High Rock Party

by Brian Vant-Hull

Photos by Rich Bloomfield

The High Rock party was inordinately pleasant. Part of it was having just enough people to bring in a handful of new faces, but not so many that the party broke up into cliques. And the old High Rock magic which made it flyable on a SW forecast day always raises spirits.

Bob and Sparky were flying their Zagi radio controlled planes, and Mike Chevalier was toting his potato shooter around like an anti-aircraft gun, firing whenever a buzzing pile of styrofoam flew overhead. One of the Pierce girls looked up at Susan: "Mommy, what happens if he hits it?" she asked. "He's not really aiming for it," Susan explained comfortingly. "No, I'm trying to hit it," Mike responded matter-of-factly as he squirted some more juice into the chamber. Then miniature Iraq had to call a cease fire as some more gliders came spiraling in.

It wasn't a soaring boowah day like the 25th anniversary (and the 20th), but everyone who wanted to, launched. And a few, like Krichten, Spencer, and Fink had extended flights in the area of two hours. Not that I'm envious of their Olympian talents or anything, but for form's sake, damn them to hell and back anyway. The rest of us sledded. Except for Carlos, who took off, and started going up. When everyone yelled at him to turn, he ignored them and kept going up. As did Ellis, who followed. As I didn't when I followed about 15 minutes later. Pox and bebother, but Carlos deserves a good flight for all the good works he's done. And Ellis, aside from being an all round decent sort, was just applying the Ellis flight time expansion factor to a typical sled. Wish she'd loan it to me sometime.

But then Ralph landed, so enough about that. Bruce slipped me a bag full of streamers left over from the 25th party, and told me to take care of it. I know how to follow orders, so collected a band of elves and we went and festooned Ralph's glider with as many as would fit. Then since I was standing on the backside, I was immediately struck by the colors and declared that this was Padgett's glider: we'd have to untie and relocate. Five minutes later we were walking back to the pavilion when George asks why we tied all the ribbons to Bob Buchanan's glider. Had it right the first time. My elves deserted me in disgust, but eventually reappeared to help me finish off the job.

It really did look festive, with 37 streamers (yes, Ralph took the trouble to count them) in three colors dancing off every exposed string and nubbin. Ralph took one look at it and began breaking it down as it was, declaring his intention to run it up to the top and make a carnival flight out of it. Simply irresistible.

Twenty minutes later we were up top, with a very slight tail wind, dying down to cycles of imperceptible motion. Ralph has a launch run like a fox with it's tail on fire, and with the low trees in front would have no problem in his falcon. He started at the back and on a dead cycle took off like a bottle rocket. More than ample tree clearance, and he was on his way. The landing approach must have been a memorable sight. We stood up above and wished we could be down there, then collapsed in laughter: as Ralph came in Bob's Zagi peeled off and followed in his wake like an angry hornet, buzzing past in triumph as the unpowered Ralph stopped to flare.

Bruce fired up the grill early, and manned it from the very late lunch hours through dusk. We had Sam Adams beer on tap, and mint juleps, and Gregor special import beer, and Janet's cookies, and bean salad and pesto-pasta salad, and chips, and a bonfire, and were very happy. 25 pilots signed into Emma-jane's log book; probably had 40 people total.
The only tragedy was when Steve Padgett tore a ligament playing frisbee. If it weren't for all this nonsense about hospital care we would have cured it by pouring beer down his throat till the world felt right again. Here's to you Steve...I hope we still get to see you around for the next few months. We'll miss ya if you stay away.