The Awesome Mt. Rainier Wave
"All evidence available tends to show
that Rainier is an extinct volcano. It belongs, however, to the
explosive type of volcanoes, of which Vesuvius is the best-known
example, and there is no assurance that its energies may not be
reawakened." Israel C. Russell, 1898
On September 28, 1997, the Mountain showed its awesome power through not a volcanic but an atmospheric eruption. This is one glider pilot's account. By Vitek Siroky, "CD"
This story would not be possible if it were not for the unceasing efforts of many gliding enthusiasts, most notably of Norman Ellison ("BH") who for the past seven years has been fighting for the preservation of Ranger Creek airstrip 15 miles NW of Mt. Rainier summit as a protected and active airport. The Washington Department of Aeronautics let its lease with the US Forest Service (FS) lapse some time ago much to the delight of the FS who had enough trouble tending to the encroachment of ORV (off-the-road-vehicles) people, motor homes, dirtbikers, horseback riders, etc. on the airstrip. Norman went to countless meetings, kept on convincing and eventually succeeded in getting the State to renew its lease with the FS, get it reopened to aviation use, and even get the airstrip repaved. Thank you very much, Norm.
Also thanks go to this year's Mt. Rainier Wave Camp organizer John Gilbert who got on the Internet and roused interest in our glider community. And for this particular weekend thanks go to my supporting wife Emily who got me out-the-door, also to Pierre Parent, the towpilot, the hapless glider pilots who came on Saturday, assembled but didn't get to fly - Steve Northcraft and Mike Newgard, to Bob and Lisa Hills who came scouting the field Saturday evening and promised to come the next day with their glider, then on Sunday thanks to the cooperative air traffic controllers at the Seattle Center, and finally thanks to The Mountain and its "Weather Gods".
About ten years ago I did get to fly once from Ranger Creek. A vague memory of a stable day with polishing the Sunrise Lodge parking lot for two hours comes to mind; and of the eventual descent and search for the airstrip hidden in the narrow White River valley, landing to the south. When I read of this years Camp I got charged up, but a lot was needed to overcome the prospect of non-flying or "just" stable days. On Saturday at eleven in the morning of the first day of the Camp I was still helping my family with the garage sale at our home in Wenatchee, 190 road miles distant from Ranger Creek. There were lennies all over the eastern Cascades but rain and overcast was in forecast for western Washington, with possibly an improvement on Sunday. Why not stay here and enjoy flying locally? It must be the mystical lore and powerful magnetism of Mt. Rainier and its fabulous wave potential that would make one pack up and go. I called Pierre Parent on his cell phone, he confirmed he was planning to tow, so I said - "see you in about four hours". Parting with my family and hooking up "CD" stowed in its trailer took just minutes.
Taking the southern route via Yakima and watching the sky dotted with lenticulars, the prospect of soaring at Ranger Creek appeared more and more appetizing. However, driving into the clouds at the summit of Chinook Pass I might have to console myself with a thought of bragging to those at Ranger Creek that "my glider got to 5,500' today" . However, to my surprise, as I emerged on the west side just north of Cayuse Pass along Highway 410, the clouds parted and there was a nice wide opening above the valley. Arriving at Ranger Creek at half past three I expected glider activity there but to my surprise there were only just the usual ORV crowds. In the meantime two great looking lenticulars were visible to the south and one to the west. I overheard myself pondering - how come no one's flying?! Talking to a park ranger and several people I gathered the story that a couple of gliders were there but they packed up and left just before I arrived; and that no power plane came. For one hour I kept cursing, but then low clouds came in, totally closing and sealing off any chance for pilots who might have been above to come safely down. Sobered up, I wandered about when I spotted an SSA sticker on a van in which Bob and Lisa Hills had come to scout the field. They ran into Steve, Mike and Pierre at the Naches Tavern in Greenwater and heard their story, and filled me in. Pierre had driven over from Bergseth to tell he couldn't get in because of low ceilings. I was pleased to hear that Bob had decided to come the next day and bring his SZD-55 "7V" (soon to be "7U"). After they left I phoned the wave camp coordinator, briefed his wife in, and parked in the beautiful lush forest setting with a good book. Turning in early and with sky still totally obscured, I didn't carry much hope for the next day. Much to my surprise when I woke up in the middle of the night the sky was covered with the most brilliant stars I've seen in a long time. Maybe a hope?
But the morning again delivered thick clouds rolling
overhead, so I resigned myself to taking a very enjoyable walk
through the surrounding woods expecting it to be the highlight of
the weekend. Then - suddenly - there was sunlight! I moved to the
north end of the field in eager expectancy of someone else
showing up - the first one was Pierre shortly after 10am making a
low pass in the SGC Pawnee to chase out the ORV crowd from the
runway. I got really excited: the signs of a possible wave,
towpilot arriving, the access path open! Somehow I didn't want to
be up there alone, however. Slowly I started rigging. Eventually
Bob & Lisa showed up - company! Also from onlookers - a lady
on horseback, state patrol, ORV people, motor homers.
By now most of the sky above the valley was free of clouds, and to the south there were again the wispy lennies. But how to get to them - they appeared so far and so high. Would there be a way to climb from the usual release spot over the Sunrise Lodge parking lot, the only one I was familiar with? And then how to get back, would the breaks in the low cloud cover hold up? Eventually, at about 12:30 pm I towed up to the north. On take-off I yelled to myself the emergency chants, "straight ahead-straight ahead-one eighty - one eighty" - then a realization came that after the flight I'd have to come land here again (there was nowhere else to land). We made a 180 turn to the south along the hills on the west side of the White River valley (with water brown chalky white from grinding glaciers) - quickly rising to cloud base at about 6,000'. Pierre called - "what do you want to do now?" The whole sky appeared just blocked by the grayness of cloudbases. Just across the valley, the upper stations of the Crystal Mountain ski lifts were cut off by clouds. However, above the valley there was a mile-wide gap between clouds extending to the south for about two miles, and around the corner to the west for about another mile - in the direction of Sunrise Lodge. So I told Pierre to tow up into it.
As we emerged from the valley gap and could see over
the tops of the surrounding lower clouds then we spotted it: the
enormous awesome stack of lenticulars about another five miles
upwind from us - sitting right over Little Tahoma Peak, 11,100'.
Judging by the shape of the lennies and the shape of the cap
cloud veiling the entire top of Mt. Rainier, the wind must have
been directly from the west. There was no way to get to the area
of lift from the usual release point over the Sunrise Lodge. I
decided to hang on tow even though it meant going a lot higher
than the 7,500' I wrote on the towcard. Pierre turned us around
to the east and we started going through some pretty rough air
getting rope slack a number of times. By the time we were
half-way between Highway 410 and Sunrise Lodge we cleared the
tops of the lower clouds at about 9,000'. We turned west again
and proceeded very slowly upwind straight ahead toward the large
blue hole over Emmons Glacier from which shreds of rotors were
shooting up toward the stacks of lenticular "dishes".
Eventually I convinced myself it was time to cut the umbilical
cord connecting me with Pierre and I released at 11,500'.
I still needed another half a mile to get to the lower shreds of the rotors. Then the vario started its violent peg-to-peg dance. Startled, I had to apply my willpower not to turn around. Drawing on prior experience I convinced myself to keep on bouncing straight into the face of the jungle of glaciers filling the entire windshield. In the meantime I started the routine of donning the oxygen mask, turning on the flow, tightening all belts, etc. Eventually I reached the most upwind area of the rotor shreds at 11,000' and hit one that gave lift for more than three seconds. I circled sharply to the right and by the time the glider faced west again the altimeter showed we had gained almost 1,000' - in just one turn! This fact gave me the confidence that I could stay up and not get washed down into the gaping hole below. I started exploring upwind even closer to the east face of the Mountain, and soon broke into "the smooth" of the wave. The vario immediately pegged up, the digital averager indicated over sixteen knots of climb, and before I knew it we were at 14,500'.
There was a veil flowing over the top of Mt. Rainier. I moved towards it to cancel out lift to gain time to hopefully get the wave window opened. On the ground we couldn't find the phone number - we could have used Pierre's cell phone. I towed up in blind faith that Seattle Center air traffic controllers would be cooperative even if we'd just call them on the radio. At ten minutes to one, the talk on 126.1 MHz sounded quite intimidating, to hear all the "heavy" jets being directed to Sea-Tac. I tried to sound official as I pleaded, "This is glider 62TM three miles east of Mt. Rainier at 15,000' requesting opening of Mt. Rainier glider wave window". At first there was silence. Two minutes later I repeated and a voice came on, "...What glider is calling Seattle Center?" - so I repeated my request. Center: "Do you have an operating transponder?" Me: "Negative". Center "What glider group do you belong to" - "Seattle Glider Council" - "Standby, we are researching" - now it was five to one - and I had to move again upwind to maintain altitude. To pass the time, I attempted to take a picture of the cap cloud veiling the summit. At one o'clock the Center came back, "...We found the procedure and we will accommodate you 62TM, switch to 126.6 for further directions." Well - this sounded very promising. I gladly obliged and after several more exchanges taking probably another ten minutes (at the most) we were cleared until 4 pm to flight level 230 with a prospect of getting an extension. I radioed Pierre but could not raise him; decided would try a little later. Without anyone else to talk to, I started silently talking to myself: Check oxygen bottle pressure, look at finger nails, how much is 11500 plus 16400? (I would make these checks every two minutes from that moment on, to make sure I wasn't becoming hypoxic).
I made a left turn to drift into the lift. While snapping a picture of the stack of lennies to the east of me with their lower bases now just about on the horizon I instantly shot up. I quickly pointed the glider west at 45 knots indicated. The altimeter started unwinding like a top - 16 - 17 - ... 21,000'.
There I made another circle and took a "turnpoint-like" picture of the stack of lennies - now I was almost above them. All along the wave lift continued in excess of 1,000 fpm. It was time to 'park upwind' again and call the Center for the altitude extension. While waiting I snapped a picture of the top of Mt. Rainier, at this time looking down at it, and through the veil of the cap cloud just barely distinguishing the Columbia Crest crater on the left.
The kind controller quite quickly granted an
extension to FL280, so I backed into the lift. I also overheard
someone on 126.6 say, "That's quite impressive." With
further climb, the intensity of lift gradually started to drop -
600 fpm at 25,000' to eventually 200 fpm at 27,200' - the highest
point I decided to go to. In the meantime I talked to glider
pilots from Portland and invited them to Ranger Creek for the
next two weekends, and to Norm Ellison who had just towed up at
Ephrata.
I took a few more
pictures to show the panorama to the south with Mt. St. Helens,
Mt. Hood, and Mt. Adams all visible (the latter just below the
wing, with a cap cloud and a lennie downwind).
Also I snapped a view of the summit of Mt. Rainier below me, now the cap cloud almost dissolved - the wind must have started to abate.
At that realization, I decided to drift downwind to
the area just east of Chinook Pass from where I had a clear
visual on Ranger Creek airport. With trepidation (would they get
stuck open?) I opened the spoilers and started descending. From
about 18,000' I took my last aerial photo showing Rainier without
its cap, the stack of lennies over Little Tahoma totally gone,
and the blue hole to the south of Sunrise Lodge gradually filling
with low clouds. These clouds apparently must have looked pretty
menacing from the ground. Bob Hills in his 7V delayed takeoff for
almost two hours. Eventually he took off behind Pierre; I could
spot them from that high. Bob told me he had no oxygen on board
and that he would not need the wave window kept open. So at about
three o'clock I closed it. At first I couldn't connect on 126.6
for there I heard a constant broadcast of Vancouver B.C. ATIS but
eventually succeeded at 126.1, and thanked the controllers
profusely for accommodating us on such a short notice. 
From
my high vantage point it was easy to follow Pierre and Bob's
progress and I eventually rendez-vous'ed with them just about
over Sunrise Lodge at 11,000.' (The SGC's coffers will get filled
well from these two high tows!) Bob released and headed in the
direction of Little Tahoma; he eventually found some good lift.
However, I got in some rotor downdrafts and sank below the tops
of the surrounding low clouds. So I radioed Bob I was descending
through the hole just south of Sunrise Lodge to glide out towards
Ranger Creek, and headed out. Bob eventually flew east too but
above the clouds and until he saw the large opening in clouds
over Highway 410. I wound up at the west face of Crystal Mountain
ridge just at the ridge level at 6,500' and slowly glided to
Ranger Creek where at 4,300' I parked myself in some weak
thermals for another half hour. In the meantime Pierre took off
to deliver the towplane back to Bergseth. I thanked him a million
for enabling us such thrilling flights. Eventually Bob started
descending too. 
Thermalling above the 2,650' airport I
was rehashing in my mind the landing procedure. How would Ranger
Creek welcome me with its brand new smooth but narrow runway
(just 40' wide)? How to avoid the round flexible runway markers
at 25' from the centerline and especially the 3' high steel posts
every two hundred feet or so with "Active Runway - Do Not
Enter" signs, located about 60' from the centerline? The
thermalling gave me plenty of time for planning the pattern in
the relatively narrow valley which would bring the base turn
totally out of sight of the runway. With comfortable spacing we
both landed downhill to the north in light breeze - safe,
uneventful landings (Bob is shown landing.) Bob's flight was two
and mine three hours. What followed was a lot of sharing of our
excitement with each other, with Lisa, with the extended family
of ORV people, the horseback lady then on a motorbike, and the
piling of their kids in one glider's cockpit. As we were putting
the gliders away we watched how coming down from the deep freeze
affected them - condensation sweat developed especially along the
spars. 
Then it was time to say good-bye to Ranger Creek till
the next time, pull the trailers to Bergseth, and head for home.
My round trip that weekend turned out to be 390 miles on the
ground for less than five miles up. It was well worth it, though.
A nice present for my fiftieth birthday less than a week away.
Appendix
Technical data from the National Weather Service, compiled after the flight by Dennis Eckert: Sounding at 5 am taken by NWS at Quillayoute, WA (47.57 N, 124.33 W)
Height Height Wind ° Wind Wind Air Air Air
meters in feet from knots km/hour Temp °C Temp °F pressure
mb
62 203 190 11 20 14 57 1017
305 1000 184 21 39 12 53 988
610 2000 181 28 52 10 50 953
914 3000 182 34 63 9 47 918
1,219 4000 194 35 65 7 45 885
1,524 5000 204 37 68 6 43 853
1,829 6000 213 35 65 5 41 822
2,134 7000 222 33 61 4 39 791
2,438 8000 232 32 59 3 37 762
2,743 9000 243 32 59 1 35 734
3,048 10000 253 34 63 0 32 707
3,353 11000 258 35 65 -1 30 680
3,658 12000 261 35 65 -3 27 654
3,962 13000 264 36 67 -5 24 629
4,267 14000 267 37 68 -6 21 605
4,572 15000 270 39 72 -8 18 582
4,877 16000 273 40 74 -10 15 560
5,182 17000 276 41 76 -11 12 538
5,486 18000 278 43 80 -13 9 518
5,791 19000 280 44 81 -15 6 498
6,096 20000 283 49 91 -17 2 478
6,401 21000 285 53 98 -19 -2 458
6,706 22000 287 57 105 -21 -5 440
7,010 23000 288 61 113 -23 -9 422
7,315 24000 290 66 122 -25 -13 405
7,620 25000 289 70 130 -27 -16 388
7,925 26000 287 73 135 -28 -19 372
8,230 27000 285 77 142 -30 -22 356
8,534 28000 284 81 150 -31 -25 342
8,839 29000 282 85 157 -33 -28 327
9,144 30000 281 89 165 -35 -30 313
9,449 31000 280 93 172 -36 -33 300
9,754 32000 277 95 176 -39 -37 287
10,058 33000 275 98 181 -41 -42 275
10,363 34000 272 101 187 -43 -46 262
10,668 35000 270 104 192 -46 -50 251
10,973 36000 269 100 185 -47 -52 240
11,278 37000 268 95 176 -48 -54 229
11,582 38000 267 90 167 -49 -56 218