Conditions look ok and the day is obviously thermic, but I cant remember any clouds. Bloody Mark Marshall is even higher than me. Tom, Greg, Karen, Ollie and Craig F are gone, along with all the top pilots. The ridge is getting lonely. I try everything and still the Fiestas, Arts, Sierras and finally an Aztec outclimb me.
Verbal thermals dont help.
I have left my blitz at the camp site so cant start a fire. There are no sheep to chase, weight shift does not help, even that smoking ball of frustration that is Mark M isnt generating any decent lift. I am about to make an offering to the gods when a little cumulus appears for the first time. You must be a women. I scream as the sink-monster hides all his babbages.