Perhaps the reader has concluded that anyone who would go to the efforts described earlier to camp on the rim of a high mesa must be addicted to cool air and the internet. How harsh the reader is. Consider the effort that some people in rural New Mexico make to get internet:
There are other benefits to camping on the rim of a mesa. Consider orographic lift (wedge lift, ridge lift). Air that moves horizontally in the torrid lowlands must climb when it hits the edge of the mesa. And the face of the mesa heats up preferentially, too. A strong breeze is a blessing more times than not--at least in the summer. Here is my little poodle demonstrating orographic lift, right at the rim of the mesa:
Hang gliders might call this 'wedge lift' or ridge lift. I love stumbling onto hang gliding sites, by accident. That happened once in my freshman year as a full time RVer.
Out west there have been a couple more memorable encounters, in Dinosaur national monument and in the Cottonwood, AZ area. At one of these I even boondocked on a Friday night, and then stepped out of my trailer on Saturday morning to await weekend hang gliders. They did not disappoint.
It really is a beautiful sport. Why haven't I pursued it? Oh yes, there are practical issues, but they are not insurmountable. Something else holds us back from these quixotic pursuits like hang gliding, parachuting, bungee jumping into live volcanoes, etc. I can't exactly put my finger on it.
There are other benefits to camping on the rim of a mesa. Consider orographic lift (wedge lift, ridge lift). Air that moves horizontally in the torrid lowlands must climb when it hits the edge of the mesa. And the face of the mesa heats up preferentially, too. A strong breeze is a blessing more times than not--at least in the summer. Here is my little poodle demonstrating orographic lift, right at the rim of the mesa:
Hang gliders might call this 'wedge lift' or ridge lift. I love stumbling onto hang gliding sites, by accident. That happened once in my freshman year as a full time RVer.
...It was along the shoreline of Lake Michigan, near Traverse City, MI. Exploring on the mountain bike one day I picked up a vague scent of something. Hang gliding clubs are usually low-budget and informally organized; they don't exactly put up big signs and build paved roads to their launch sites. From the wind I knew the shoreline must be close. I got off the bike and climbed a small sandy dune, and there in front of me was a crude wooden deck, sloping downward, towards Lake Michigan, 400 feet below! The shock was like that seen in "Lawrence of Arabia" when they crossed the desert, stumbled through some bombed out buildings, and then saw an ocean liner on the Suez Canal.
Out west there have been a couple more memorable encounters, in Dinosaur national monument and in the Cottonwood, AZ area. At one of these I even boondocked on a Friday night, and then stepped out of my trailer on Saturday morning to await weekend hang gliders. They did not disappoint.
It really is a beautiful sport. Why haven't I pursued it? Oh yes, there are practical issues, but they are not insurmountable. Something else holds us back from these quixotic pursuits like hang gliding, parachuting, bungee jumping into live volcanoes, etc. I can't exactly put my finger on it.
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