The end of the competition is in sight with only two task days left to go.  This is a good job as exhaustion is rapidly setting in amongst quite a few of the competitors.

For those reading this blog who think it must be a fantastic jolly to come away to nice country like Mexico to go flying for two weeks with all your mates I have to say  ‘yes, it is’, but it’s also a marathon of ups, downs and physical and mental exhaustion as well.

Here’s a typical task day.

7am – Wake up, check emails and reply to any that are important, check blog is up on the XC Mag site and note any comments left that might need replying to.  Check BBC website for any news and check weather for the day so I can be a pain in the organiser’s arse by asking difficult questions at the pilot’s briefing if I have, for example, a forecast for very strong winds and they are saying that they’re going to be very light.  When it comes to looking after my own safety I’ve always felt better finding out things for myself rather than relying on other people to do it for me.

8am – Down for breakfast and a cup of one of my private stash of Tetley Tea Bags.  As I predicted in a previous post there have been no more scrambled eggs or other treats since I managed to flood the first floor of the house trying to put the jacuzzi on so Bran Flakes and a stern look from the housekeeper are all we’re now given.

9am – The 15 minute walk from the house to the HQ is usually done at a run as Jamie almost always beats me to the loo in our place so the last few hundred metres to the safety of the Gent’s at the HQ are often rather urgent.  When we arrive we have to find our gliders and get them loaded on the trucks for the drive to launch.

10am – Arrival at launch and unpacking and preparation of gliders.  This is about the only part of the day when there’s a little time for relaxation so the English speaking teams often congregate for a bout of piss-taking and general banter involving base toilet humour and stereotypical jokes about the inadequacies of different nationalities.  The Eastern Europeans are the current butt of most of the jokes but this will move on quickly to whoever next displays any form of weakness.

10.30 – Pilot briefing and the revelation of today’s task is conducted in a cacophony of bleeping flight instruments as various glide computers and GPS’s are programmed.  At this point I normally lend my pen to somebody and never get it back again which I only realise once I’m airborne.

11.15 – Window open and pilots free to take off.  I usually try to get off about 45 minutes before the race start, which is normally at 12.45 so I don’t end up needing to pee for 4 hours.  I generally get the timing wrong as the queue moves quite slowly for launch meaning I’m often hassled and late by the time I take off.  I’ve now taken to carrying a small bottle that I can pee into in the launch queue using my pod harness as a makeshift toilet cubicle.  Genius!

Midday – Take Off!  Now is the time to get positioned for the race start and work out what the air is doing, thermal heights, thermal strengths and other technical stuff.  If all goes according to plan I should be at or around cloudbase in a good position at 1pm.  Surprisingly I’m quite good at this so usually I am.

13.00 – Race Start!  We’re off for the task

13.01 – I realise I need a pee and will have to wait for 4 more hours till we land to have one.

13.00 to 17.00 – Fly the task.  This involves being scared, elated, annoyed, physically bullied by the air, pleased and disappointed with decisions in fairly equal measure, fiddling with GPS’s and computers, peering into the distance to see what my rivals are doing, getting overheated when low and frozen stiff when high, lots of swearing when things don’t work and lots of yelling at other pilots in busy thermals.  Now and again (and it’s not often) I’ll get a few seconds to think ‘Wow!  What a beautiful view’ and take a deep lungful of high altitude air.

17.00 – Land in goal (hopefully) and after 5 hours in the air I get to enjoy a 5 minute wee as soon as my feet are on the ground.

18.00 – Get on the bus back to HQ which is usually filled to the brim with gliders and people meaning no place to sit.

19.00 – Arrive at HQ and download my GPS trace for the day ensuring the times and other stuff agree with what I have noted down myself.

20.00 – Go for some food.  I am, of course, now on first name terms with the man who runs the taco stall in the middle of town.  I normally at this point forget the unfortunate effects of too much chilli sauce the next morning and pile it on.

21.00 – Arrive home twelve and a half hours after we left.  Cup of tea and shower, put batteries on charge, download photos and do any chores like sewing up broken kit or washing underwear and socks.

22.00 – Write blog and answer any more emails from the day.

23.00 – Zzzzzzzzz

Multiply this schedule by 13 days of the competition and you have a fairly packed two weeks.

Don’t get me wrong this is a wonderful experience that I wouldn’t miss for the World but boy will I be knackered when I get back home…

Mark H

Mark Watts holding on to his most important possessions

Launch banter

The popular packed lunch girls

Related posts:

• Hang Gliding World Championships: Heavy weather
• British Paragliding Cup, Yorkshire Dales
• Gin Safety Notice
• One In The Back Of The Net
• A Quick Guide To Comp Speak

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 5th, 2009 at 7:07 am and is filed under Mark Hayman Blog. You can follow any comments on this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a comment, or trackback from your own site.