On Sunday, May 5, 2013 7:59:33 AM UTC-6, son_of_flubber wrote:
All of the land out stories that I've heard are about landing out on small family farms and the advice is always along the lines of, be friendly, let the farmer's kids sit in the glider etc...



Any stories about landing out in places other than on a small farm? Dealing with corporate security, corporate legal departments, bills for grossly inflated damages, pesticides, etc..



My favorite landout story involves a wetland, and quick while the EPA is not looking, a Caterpillar D-9 bulldozer. It is not my story, so I will not try to retell it, but maybe you get the picture of what I am looking for.

One of our club members (then a physics Phd candidate) landed the club 1-34 on an active USAF base a few years ago. After being surrounded by 'assault weapon' toting MP's, he was released to our custody. We still have photographic evidence on our wall.

A former syndicate member of mine in the UK (actually a QC at the Old Bailey) landed at a USAF occupied RAF base. After being surrounded by 'assault weapon' toting MP's, he spent the rest of the afternoon drinking whiskey with the base commander in the O club, until his retrieve crew arrived. They didn't get past the door.

I once landed out 13 times in a single season in the UK, going for it. Eventually I learned to read the sky better. Never did I meet a grumpy farmer and was always offered assistance or lunch or beverages. Eight years later, back in the UK at a different club, I managed to land one thermal short of home plate. I walked up to the farm (nice, but not manorish) house and spoke with the lady in charge. She let me in to phone the club after some begging, then shushed me out the door with a warning not to sh*t on her land. Dutch she was. Kind of reminded me of when the wife and I were traveling Europe one time. We slept in the Estate wagon (mattress and sleeping bags) every other day at camp grounds, staying at a Zimmer, B&B, or Gasthaus on the other nights. Well, we 'roughed it' in the estate car in northern Italy then made our way to Austria. We popped into a bank late morning to exchange some money. My wife, being fluent in German, was a bit put off by their remarks. I hadn't shaved that day. I guess they used some slang term for gypsies.

The only one that was controversial was when I was soaring locally and got caught in my first subsidence. It wasn't a micro-burst like we get in Colorado, but I was soaring near Ipswich and the sky started falling. I headed back to the glider port in the trusty SHK. I was only about 8 miles out, but the sky kept falling, though halfway there were a couple of cu forming. I pulled in under the cu, but it only reduced the sink to two knots. These clouds were forming in a sinking air mass. I turned back toward the club. It was going to be close. I pulled up, had a good look and pulled the airbrakes to land among the wind rows of the adjacent farm, slightly downhill from the glider club. Willing volunteers soon roared into the field with my trailer, we de-rigged and were back at the club in minutes. Unfortunately, I had to go apologize to the farmer for the boorish actions of my retrieve crew, as they had no permission to enter the property. Secondly, the farmer was on the local council, and considered us a menace, dangerous, and was interested in turning the club into profit as barley corn. Part of the remedy was for the CFI (UK chief flight instructor) to ground me for 30 days (during the best part of the season) as a corrective measure (for my helpers). Plus, one of my soaring mentors and partners, also a former CFI, to give me what amounted to a 'public bollocking' in the local pub. Of course, I had to show the proper amount of contriteness. The whole affair was political.

On the other hand, I did fly past a private air strip that we routinely used for off-field landing practice. Had I landed there and gotten a tow home, the rest would have been unnecessary.

Note that within the BGA, a CFI grounding applies to all BGA sites.

Frank Whiteley