This conversation delves into the rich history of hang gliding, exploring the personal journeys of the early pioneers of free flight. It highlights the evolution of hang gliding, the DIY spirit of early glider construction, and the influential eccentric figures who shaped the hang gliding community. The discussion also touches on the challenges faced in the sport, the importance of safety, and the role of photography in documenting this unique culture. Through personal anecdotes and reflections, the conversation captures the essence of what it means to be part of the hang gliding world. Bill Liscomb shares his journey through the world of hang gliding and sailplanes, reflecting on the early days of the sport, the creation of the incredible documentary ‘Big Blue Sky‘, and the impact of tragedy on the aviation community. He discusses his personal experiences in soaring and the lighter side of hang gliding, while also offering valuable advice for future aviators.

Takeaways

Flying has been a constant theme in Bill’s life.
Bill’s father was a decorated WWII veteran and pilot.
The first hang glider flight was in 1971 at the Lilienthal meet.
DIY hang gliders were made from everyday materials.
The community played a significant role in the sport’s growth.
Safety concerns increased with the advent of thermaling.
Photography captured the essence of hang gliding’s early days.
Bill’s mother was a prominent photographer in the hang gliding scene.
The evolution of glider designs was influenced by experimentation.
The camaraderie among pilots fostered a unique culture. Bill’s early experiences in hang gliding were filled with adventure and learning.
The transition from hang gliding to sailplanes was a significant shift in Bill’s flying career.
Creating ‘Big Blue Sky’ was a labor of love that took nearly five years to complete.
Soaring in sailplanes offers unique experiences with nature and the environment.
Tragedies in the hang gliding community led to important safety improvements.
Survival in aviation often comes down to cautious decision-making and learning from others’ mistakes.
Humor and camaraderie are essential aspects of the hang gliding community.
Bill’s musical background adds a unique dimension to his storytelling.
Advice for young aviators includes being cautious and learning from experienced pilots.
The spirit of adventure and pursuit of dreams is a central theme in Bill’s life.

Sound Bites

“Flying has been a constant theme in Bill’s life.”
“I always shared that love of aviation with my dad.”
“The first hang glider flight was in 1971.”
“We made the hang gliders out of bamboo and duct tape.”
“Safety concerns increased with the advent of thermaling.”
“The camaraderie among pilots fostered a unique culture.”
“She was into that and she came to that first Lilienthal meet.”
“I did the big deep stall and recovery.”
“She was all over the map, man.”
“No helicopter parenting going on here.”
“I think flying RC gliders may have saved my life.”
“I lived to fly for about 12 years in sailplanes.”
“I think I didn’t want to be the first to do a 360.”
“We lampooned everybody and everything in Hang Gliding.”

Chapters

00:00 Introduction to the Journey of Flight
03:08 The Early Days of Hang Gliding
05:54 Pioneering the Sport: The First Meets
09:07 Building the Dream: DIY Hang Gliders
12:01 The Evolution of Hang Gliding Designs
15:00 Influential Figures in Hang Gliding History
17:51 The Community and Culture of Hang Gliding
20:59 Challenges and Safety in Hang Gliding
24:13 The Role of Photography in Hang Gliding
27:00 Personal Stories and Anecdotes
30:04 Reflections on the Future of Hang Gliding
35:05 The Early Days of Hang Gliding
39:30 Transitioning to Sailplanes
47:06 Creating ‘Big Blue Sky’
51:02 Experiences in Soaring
57:19 The Impact of Tragedy on the Community
01:01:34 Survival and Safety in Aviation
01:09:31 The Lighter Side of Hang Gliding
01:11:03 Reflections and Advice for the Future

Bill sent me this story on his beginnings. It’s an amazing and highly recommended read:

BEGINNINGS

1971-2

My goal in life, at the age of twenty-one, was to first get all of my aircraft repair certificates, and then acquire pilot ratings.  I was attending San Bernardino Valley College, and in my first semester studied repair and maintenance of aircraft structures, among other subjects.  One day, a fellow student handed me a newsletter that changed my life.  It was called “Low and Slow,” and was about hang gliders.  I was vaguely aware of hang gliders, having seen them in some of the aviation history books in my library.  They were ancient, frail machines, abandoned with the advent of the powered aircraft.  This newsletter touted the upcoming Otto Lillienthal hang gliding meet in Newport, and supplied the address for the “Hang Loose” plans.  

I lived in Riverside, California and had several friends that attended University of California Riverside.  We were into riding our ten-speed bikes en-masse at great speed in the darkness of night.  My Hang Loose plans came, and work on the airframe progressed slowly until a carpenter friend of mine came to visit and helped provide the energy to finish the flying machine.  I built the craft in my sisters’ garage, and my cycling friends would stop by to check on my progress.  At first they would marvel at this modern antique, then retreat in small groups in the corner and snicker and giggle among themselves.  Some support.  With the help of my brother-in-law the decision was made to adorn the polyethylene covering of the craft with the air signs of the zodiac; Libra, Aquarius and Gemini, applied with a can of spray paint.  

One night, it was completed.  My cycling friends assembled to admire the finished product, and after some speculation and serious thought, we decided to take the glider to a field a couple of blocks away for some taxi trials.  It was quite a sight, on a cool spring night, to see this throw-back carried tail-high across an overpass to the field.  The field was bisected by a rarely used road, complete with sidewalks and curbs.  Six or eight of us picked up the glider and trotted along in the damp evening air, expecting the magic of flight to carry me away.  No such luck.  We simply backed up further and ran harder.  On the third try, we could not stop before encountering the slight drop, the sidewalk, curb and street.  I was aware of tumbling bodies around me, and I must have flown fifteen or twenty feet before grinding to a halt on the asphalt.  The flight resembled a trajectory more than it involved the usual forces associated with flight.  The glider escaped any injury, and our minor abrasions were tended to back at the hanger.  The only problem remaining was getting the fragile machine from Riverside to Newport.  The roof of a car or an open trailer would probably destroy it.  My brother-in-law saved the day by renting a large truck for me.  

At 7 a.m., on the morning of May 23, 1971, I woke up under the gray overcast common to Southern California in the spring, also known as June Gloom.  Dick and I had breakfast and assembled the glider as more pilots arrived.  At the pilots meeting, the owner of the property introduced himself, and told us the land was reserved for use as a cemetery, casually adding that the mortuary was just over the hill, in case any of its special services might be needed.  Hang gliding was lunatic fringe before it even got off the ground.  It seems so strange that in fulfilling one of man’s oldest dreams, to fly like a bird, he is judged to be less than competent by his peers.  This was something I never quite understood or got used to.  These people of quick verbal jabs had not dreamed of airplanes during their childhood, content to walk along never looking up, both in spirit and in body.

By late morning, the overcast burned off and the wind began to freshen.  I had visions of soaring for hours over the gentle, grassy slope.  My friends and I carried the craft up the hill and gave it one last check.  With helpers on the wings and tail, I was ready.  We started the takeoff run.  The glider began to tug me skyward by my armpits, and just as my feet lost traction, the main spar failed.  My first flight was a very short entry in a logbook.  

The glider was only slightly damaged from its’ tumble.  I had not brought any tools or materials to repair the glider with, I mean after all it would soar for hours on the first flight.  We did manage to round up a 2X4 and some wire.  We used a hammer and a screwdriver to split the 2X4 into 1X2 (approx.) spar splints.  We nailed these to both sides of the breaks and then wrapped the splice with wire.  Field repair circa 1880.  We had lunch and gave it another try.  I climbed in the cockpit and this time the glider held my weight.  The glider was slightly out of trim in pitch, which, coupled with my light weight, caused it to pitch up sharply to an alarming altitude of maybe ten feet.  It wasn’t a flight of an hour, but I had flown.  We adjusted the surfaces of the glider as best we could and tried again.  I concentrated on keeping my weight as far forward as possible and ran down the hill.  The glider pitched up sharply again, but quite as bad as the first time.  More adjustments with the same results for flight number three.  A meeting of the minds determined that the cg was too far aft and we needed a pilot that weighed more than 135 lbs.  Dick weighed 165 and was the next choice.  As the old saying goes, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.   Dick also pitched up, not as sharply, his flight resembling the trajectory of an artillery shell.  His impact knocked off the helmet he was wearing.  More weight.  My brother in law weighed 180 lbs, and we figured that he would either hit the ground really hard or the glider would actually fly properly.  On his third flight he made it to the bottom of the hill!  His landing was also an aerobatic maneuver previously unknown to man.  As his rear touched the ground (gear up landing) he let go of the glider.  He did a half-roll and the glider did a half-loop.

The day was over in what seemed to be a few minutes.  My friends and I wore out the airframe of that first glider in one afternoon and left it in a garbage can at the end of the day.  The plastic covering had been stretched, torn and taped, the airframe repaired by so many splints that it probably gained ten pounds.  My armpits were bruised, my buttocks punctured by wild thistles, and my legs were tired, but what a day.  That day changed my life.  The next day my picture was in the LA Times.

We were impressed with the consistent flights another group was getting out of their “Batso” bamboo Rogallo.  The following weekend we drove to Pasadena to measure the craft so we could build one.  Bamboo spliced together with exhaust tubing.  Bailing wire and duct tape and fiberglass filament tape.  Foam padding on the hang tubes.  Hardware store bolts and nuts.  Black polyethylene.  We measured it and a week later had our own.  

Without any idea of where we could fly our new soaring machine, we followed up on rumors of nice sand dunes near Palm Springs.  We found the sand dunes late in the afternoon, and the wind was already up.  A perfect dune eluded us, but a nice sandy slope was found.  Don Carlin won the draw to fly, and the rest of us manned the tow rope as we had seen Taras and his friends do a few weeks before.  As soon as the glider lifted Don airborne, the drag of the wing in the air began to drag us across the sand.  The glider locked out just about the time we could not hang on any longer, and Dons’ injuries consisted of a very sore shoulder and side.  Some of the launch crew had some pretty good rope burns on their hands.   

Now that we slowed down a little, a good deal of driving found a nice hill in Norco that was perfect for flying and nearby.  The Batso was light and could be carried on top of a VW Bug.  Most importantly, it did make it to the bottom of the hill on most flights.  Well, it did need a little help in the form of a rope assisted takeoff.  Three people would get on the downhill end of the rope.  These three were good runners and in line to fly.  If you wanted to fly the glider you had to tow it.  The uphill end of the rope was wrapped once around the front spreader for the hang tubes, then the loose end was held under the thumb of the pilot on the hang tube.  The runners were at the top of the slope and the glider was on top of the hill.  When everybody would start to run the pilot didn’t have to hold up the glider or run very far with three people now running down a moderately steep hill.  The pilot would usually release the line when directly over the launch crew.  This would sometimes result in all three launch engines going ass over tea kettle at full tilt.  Part of the pilots post launch checklist was to observe the launch crew after line release.  There were usually at least six or eight of us at the hill on a regular basis, so there was plenty of help carrying the glider back up the hill.  The time between flights wasn’t too long and you could also take a break.  

Landings were as exciting as the takeoffs.  During these two critical phases of flight, once in a while, the pilot would find him/herself in a situation that required the craft be vacated in a hurry.  The hang tube pilot suspension system let the pilot “bail out” in a hurry.  We found it was better to bail out at a low altitude after loss of control while crosswind than to ride it in downwind and really eat it.  One of our gang bailed out too soon at too much altitude and broke his foot.  It didn’t stop him from flying, it only slowed him down.  Friends would come out with us and watch, then want to try it.  They would usually end their only day of flying with bruises and abrasions. 

On August 22, 1971 there was another hang glider meet in San Diego at the Otay Mesa memorial to John J. Montgomery.  This was the site of Montgomery’s 1883 flight in his hang glider.  I had built another Hang Loose and we also brought the Batso.  I had improved the Hang Loose by installing a steering system.  I removed the locking ratchet from two window shades and mounted them vertically next to the outer leading edge strut.  I had a string go directly to the cocpit with a tennis ball on the end for the pilot  to deploy the window shade.  It didn’t work very well.  We got much better flights with the Batso.  Taras had the Icarus by then and we got to see it fly.  On a good flight we could get to the bottom of the hill, and Taras was worried about flying into the trailer park across the street.  

We had become air junkies without knowing it.  Our entire lives centered around flying off hills.  We all lived in the same apartment complex and ate together, discussing the flights to come over breakfast or the flights of the day during dinner.  Most of us quit college to fly full time.  We worked on our gliders in the driveway in the morning and fantasized craft to come after dinner.  Cyndi cooked dinner for us most of the time.  She was a secretary and had the distinction of making the first three-point landing in a hang glider.  She got turned downwind and landed on her nose and boobs.  Skinned ’em up pretty good.  The afternoons were the payoff.  Flying.  Just like in a dream.  Slow, about the cruising speed of a ten-speed bike, the wind sizzling through your hair and ears.  Time altered from the instant you start to run until the glider stops.  A new realization of this new environment on each flight.  An increased awareness of the gliders’ capabilities, and weaknesses.  Poof!  The hardest part of flying is always the ground.  Or maybe reality. 

The limitations of a machine are soon realized with daily use and modification.  We were encouraged by a gentleman of great knowledge to experiment with different planforms.  He showed us some NASA reports on the Rogallo wing.  We decided that the new glider we would build would have cylindrical leading edges and truncated tips.  We built this glider out of aluminum tubing used for irrigation purposes.  Alloy-unknown, (perhaps 5050 T0) tiny rust spots were not uncommon in this untempered tubing.  The diameter was two inches and the wall thickness was .050.  We lacked a proper tubing bender and wouldn’t have recognized one if it had run us over.  We did find that the stop sign and a telephone pole at the corner by our house were just the right distance apart for bending our leading edges.  Bending isn’t quite the proper word to describe what happened to the tubing, but they were symmetrical.  For bracing, we used smaller tubing that resulted in a strut braced frame.  The control bar was an inverted “T” with the struts anchored to the bottom.  The seat, or harness, was the lap belt from a W.W.II vintage aircraft.  We sat on the belt, with the buckle facing downward.  A lanyard was attached to the release to enable the pilot to “bail out” in an emergency.  We unanimously voted to retain this valuable feature.  Another belt was sewn to the main one to fasten it to the pilot during the takeoff run.  I still have this scary device in my garage and I pucker up and shiver at the sight of it and the potential for disaster it had.  The good Lord looks after fools, drunks and Irishmen.  It helps to be all three.  

The cylindrical/truncated glider was a real hot rod compared to the bamboo bomber.  The new ship had an airspeed indicator we found at a bike shop and also a real tow release make from a modified parachute buckle.  The sail was polyethylene, but to control the stretching, we laid the plastic on a tile floor and, using the tiles for reference, placed lengths of fiberglass strapping tape nine inches apart, resulting in a grid of fiberglass tape.  It would stretch a little, then stop.  The glider was lighter and more responsive, and it looked really cool.  This was important.  The bailout harness worked better in our imaginations than in reality.  The release lanyard was hard to find in moments of extreme duress.  It was seldom used, and sometimes needed.  I did crack a couple of ribs in the process of rolling the glider into a ball one afternoon.  As a result of that impact, I had some second thoughts about the whole idea of flying.  I did recover, however, now, in my middle age, my knees and ankles could have belonged to a football player.   

          We attended all of the hang glider events in Southern California, and the most memorable of all was at Torrance Beach.  We thought we were pretty hot stuff with our bamboo bomber making it all the way to the surf, even if the salt water ruined it.  We were proud of the technological breakthroughs represented in the cylindrical/truncated tip glider.  Taras Kiceniuk popped our bubble with his Icarus flying wing biplane.  As the breeze picked up to the speed we needed to fly, Taras ran off the cliff, turned left and started to climb.  He flew south down the ridge for a few hundred yards, turned around and came back.  He flew directly over our heads at 20-50 feet above the cliff, looked down at us and waved.  I was in shock.  We were demoralized, and awestruck.  It was totally amazing.  We rode back to Riverside in silence.

        I took some power lessons at FlaBob airport near Riverside, California in  January and February of 1972.  I bought some block time in a Piper PA-11, an eighty-five horsepower Cub.  It didn’t have a self-starter and was close to being run out, so it was more than a little difficult to start it early in the morning.  More than once my instructor and I were a little sweaty when it finally started.  My instructor was an American Indian named John E. Rogers and he weighed about two-hundred pounds.  I vividly remember being startled how well the Cub climbed without him in the back seat the first time I soloed.  I also learned how to be an airport bum at Flabob, and met some unforgetable people and saw some wild things.

Mac Riley had a hanger at the airport, and he built a wire-braced monoplane hang glider for the first Lilienthal meet in Laguna.  Mac was a big fellow and always wore knee-socks.  I first saw him when I took my first ride in a sailplane, and he was running the operation at the time.  I think it was at Perris, California.  He used Howard DGAs for tow planes.  There is a picture of him trying to get his glider off the ground and accidentally running over George Uveges, a famous sailplane photographer.  I was always welcome at Macs’ hanger.  Charlie was a friend of Mac and did some drawings for plans of the glider I wanted to sell.  He had two cats that had been neutered, a male and a female.  He called them He-she and She-it.  

Flabob was a hotbed of homebuilt/experimental aircraft in those days.  Jack Lambie flew a replica of the Wright Flyer there.  His replica sported a T-Tail and metal frame in addition to the Honda motorcycle engine and small wheels.  I just happened to be making my rounds the day he flew it.  After the appropriate pre-flight ceremonies were observed, the aircraft was taken to the active runway.  The most unusual aspect of watching the take-off was hearing an airplane shift gears as the large counter-rotating propellers gained speed.  He broke ground in third gear and climbed to the West and the small crowd went nuts, screaming and yelling.  As the craft began a gentle turn to the left, it descended rapidly, coming safely to rest in a field.  We all ran there and everything was allright. There was a picture of all of us lifting the Flyer over the barbed wire fence that separated the field from the airport in the local paper.  I called my sister, who lived nearby, and she brought her camera and shot a roll of black and white film of the whole episode.    

We had a long spell of the doldurms, and I had read an ancient Scottish witches’ incantation in a book that was supposed to bring on the wind.  We went to the hill and slapped a wet rag on a rock while reciting the verse.  Nothing happened, so we drank wine and sunned ourselves on the hillside.  At two o’clock the next morning, the Santa Ana started blowing about 60 miles an hour and it blew for three days.  We never repeated that again.

At this time we were invited to several meeting in the Los Angeles area for the Southern California Hang Gliding Association.  Lloyd Licher, Taras Kicienuc Sr. and Jr, Dick Eipper, George Uveges, and many others were there.  We listened and commented, it was a long drive for us, and we refrained from taking part.  I held off from joining the club for a year or two and still have number 310.

        John Havens was the first person I watched fly off of a mountain.  We drove the glider up Box Canyon on the east side of town one morning and scouted a suitable launch area.  There was plenty of room to land below, and soon John was smoking another Camel, trying to control his shaking knees.  I was scared just looking at the glider and the altitude we were at.  It was probably about a thousand feet from launch to landing.  John picked up the glider and ran off.  It was a perfect flight, and as he landed, a surprised motorcycle rider bit the dirt as he came over a rise and saw the landing glider.  A massive celebration followed.  

The next glider we built was made from four fiberglass pole-vault poles.  The leading edges were tensioned into a cylindrical shape by wire.  People that knew a lot more than we did questioned the wisdom of pre-loading the structure, but it never broke, so it didn’t bother us.  This glider had a conventional control bar, but the base tube was extended past the downtubes  and bent back, like handlebars on a bicycle.  This arrangement, along with a swing seat harness, allowed the pilot to fly in the low drag supine position.  I did not get much airtime on this glider, but it did show some promise of performance gain over the irrigation tubing glider.  

At this time a local businessman saw an article about us in the local paper and wanted to sponsor our flying efforts.  He owned a plastics retail business and since our glider was almost all plastic, decided that we could help his business.  We made some work benches in back of his store and proceeded to build hang gliders there.  Of the four of us in the partnership, two of us had really long hair and, while this didn’t bother the proprietor, our traipsing through the store barefoot was not looked upon in good light.  After hearing this, George, with the longest hair and a beautiful ZZ Top beard, went into the store, got some large rubber gloves and used them for shoes.  Everything seemed to go downhill from there.  The general partnership among the four of us dissolved and we owed the plastic store some money.  

By summer of 1972 I had modified the cylindrical/trunc tip glider.  It was now cable braced with a regular control bar.  God only knows what these gliders were stressed for, and I wouldn’t bet a cent on their pitch stability.  It was a good thing none of us were altitude hungry then.      

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