Gliding Along: Cleveland Soaring Society Marks 60 Years in the Air

MIDDLEFIELD, Ohio – In Geauga County, flying enthusiasts – armed with a pair of wings and some serious atmospheric knowledge – glide a few thousand feet in the sky in quiet crafts, doing a windy dance with Mother Nature.

Geauga County Airport in Middlefield is a simple place, with non-descript buildings, no tower and a paved 3,400-foot runway. Pilots and passengers keep an eye out for nearby Amish buggies and coyotes, both of which were spotted on a recent afternoon.

It’s home to the Cleveland Soaring Society, which offers folks a chance to pilot or ride in gliders that soar above Northeast Ohio’s landscape of greenery, roads and buildings. The club is marking its 60th anniversary.

On a recently hot and slightly breezy day, club members glided graceful ovals in the sky before making smooth landings.

Pre-flight checks mean inspecting wings and controls. The tail and wings are retractable for road transportation via a trailer. Tires are inspected to ensure the proper amount of air. The bulk of prep time is spent walking the plane to the end of the runway.

Many of the club’s gliders are fiberglass with Kevlar composite. That’s heavier than aluminum and soars better.

“They are very awkward on the ground,” club president Bryce Kujat said. “Huge wingspan, 60-foot wingspan. The wings are actually as wide as the runway.”

Pilots have another challenge: Avoid lights along the sides of the runway.

Gliders, he said, “are like storks - horribly gangling on the ground, but in the air they are super graceful. It’s a joy to fly them.”

Gliders can seat two – instructor in the back, trainee in the front - or three people for larger ones.

“There’s something about being in the front,” he said. “There’s an illusion of being in control.”

They are quiet, and there’s no aroma of engine oil.

A tow plane with a connected tow line to the glider takes off into the wind. Steel tow rings are specifically designed and expensive. If you think a typical trailer hitch ring from a hardware store would suffice, you’d be wrong. The tow is critical; a slack line can be dangerous. And it is the glider pilot who cuts the line. “Being on tow” is more difficult to teach than landing is, Kujat said. Just as pilots have to learn to deal with a stalled engine in the air, glider pilots are taught “slack line recovery.”

The concept of being pulled for a while in the air is bit similar to a motorboat zooming ahead of a water-skier, Kujat said.

The science of soaring

Gliding is a science.

Since gliding, like so many things in life, is beholden to Mother Nature, reading the atmosphere is imperative for a glider pilot.

For starters, pilots use thermals – upward swooshes of warm air – to gain altitude. Buildings are magnets for solar heat. They cook the air, which starts to rise. Grass and water absorbs heat. Pavement absorbs, then reflects heat.

“We rise along with it,” Kujat said.

Pilots can expect turbulence over trees, and clouds are a good thing. It means thermals are underneath.

Pilots also are aware of glide ratio – that is, how far you can go based on a certain amount of altitude loss.

“We’ll go 32 or 34 feet horizontally for every one foot of altitude we lose,” Kujat said.

Legally, gliders can go up to 18,000 feet. There is no heat inside the cockpit.

Once Kujat went to 9,200 feet. You lose 3.5 degrees per every 1,000 feet.

“It was very cold,” he said.

For landing, spoilers pop out of the wings to break the wind. That helps lower the glider faster by creating drag.

There’s no wheel brake. Grass landings are preferred, especially for smaller gliders. And in Geauga County, Kujat added, “Nobody has ever hit an animal – yet.”

Incidentally, wings are so wide the planes can’t fit in the hangar directly; they have to be rolled halfway in and spun in a “pirouette” to fit them in.

“Some of the really high-performance gliders that we’d like to buy we can’t even have at this airport because the wings are wider than the runway. You’re talking 70- or 75-foot wingspan on these super high-performance gliders.”

Rising to new heights

Gliding takes on a different mentality in the United States vs. Europe, Kujat said.

“The European model is they’re going to do everything to protect the pilot from himself. In America, we do just enough to protect the public from the pilot.”

In Europe, a parachute is required. Not so in the United States.

“It’s a very different attitude, it’s a very, very different idea,” he said.

Flight schools in Ohio actually specialize in teaching foreigners how to fly, and news of a pilot shortage is real, he said. During the coronavirus pandemic, airlines began asking pilots to retire.

“Now,” Kujat said, “they’re gobbling up pilots as fast as they can.”

In 2009, after the crash of a regional commuter airplane, Kujat said 1,500 hours of flight experience became mandatory.

“Well, it takes five or six years to get that much time,” he said. “You can’t make pilots fast enough.”

Meanwhile, glider records are being set. Kujat said 100,000 feet – more than twice as high as airlines fly – is a barometer. The Perlan, a specialized glider, has topped 76,000 feet and is aiming for an altitude of 90,000 over the Andes Mountains. With warm, moist ocean air blowing up the mountain, the thermals are to gliders what that big wave off an Hawaiian island is to cult surfers.

“Guys can consistently fly the length of California in one day, flying the mountain airwaves,” Kujat said. Then, once on land, you put it in a trailer and head home. The only flight limitations? Daylight fades and nature calls.

Gliding is all about knowledge of the atmosphere, he said.

For Kujat, this is his fun time. A Navy contract pilot, he has flown all over.

“I came out of Kent State, I was hot (stuff),” he said. “I was the steely-eyed wonder of the sky, 200 hours (flying).”

Then the realization hit about how much better of a pilot he could be in a glider: " ‘Holy (crap), this has made me a better pilot,’ " he said.

The training ground, so to speak, that gliders offer wannabe pilots is critical, club member Chris Mars said.

“It’s the best kept secret,” Mars said.

No medical license is required. You can solo at 14 and get your license at 16. The latter allows you to take others up.

Logging air hours is a two-way street, Kujat said about the plane and glider pilots.

“It helps us because we get a tow pilot, and it helps them because they get experience,” he said.

Kujat added: “It’s the most affordable way to get a pilot’s license.”

Gliding might be seen as a hobby, but it has an historical and scientific genesis.

“You have to know energy management,” Kujat said. “There’s aerobatic gliders you can go out and fly upside down all day because the engine is not going to run out of oil or gasoline. That’s just energy management. If I want to do a bunch of loops in the glider I’ve got to know how to manage the energy of that glider. During World War II we didn’t have afterburners or jets, just piston aircraft. If an aircraft ran out of energy, the other guy got behind you and killed you.”

The Treaty of Versailles served as both the formal ending of World War I and the beginning of Germany’s glider program. Germany was prohibited from having an air force, but they could train pilots - in gliders.

The Cleveland Soaring Society has operated continuously since 1962. In addition to standard inspections, overhaul comprehensive maintenance is performed annually on the gliders.

The club has about 300 people, with a handful active and several others occasional.

It costs $35 to go up with club membership, which is $900 annually. Student discounts and other membership levels are offered. Interest ranges from members who just want to take a leisurely spin to pilots who seek hours in the air.

Guests can go up for $225; weather determines duration and altitude. They show off Youngstown, downtown Cleveland, Cedar Point and, on a clear day, Canada. No flying at night.

“We’re one of the cheapest glider clubs in the country,” Kujat said.

Member Mike Frazin has flown since he was 18 and received his pilot’s license in his mid-20s. He recently retired from owning a pair of Original Pancake Houses in Woodmere and Fairview Park. Being in the club helped melt away the stress that came with running a restaurant, especially the past couple of years during the coronavirus pandemic.

Frazin summed up the joy of flying.

“If I can fly once a week,” he said, “I’m pretty happy.”

After all, the sky’s the limit.

I am on cleveland.com’s life and culture team and cover food, beer, wine and sports-related topics. If you want to see my stories, here’s a directory on cleveland.com. Bill Wills of WTAM-1100 and I talk food and drink usually at 8:20 a.m. Thursday morning. Twitter: @mbona30.

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