THE FAT LADY DOESN’T SING ‘TILL SUNSET (PART FIVE)

 Tango Whiskey had wisely made a point of always staying high, so far. Then after hours of full-on galloping they finally assumed too much and overran their advantage, dropping below the altitude band of optimum lift down where we've been most of the time. They may not know it yet, but now they have problems too.Though still miles behind us, kinetically they're in much better shape, within range of Inyokern airport ahead, which we can't even see. They had no intention of gliding down to Inyokern, expecting to pass by it higher than they are now. And they still may… The question for them is morphing from how to if.Soaring place to place weaves arrays of dilemmas to continually untangle as they appear. Moving always over new ground into evolving weather, problems can stack up, and the faster lift carries you the quicker even a shrewd pilot can be overwhelmed. When the aircraft outruns your brain it can become nature's version of Wile E. Coyote off a cliff. And gravity, as shown, usually wins.Our advantage from an afternoon of gritty contact is a feel for the air around these hills, something TW can only guess at. (Could have warned them to turn west sooner along the shearline, but we were too busy digging our own ditch to keep eyes on them.) Before they knew it, they passed through the shear’s interface into subsiding air beyond, and now must find a short route back out.Meanwhile we face a big gray hole. Climbing the shaded edifice ahead looks impossible and we’re out of ideas. The sky’s always filled with little dilemmas, but this one’s not so small. Whatever we do will include circumnavigating the foot of mighty Olancha, whose toes themselves are full size mountains. The lower we get the further our flight path around them — and over the gulfs between them too.Every ridge we tiptoe across buys a few degrees more sun exposure. Easy to imagine periodic nibbles as onramps to glory road, but all fade in turn and we barely maintain height. Oh well, if that’s all there is it’ll have to do. Nice knowing the shortest path around to the sun also draws toward our nearest lakebed.And at the rate Tango Whiskey’s falling out it might soon be their prime alternate too…Pinned again on a jagged spur below the main watershed, no progress other than crawling onto higher ground. Almost like back at Walt’s Point except his time thermals begin to strengthen the way they’re supposed to. Further up our ridge rejoins those others, lift combining above them as well, and for the first time since that breathsucking dive through Whitney Portal I feel glad about the future.Ah relief! Eager to share the joy, I key the mic, “Tango Whiskey, how you doin’?”After a short silence, “Don’t ask!” TO BE CONTINUED