Thermals over 700 fpm were predicted over a wide area stretching south into Oregon, and the 600 fpm band extended into the far southeastern corner of Washington. In the previous few days, Eric Greenwell accomplished very impressive flights into Oregon, the most remarkable one being an out-and-return flight from Richland to a few miles shy of Burns and back, approximately 380 miles over rugged terrain of Eastern Oregon. This time the favorable airmass also extended into Oregon, and I was determined to try to head down there, for also a long out-and-return. I called the tow pilot John Roskos and he agreed he would be at the airport at 10:45 am. Karly was out there at 10 to help me put the wings on; and by the time John came, I got the glider assembled, towplane out of the hangar, trailer put away, and was ready for the positive control check and launching. Clouds were popping already over Mission Ridge but also over the plateau east of Pangborn. I still did not see any forecasted clouds to the south though, and reluctantly launched to the east instead of to Mission as I had originally intended. I decided that depending on what I would see once "out of the hole of the Columbia canyon", I would decided on the route.

At 11:08 we launched. John pulled me towards the Pocket on Badger Ridge, and turned around. Seven minutes after the take-off I released at 4,200' and in five minutes climbed to 5,300'. Lift averaged two knots already. I could have launched earlier, and possibly be on my way for an hour already. While climbing I evaluating my route possibilities. I was wavering between going south - where there were only a few clouds visible, and going to the northeastern quadrant, where there were already plentiful cumulus popping up. Reluctantly, I gave up on my southern plan and struck out east towards Davenport. Taking that decision felt to me almost like a cop-out. Settling for something I've done many times before.

I was annoyed also by the fact that my radio was acting up. I could hear but my broadcasting was intermittent; in case I needed to call for assistance, especially if going south, I would not be able to rely on the radio.

Another disappointing thing was my forward progress speed. I looked at my watch when I was over the Sun Lakes (the first 33 miles out), and it was already 12 o'clock. A few miles past them I even dropped down below my comfort level altitude; I finally caught a good thermal from 4,100' over the unlandable scablands near the Dry Falls. From that point on, however, things had improved. For the next 65 miles I needed to stop for turning just twice, to get eight miles past Davenport.

Here I was coming upon Davenport.

And this is what Davenport downtown looked like.

I kept listening to what the Ephrata bunch were planning to do. The farthest one out was Papa Quebec who was also heading for Davenport. When he spoke to Nelson, the latter said that he thought the area around Larmie looked good, and that he was heading in that direction.

This statement reminded me of my earlier analysis of the weather, and I decided that I'd go to Larmie as well, and, if possible, as far out in that direction as I dared. Larmie was on a southeasterly course from Davenport, so taking that route took me farther and farther away from Wenatchee.

I was in a territory where I rarely have been before. The countryside changed dramatically as I skirted the Spokane airspace by just three miles; a commercial jet took off from its international airport and pierced clouds just a few miles ahead of me on its way toward Seattle or Portland. I was looking at the Fairchild Air Force Base runway below my left wing and wondered what the millitary jets would be doing.

The square fields with their handy east-west/ north-south/ boundaries disappeared and gave way to the sparsely wooded countryside, here and there sparkled by irregularly shaped lakes.

The clouds had larger gaps between them and the wind seemed to pick up. Or was it what I heard from 6A who was trying to get into a wave by Richland? I looked overhead and indeed, even where I was there were distinct lenticular clouds. I started to get worried. If wind really picked up, it would bend all thermals and might even tear them apart, and my return would become problematic.

Nearing Larmie, I was trying to figure out where its private airport was. Perhaps it was a strip by the road and railroad, leading northeast out of the town...

Or maybe right downtown?

With so many undulating land features, finding things became a lot more difficult. I entered the Palouse Country. Clouds started working better again, however, and so I decided to persevere and push on. I even upped my goal by deciding to go farther, on the same course, which happened to intersect with the airport at Colfax by the Idaho border, called Whitman.

On the way there I flew by a very prominent ground feature in the Palouse, called the Steptoe Butte. It rises about 1,000' above the surrunding countryside, and its top is at 3,612 feet. In this picture it lookes rather dimunitive, but that's because I made the photo when I climbed to about 8,000'.

Coming upon Colfax, I started to distinguish in the distance also the larger cities of Pullman, home to Washington State University, and over the border in Idaho the city of Moscow, with its own University, of Idaho. The cloud bases towards the east seemed to start dropping, but towards the south they held well high; and at this stage I was finally able to climb all the way to the cloud base which was then around 10,000'.

Colfax is situated at the confluence of two rivers, Palouse River coming from the northeast from the town of the same name, and the South Fork Palouse River coming from Pullman. It is also a crossroad of major highways and a railway. A good orientation point.

Whitman County airport is located about two miles southwest from the center of Colfax. Once I rounded it, I glanced to the west. The sky was filled almost everywhere with good looking cumulus. Only about seventy miles out there appeared to be two larger blue holes, one somewhere west of Ritzville, and the other northwest of it. I decided to take the route which seemed to have the largest frequency of cumulus, and which conveniently also lead towards Mansfield. That would put me the farthest out over the proven, good 'cu'-producing part of the Columbia Basin.

On the way I passed the Sprague Lake.

I started a series of 10-mile glides on the average, making sure I would stay high, especially before I would have to cross the northern blue hole. From south of Kramer I started a fairly long, 33-mile long glide, taking me to the area north of Wilson Creek. The last three miles of that glide actually ended up in straight climbing up, from about 6,500' to 8,000' as the clouds started to street. I needed one more thermal to cross Banks Lake, but once on the lake's western shore, things started to deteriorate. I could not reach my goal, Mansfield, without having to slow down and wait for thermals to pop up in that direction. Instead I decided to veer off to the south and used a cloud street which extended to the end of Waterville plateau. There I made a decision to try to jump across the Columbia River canyon and try to connect to another street which started above Entiat mountains. That task proved to be a delicate one; I had to keep one eye on my final glide to Pangborn, not to get below it. I descended to the level of the mountain tops west of Orondo, 16 miles from Pangborn. There, at 5,400' I caught a very squirmy, wind-bent thermal over one small sunlit area (the rest of the mountains was one big dark blotch). Working it patiently I was able to claw my way to 7,300' which enabled me to penetrate upwind to more promising clouds. On the way I took a painting-like photo of the Nahahum Canyon and the Wenatchee River valley extending towards Mission Ridge and Wenatchee. I was headed towards clouds south of Blag mountain, hoping to reconnect to those. 1,500' high over Tibbetts Mountain (4,115', about two miles southeast of Blag Mountain) I found another good thermal which lifted me from 5,600' to 7,800'. There were clouds ahead leading towards the mountains; I was hoping that they would produce consistent lift and I would be able to get maybe even to the Enchantments. I loved the way the hills were dramatically illuminated, the clouds were casting shadows and there were sunbeams of light superimposed over the distant valleys. The one on the left is where Highway 97 peels off from Highway 2 and starts heading south. The valley on the right is the Icicle River valley.

Here is the close-up of the Icicle Valley entrance, with the Fish Hatchery showing prominently with its red roofs, and in the bend of the Icicle river nestled among the trees is the Sleeping Lady Resort; a cultural center founded by Harriet Bullit.

Veering off slightly to the right, I saw Wenatchee River below me as it meanders through Leavenworth, exiting from Tumwater Canyon hidden behind the ridge of Tumwater Mountain (4,500'). Ahead of the ridge, in the most brightly lit greenish-brownish area of the picture is the grass airstrip marked on aeronautical maps as, "Johnson's Landing", elevation 1,260'. Probably the best approach if one were to land there would be over the schools located on the field's east end. I have never seen an airplane there. But the field is level, long and sufficiently wide, and from the east end I have not seen any obstructions. On the west end there is a road towards Leavenworth ski hill; it might be a good idea to drive there and check the field out from the ground occassionally to see if it is still landable.

There were a few other areas which could serve well in emergency as off-field landing sites, such as the field in the lower left - if it were already mowed. This time of the year - June - grass fields are pretty deceiving in their appearance. From high up they look nice and level, but in fact they may be rolling and the grass may be chest-high.

The clouds above Leavenworth were not good producers any more and so I turned my back on them. There was a nice cloud street towards Twin Peaks over the south side of Wenatchee River valley, so I took. In the foreground on the picture is Dryden; the huge cloud shadow covered all of Cashmere, and another one beyond extended from Monitor all across Wenatchee.

As I arrived over the Columbia River, I glanced to the north. It was ten past six in the evening, and the clouds were still going strong. I crossed the river and headed straight east, towards another massive cloud street. That one extended past Quincy:

Judging by the location of the cloud shadows, the street was about five miles east from the rim of the Badge Ridge; there were some smaller cu's at the street's leading edge, so I was heading towards them first. In the picture the small cu's are in the right upper corner. The jagged line is the Badger Mountain Road, recently regraded, enabling a lot safer access to the upper plateau, the fact that must be very much appreciated by residence living up there year-round. I decided to glide the street as far as my final glide calculations would tell me I should be heading back. That point was reached about five miles south of Beezley Hills turnpoint; as usual, I turned around too high; at 7,100' and 23 miles out from Pangborn. I was thinking, any more legs I will add will be discounted or discarded during the OLC flight optimization. So reluctantly, I headed home, picking up my speed as I went. Longingly I looked at the boiling dust devils off to my right, still very strongly active despite the late hour (the picture was taken at ten to seven); the cloud street would still likely carry me at least until Waterville - if not farther, and I could "rack up" even more miles. But I was satisfied with the task I've done already, it was time to go home, and to leave more to be accomplished another time.