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Mini-Mistral
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Ready to go on RW36
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Today's forecast was for northerly winds
(good for wave) but decreasing in strength with altitude (not so good). As
we were second to launch from Sisteron we fully expected an uncluttered
Gache, but we reckoned without the enthusiasm of Klaus Ohlmann, down the
road, and his posse of mainly UK pilots, who decided to raid 'our' ridge
en-route to some huge task. There must have been a dozen gliders on the
Gache at one point, but everyone behaved impeccably and there were no close
calls.
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Our passing nomads soon dispersed and we were left with the
choice of following the thermals that lay to the eastern parcours, or
heading west for the stronger winds and possible wave. We chose the latter
and embarked on an extended ridge-soaring session. Our first port of call
was the Lure, which we reached at 4600ft and ridge-soared its length to the
summit at 6000ft. There was little activity in the Jabron valley so we
headed off northwards towards Chabre.
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Sommet du Lure
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Chabre
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Running round the eastern corner at 3800ft concentrated the
mind somewhat, but the ridge worked well and we were back at ridge-top
height by the time we reached the summit. Amongst the general ridge lift we
found the occasional unusually strong thermal that took as to over
7000ft - this pointed to wave enhancement but with less than 10 knots of
wind on the ridge we weren't able to make anything of it.
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We tried the ridges further to the north, reaching cloudbase
at Aspres, but could find nothing at all at this usually most reliable wave
hot-spot. On retreating back to Chabre and encountering another unusually
strong thermal, we tried falling back to the gorge de la Meouge where, with
the wind having increased to a 16kt northerly, we managed to contact some
wave which gave us 4 knots at 8000ft and an eventual top altitude of a
little over 10,000ft. Not the greatest of climbs, I will admit, but the
smooth evening air made a pleasant change from the battering we had been
receiving from them low-down wind-torn thermals.
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L'onde, at last
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Having been airborne for getting on for five hours by this
stage, we decided to make a slow return back to base. We couldn't help a
raising a wry smile at David's radio calls which described his own personal
Meouge experience. One minute, he and his Pik were abandoning their
wave-search at 4500ft in the gorge and the next, he was calling downwind
after a thought-provoking, sink-laden trip back across the valley. Been
there, done that.
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Home again
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And so to dinner. The commitee des fetes for our
village once again risked a paella night while we Brits were in town, and we
jumped at the opportunity. A modest 16 euros bought us a seemingly unlimited
number of aperitifs (here's a thought: why does pastis not taste the
same back in England?), a starter, an unspecified number of helpings of
paella, a cheese course, a dessert and, of course, a glass or two of wine.
There was no Johnny Halliday tribute band this time - perhaps they were busy with 'La
France a du Talent'
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Valernes paella night
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