By : Sue Garlick

As Boxing Day looms and the weather the GPS monopolise the conversation, you know without a doubt that the Gliding Club of Victoria’s annual safari is on again. This is gliding for the adventurous, but without the competition. The aim is simply to make sure that everyone gets there, safely. This year, the gliding safari’s goal was to fly from Benalla to Wilpena Pound, in South Australia’s Flinders Ranges, and back again. That’s a mere 3,000 soaring and driving miles over two weeks. A tough call.

The seabreeze front approaches Gawler

Still, I figured I had the right credentials. I fitted into the age range of 30 to 70 plus, and last year I even did my apprenticeship the hard way, as a crew member. So when the call came to join the safari led by the fearless Ron, affectionately known as “Bwana”, I was ready, willing and able.

So it came to pass on Boxing Day, that members of the Gentlemen Pilot’s Society a.k.a the ‘GPS’ met at Benalla, home base of the GCV, to prepare for departure. This year however, an important new group also emerged, Safari Crew Union Members, a.k.a ‘SCUM’. With a united front, a shop steward, and a motto: “This is a holiday, not a route march” they were definitely a group to watch with care.

Briefing and flight planning 'on the wing' at Arkapena.

Indeed on Day 1 it seemed that the cold, blustery weather favoured members of ‘SCUM’ rather than the ‘GPS’. It was a salient reminder that even Bwana cannot control the elements, each day’s destination is ultimately in the lap of the weather gold, and boy, can they be mean. Today was clearly meant to be a holiday. So a visit to the local winery for a lazy liquid lunch sounded like the perfect way to start the safari in style.

A generous glow of sunshine on Day 2 promised a flying start to the safari after all. A buzz of excitement filled the air as Horsham, a distance of 342 km, was declared the day’s destination. On a day when the weather could be summed up with the lament, “It’s as week as a wet weekend up here”, it was hardly surprising that there were the odd mishaps. In the rush to arrive there first, one pilot fell from the sky muttering lamely to his unsympathetic crew, “I just fell into a hole”. He was followed shortly after by another unfortunate who fell from the sky in a gesture of sympathy, or so he claimed to his crew as the reluctantly de-rigged his glider.

Wilpena Pound

Next morning the sky dawned clear and bright, and fortified by the safari tradition of a McDonalds breakfast in Horsham, Bwana declared, “It’s going to be a boomer!” Those fatal words were a death knell to Day 3. Within minutes, insidious clouds grew like topsy, the wind strengthened and the temperature plummeted. Yet glider pilots have patience a-plenty after all they need it in bucket loads and one and a half hours later their patience was rewarded as the sky slowly cleared and the gliders were finally up, up and away to Mildura, 256 km to the north.

For the crews, however, negotiating their way through Australia’s dusty wheat belt was not so easy. Around here all roads and towns are look-alikes with the requisite pub and wheat silos, and a short cut can lead to ‘the middle of nowhere’. Except, that is, for Lascelles, where, at 4 pm, a line of glider trailers and their crews were warmly welcomed by a line of three police cars just waiting to test us for drink driving. Such a pity we couldn’t oblige.

'Bwana', a.k.a. Ron Grant

No one dared to predict a ‘boomer’ in Mildura on Day 4, much safer to announce a ‘hotter’ day, and send someone up ‘to sniff the air’. We waited… and waited for the weather to heat up, but an inversion plus the dreaded scrub beyond Mildura put paid to more distant plans so we headed instead for Waikerie, a South Australian orange growing town across the Murray River, 190 km to the west.

By Day 5, the troops were restless to reach the Pound, 232 km to the north-west, so when Arkapena (the strip at Wilpena Pound), was declared the day’s goal, excitement bubbled as fast as the thermals. Soon we were heading past he historic river port of Morgan, and towards spinifex country with its deserted farmsteads and bare, sandy soil. Luckily, the softer hills in the distance promised easier flying around the town of Burra.

When some crews stopped in this historic mining town, Bwana did his darnedest to join them for coffee. In fact he tried so hard he actually landed beside the road just outside Burra, but was foiled by his crew who arrived minutes later, quickly re-launched him and sent him off to Arkapena with strict instructions not to try that trick again.

Flight planning by the pool in Mildura

For the crews, the hardest part was yet to come, 80 km of unmade road from Orroroo to Hawker, all that dust just to cut off a corner! When crews finally made it to Arkapena, dusty and tired, the ‘GPS’ were running around like excited little boys, superlatives tumbling, “Perfect… Fantastic… Wonderful!”. Last year, due to poor weather, the gliders had been left behind in nearby Spear Creek. This year, they’d flown in. With the imposing Rawnsley Bluff on one side and the setting sum on the other a little celebratory gin and tonic on the airfield was deemed a suitable way to toast the day’s achievement.

Meanwhile, in the nearby camping park at Rawnsley Park, Bwana dragged the owner from his New Year revels and told him to, “Get the hell back and open up those cabins”. Even the lack of available meals had left Bwana unfazed. In mid-air he had organised a shopping expedition en-route and the safari was able to celebrate the New Year in grand style. As the sun went down over the hill, platters of dips, salads and fruits appeared, a barbecue sizzled and wine and beer flowed. It was a truly memorable New Year’s Eve.

Waiting for the clouds to lift at Horsham

New Years Day was a day to unwind and unpack. Beneath a dazzling blue sky, we found a shady tree by a waterhole in Bunyeroo Gorge, and there we picnicked, paddled, skimmed pebbles and tickled yabbies. This ancient place, dwarfed by the cliffs of the 500,000 million years old Bunyeroo and Brachina Gorges is just the spot to look for fossils and fossilised skeletons. All this and not a single fly or mozzie what price paradise ?

Day 7 brought another day of sheer blue skies and shimmering heat. Whilst the ambitious declared long tasks varying from 750 to 1,000 km other more hedonistic souls settled for some flight seeing over the Pound, or a picnic under the native pines in the Sacred Canyon where the narrow gorge with its ochre drawings and aboriginal engravings always exert a peaceful, mystical presence.

Back at Arkapena things were not going quite as planned. Whilst over convection and thunderstorms had foiled more adventurous pilots, another ‘fell off’ his map, becoming temporarily lost when his map ran out. No doubt about it, flying around here is definitely ‘Awesome’.

G.C.V.Safari at Gawler

Despite more heat and blue skies on 8 Day, it was time to move on before our luck ran out, so Gawler, the Adelaide gliding field 315 km to the south was declared the day’s goal. For pilots it was another amazing day, as one grateful mortal rhapsodised, “Today, the goddess of weather opened her arms, took me to her bosom and up to 13,000 ft”. Others reported flying along a cloud street and a seabreeze front and soaring majestically over to Gawler at 13,000 ft and 110 knots. Such is the magic of champagne gliding.

Grews had a pleasant journey too, with a meandering drive past neat country towns, golden brown hills of wheat and hay bales drying in the sun. Eventually we reached the Clare valley where acre upon acre of lush green vineyards led us past the Riesling trail to Gawler.

After a rest day in Adelaide, and with a seabreeze fast approaching, by the morning of Day 10 it was time to leave. What looked like a disappointing day in Gawler turned out to be a boomer past Blanchetown. Enough of a boomer to change the destination from Waikerie to Mildura, a distance of 320 km to the north-east. For some, however, it was initially a struggle to get anywhere at all. When one pilot blithely asked, “How are the thermals where you are?” The terse reply camp quick and fast, “Aren’t any”. For others it was a problem to go anywhere without their beloved GPS. One fanatic was heard to complain bitterly “You mean I have to use a map?”.

For crews, it was another hot and dry 400C day at ground level. Still as one member of ‘SCUM’ rationalised to another, “Crewing isn’t that bad, it’s actually quite pleasant driving with the air conditioner going full blast, listening to the cricket whilst the gliders babble along on the radio. Occasionally, your pilot lets you down and you have to retrieve him, but overall, I guess it’s okay”.

Preparing for a long day at Arkapena/Rawnsley Buff

By Day 11 we were back again in Mildura, where the motel swimming pool made a very comfortable briefing spot as well as a meeting place for evening drinks. It was decidedly better than a hot, dusty airfield. Whilst a few keen souls went off to sample the booming sky, others did the tourist trip on a paddle steamer on the Murray. One eager pilot actually managed to land back at home base, Benalla. He hadn’t realised it wasn’t time to go home yet. Still, at 890 km it was no mean achievement.

After a day of unsettled weather, on Day 13 we awoke to a glider pilot’s worst nightmare rain, the really heavy stuff. Heavy enough to put paid to any flying for that day, too, but perfect for sampling local wares. Time for a round of wine-tasting at Trentham vineyard before relaxing on the verandah overlooking the mighty Murray and sampling platters of cheese and antipasto. Soon it was time for evening drinks around the pool, accompanied by a feast of freshly cooked yabbies. The GCV safari likes to do things in style.

Miraculously on 14 Day, Mildura lived up to its reputation, “It’s never bad for two days in a row in Mildura”. The sky was clear and blue again, and after a final briefing by the swimming poll it was time to head on the home trail and out to Swan Hill, 177 km to the south-east. So it came to pass that e evening, in a shady spot on Swan Hill airfield, with Bwana comfortably ensconced in his new director’s chair, the GCV annual safari savoured its last round of evening drinks, for 1999 anyway.

By Day 15 it was reluctantly time to make for home base at Benalla, 250 km to the south-west. Time to head back to work and normal life once more. Time to say farewell to the good friends with whom we’d shared this flying and nomadic experience. It had been ‘SCUM’ alike. More importantly, it had been a holiday, and not a route march, with shared moments of excitement, relaxation and laughter. On the road or in the air, no one was ever alone. Across the airwaves advice, jokes and camaraderie just flew.

Fortunately for those who ‘sometimes like to go gliding’ there are other GCV gliding meets to help them cope with withdrawal symptoms. Besides ‘Long Flights’, and ‘Old Timers’ weeks, there’s regular mountain flying over the Grampians, the Victorian Alps and the Snowy Mountains, as well as a couple of competitions for the real enthusiasts.

As for me, well, to be honest, I prefer a picnic to a thermal, so I’ll stick with Bwana’s crazy gang, if they’ll have me. That’s the way I like my gliding it’s “top fun”.

(Reproduced from Australian Gliding Sky Sailor - July 1999)