I was surprised to see the forecast change and the prediction saying a SE20 was on its way. So I walked the dog, turned off the heater in the workshop, got a load of firewood up to the house, and toddled off to the car.

The treetops were starting to move around this side of the island and Lambert Channel was whipping up, so I headed straight over to the farm, no dilly-dallying today. Parked the car and went for a short stroll up to the fence tapes and looked down on launch and the lower bluffs. Tough to get any idea of wind strength as all my flags had knotted themselves up over the winter storms.

I got changed, and made my way to launch, the hillside being quite slippery, made for some interesting geriatric slip-slidin’ away moves, that I’d like to be able replicate on the dance floor. Dropped my gear on table rock and went back to right my lawn chairs. These old plastic chairs are tied to the barbed wire so they don’t blow away, and my favourite was jammed in between the strands of wire, so it took some pulling to get the sucker free. That done I sat down to try and warm up, and see what was going on. The sea lions have arrived and cover the various rocky islets and were making their regular racket, non-stop. The eagles are here by the hundreds and many were cruising by, circling in my elevator, and joining the others high overhead. Unfortunately for me, the breeze was a little sub par, so I continued to sit, enjoying the sites and sounds, and all the activity out on the water.

The channel entrance and south towards Nanaimo started to fill with wind and waves, but they stayed stubbornly clear of where I was sitting. Eventually dark fingers started to skip and slide up the gulf towards the lower bluffs. The wave noise began to increase and I was running around flaking out. Then the rain started. I packed up and went to stand under the trees as the shower looked to have a short span. To the west, the Beauforts were getting quite bright, with a peeking sun trying its best to make my day.

As the rain ended a neighbour came strolling down the road just above and wanted to watch me go through my routine. I new this was the kiss of death, but kept getting ready. All hooked up in my gear and ready to go, I told her the wind was getting up, and I was unlikely to make it out to the bluff edge, so she shouldn’t be too disappointed if I fly out, then just drop to the field, unable to penetrate.

Standing there, I felt a tug, turned to see my trailing edge being lifted, so I gave a small tug on my “A’s”. Next thing I know my ashes are being hauled straight up (about 20’) and then into the fence. I gathered up the glider, stepped over the fence and flaked out again, noticed the neighbour was gone, thankfully, and continued like this sort of thing happened everyday (remembering Annelies vid of last week, realized once again, I’m not alone).

The sun made an appearance, the wind abated a bit, I got ready again with one eye on the trailing edge while I hooked in. It rolled up a bit, but stayed on the ground. I started my run, felt the glider wanting to go left, corrected and flew straight away from the hill, turned towards the bluff and there I stayed. I went hooking with my right foot, hoping to get my speed bar operational, but it was fouled in my stirrup. And now I was flying backwards, still quite high, but over the fence. I eased back towards the hill, hoping to get a break, but noticed I was now coming down fairly fast, still being blown backwards. Then my feet brushed rose tops, I eased off on my left brake and pulled some right to fly clear. Leaned forward way out of the harness and landed in slippery clay and cow poop, skied along backwards trying to turn, went down on my butt, continued along collecting mounds of what most gardeners would kill for, with lubrication thoughtfully provided by what the geese left behind, and through it all, managed to concertina the wing.

I picked up the wing and put away my pride and walked over to the bluff lee. Since this exhausted me totally, I dropped everything and went for a wander to look at my flags. I made these out of ripstop, 3” at the leading edge tapering to 1” at the end, and they were 6’ in length. They had knot balls as big as my fist, so I unclipped them one by one and sat and unknotted each one. It was a fascinating exercise, as I could follow how the ribbons flew around and looped into knots that begat knots, which like a snowball rolling downhill, picked up more knots, until they were just a big ball. And of course, sitting there undoing them all, thank god for finger nails, I realized maybe all the bad weather was tied up in those knots, and if I undid them all, the good flying weather would return. So if it does indeed improve, you have me to thank, or me to curse, for getting the bad stuff all knotted up in the first place.

Still gives me a good buzz, whether I fly for seconds or hours.