MALCOLM'S WORLD [Wallaby Ranch]
-bob mackey

A week or so ago, [Oct. 1993] I was in Orlando, Florida for a conference.
Not wanting to go to Disney World and risk running into Mickey
Mouse or other 'toons like Paul Gazis, I took a day off and 
went to the Wallaby Ranch to give aerotowing a try.  The day before I 
arrived, it had been great.  Everyone got as much airtime as they 
wanted.   Meanwhile I was at the Orange County Convention Center 
listening to talks on "variable angle spectroscopic ellipsometry"
and other really cool stuff.

Finally on Friday, I made it out to the Wallaby Ranch.  It's a bunch of
Aussies and should've-been-Aussies that all got together to fly every
day, drink beer most nights, and find other forms of entertainment 
in-between (more on that later).  

Upon arrival, I told Malcolm I wanted to fly, and had brought 
nothing but my sunglasses.  "No problem, Mate" he replied,  then 
jumped in the truck to go ask one of his students why he had 
chosen not to land in the 50 acre field.  A few minutes later,
he and the student were back, along with the still-assembled glider
in the back of the truck.  

Malcolm then pulled out a shiny new XS 142 and told me to put it together.
The others hanging around gave me a vario, jacket, harness, helmet,
and a sum total of about three words of advice:  "Follow the tug."
I believed them when they told me it was easy, but went ahead and 
read the instruction sheet for new aerotow pilots.  

Well, I skimmed it anyway.  After all, I could read it more closely
after the sun went down, and the gliders were put away.

We loaded the glider onto a big triangular dolly.  It had two 12 inch 
pneumatic wheels on casters in the front, and one fixed wheel under 
the keel.  A rope was tied across the front of the dolly, below the 
glider's base tube.  I would hang onto this rope with one finger of 
each hand until the glider was starting to lift the dolley, then 
release the rope, dropping the dolley.

A tow bridle was connected to the shoulder straps of the harness, 
and to the carabiner.  There is a release at the carabiner that is 
actuated by a handle on the base tube.  A backup release is located
near the shoulder strap end of the bridle.  When the tow plane returned,
The bridle was threaded through the ring on the end of the towline
and the release latched.  

The tow rope was a surprisingly long 300 feet.  In sailplanes, I have 
usually used a 200 foot rope, and at a small field in Maryland, 100 foot 
ropes.  Takeoffs there are made still more exciting by the hard right 
turn to avoid the trees just past the end of the 1000 foot runway.  
It seemed strange to be using a 300 foot rope in a field that was 
maybe 900 feet long.

At the other end of the rope was the DragonFly, a monster-flapped, 
high powered ultralight.  It is designed for slow flight with
a powerful motor, giant flaps, and generous control surfaces.
Without much further ado, they asked if I was ready, and circled
their arms to tell the tow pilot to go.  I pushed out to resist the towline
forces, and bounced along for about 50 feet before the glider started to
rise.  I dropped the dolley, and followed the towplane as it took off.

Usually one expects Migs and F-14s to point more or less upwards after
takeoff, while other aircraft climb at a more sedate angle.  Nonetheless,
the DragonFly was 100 feet above me in a few seconds.  I was pushing out 
firmly, but found that pushing out *hard* was necessary to keep even 
with the tug.  I was thankful for the long rope right away.  Being that
far out of position on a 100 foot rope would have been disasterous.
A bit of yaw oscillation also developed.  It didn't damp out by itself,
so after a few cycles, I started canceling it.

Then I looked down and found we were just about to cross the end of 
the field.  And we were already at 300 feet at least.  Including takeoff 
roll, we were climbing into about a 5-10 mph breeze at at least a 3:1 
angle. I guess there was really no reason to be concerned about the 
long rope.

The tow was uneventful so far, so I tried to fix the zipper on the harness
which had come apart.  No Problem, just hook an elbow over the speed bar,
reach down and grab the toe of the harness and pull it up between my
legs to restart the zipper foot where I can see it.  Say, I wonder where the 
towplane went.....Oh shit.  There it is up there by my nose plate.
Push.  Push.   Rumble Rumble Rumble (prop wash)...By now the tow pilot
is half out of the plane looking back at me wondering what the Hell
I think I'm doing.  Guess I'll fix the zipper after I get off tow.

We hit some good air, and started thermalling on tow.  At 2500' AGL
(in florida, AGL = MSL) he waved me off.  I released and turned right
while he dived to the left.  The rest of the flight was just like any 
other.  I stood up in the control frame and fixed the broken zipper, 
then laid down and banked into the weak-to-non-existant early evening lift,
and slowly drifted back down to the field.  A hawk showed me a sustainable 
thermal and I chased it downwind for a few minutes then came back to the field.

An easy landing next to the swimming pool, trade in the harness for one 
that fit me properly, and we're ready to go again.  The second tow was easy.
I stayed in position so the tug pilot wouldn't get too 
excited.  This time there was no lift.  I cruised around for about fifteen 
minutes and had a no-step landing right next to the pool as the sun went down.

Jeff left for the store where he picked up beer, meat, and corn. 
The three major food groups.  We guzzled, ate big slabs of red meat,
and fresh corn on the cob.  Backrubs and rediculous flying lies.
They didn't believe I actually heard about their place through a 
computer network.  "Come on...Who *really* told you about this place?"

We jumped on the trampoline, swam in the pool, launched thousands of
bottle rockets at each other, retaliated with water balloons, had another 
beer, and eventually, I headed back to my dreary hotel room in the tourist
and conference district.

On Saturday morning, a front came through, and a cool drizzle lasted most of 
the day.  Even though the weather was crummy, I wanted to get back to the 
Ranch, sure that it would be more fun than anywhere else - even in the rain.
But first, I stopped at the Lakeridge Winery and discovered
that Florida wine has earned it's reputation.  Yuck.  All of their wines
tasted like sour green apples with a bit of canned asparagus juice.
After a pizza in Orlando I was drawn back to the Ranch.

As the sun went down, I ended up back at Malcolm's ranch for another
evening of debauchery and merriment.  Malcolm offered me one of the trailers
to sleep in, and I happily accepted.  All I needed was an alarm clock so I 
could get up in time to catch my plane back to DC.  There were eight people
staying there that night.  Between them there were a few clocks that
were permanently installed in car dashboards, one microwave oven with a 
timer, and no watches or alarm clocks.  

Who needs a clock to decide when to fly?  Or when to eat?  Or sleep?
Clocks are for people who don't know about the Wallaby Ranch.

Regrettably, I caught the plane anyway.

Fly, Eat, Sleep.  
I like Wallaby Ranch.

-bob mackey
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Details:

Who:               Malcolm Jones, David Glover, etc.
Phone:             (863) 424-0070
Where:             1805 Dean Still Road
 
How to Get There:
From Orlando, head west on Interstate 4 towards Tampa.
Past Disney World,
turn north on highway 27.
Go 1.5 miles then 
left on Dean Still Road.
The road becomes red dirt after about 1.4 miles, then 
at 1.7 miles on left, is a mailbox labelled "Moyes 1805".
Turn into the driveway and continue past the field toward the
house and trailers.


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-bob mackey
 bmackey@ucsd.edu