Tag: Yosemite

P.S. C1S1R1: High-Altitude Launch

(May 12, 2026 R1 Revision notes: Changed from jet-wings to powered hang gliders. Also updated per reviewer comments.)

Sierra Nevada’s, California

Polaris Station concept art

“We are ‘go’ for terminal countdown.” Inside his dark helmet, Kendall Parker saw his own eyes reflecting in the heads-up-display (HUD). “Flight computer, confirm ‘go’ for flight.”

The long shadows over Yosemite promised perfect conditions for a powered hang-glider flight. 

“Checklist complete,” the helmet computer voice confirmed. “All subsystems ready.”

With characteristic theatrical confidence Kendall called out to his flight partner via two-way radio, “Our altitude is ninety-five hundred feet. When we reach ten-thousand, and on my mark, pull your platform release lever, dive straight down for five seconds, ignite engine, then pitch up towards the horizon.” Kendall nodded. “Then… have fun.” As if an afterthought he added. “And… If there’s serious trouble, disconnect harness and activate parachute.” 

Face down, forty-five-year-old Kendall and his young-adult daughter, Becca, rose higher and higher, toe-to-toe, on a platform under a heavy-lift drone. 

“And what about the Rangers?” Becca said. “Their gonna be waiting for us this time.”

Becca had flown many times and knew the drill, but put up with her father’s pride and prerogative to show off and instruct his students. 

“What are they gonna do, fine me?” Kendall replied. “Besides, the park rules don’t specifically prohibit a small engine…”

Below, the sparse granite domes, scenic view parking lots, and ranger stations slowly retreated.

“Dad,” Becca exclaimed over the helmet radio, “can you believe that moonrise?”

Kendall hesitated, then rotated his helmet right. “Stunning.” Then he refocused on his HUD.

“Ninety-six hundred feet.” He looked again at the nearly full moon for more than a moment as though fighting an emotion. Finally, he turned back, lowered his visor and looked west, “Awe! Can you believe that sunset?”

Head-to-toe flight suits enshrouded each aviator, his red, hers yellow. Crowned by white helmets with embedded cameras they would rule the skies and record the flight. Each white-knuckled hand was gloved, right hands gripping there respective motorcycle-style throttle. Each left thumb, pressing lightly on the platform release lever. Like winged serifs departing heaven, each pilot was attached by harness to bright-colored, swept-back five-meter delta-wings. 

“Ninety-eight hundred,” Kendall called out.

Each chest lowered in deep breath, the smell of cedar, pine and campfire now diminished. Each pilot flexed their fingers out and in on the grips, slowly rotating ankles left and right. Programed to track, choreograph and film their flight until touchdown, the drone with its loud quad-copter hum drowned out each accelerating heart beat. The lower horizontal platform hung from the overhead drone by a single round structural column. 

“Ninety-nine hundred.”

Looking down, Kendall could see the sharp, nearly straight summit ridge of Half Dome. The west face was a brilliant golden glow streaked with several whiter bands of granite descending down the mountain. The back side of the dome was gray and shadowed.

“Ready!”

Both pilots checked their harness carabiner, gripped the control bar, rolled their shoulders and heads back and forth, leaned forward on the platform.

“On my mark. Three, two, one, mark.”

Click. Click. Like a trap-door, the platform folded quickly downward, releasing its load from both sides.

Simultaneously Kendall and Becca slid away from each other off the platform. As they left the platform, the drone lunged upward, relieved. Earth pulled them downward like Olympic divers. The upward wind filled their sails. The drone relocated rapidly. Each pilot ignited their respective engine, accelerated, pushed out on their control bars and pitched up in opposite directions toward the horizon. Looking left, Kendall noted the drone in perfect position to video them separating with Half Dome in the background. Their exposed facial skin fluttered against the cool pulsating air waves, flying like eagles, diving and soaring to their heart’s content. Throttling back, they glided toward Half Dome. Kendall led the way with Becca flanking close behind on his right and the drone on his left like three birds in draft formation. Passing familiar peaks and points, they stealthily leveled off at one-thousand feet above the valley floor and headed straight for Yosemite Falls then a close pass of El Capitan.

Adrenaline overcame restraint. 

“Yes!” Without thinking, Kendall let go with one hand and pumped his fist. “That’s how you do it.”

“Perfect!” Becca yelled.

The granite cliffs echoed their concurrence.

__________

Reader comments requested – I appreciate suggestions on clarity, flow, dialogue, characters and engagement. I especially welcome technical subject matter expert discussion. Challenge assumptions and help improve realism and storytelling.

P.S. C1S3: Buzzing Mariposa

(This is part of a serialized novel. Click MENU + Polaris Station to read and comment on latest revisions)

Mariposa Grove

Polaris Station concept image

The drone filmed Kendall and Becca from a safe distance.

Exiting Yosemite Valley, they vectored south to Mariposa Grove. Each flyer glanced west, their eyes drawn as the sun flickered half below the horizon. Each glanced at their watches. 

“We’ve got twelve minutes of fuel,” Kendall said.

They then banked southeast up the foothills to sweep the tops of two-thousand-year-old Sequoias. 

“Okay Becca,” Kendall said. “How many earth science majors get this kind of view of their subjects?”

“It’s awesome, Dad.” Becca had insisted Mariposa be included. “Fly directly above me,” she called out. “Use your helmet cam to capture my encounter.”

“Will do, Becca.”

Moments later she said, “Breathe deep. What do you smell? Can you break down the cocktail?”

“The cocktail? What do you…”

“In prep for flight, I queried what it would smell like over Mariposa. They say it’s a warm cocktail of ancient trees baking in the sun floating in crisp mountain air.”

“That’s poetic,” Kendall responded. “To me it’s just sugar pines and ponderosa. With a hint of butterscotch.”

“How about the cinnamon?” Becca continued, “And can’t you taste that ‘sharp’ resin clearing the sinuses. And there’s just a hint of…”

“Six minutes of fuel.” Kendall interrupted. “Got’a turn back.”

Departing Mariposa, Kendall signaled and pushed his control bar left for a broad right-hand turn back toward El Capitan for a Leidig Meadow landing. Becca followed.

“That’s not right,” Becca heard Kendall say.

“Come again,” Becca said.

Kendall shook his digital compass. “Becca! Come alongside and tell me your compass heading.”

“What’s the problem?”

“By terrain, we’re headed for El Capitan, but my compass is bouncing around 275 degrees. It should be…”

“Shouldn’t it be…” She said.

“It should be about 340 to 350,” Kendall repeated. 

In the deep tones of twilight, the two pilots used familiar terrain to get safely to Leidig Meadow.

“Dad, it looks like we have a greeting party.”

Kendall looked over his shoulder and noted a Ranger’s F-150 Lightning next to his Tesla Cyber-U as he made his approach in the meadow. He read the meadow wind sock perfectly and as his feet began to clip the milkweed and Lillies, he pitched and flashed up with a running foot landing. Becca followed suit but planted her knees abruptly but safely in the moist soil.

The drone had landed first and recorded their touchdown.

Suddenly the Ranger climbed into his truck, heard something in his radio, and spun his wheels in the grass as he left.

They removed their flight gear, disassembled the gliders, collapsed the drone, and loaded the truck and trailer. The sky was black as they drove to the park exit and headed for home. 

Enthusiastic conversation was interrupted when they turned the truck radio on.

“We repeat,” the broadcaster said, “Northern pacific regions reporting sporadic HF broadcast interruptions, weather satellite dropouts, and GPS inaccuracies.”

Kendall instinctively lowered his head and looked up through the windshield to the west where the sun was now far below the trees. Then, fighting a triggered, he looked through his rear view mirror and up at the Moon, now near the tops of the trees. 

Becca noticed his motion. “Dad. Do you think it was a CME?”

Kendall didn’t speak.

Becca continued, “The electromagnetic radiation would explain…”

Kendall pulled off the road and looked into the east sky again. As another car passed, Becca noticed headlight reflection on sweat that appeared on her father’s forehead. 

Kendall shook his head. “I sure hope they…”

“Dad,” Becca grabbed her father by the arm. “You don’t think Grandpa Parker might be in trouble?”

“I don’t know,” His eyes glued to the moon. “Let’s hope they got the warning in time.” Kendall pulled back onto the highway and scanned various channels for five hours, all the way back to Santa Barbara.

__________

Reader comments requested – I appreciate suggestions on clarity, flow, dialogue, characters and engagement. I especially welcome technical subject matter expert discussion. Challenge assumptions and help improve realism and storytelling.

P.S. C1S1: High-Altitude Launch

Sierra Nevada’s, California

Concept art for Polaris Station

“We are ‘go’ for terminal countdown.” Inside his dark helmet, forty-five-year-old Kendall Parker saw his own eyes reflecting in the heads-up-display (HUD). “Flight computer, confirm ‘go’ for flight.”

The long shadows over Yosemite promised perfect conditions for a jet-wing flight. 

“Checklist complete,” the female computer voice confirmed. “All subsystems ready.”

With characteristic theatrical confidence Kendall called out to his flight partner, “Our altitude is ninety-five hundred feet. When we reach ten-thousand, and on my mark, pull your docking release lever, back-dive straight down for five seconds, ignite engines, roll one-eighty, then pitch up towards the horizon.” Kendall nodded. “Then… have fun.” As if an afterthought he added. “And… If there’s serious trouble, eject your wings and activate parachute.” 

Kendall Parker and his young-adult daughter, Becca, rose higher and higher, facing each other, standing on the foot rails of a heavy-lift drone. 

“And what about the Rangers?” Becca said. “They almost tracked you last time.” Becca had flown many times and knew the drill, but put up with her father’s pride and prerogative to show off and instruct his students. 

“What are they gonna do, give me a fine?” Kendall replied. 

Below, the sparse granite domes, scenic view parking lots, and ranger stations slowly retreated.

“Dad,” Becca exclaimed over the helmet radio, “can you believe that moonrise?”

Kendall rotated his helmet right. “Stunning.” Then he refocused on his HUD.

“Ninety-six hundred feet.” He looked back at the nearly full moon for more than a moment as though fighting an emotion. Finally, he turned back, lowered his visor and looked west, “Awe! Can you believe that sunset?”

Head-to-toe flight suits enshrouded each aviator, his red, hers yellow. Crowned by white helmets with embedded cameras they would rule the skies and record the flight. Each white-knuckled hand was gloved, right hands gripping there respective motorcycle-style throttle. Each left thumb, pressing lightly on the release lever. Like winged serifs departing heaven, each pilot was bound by harness to light-blue, three-meter V-wings. 

“Ninety-eight hundred,” Kendall called out.

Each chest raised in deep breath, the smell of cedar, pine and campfire now diminished. Each pilot flexed their fingers out and in on the grips, slowly rotating heals left and right, pressing against the foot platform. The loud vibration of the quad-copter propellers drowned out each accelerating heart beat. The lower drone structure resembled the basket of a hot air-balloon with equipped with a fully gimbaled camera on the bottom. Software ready to command the drone to track, choreograph and film their flight until touchdown.

“Ninety-nine hundred.”

Leaning back slightly and looking down over his shoulder, Kendall could see the sharp nearly straight summit ridge of Half Dome. The north-west face was a brilliant golden glow streaked with several whiter bands of granite descending down the mountain. The back side of the dome was gray and shadowed.

“Ready!”

Both pilots again planted the balls of their feet across the lower railing, rolling their shoulders and heads back and forth, leaning away from the drone.

“On my mark. Three, two, one, mark.”

Click. Click. 

Simultaneously Kendall and Becca fell away. As their feet left the rails, the drone lunged upward, relieved. Earth pulled them downward like Olympic divers doing coordinated back dives from opposite sides of the platform. Twisting at the waist, V-wings followed their shape and they body-rolled until face to face, upside down about twenty meters apart. The drone relocated rapidly. Each pilot ignited their engines, accelerated, arched their backs, then pitched up in opposite directions toward the horizon. Looking left, Kendall noted the drone in perfect position to video them separating at high speed. Their exposed facial skin fluttered against the pulsating air waves, flying like eagles, diving and soaring to their hearts content. Throttling back, they glided toward Half Dome. Kendall led the way with Becca flanking close behind on his right and the drone on his left like three birds in draft formation. Passing familiar peaks and points, they stealthily leveled off at one-thousand feet above the valley floor and headed straight for Yosemite Falls then a close pass of El Capitan.

Adrenaline overcame restraint. 

“Wahoo!” Kendall exclaimed.

“Yahoo!” Becca followed.

The granite cliffs replied. 

__________

Reader comments requested – I appreciate suggestions on clarity, flow, dialogue, characters and engagement. I especially welcome technical subject matter expert discussion. Challenge assumptions and help improve realism and storytelling.