A Whirlpool Story

[The Oz Report]

<div id="1606135212"><i>1977</i><br><p>James David Braddock writes:</p><p class="BN">On October Ninth Nineteen Hundred Seventy Seven I had only just turned nineteen that week. It was a beautiful day with high well formed Cumulus clouds developing over Lake Michigan like popcorn in a skillet. Wind was westerly and building, surf pounding against our seawall like a clarion call to the sky. I gathered my things and headed for The Midwest School of Hang Gliding twenty eight miles to the south in Bridgman.</p><p class="BN">When I arrived two cars were already waiting in the parking lot with kites on the roof. The increase in Barometric pressure had others travelling to hopefully grab some airtime as well. Larry and Phil jumped out of their cars the second I halted and both began talking at once. "The winds too west for Tower Hill", they exclaimed in unison. I told them that it might be a day to launch from a forbidden place and fly anyway. Larry who was a coworker at the kite shop: "The bluff in St. Joseph is a place where gliders go to die! My girlfriend made me promise to never fly there again". Phil who was pre-med at Northwestern in Chicago: "It can't hurt to drive up there and take a look, I didn't drive all this way to watch sand blow in the parking lot at Warren Dunes".</p><p class="BN">We had been flying from the bluff south of St. Joseph for five years already but as a flying site it had a minor defect... It was dangerous as Hell! It was a hundred foot bluff overlooking the lake, steep and going on uninterrupted for four miles. In a westerly breeze the lift was smooth and steady, but when the lake came up in the early seventies the road commission had to put in a seawall. So instead of the wide sandy beach that Warren Dunes had, there were boulders the size of automobiles, the remainder was kite eating surf pounding the base of the hazard strewn bluff. If you did not have the skill to top land you could wreck your kite or body or both!!! The authorities who were less than enthusiastic about the never ending rescues they were having to execute had banned launching from the clearing in the scenic overlook that spring. There was a beachfront house that was on the lake two miles to the south that was rarely used and as such became the new secret launch spot.</p><p class="BN">I opened the shop and realized that since I had sold my competition glider over the phone only two days before, an alternative wing would be required. I scanned the racks of gliders and saw one that Bill Moyes's Australian national team had left behind earlier that season. Surely it would be up to the task of an afternoon of aviation pleasure. Opening up the bag part way; it was a hideous orange and black color combination but seemed to all be there. Phil:"The Great Pumpkin kite! Won't be hard to see you in that." Laughter ensued and I re-closed the bag. We decided to put all three kites on Larry's VW Bus. The phone rang so dutifully I picked it up, my father said: "Just got back from breakfast and the wind is coming straight in here at Hager Shores." Describing who I was with and our current strategy he replied: "Bring the kites up to the Whirlpool Administrative Center and I will make sure you all launch safely. If the wind holds you could shatter the state cross country mark by eight or more miles!" Holding my hand over the phone I convinced the other two that flying a heretofore unflown ridge for this potential was a viable proposition. "Done" was my response to father.</p><p class="BN">We drove north, Larry who was overly excited was blasting along at seventy in a fifty five. Red and blue lights suddenly appeared in the rearview. He hit the brakes so hard that all the gear in the back made it halfway to the front. To our amazement the officer pulled out and around us! Phil who had endured the brunt of the low flying gear: "We can't fly if the kites get impounded with the van, SLOW DOWN!!!" Larry never a man of many words rolled his eyes and grunted. We stopped at the kite eating bluff in St. Joseph to check the wind's velocity and direction. Straight in slightly to the left and whitecaps as far as the eye could see. Seagull's who migrate south this time of year came soaring by in massive flocks. The waves and the clouds were all saying "Today you will soar like never before."</p><p class="BN">This totally new flying site was an open field that was between M-63 and the lakes edge. It was directly across the street from the Whirlpool World Headquarters and roughly two miles north of Benton Harbor. When we arrived father was already there pacing wild with excitement up and down the edge of the bluff. He raced over and started undoing the gliders from the rack. We walked to the edge of the ridge and looked at the raging surf that was making its way almost to the base of the bluff. Larry: "Where will we land?" I told him that there should be wide spots here and there all the way north. Not a complete fabrication but the waves were building, not exactly "Mothers Arms Safe" for sure.</p><p class="BN">With fathers able help we had all three gliders set up in minutes flat. Bad surprise for me "The Great Pumpkin" was not the sleek competition kite I was expecting at all, but a mid level trainer glider that would have a much slower top speed. Nothing I could do at this point so being "wind dummy" my father guided me to the edge of the bluff for my launch. Suddenly a pickup truck with "Whirlpool" emblazoned on its doors came speeding up. Father walked over to talk with this red faced balding gentleman through the now rolled down window of his truck. He proceeded to make up a whopper of a story about having permission to fly there from the Upton family. Since they were the founders and still major shareholders he thought that might buy us some time. The gentleman jumped out of the truck; His comb-over flipping to the wrong side from the blasting wind. He approached me and demanded: "I'm not clear by what authority you think you can be on this private property! You are not permitted to fly here until my return...Are we clear!!!" My father stood behind him slightly out of his sight nodding his head like a plastic dashboard Dachshund. "Yes Sir!!!" I replied.</p><p class="BN">As soon as this Whirlpool rent-a-cop was out of sight father mobilized the troops. Father with a sly wink: "We have maybe ten minutes before the police arrive, can you guys launch and turn downwind as quickly as possible?" A unanimous and loud "Yes" erupted from the throats of we three eager to be airborne fellows. Dad grabbed my nose-wires once more and I dropped into my harness to make sure everything was on straight and attached. Shouldering the previously unflown by me glider I leveled my wings and yelled "CLEAR!!!". Immediately I went straight up thirty feet and leveled off just below the tree tops. Turning upwind south the glider climbed out another sixty like a "Homesick Angel". The only drawback was this trainer kite had been rigged for a seated harness so the control bar was at the top of my helmet rather than at my chin as was traditional for a prone harness. No time to fret about minor details now so I turned north downwind and started heading away from the scene of the crime. Soon Larry was not far behind with Phil maybe a quarter mile on his tail. Both were wings that were not only faster but capable of greater altitude in the same lift.</p><p class="BN">The first six or so miles was an unbroken ridge; So I tried to go as fast as possible in the vain hope of breaking the state record ahead of my friends. Kept catching sight of my fathers "Baja Bug" with the kite racks and distinctive paint job tearing along the highway that runs parallel with the bluff all the way north. When he could pull off to the bluffs edge he would be there grinning and waving us on! The first place I saw him was the driveway at our house overlooking Lake Michigan. It was my first time flying over the family home and it was extremely exciting. By the time we reached the first gap to be crossed Larry was right on my tail. So we both worked a figure of eight pattern over the last dune knob at the beginning of the tenth of a mile gap in the lifting air required to sustain flight. He got higher sooner and consequently shot across about three minutes ahead. The gap between us widened with each passing minute and to make matters worse now Phil was on my tail pressing to get by. The next gap was not as huge as the last but still required more figure eights to gain the altitude necessary. Phil and I grinned at one another and he gave me a thumbs up from less than a kites wingspan away. We were all having an epic day and in spite of the competition for the state record it was impossible not to enjoy the moment.</p><p class="BN">So now both of my friends were well in the lead. Nothing to do but enjoy the panoramic view of Autumn leaves on the rolling sandhills, architecture of the various beachfront homes, patterns the breaking waves make when seen from the air, Cumulus clouds filling the sky above and thousands of migratory Seagulls. The equivalent of the best ever changing postcard I had ever seen. I sang every song in my memory and whistled once no more memorized verses were available. My father once again waving furiously, his enthusiasm for life contagious even from ground to air. Ahead I saw the Palisades Nuclear Plant...The most formidable gap of the whole run so far. The plant's main office structure was situated about one hundred fifty feet inland from the sand ridge proper. To my surprise there was a glider on the beach. Larry was at the beginning of the plant's infrastructure and was already beginning to disassemble his glider. Phil was working the Hell out of the ridge that was just above Larry trying to gain the extra lift required to shoot this daunting gap.</p><p class="BN">I pulled in sacrificing altitude to arrive at the plant sooner. In the meantime a thermal had come through putting Phil the highest he had been all day. While I scraped the treetops coming in underneath him he began his journey across the humming power plant below, from my angle it looked like he would make it easily. Once beyond the magic lift of his gift thermal he experienced considerably more sink than any of us would have imagined. As I began to go up in the lift at the south end of the plant he was sinking lower than me at the northern end. He bravely attempted a save by hugging as close to the sand ridge tree line that he was now below, at the far end of the gap. The kite began to lift and Larry and I both let out a cheer! But at that very moment he made contact with an outstretched tree limb with his right leading edge spinning the kite towards even more grabbing branches. Much to my relief he recovered but this momentary bobble had cost him fifty feet of altitude and consequently he turned and began his final approach to the beach.</p><p class="BN">So there I was, the last man flying... I seriously doubted that I could cross the gap in a lesser glider than Phil's unless the lift gods were going to give me at least 30% more altitude than he was blessed with. So I kept turning over the safe dune below and rethought my options. What if instead of shooting the gap straight line I worked my way inland and used the lift off of the plant's offices? Even if I barely made it to the far side a downwind landing would secure the record for the moment. Taking a deep breath I turned north and angled towards the three story building with the ninety foot rounded reactor tower alongside. To my absolute joy the lift was not only adequate but actually better than the small sandhill I started from. Gaining almost one hundred feet in two passes I made it with plenty of altitude to spare. Phil clapped his hands over his head from the beach below and let out a howl of approval. My friend had accidentally sacrificed his chances showing me how not to do it. Resolved to repay him in alcohol later.</p><p class="BN">My eyes could see my goal, the South Haven Lighthouse quite clearly at this point. The path ahead had a few more blowouts in the ridge to come but nothing as drastic as the power plant. The first was Van Buren State Park but following a similar tactic as my last crossing was able to grab some lift from the concession stand midway across and made it with forty five feet to spare. Once again my wild-man father came whipping into the parking lot waving his newly bought park pass out of the sunroof. The remaining miles were easy cruising as the lift was great and no obstacles remained. As I sailed along people would occasionally wave from below not having the remotest idea what they were witnessing. I grinned and sang some more. It was a great day to be me and I was fine if only three other people on the planet knew it. My landing adjacent to South Haven's south beach was luckily a good one. Partially aided by my father playing the roll of ground control, he had arrived when I was on my final downwind leg towards the pier. Skidding to a stop he emerged from the vehicle cheering with all his lungs. I myself now know what it feels like to be a proud father, he was as jubilant as I've ever seen him.</p><p class="BN">The press was initially skeptical of this wild tale of flying for such a great distance. Luckily our new friend from the Whirlpool security squad had as predicted contacted the authorities of our nefarious activities and had Larry's kite-mobile impounded as a bonus. Proof enough of our launching point. We modified the story slightly to protect the innocent Larry and Phil who had to violate some major private property markers while "dropping in" at the north and south ends of the nuclear plant. "Yes they had both landed at the State Park" we reported in case federal warrant's had already been sworn. The record held for five years and is still one of my fondest memories.</p><p class="BN"><img border="0" src="../pub/images/126996695_10217382764550527_2272854015088264358_o.jpg" width="640" height="1525" style="width:auto;height:auto;max-width:100%"></p></div>

[Steve R]

<div id="1606135212"><i>1977</i><br><p>James David Braddock writes:</p><p class="BN">On October Ninth Nineteen Hundred Seventy Seven I had only just turned nineteen that week. Snip...

Hey Dave,

Great story, thanks for sharing! Adjusting for inflation (wink) 20 miles back then is like 100 today, the satisfaction factor of completing a challenging flight is the same.

Any photos of the gliders?

[Gary]

Fantastic story, thanks.
I came around a bit later, and 'the Braddock's" were local legends. I was dune training at tower hill (around1991) and I met one of you. Don't remember which.
I had progressed far enough to be out there with my Spectrum alone, just practicing some launch's.

So, one of you guys was just hanging out there, and kindly came over to chat, and maybe offer a tip or two.

The reason I always remember the incident was because there was some kid there (never knew who he was), who was begging for some training, and said he had already progressed a good bit.
Somehow he convinced a quite reluctant Braddock to give him a lesson. The kid promptly ran down the dune, doinked in the glider and broke his wrist. I always felt really bad for the guy he talked into doing 'the training'.
At least that's how I remember it....