions. I only rue the departure of a flying colleague, and am left to reflect on the old refrain: “there are old pilots, and bold pilots, but no old, bold pilots”.

My own thoughts are that flying is inherently dangerous, like sailing, climbing, driving a car and many other activities in which death is an occasional outcome. Each of these activities has high enough inherent risks on its own without us adding to them. For instance, you can be the safest driver in the world, and still die when a drunk comes across the centreline. But, your risk of dying that way is still lower than if you drive drunk yourself, at night, at high speed, while talking on the cellphone and smoking a joint. So we should consider how to participate in our activity at the lowest reasonable risk level, without tempting the gods, or the laws of statistics, to smote us.

Even when we try to reduce the risks, we are still at risk. Death could be waiting to meet us at any time. In the past I’ve made some egregious errors flying (like spinning a rigid wing into the top of Mt. Swansea just eight days after beginning a divorce…) so I have no illusions about the dangers I face. But in order to be able to function without paralysis, and to be able to fly, we have to put the face of death behind us; otherwise, we’d never be able to take off, let alone stay aloft and enjoy the flight. How do we maintain a balance between keeping the risks present enough in our mind to be careful and cautious, while also keeping them submerged enough so that we can enjoy the miracle of unpowered flight?

I’ll be thinking about this for some time, I expect. If you have any thoughts on this, please comment.