​Rene Falquier 

Site: Sage Hill
​1-18-2021

Sage Hill is a non-maintained flying site in the Santa Ynes Valley, north of Santa Barbara. The takeoff sits on a spine that protrudes perpendicularly from the north side of the east-to-west running valley. The launch is therefore west facing into the westward valley wind. Local conditions were very protected from the influence of the prevalent Santa Anas that were battering SoCal at the time, and this was a primary factor in site choice. Conditions were considered typical, if a little on the strong side, per local guidance.

Like many incidents, mine followed a chain of flawed decisions/mistakes before the "primary one". I am embarrassed to admit that some of these were very rookie mistakes. There is an undeniable element of complacency and intermediate syndrome in this incident. 

Dan Zaslavasky and Razi Alon witnessed the incident and were crucial contributors to a thorough and honest debrief. Their inputs and insights were indispensable in the writing of this report. 

Going into the day, I was tired from the day before, somewhat dehydrated, and held a sense of skepticism about the site I had chosen to fly but committed to taking a look with no qualms about hiking back down. After assessment of conditions on launch (~30 minutes spent on launch before making a decision/unpacking), it seemed within the limits of my skill and relative comfort while recognizing an above-average risk factor and a lower risk-reward factor than I usually take. In retrospect, I also recognize a more distracted mental state than my baseline due to high stress in my non-paragliding life.

​I set up on the slope of the spine, rather than the top of it. This made sense to me at the time because I wanted to avoid being in the compression on the top of the spine due to the strong conditions. I forgot to consider that on the slope, you can get plucked rather than dragged. On some launches, a gust can mean getting inadvertently plucked. On others, a gust can mean a dragging - on all launches, it is better to avoid both while considering the respective probability and consequence of each. In retrospect, this particular launch had a large grassy slope with a gentle gradient behind launch and presented low impact in case of being dragged. My decision to launch on the slope was therefore suboptimal from this standpoint. There is also less debris up top than on the slope.

Another mistake was to try and hook up and clear my lines in the takeoff area as opposed to doing this in a more sheltered place, which there was. I should not have been on takeoff unless I was one hundred percent ready to go. Being on launch, regardless of the type of launch, means EVERYTHING has to be ready to go. ​

I had originally set up for a cobra launch and asked fellow pilot Dan Zaslavasky to help me with getting the wingtip into the airstream it was later determined that I had not made it sufficiently clear what I wanted Dan to help with at this point. The cobra was not working for me, so I chose a traditional reverse launch instead and had a nice wall built up but saw a stick in my lines, which Dan helped me clear. There was a lot of potential for more debris to be captured upon inflation in the particular space I was occupying.

I inflated my wing from a reverse launch position during a relative lull in the base wind, and as far as my memory serves me, the wing came up completely clean: free of debris and with no cravats/line overs. The cycle felt weird, and I insisted on kiting my wing as I did not want to set it down and risk picking up debris again. In retrospect, I should have just put the wing down, and I think this was the key mistake. As I was turning, I took a sizeable deflation on the left side, which caused some adverse yaw/roll towards the left side of the wing. This was followed by a smaller deflation on the right, which popped right back open.

A gust came through right after this moment and picked me up as Dan was yelling that I had a cravat on my left side wingtip, likely from the aforementioned large deflation on the ground. I completely failed to identify it between the moment the deflation occurred and getting picked up by the gust. My flight was thus initiated with the cravat engaged on my left-side wingtip. ​

​I immediately focused on steering my glider and keeping it open/flying. I had an acceptable glide to the main LZ (which was large, grassy, and open) but with compromised penetration into the wind and an increased sink rate. There were some power lines I would need to cross just before the LZ. I committed to trying the main LZ while keeping an eye on the power lines knowing I could effectively steer into the wind (i.e. towards my right) with the open right-hand side and therefore abort the crossing over the power lines if needed. Aborting would have meant a tree landing, but this seemed acceptable relative to my options.  

I considered other options on my glide. There was a large field behind me, but it was in the lee of the takeoff spine, and setting up would have required a downwind turn toward the cravat side and then counter steering back into the wind with the open side or some other combination of inputs that could have caused a stall, a spin, or an auto-rotation. I could have also aimed for the narrow, winding, mostly dry riverbed below, but this would have also led to a likely tree landing. Trying the main LZ while being mindful of the power lines seemed like a better option. I generally avoided steering in the direction of the cravat because I wasn't convinced I could counter-steer using the open side without stalling/spinning the wing. 

​In-flight, my priority was to maintain my heading, but I did attempt to clear the cravat with my stabilo line, and the left side A's / B's. The cravat did not budge, and I decided against more aggressive inputs (like big break pumps, spin-touch, or tail slide) due to my low terrain clearance. At one point, I tried a big ear on the open side to balance the cravat, but this was a mistake. It highly increased my sink rate, killed my glide, and made my glider feel less stable. I had to lightly pump out the big ear wingtip on my right side, and soon after it opened, I took a small deflation on that same side. The wing reopened with a slight dive before I could reach for my reserve. I still had terrain clearance but considered throwing my reserve anyway as I felt that if I took another deflation, it might result in a ground impact. The wing felt stable over my head, and I still had a good heading as well as an acceptable glide to the LZ, so I pressed on but recognized that there was a huge element of luck at play. I could not afford any further flawed inputs. 

I kept a close eye on the power lines. I had acceptable clearance, so I committed to crossing over them. It was not by a hair but still closer than ideal. Once over the main LZ all it took was a slight adjustment into the wind for my final, and I came down lightly and on my feet. Upon depowering the wing, the cravat came out. 

Fellow pilot Razi Alon suggested two alternative possibilities for the cravat:

• The first possibility he suggested was that Dan might have inadvertently caused a line over when he was helping me with my cobra mess.
• The second possibility he suggested was that setting up on the steep section of the hill and building a wall there could have caused the front lines to be taught during pre-launch wall but not the back lines – and that these could have created the cravat once they tightened up during inflation.

​While these hypotheses are very much worth considering in the given context, I distinctly remember a clean wall and the whole wing being open and free of line-overs or cravats when I brought it up. Furthermore, I suspect a line over would have taken more effort to clear than just depowering the wing upon landing. As such, I do not suspect that this is what happened in this particular case, but it doesn't change that it very well could have happened that way in a similar situation. Regardless, these hypotheses add weight to the reminder that I am responsible for clearing my lines and that extra diligence is required in unmaintained launches with lots of debris. 

This was all a considerable mistake that should not have happened, and there was a lot of luck in making it back on the ground safely. My skills only kept me barely outside the margin of a bad accident. This is not an acceptable margin. There is an ego component, a complacency component, a headspace component, a bad practice component, and a skills component in this story. It will be wise for me to pay heed to the lessons learned.

This article has been a long time coming and is a collection of posts and input from multiple respected pilots in our area.

As pilots, we should not underestimate warnings about Santa Ana (devil/ satin) wind.  
​
Santa Ana winds can be violently unpredictable. However, "mild" SA conditions can give sites like Elsinore lovely ridge lift in the late afternoon & evenings. But how does one know if it is a mild event?

• Look at the gust factors at the site AND surrounding stations 10-15 miles away.
• If the gust factor is 2-3X the base wind, it will not be good, even if the base is light. https://www.sdhgpa.com/weather-stations.html
• Are there opposing wind factors? (those need to be added)  A West wind @ 5 meeting an East @ 5 = a wind factor of 10)
• Remember, predicted winds and models do not consider micro environmental factors
• Are the gust factors and predicted gust factors within USHPA recommended flight parameters for your rating?
• ​Get it wrong and there can be dire consequences. This is one reason that we closed Fuzz.

​
Simply, Flying Elsinore 500' off the deck parked in even mellow gusty conditions is really not all that fun with a high pucker factor. 

Another way to put it:  If local hot pilot Chris Cote is not flying due to SA conditions, you should think twice about launching on an SA day.  Chris routinely flies bronco air and still doesn't like SA conditions.  

SoCal Santa Anas are similar to Bay area and Central Cal "Diablo" wind patterns caused by descending cold air  in the Great Basin.

The Devil Wind: A Brief History of the Santa Anas The Devil Wind: A Brief History of the Santa Anas 

Southern California usually sits in a delicate climatic balance. On one side, the chilly waters of the Pacific, transported from Alaska via the California Current, stabilize air temperatures and provide a ready source of moisture. On the other, a palisade of mountains blocks the extremes of the desert from coastal communities.

​The Santa Anas upset that balance, ushering in hot, dry, desert-like conditions. But while the Santa Anas are often called desert winds, the term is misleading; the winds are not simply blowing desert air over Southern California's coastal plain. Instead, Santa Anas result from a cool, dry air mass that hovers over the continental interior of the American West. When that air descends from the higher-elevation basins to sea level, it warms and becomes even drier. 

KCET Lost LA episode
The Devil Wind: A Brief History of the Santa Anas

Also great Article along with the above show: ​https://www.kcet.org/shows/lost-la/a-brief-history-of-the-santa-ana-winds 

David M:

Flying SA conditions is always rolling dice. If you like that sort of thing, go for it - but if you have kids, a spouse, a pet, anything that depends on your continued productivity, remember that you're rolling dice for them, too.

Chris Cote:

I consider Santa Ana as advanced pilot conditions. They can change in strength quickly which can move the convergence line quickly to the west.

Have a look at the site you are choosing to fly and imagine the wind flow reversed. Where's the rotor now? What landing options? Any new dangers?

It can be done and can work very well at times, but it's for advanced pilots, not new pilots hungry to fly.

A post from winter, 2018:  For any visiting pilots, the NE winds we've been experiencing will continue today, but should ease a bit in the afternoon. This is not a typical Santa Ana where the air is warm, it's very cold. This allows it to gather speed as it descends towards the coast and push under the ocean air-mass.

The foothills is where it's the strongest.

On a typical hot SA day it's possible to get a flight on the convergence line(usually the ocean side). I've never personally flown this type of condition.

​Today is probably a good day to do some site seeing as the viability is quite good.

Steve Rohrbaugh:

As a general guide line, we don't fly our east facing Sites in Santa Ana conditions unless tail end or very mild events. For 80% of Santa Ana condition events, it is likely not a good idea to fly and better to find an alternative activity. 

We fly our East facing Sites in katabatic conditions and early day thermal activity with the days switching to convergence flying. Think of and use the East Facing Sites as light wind pure thermal Sites vs windy ridge lift sites. 

Horse & Fuzz Site Guide on SA conditions:   Sub Site Fuzz Launch:  (Closed)
​
​Fuzz was a rarely used historical launch on the southwest side of the valley (across from the primary Horse Canyon launch site).

Due to the conditions is works in (east winds), it is extremely dangerous and should be considered closed. Fuzz should not be flown in easterly Santa Ana wind conditions. Santa Ana winds and lift tend to be highly unpredictable and often violent.

On Convergence days, it is better to wait for the convergence winds to go to 0 or slightly blowing in on the Horse side of the canyon, then cross the valley with altitude if flying over Fuzz is desired. 

Launch at Fuzz is 1/3 height of Horse altitude and ground clearance, as well as being small and unimproved which lead to additional problems.  

Most advanced pilots find the risk to reward ratio not worth the effort to launch Fuzz.

​Fuzz is closed and use is highly discouraged.

What makes the Santa Ana winds blow through Southern California?
Summary Recap of WX Article from the LA Times: (worth reading the fill LA Times Article)

• Cold Great Basin high pressure airmass flows through the mountains toward low pressure on the coast.
• As the air sinks, it is compressed and warms.
• The air heats up and dries out as it flows down slope over the mountains multiple times.
• Mountain ranges block the air in places as it heads toward the sea. The winds seek openings such as passes and canyons, which accelerate the velocity, creating a venturi effect much like a nozzle on a garden hose.
• Winds can gust from 45 to 100 mph as they squeeze through passes and canyons

Gusts become more and more unpredictably sporadic and turbulent as the winds get chopped up over and through each mountain leeside, pass and canyon.

Good Articles on Santa Ana weather conditions:

• Santa Ana winds (wikipedia)
• ​​What makes the Santa Ana winds blow through Southern California? (LA Times)
• Santa Ana Wind Event Over California (NASA)
• The Santa Ana Winds (UCLA)
• The Santa Ana Winds FAQ (UCLA)
• Why do Santa Anas form and what makes them dangerous? (10 News SD)
• Santa Ana winds explained (CNN video)

​

In San Diego, the situation for impacted hospitals and service workers is just starting to ramp up and we can expect hospitals to be triaging similar to what was experienced in Colorado this past weekend.

There was an incident in Colorado this past weekend where a snowboarder ended up with a broken clavicle (collarbone) and at the ER, he was turned away from treatment at triage with the explanation that collarbone surgery is elective. They were an impacted hospital and not doing any elective procedures . . . that are not life-threatening. At Tiger (WA Site), there were also two separate incidents requiring ER and hospitalization in an impacted area this past week. 

Hoping we get through this and back in the air without complex social health concerns.

Regards and Safe Flights!

Steve Rohrbaugh  (SDHGPA President) and the SDHGPA Board

It was a flight just like any other, until it wasn't.

On May 5, 2018, flying my PG on the north side of Palomar Mountain, I deployed my reserve.  This is the story.

Steve Rohrbaugh, Josef de Beer, Steve Prairie and I met in the Palomar LZ just after 11:30.  It was already hot, light breeze out of the west, and scattered high clouds.  We headed up to launch in Josef's car.  I had just been expecting to site fly, but Steve R thought big XC might be possible going north.  He wanted to fly to Marshall.  I didn't think I'd be able to keep up with him or Josef or Steve P, but it would be fun to try.  I fly an Advance Epsilon 7, a B wing, with an unfaired harness, and the three other guys were in pod harnesses with C or better wings.

Up on launch, things looked good.  Wind was variable, but direction was usually good, with the wind mostly light but occasionally strong.  I was ready first, and launched at 12:51.  I found lift right in front of launch and started thermalling up. If you want to follow along, this Doarama (http://doarama.com/view/2115273) captures Steve R's, Josef's, and my two GPS recordings.

For whatever reason, in those first few minutes, I decided to feel for my reserve handle, and re-familiarize myself with just where my hand needed to be to grab it.  I told myself that it was something I should be doing every flight, but I had gotten out of the habit.  Premonition?  I don't know.  But I'm glad I did it.

I was in a good thermal, drifting out of the west, but at 7100 it felt like the thermal, and the west push, stopped.  It felt like I hit a different layer of air, maybe east coming over the back.  I decided to head northwest toward Eagle Rock.  Before I got to the next ridge line, I found thermals again drifting out of the west. At 7300 I headed north over the spine of the mountain, where I found a thermal that started drifting out of the east above 8100. I topped out around 8800, and started heading NW.

I got to Eagle Rock at 7700.  Beyond it, I found nothing but sink and turned around to try to tank up on altitude.  Josef and Steve P streaked past me going NW, south of me and 500 ft higher.  I wasn't finding lift where I was, so I decided to follow Josef and Steve P anyway.  I watched Josef hit some really bad sink as he approached what looked like the NW end of the range.  He started heading more north, and soon found a good thermal, and Steve P joined him.  I wanted to join them too, but didn't think I had the glide, so I headed north before I reached them, and found my own weaker thermal.  I gained 400 ft before it petered out.

At this point I was really perplexed what to do.  If we tried to go NW, we were fighting the west.  It was an over an hour into the flight and I was maybe 5 miles from launch.  Maybe this wasn't going to be a big XC day.  The last good lift was back before Eagle Rock.  I decided to head back that way and hope to get high enough to make the next move.  I left with 5600, but as I headed back, losing altitude, I decided it was too risky to be low on Eagle Rock trying to make it back toward launch.  So at 5300 I turned northeast, heading for what looked like landable ranch land on the way to the 79.

I started hitting big sink.  I began to think I would have to land at the ranch furthest in.  At about 1000 AGL (3700 MSL) I got my low save, a nice 200-300 FPM thermal drifting out of the west. As I climbed, it got stronger, 400, 500, up to over 900 fpm. About 2 minutes before it all went to shit, I actually thought to myself "For a 1000 fpm thermal, this is really smooth.  One of the smoothest strong thermals I've been in in a long time!".  I had it centered, wasn't hitting any rough edges, and was rocketing up. As I climbed above 8k, I started contemplating my next move.  I could see Steve R to the east of me, slightly higher, heading north.  I also saw Josef about my altitude, but back to the south.

As I climbed through 8500 the lift was weakening, but I was still climbing at 200 fpm, still smooth.  I saw 8800 on my altimeter and then I heard my wing rustle and I went weightless.

Now I should say that I really, really wish I noticed everything that happened in great detail and remembered everything that I did, in the proper time line.  But I don't.  I remember thinking at one point that I was two seconds behind everything that was happening.  By the time I realized what the wing was doing, and thought about what I needed to do, the wing was doing something else.  So I realize that what I report may not make sense, because I could have the timeline wrong.  And I make no claim that I reacted with the right inputs at the right time.  I will admit that as a pilot with lots of experience in the normal flight envelope, once I got outside that envelope, I was a bit lost.  I very well could have made the situation worse.  Or I could have just failed to adequately correct.  Or maybe I hit turbulence that would have gotten the best pilot's wing folded up.  I honestly don't know.

Anyway, I went weightless, and it felt like I dropped about 6 feet.  I remember thinking "Oooh, that was a big one", but I wasn't terribly concerned as the harness picked up my weight again.  But that was immediately followed by what felt like getting whipped around (or maybe I went weightless on one side of the harness).  I grabbed the risers out of the instinct to grab something to hold on to.  I know, not the right reaction.  And then some moderate G's and then I watched my wing fly down in front of me, below the horizon.  Luckily it didn't keep going past about 20 degrees below the horizon, but I thought "Oh Shit", like when you're at the top of the roller coaster and you know the fall is coming.  I knew I was going to fall down between the lines, and I tried to remember the right thing to do.  I thought, you've got to time some strong brake input to keep it from surging again.

So what happened next is a bit of muddle.  It seemed like before I could make that surge correction I was planning, I was getting yanked around.  The next clear thing is that I was in a spiral. As I spun around, I could see the wing about 30 degrees above the horizon, pointed mostly down at the ground.  The left half of the wing was folded under.  I knew that I was dropping fast, but I also knew I had been at 8800 feet when this started.  I knew I had some time to try to fix the wing, but I also remembered the warning about pilots blacking out from g-forces in a spiral before they could throw their chute.  I didn't feel like I was anywhere close to blacking out, but I also thought to myself that I should not go too long before hucking.  So I tried to fix the wing.  The left wingtip was kind of balled up, tangled in the center lines, flapping.  I pulled a lot of left brake, hoping that might pull the wing out of the tangle.  Nothing happened.  I started to look for the stabilo line, but started to think, "I don't know if that will untangle that mess, maybe I should just chuck the reserve". Right then Josef yelled over the radio, "Throw your reserve!, throw your reserve!"  I thought, if I'm not sure I can fix this, and someone else thinks I can't, it's time.  I reached for the reserve and pulled.  It was harder than I expected (the G-forces increase the pressure the deployment bag is under).  The handle came out, but still no chute.  I had just pulled the handle out to the extent of the web strap connecting it to the bag.  So I grabbed the strap and pulled again.  I'm thinking "Throw the reserve into clear air", but all I had in my hand was flapping fabric.  I'm wondering what happened to the reserve when poof, it opens and everything slows down.  I'm guessing all this took about 4 seconds (from deciding to pull to getting it out).  OK in my situation, but way too long if I had been close to the ground.

From the GPS track, I'm guessing the chute opened at about 7400 feet.  And it was about 50-60 seconds between the first collapse and chute opening.  My maximum descent rate was over 2400 fpm.

Once I was under canopy, I radioed to the others that I was under canopy, was OK and was going to land on the north side of Palomar.  Both Steve R and Josef started flying in my direction to be ready to mark my landing location and assist if they needed to.

Under canopy, the glider was winding itself up.  I don't think I had a riser twist when I hucked (I'm not positive), but by the time I established that the reserve was open, the risers had twisted, and as the wing flew in a spiral (the left wing tip was still stuck in the middle lines) it was twisting all the lower lines into a rope.  This was a good thing, I figured, because if it kept going, the wing would be forced smaller and smaller.  As it was, sometimes the descent was smooth, other times the wing would grab some air, yank me forward, and create some penduluming between it and the reserve.  As I got lower, I grabbed the "rope" of twisted lines, and started hauling the glider in.  I got to the end of the "rope" where the lines fanned out, and wasn't able to grab the fanned out lines, so I stopped hauling in, and started thinking about where I was going to land.

With incredible luck, I was heading straight for a dirt road.  I actually thought I might land right on it, but in the last 500 feet, the wind shifted from west to north, and I missed the road by about 50 feet.

I remember thinking, bend your knees, get ready for a PLF, and roll with it.  As I got to 50' AGL, I realized that the slow spin of the reserve meant I was going to land going backwards.  At about 15', I looked over my shoulder and saw a bathtub size boulder right where I was headed.  "Oh fuck", I thought.  I let go of the wing, heard branches crack, and then I was on my back, heart pounding, looking up at the sky, with no pain.  Kind of comfortable, as a matter of fact.  I immediately radioed to Steve and Josef that I was down, was OK, and if nobody saw me move for a while, don't worry, I was just going to lie there for a minute and catch my breath.  And I did.

I was very lucky.  I had been set down right in between two boulders.  My only injury was a slight scratch on my right elbow from one of the boulders.  By landing backwards, my harness (stuffed with my camelback, hat, and glider bags) took the brunt of everything.

Josef radioed that he was going to fly back to launch, get his car, and come get me.  Luckily, I had cell coverage, so I was able to identify the road I was by (Cutca Valley Truck Trail), and radio the details.  I even called my wife to let her know what happened, before she heard any rumors from someone else.

Then I had to decide what to do next.  My reserve had drifted over some bushes to the south, and my glider was hung up on bushes to the north, with my harness in between.  The bushes were 6-10 feet tall.  I thought it would be almost impossible for me to gather the wing and chute without help.  Besides, I was just not up to it.

I admit to being surprised at how much the whole thing affected me.  For up to half an hour, I was literally shaking.  I had only been flying an hour and a half, but I was very tired.  The adrenaline rush had taken a lot out of me.

For reasons that make no sense now, I wanted to get to the road in case someone came by.  I thought, find a clear path to the road, take out a manageable amount of gear, and then come back for the harness, glider, and reserve.  So I grabbed my helmet, instruments, water, and jacket, and looked for a way to the road.

It is hard to convey just how thick the bushes were.  I spent a few minutes trying to see if there was an obvious path out.  No. I put on my gloves and started breaking branches to clear a path. It literally took me about an hour to make it 50 feet to the road.  I got more scratches from bushes than from my landing.

By that time, Paton W had stopped by the Palomar LZ, heard what happened, and volunteered to drive my car to come get me.  That was great news.
​

My plan had been to drop the first stuff at the road and go back for the glider, reserve, and harness.  But I had no energy for fighting my way back through the brush.  Also, I worried that the road I was on was behind a locked gate.  So I decided to start hiking out, and come back for the glider later.  I turned on location sharing on my phone, and started walking.

The next day, I recruited my son-in-law, and Josef volunteered as well, and we went back.  With the three of us (and brush cutters) it was pretty easy to retrieve all the gear.  Even so, it was a long day.

So, what do I conclude from all this?  One, I was very lucky. Lucky that I had altitude.  Lucky that my chute worked perfectly, even if I didn't.  Lucky to not hit anything hard on landing. Lucky to be so close to a road, in bushy but moderate terrain.  As I hiked out, I saw plenty of other places I could have landed that would have been hell to get out of.  Lucky to be flying with friends who saw what happened and helped out.

So, what the hell caused all this?  I think all day, we were seeing different layers of air moving in different directions. I'm guessing that at 8800', I hit the east shearing over the lower level west.  But I don't know for sure.

The more interesting aspect of this whole thing is how I performed.  I didn't panic, which is good.  I don't think I did anything terribly wrong, but I'm pretty sure I failed to do some right things when they needed to be done.  We all like to think we have "the right stuff".  Maybe some of us don't.

My one and only SIV clinic was in 2011.  Way too long ago.  In fact, my chute hadn't been repacked in a couple of years.  It's easy to get complacent.

As for the future?  I don't know.  I love XC.  But something like this changes the risk/reward calculation we all do when we decide to fly.  Next time I might not be so lucky.  My instinct is to jump back on the horse that threw me.  But it gets really hard to say "It won't happen to me" when it's happened to you.

​Jeff Brown

Leonardo of the 3 tracks:  http://www.paraglidingforum.com/leonardo/compare/1955600,1955099,1953590

Steve R's side bar comments: Jeff is correct in speculating that he had hit a strong East shear overriding the West at around 8.5-9K.

If you view Jeff's track, Jeff was thermaling up in the west side of the convergence. The thermal that I had prior to Jeff's but more south east of Eagle Rock was similar. We were Thermaling up in the westerly coastal air mass flow in areas that were protected from the stronger lower level winds. North into Temecula and flowing up the Aguanga Valley was the typical lower level winds that scrub and cut off the thermals.  The trick for this route is to make the jump from the West side to the East side of the Convergence before the lower level cuts off the thermals, or make the jump over areas under the influence of the lower level cutoff wedge.

Jeff's thermal path (Red) location graphically in relation to the main convergence line.

My own thermal, like Jeff's, was the strongest thermal of the day for me and I had heavy banked up in it to load the glider in this thermal. As I was passing through this shear layer, my own glider was heavily being pitched and surged to the point of almost doing asymmetric spirals while while thermaling with active piloting and still going up 500-800fpm.  In strong thermals and potentially turbulent ones like this, I find it is best to throw efficiency out the window and load up your glider in a high banked turn with lots of wt shift.

Followup note from Jeff:

I had a good chat with Phil Russman about what could have been happening with my wing during my incident.  He said a big surge (wing flying down past the horizon) is usually caused by stalling and/or spinning the wing.  I doubted that scenario because I never pulled a lot of brake.  In fact, I was thinking "get your hands up" and don't pull a lot of brake.  So that led Phil to propose that probably, some part of the wing collapsed and got behind me, and then as I fell and re-loaded the lines, it started to shoot forward just as I was putting my hands up.  That sounds very reasonable to me.  So, as far as the first part of the incident, I made two mistakes; not looking up at the wing to see what was going on, and releasing the brakes just when I should have been applying them to stop the surge.

After the big surge, when the wing was below the horizon, I think that the line-loading went to zero as I fell down between the lines.  Probably, with the wing completely unloaded, the left wing tip folded under.  Again, I didn't keep my eye on the wing.  If I had seen the cravat and immediately applied right weight shift and some right brake, I might have kept the wing from winding up into a spiral.  Phil says once you have a "stuck-tip cravat" wound up in a spiral like that, it is very difficult to remove.  Even if right weight shift and brake couldn't keep the glider flying straight, a slower turn and lesser G forces would have given me time to find the stabilo line and try to pull the cravat out.

Given the first couple mistakes, once the glider was wound up in a spiral with a stuck tip, throwing the reserve was the right thing to do.

My intent in writing up my account is not to suggest that unknowable crap will happen to your glider while you're flying.  I believe that if I had reacted promptly and correctly, I would have lost a bunch of altitude, but not had to throw my reserve.  My intent is for all of us to learn from my mistakes.

Jeff

On multiple occasions with this past Sunday being the most recent, pilots flying into rotor and possible venturi locations have been observed. All should be reminded that Palomar is a complex mountain site and all should review the Soaring notes of the Palomar Site Guide and also Review the Flying Effective Faces article pulled from our XC clinic talks.

​Palomar is a complex mountain site