I remember flying with Terry on his 70+ mile flight out of the Sac in April 2001. Early in the flight I lead the way, marking thermals in my trusty Target for Terry and Tom. I think that was one of Terry's great flights as he blasted past Tom and I to go on and land just because he got cold. He was in the zone that day, soaring in that spiritual place.

Yesterday, around three o'clock, going through 5000MSL on a beautiful spring day, I think it was Terry leading the way for me as we shared that spiritual place together.

When we soar we will think of him, touch his spirit in the sky and he will live on.

We flew out butts off at Manquin this afternoon. Found out about 4pm that Terry had passed. Figured Terry would be pissed if we stopped flying. I was busy helping get a new tug pilot trained by letting him yank me in the superfloater. So we kept going with Terry in our thoughts but concentrating on the task at hand. Then I let him tow me up in a brillant sunset on 225 falcon to boat around. Could see the mountains behind the setting sun. Pretty sure Terry was there. God I'm going to miss him.

Terry was one of the best people I knew. Always helpful, always funny, just a great person to be around. He was always there for my couple trips a year to the mountains to help me pick a good cycle to launch in. After we were done flying, we drank a toast to Terry, then ate some spiced sausages, then drank some more. Now I'm sitting here in front of the computer. God does this suck.

When I flew Woodstock for the first time in 9 years (still as a H2) Terry was there to help. When I had a less than perfect landing that day, Terry was the first one to reach me. He helped me carry my glider back to the setup area and advised me on the finer points of bagging a glider with two broken down tubes. All the while he did everything he could to help me understand how I came to be in that position and what I should do to avoid it in the future.

When I bought my new Z-5 Terry took the time to show me where he packed all of his glider bags, pads and his CamelBack and how to secure everything so it wouldn't shift in flight.

When I first started to thermal Terry spent time helping me visualize what it would be like, what I would feel and what I should do. He promised to 'show me around Manquin's sky' but I was never able to get up to his altitude.

I'm really going to miss Terry. And I completely agree that if we had more pilots like Terry we'd have a lot fewer H2s dropping out. Lucky for me and my fellow H2s in the mid-Atlantic we have more than our share. Terry was part of a fine tradition of pilot mentors, and he was one of the best.

Terry helped throw me off Woodstock, VA as a new Hang 2 last April and I got to know him over the next 13 months. I was amazed at the gracefulness of his flying and he taught me lessons thru his conservativeness and his flying skills. He was always quick to compliment and give helpful suggestions. I guess it was only appropriate that I flew Woodstock yesterday and found out of his passing when I got home. I'm sure Terry was there with us and I'm sure he will be stretching his new wings in a much better place.

The Capital Hang Gliding and Paragliding Assoc will miss him and his presence unbelievably. Go high and fly far Terry, your family will be in our prayers.

I can see Terry in my mind's eye as I write, hair disobedient, smile cracking his face, ready to burst into laughter. I usually was in the position of student with Terry, and once he knew I would listen, he was generous with his knowledge. He never made me feel stupid, though. When I confessed my fear of cliffs and ramps, he said that most pilots felt that way at first. He told me that when he crewed for pilots, he could often feel them shake through the wires. He assured me that I was at least as brave as the others, just more honest.

He constantly fed me knowledge. We paused once, on a grueling hike up the back of Woodstock, and he showed where he sometimes came back down the mountain to get warm after setting up. He held his hand up and said that it was a bad sign that the wind blew where we rested, because it meant that it would be cross at launch (it was).

I tagged behind him on trips to Jack's and the Pulpit and High Rock. I would squat by him while he waited to launch, and he would tell me his favorite trees to watch. At Woodstock it was the one with the white bark on the left, but you had to make sure the one on the right moved, too, and that the ones in the valley still showed signs of life but weren't wildly undulating. Then it was time to pick up your glider. While the lessons that Terry taught me were invaluable, I loved his humor, too.

This February at Quest, I watched his glider zip overhead, so fast you would have sworn it had a motor. It carved around the corners as he lined up to approach and land. I wished so much that I could fly like him, that I could fly as if I was born with wings, like being in the air was no more effort than breathing. Terry set down then, whisper soft, right in front of me. I couldn't help but gush. Terry just started giggling, though, and told me I should have seen his first landing. He said that he scared himself enough that he wanted to make sure he got the second one perfect.

Terry always had a story, and always was ready to break into his evil laugh. I enjoyed him every time I saw him. We convulsed about cow pies at the Strausburg Inn and collapsed when we gossiped about other pilots.

So first, I loved Terry for helping me. No one will ever know how much he helped me, either, all the time, everywhere, in so many ways. He bolstered my confidence, and skills, and assisted me with little things like watching that the shoulder line adjustment for my new harness was snugged up before I launched. And second, I loved his great wit and intelligence. He could have made me laugh in the middle of a bout with the stomach flu.

But the third most important reason I loved Terry was the most important one of all. He had a good heart. He was kind. Yes, I love people who make me laugh, who are funny and slightly off-kilter and who have skills. Yes, I like to have them teach me, to have them let me touch the greatness that they exude. But sometimes, even when you fall in love with people because they are so much fun, when you reach the bottom of them, you find they have no heart. They are not really very nice people. To me, kindness is ultimately the most important of the qualities.

In all honesty, I don't think that Terry ever said an unkind word to me, and I was a pain in the ass. He was loath to say much unkind about anybody else, either. So this is where I really fell in love with him, when I knew he cared about people, when I knew he was nice.

I try to honor Terry, in my small way. When I asked, on the Listserv, last year, about possible names for my glider, he suggested "Cloud Base". I settled on "Ginny Eagle", instead.

But I just got in a new horse. He is, in fact, of all of the horses I ride, the only one I own. The reason I own him is because he jumps like he has rockets in his ass and he moves like his legs have springs. His eye is liquid and brown and honest and he tries to clear anything I point him towards. I named him Cloud Base. I ordered a new nameplate for his halter, and I changed his name with the United States Eventing Association. And everyday, the best part of everyday when I work, when I am privileged to sit on an animal that has the strength of Hercules, when I sit on the one horse that I love, I think of Terry. I know it's very small, but it's the only thing I could think of.

Here's to you then Terry, my little scraggly-haired sky-God, my little angel of the air. Saying I will miss you is lie. I miss you so much already. You were a gift.

 

The mighty eagle soars the heavens supported only by it's wings.

Wings made up of thousands of purposely designed, strong, lightweight feathers.

Individually amazing, but when working together they make the miracle of flight possible.

Helping the eagle fly, these feathers are always there not to ask why but working on the task at hand without complaining.

 

Occasionally one of these feathers, after years of flying, breaks loose and falls from the eagle.

All of the other feathers stop flying for just a moment as their fallen brother says farewell and keep flying for me.

All the remaining feathers have to readjust and work just a little harder to make up for the empty space.

These feathers will never be quite the same.

 

Somehow different and respecting all there is that makes up the wonder of flight.

This Fallen Feather flies downwind toward Earth on its last flight.

Doing what it was born to do even until the very end.

The Fallen Feather finally ends its last flight and touches down never to fly again.

Now still and quiet it can rest and be at peace as it becomes one with the Earth.

Never forgotten, the Fallen Feather flies on in spirit and lives forever in our memories and most of all in our hearts.

Thank you, Fallen Feather, it was great flying with you.