Mountain flight

What activities make you lose track of time?

On a warm Spring day many years ago, I stood in the middle of a vast field, surrounded by the Catskill Mountains of upstate NY. I was with my Dad, my brother and our dog. We were there on a mission.

My dad–a lifelong aviation enthusiast and former bomber pilot–had just finished his latest creation, a balsa wood glider. It was a thing of beauty. Taut, varnished tissue paper was stretched over the frame and clear plastic inserts served as the windshield. It was about three feet long, and the wingspan about a foot longer. We all had our roles.

Doug and I held the glider over our heads; Pop was 50 yards ahead holding a kite string that connected to a hook under the nose. Pop shouted and we released the glider. He ran forward and the glider rapidly gained altitude. I was impressed, both by the glider and that Pop could move that fast.

The glider passed over him and with a snap of the wrist, he loosed the string from the hook. The glider was now untethered, free to go where fate determined. We expected it to fly a few hundred yards and then set down at the end of the field. Fate had a different idea.

The glider found a thermal, a mass of rapidly rising air that’s common in that area in Spring. As we watched, it rose and grew smaller and smaller until it became a dot; the dot finally vanished over the mountains. We looked at each other; Pop was crestfallen. All that work and the damned thing flew away on its inaugural flight.

A week later, the phone rang. Pop answered. He listened, then looked up, startled and elated. He hung up. “Guess who that was?” he asked. We shrugged. “It was a farmer over in Phoenicia, He found the glider in his field!” Pop had had the foresight to glue a return address sticker on the nose. The glider had flown roughly 15 miles.

I thought the whole thing was pretty cool, so Pop taught me the art. It’s a hobby that requires patience, craftsmanship and a lot of concentration. All the pieces need to carefully cut out of scored sheets of balsa wood, pinned into place, then glued. Finished pieces (wings, fuselage, tail, elevator) are sanded, then tissue paper is carefully glued on. A long rubber band inside the fuselage is wound and powers the propeller.

It’s not easy these days to find balsa wood kits, but they’re still around. I suppose I’m considered an anachronism, a dinosaur for continuing to pursue such an arcane hobby; but it’s relaxing, fun, and clears the jumbled thoughts of the world from my mind. I play classic rock and my mind becomes empty except for what I’m doing with the X-acto knife and the glue. I take a break and hours have slipped by.

And whenever I let one of my creations fly, I remember that Spring day long ago….and wonder if Pop is watching from above, cheering me on 😎