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1952 Walkout by Frank Christensen, '55-333

Our pledge class of 1952 planned a fall "walkout" toward the end of October, on one of those foggy Willamette Valley weekends. We took all the blankets from the sleeping porch, the electrical fuses from the breaker boxes, all of the gas burners out of the cook stove, and all of the hack paddles in the den, and headed over Alsea Mountain to Waldport.

I led the way in my car, with Lyndel Finley shining a large flashlight on the edge of the road to keep us from going into the ditch. When we reached the Marys Peak summit, the fog cleared, and we enjoyed a sunny coast weekend in Waldport.

We returned on Sunday afternoon to a group of grouchy members who had spent the nights sleeping in front of the fireplace in the living room. Most of them had the sniffles.

The next Saturday, we were rewarded with an early wake-up - 2:00 a.m. - and all-house cleanup duty. We were working on the house that whole day.

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1982 Jerry and Matt’s Apparition

 

 

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Cape Kiwanda at Sunset

 

Returning to college from a full day spent at famous Cape Kiwanda on the Oregon Coast, Jerry and Matt were recounting their flights.  Jerry had provided first-time training on the high rising dune that straddles the handsome landmass projecting into the Blue Pacific.  Continuing hang-gliding instruction during the drive back, Jerry also provided encouragement in the aftermath of Matt's bloodied face-plant on a hard-sand tarmac in the surf zone.  In spite of the face-plant, Matt turned out to be a pretty good first time pilot.  He continued to fly afterwards undeterred.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Exploring the cape

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Apostrophe”, before (how we knew it) and after vandalism (sad). Unlike Oregon's other basaltic, lava-flow capes, Cape Kiwanda is sandstone. 

 

 

Windows down for the freshness of the regional odors, engrossed in conversation, making good time through the lush valley floor, Jerry was late to notice the pretty woman standing on the side of the road, he glimpsed her extended thumb.  Reflexively he braked, then laid down a 30' skid-patch on the pavement. Unaware, Matt may have laid one down in his shorts.

 

Smoke wafting, Matt exits as she moved toward the car, greeting face-to-face smiles all around. He then allowed her access to the middle of the front seat, the back seat being filled with gear.    Loaded up, names exchanged, and time for small talk  ....  what is to be learned of a trusting, attractive, countrified-woman very near our peer, that appears on a road-side miles in either direction from any structure?  Matt starts right out of the gate "What do you do for a living?".   With little hesitation she responds, "Actually, I'm a prostitute". .. ...  .....  awkward pause ... ...   Matt and Jerry looking at each other …..  the faint smell of burnt rubber lingering, still.  "Where .. do you live?"      She says, pointing ahead to a clean, modest house coming into view on the side of the highway, down a long gravel lane in the fore of a very expansive agricultural property with a single uniform crop, “I live right there”.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not the hitch-hiker’s actual residence

 

Driving past the freshly painted farm-house and beyond at highway speed, Matt, pointing out his side window asks (in a matter of fact tone) "ever do that in a field like these?", pointing to the waves of colorful grain?.  "As a matter of fact I have" (not so matter of fact tone).  Sustained silence (Racing cogitation filling the cockpit, grins all-around) was interrupted by a chortle, as crop varieties pass by.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Typical Oregon Fields in the Valley

 

It was intriguing that she so assuredly states her trade. What is one to make of the exchanges:  the small-talk/leading-talk/body-talk?

Question:  If she was headed to Salem, the next town, then why was she not stationed somewhere between her house and Salem?  Then, one asks, “do you have a destination?".   "Not really ...  ...”. 

 

From concluding inquiry, even with oneself, moderation tempered with respect implicit of gentlemen KDRs comes to bear, and, the time comes to drop her off.

The day has been a joyous experience for two imaginative young men such as Jerry and Matt, … the encounters recounted twice, or thrice with an aire of enchantment/mysticism.     

 

After she closed the door, and back on the road, Matt turns to Jerry saying, "I have seven bucks in my pocket". 

 

To be continued?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Matt’s crash site J.  A dramatic side wind surprised flyers, and the kiting plebe knew-not how to push clear outside the control triangle to fully-counter, resulting in a mostly-harmless drifting impact.  Jerry flies the steeper side of the dune, into the North Westerly breeze.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another Cape Kiwanda Sunset

 

What is it like .. for man to push-off into a fitted horizontal prone on an enlarged, performance kite?  Jerry had offered, in all assurance, that Matt in all confidence should join him and find out.  From the saddle-dune of the Cape, elevation 230 feet, the transition happens quickly.  A stationary hoist of the glider, a 20 yard fully-committed run-and-push as you lie forward, senses a-tingle and free.   In seconds the ground falls away, and you are on-wing at 60 feet.   The lee side of the dune, to the south, has an increasing pitch from west-to-east allowing beginners to fly at a low height, then steeper as desired.  Jerry launches northward with a more severe drop into a consistent ridge-lift breeze, and is afforded a sustained cruise in front of the sandy col, sharing a glance and grin down to Matt.  College, civilization, society are completely absent from consciousness.  Awareness is heightened to pure expression.

Jerry still has his hang gliders, in case anyone is interested in flying.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hang glider similar to Jerry’s.  Jerry still has the glider if anyone would like to fly

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rookie flyers recovering after up-hauling gliders.  Taking-in the atmosphere.

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