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Editor’s note: This article was the winning entry in the 2025 Richard Collins Writing Prize for Young Pilots. After reading more than 60 entries, our distinguished panel of judges (including Richard’s son) selected Katia Van Horn, a full-time flight instructor from Missouri, as the winner of the $5,000 award. We hope you’ll agree that Katia’s account of her first soaring competition is a fine tribute to a talented writer and pilot.
Cruising Through the Soaring Blues
by Katia Van Horn
The skies above East Texas that week were filled with puffy cumulus, graceful white gliders, and one very blue rookie glider pilot. The highs weren’t very high, and the lows were nerve-rackingly low. My landings were respectable, and my decision-making occasionally less respectable. Even after flying at cross-country camps, learning soaring theory, having the best possible mentor and breaking the proverbial apron strings at home, flying in my first competition that week was the hardest thing I’ve done yet as a pilot, but also the most satisfying.
Flying in my first competition was the hardest thing I’ve done yet as a pilot, but also the most satisfying.
My first flight instructor and mentor, Ron, had told me to expect good thermals up to 7,000,’ 8,000,’ maybe even 9,000’—an exciting prospect because at home in Missouri we only have a few days every year that strong. From 9,000’, a high-performance glider like the Discus B I fly can easily glide many miles, depending on the wind direction, and can give the pilot plenty of time to find another thermal. The area around Houston has smooth farmland and contains plenty of airports, ideal for potential landouts, making it a perfect location for a new cross-country soaring pilot.
The daily pre-launch routine.
Unfortunately, as most pilots can attest, weather that happens as forecast is a rare blessing. And we were not blessed that week. Most days clouds were only 2,500’ to 3,000’ above ground when launch time came. My highest altitude reached was a little over 5,000’. It’s unlikely I would even do a cross-country training flight in a Piper Cherokee with ceilings at that altitude, and now I was doing exactly that but in a glider. Before this week, I had a hard time understanding why other pilots often think glider pilots are crazy, but after flying relatively low altitude cross-country soaring flights, I have to agree with them.
The beginning of the contest was eventful for me, but in the wrong way. It hadn’t been fun, and I had been hanging onto the weak thermals for dear life, which was even less pleasurable in nearly 100-degree temperatures. It was only my fourth flight in the Discus, and even though launch, aerotow, gaggle flying, setting up my flight computer, and landing at 89TA had all gone well, I was exhausted from the stress. Soaring had always been a peaceful and exciting getaway, but such a tough flight on day one left me blue and apprehensive.
My mother did not raise a quitter, however, and despite the practice day disaster, I was back on the launch grid for day 1. The first official contest day wasn’t much better. I barely made the turn points as slowly and inefficiently as possible. After seeing my continued ride on the struggle bus, Ron had the idea to team fly on day 2, which wasn’t against contest rules. Having the leadership of a much more experienced soaring pilot was an immediate change for the better. Following the distinctive v-tail HP-18 from cloud to cloud and doubling the opportunities to sniff out a thermal made a huge difference, as did the psychological comfort of not being alone so far from the airport.
The crew: Ron Leonard (left), Mike Ketteman, and Katia Van Horn.
Soaring on day 3 with Ron was the pinnacle of my soaring success that week, as I was finally able to fully enjoy the flying. We experienced some of the things that made me love soaring to begin with: watching the ground creep away in a strong thermal, porpoise flying at cloud base, and racing home on final glide. Two new joys specific to those contest flights also presented themselves: perfectly centering a thermal with the HP-18 just across from my wing and announcing, “4A finish!” over the radio after a successful task. The peaceful feeling of soaring had returned at last.
Team flying wasn’t without challenges, though. Our two gliders have very different performance. I was outclimbing the HP-18 and loitering at the top of every thermal waiting for Ron to catch up. Flying the same distance as a lower performance glider hurt my contest scores because of the Sports Class handicap system. With my newly restored confidence I was itching to venture out and be more competitive.
I was optimistic about striking out on day 4 and 5 by myself. It turned out that doing well on my own was a false hope, almost like applying to any professional pilot job these days. And on day 4, I almost immediately fell out of the workable soaring band and had to scrape my way back up to altitude while gliders who wisely waited to set out on task shot by above me. Low saves during a contest hurt a contestant’s efficiency because it takes longer to go the same or even shorter distances.
I suffered again on day 5 due to my poor decisions, this time my low save was over harsh terrain as the thermals were dying off in the late afternoon. Thankfully, I was smart enough to cast aside my delusions of making that third turn point, and I squeaked back to base with a few hundred feet to spare and landed 4 hours and 41 minutes after my launch. That is my record for longest glider flight, and it’s one I certainly won’t be inclined to break anytime soon.
Those two unfortunate days of flying were a small letdown from the joys of flying with Ron, but I certainly learned an important lesson: the foundation of contest success is knowing when the soaring day is going to start and end and flying the task accordingly. Once I’ve mastered cloud guessing and efficient flying, fitting the tasks within that timeframe will be easier. Even in my early days of learning to fly gliders, competing was one of my goals, and after this first contest, I can officially say that I am a competitive glider pilot. No need to mention that I was 12th out of 14 contestants. I’ll be racing the Discus again this summer in Houston, and, hopefully, for many years to come, but I’ll never forget the full circle moments of racing alongside my first flight instructor.
“4A finish!”
Some might enjoy my older brother’s soaring story from days gone by:
ROLAND’S AERONCA SOARING STORY
While a student at Northrop Aeronautical Institute in 1947/48, I became involved in the initial organization of the Northrop Glider Club. As the first paid-up member ($35.00) I received my first glider flight behind the then National Champion Glider Pilot John Robinson. We bought & recovered a surplus Leister Kauffman sailplane. We would trailer it out to Rosamond Dry Lake near Lancaster, Ca. (Rosamond is now a part of the USAF Experimental flight Test Base at Edwards, Ca.) There we would launch it using a 1941 Oldsmobile Hydramatic four door sedan and 3000′ of 1/8″ diameter mild steel wire. We were able to tow to 2,100+’ altitude across the dry lake bed. It was an exciting experience for everyone. On one occasion we had a visitor arrive in a Cessna. He was soon to be famous as the first man to exceed the speed of sound, the man was Captain Chuck Yeager.
I got carried away with sailplaneing & when I saw a surplus Aeronca TG-5 3-place glider for sale in the Los Angeles Times, I borrowed enough to make the $125 purchase price of the glider. It was never to be as a glider though. It took me from 1948 through 1951 to convert it into an Aeronca L-3B/O-58 65 hp. liaison version. By the time it was completed & licensed (N68759) I was working at Norton AFB in San Bernardino. It gave us many happy flying hours using sailplane soaring techniques we would work the prevailing updrafts along the San Gabriel Mountains & the San Bernardino Mins. On occasion we would fly out to the desert thru the windy & infamous Cajon Pass to El Mirage Dry Lake where the Southern Calif. Glider Club had regular soaring competitions.
My memorable experience at El mirage was a day when the dry-thermals (read that ‘dust devils) were everywhere. I decided to see how high I could get the Knocker to go using some dust devil lift. It was unbelievable, as I took-off, I spotted a giant ‘duster’, flew into it tangentially & spiraled tightly to the left. My variometer, rate of climb indicator, topped-out at the max & I was on my way to 14,600′ before deciding to cut the engine to conserve fuel. The military spec. service ceiling on the L-3 was 7,500′. I was almost twice that & higher than I have ever flown since in an aircraft of my own. After cutting the engine (a 65 hp. Continental), I soared between 14,000′ & 10,000′ for 45 minutes w/o power. It was an
experience of a lifetime. These numbers were verified by a recording barograph that I had constructed from a weather balloon radiosonde.
On other occasions we would visit my first wife’s family (& my own) up in Fairfield. In a 75/80 mph knocker,
it was about a 7 1/2 hour flight up & 7 hr.. back, with little tail wind.
Cajon Pass was always an interesting if not exciting experience. It is known for the infamous Santa Ana winds that funnel thru the pass on occasion. The ride up the canyon required sailplane techniques to avoid the worst of turbulence & downdrafts. Going up-canyon was always itchy’ but on the return from the desert side we would thermal soar to as high as 10,000′ & ride across the pass in smooth air. After clearing the rough air we had a lot of altitude to bleed-off so it was ‘full carburetor heat on’ & a rapid power-at-idle approach to the San Bernardino Airport. Many days when the prevailing wind was up-slope, we would ridge-soar the San Bernardino Mountains to Lake Arrowhead & beyond to Big Bear Lake. On days when the North wind would come up, it could be quite rough which would take the fun out of the day.
The two highest peaks in the area were Mount Baldy@ 10,500′ at the east end of the San Gabriel Range & Mount San Gorgonio @ 11,485′ at the East end of the San Bernardino range. Both of these became easy targets for the L-3. Initially, I kept the L-3 at the old Fontana airport North of Fontana on North Highland Ave. It was a short hop up to the flank of ‘Baldy’. I would top-out over ‘Baldy’ at around 11,000′, head back to Fontana, turn-off the magnetos & glide to a dead-stick landing. It was no great feat to go into Fontana ‘dead-stick’ as there were two 4000′ runways so I could set up to land on the far runway & if a bit short I would land on the near runway.
Those were the days when flying was very informal with no traffic controllers, or traffic for that matter, to interfere.
Alas, the end of the knocker came at the hands of the infamous Santa Ana wind. One night a 75 mph wind (Cajon Zephyr) roared down the pass & swept away my beloved L-3 along with many others parked at the old San Bernardino Airport. The tie-down ropes broke & it flipped up & over twisting a wing, breaking the main spar, landing upside down. I sold it for $250 to a guy who wanted to restore it. Lost track of N68759 & to this day I do not know what ever became of it.
As a struggling cross country glider pilot I admire how well she fid in her first contest. I was at a ridge camp with very experienced ex-military and airline pilots who soar. I asked then all why they soar. They all said because its harder than any other flying they did. I got my Silver Distance and Silver Altitude and did not land out—which I did 12 times in a Schweizer 1-26D. I am an expert at landouts!! I just got a Discus CS and love it!!!
I flew my first glider ride back on May 4, 2004 in an SGS 2-33 at Sky Sailing in Warner Springs, CA.
I was a USMC F/A-18 pilot, with over 2,500 hours and 2 combat tours under my belt. I was going through refresher training at VMFAT-101 in Miramar, CA, after a 3-year out-of-cockpit tour-of-duty. One day, while I was downtown in San Diego, I happened to see a flyer about soaring from Sky Sailing. I decided to give it a try.
When I arrived at Sky Sailing around lunch time on a quiet Wednesday, I found was a young, 18-year old young man named Garret Willat who was manning the desk in the office. I asked if I could go up for a ride. He handed me a stack of liability paperwork to fill out.
When I’d completed the paperwork and handed it back to him, I figured that someone else would then take me up for the flight. Instead, he tidied-up the office and walked me out to the aircraft. Still thinking that some other “older” person would come to take me up for the flight, Garret then talked me through the safety brief. It was then that I realized I’m going flying with this “kid.” I asked him how much experience he had and was surprised to learn that he was already a CFIG.
So…scroll forward…we’re out flying the waves in the mountains. I all I wanted to talk about was how cool it was to be flying with NO motor. All Garret wanted to talk about was how cool it must have been to fly fighter jets in combat and land on carriers. The 30-minute ride turned into an hour, seeing as there was no one else waiting for a ride.
I tell him about some of my cross-country flights, and the trans-lant and trans-pac flights I’d flown, and he says, “I’ve flown cross-countries too. Matter of fact, I had the record for the longest cross-country flight for my age group…under 18 at the time.” In disbelief I asked where he’d flown “cross country”, thinking that he’d flown just a few miles. He said, “From Warner Springs to (I can’t remember where he said) in New Mexico. The only thing that stopped me was that the sun was going down and the thermals were petering out.”
I was amazed…roughly 600 miles and not a drop of gas!
Correction…May 4, 2000…a Thursday.
Nice story, Katia, and congratulations on winning the 2025 Richard Collins prize! Is Ron Leonard related to Bob Leonard?