SoAring
The Thrill of Alpine Soaring
The towplane lifts off the grass runway and pulls the sailplane into the air, turning north as we depart the pattern. At home in Maryland, I would be seeing the towplane surrounded by either the crisp blue sky that follows a cold front or
the milky haze of a summer afternoon. Here in Slovenia, all I see in front of the tug is a solid wall of very green, very big trees. The trees climb the face of a mountain that tops out at
2,000 meters ( 6,561 feet). Just when it looks as though we’re about to smash into the mountainside—I swear I can see individual pine needles on those trees—the towplane turns left again to fly parallel to the ridge.
The wings of our sailplane are longer than those of the Pawnee pulling us aloft. Unconsciously, I begin to ease away from the
trees. Miha’s voice from the other cockpit is reassuring.
“Don’t worry,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “The towpilot knows exactly how long our wings are.” I center
the ASH- 25, which at 80 feet has twice the wingspan of a Pawnee, and pretend all this is normal.
For Slovenian pilots, it is normal. The Julian Alps in the northwestern corner of this tiny country (about the size of Massa-
by Patricia Valdata
Slovenian Style
