Spectators exclaimed at the graceful serenity of the fine glider craft,
wafting silently with the air currents over their heads against a blue
and cloud-flecked sky. The Darmstadt wafted northward and southward on
a one to two miles’ course, going back and forth over the white-capped
bay or surrounding hills and banking gracefully over Corn Hill on each
return trip.
Once, as Peter Hesselbach circled Corn Hill, Captain Paul Roehre, a
gliding comrade, roared up to him:
“Are you hungry?”
With a wave of his hand, Hesselbach responded, “What’s the use?”
Finally he landed at Wellfleet, an adjoining town. The writer picked
him up at a crossroads and brought him back to Corn Hill. These were
his first words:
“I came down because I could not fly for the hills and gain altitude
after the wind changed more to the north. I went off my course
purposely. I wanted to study air conditions. This territory is ideal
for soaring. It has much better possibilities than Rossiten, which is
one of the best soaring places in Germany.”
“My altimeter shows I reached a maximum altitude of 350 feet. The wind
velocity was about 30 miles an hour. I soared a total of 120 miles.”
It’s a far cry from Cape Cod to Sicily. But that’s how glider flying
actually got its springboard start in America.
[Illustration]