The Cadet has hooked up the tow-rope; he dashes back to his position ahead and to my left; keeping his eye on the glider's wingrunner. He takes his hat off - it's just a few seconds away. Heartrate jumps considerably.
A few more seconds; I'm concentrating on my signaller as hard as he's watching the glider's wingrunner.
It's time. The kid out front starts waving his hat in big underhanded half-circles. I open throttle slowly; inching the green beast forward; taking up slack in the towrope. A few feet and it comes taut; I can feel the weight of the glider and hear the "grrk" of the rope in the hook. The Cadet swings his hat in wide, enthusiastic circles. I throttle up with a smooth gradual increase; the plane roars. We start accellerating, much slower than a normal flight; due to the weight of the glider and the slow increase of power - several seconds to full throttle. The last thing you want to do is jerk the glider's nose up.  The tail comes up; sooner than usual - this bird only has one pilot this time. A quick look in the mirror shows Hans is already airborne; holding the sleek 1-26 within a meter of the ground to make it easy on me. Gliders lift long before towplanes; if they climb too high they pull the tail with them and towplane can have a hell of a time getting off the ground. Not with Hans back there; slight backpressure and the Citabria flies off the grass. I notice I'm rigid; back straight; not even touching the seat back. I deliberately relax; set climb power; put the cowling on the horizon for a solid 200 fpm. climb at 80 kts. (Yeah right - it's more like 100fpm@90, 400fpm@70, 0@95, 300fpm@85...but the general direction was more or less up at somewhere between stall and 90kias.) I turn gently upwind; no more than 15 deg. of bank. Hans stays right behind me as if nailed there. (Wish I was that sharp on tow.) Another turn; a long righthander downwind as we pass 1000ft. I'm just starting to relax as I feel the tail yaw violently; driving the nose left and the wings level. (It was actually very gentle; but it seemed horrible right at that moment.) While my brain is still going 'Whatinthehellisthat???????' I glance to see the answer - Hans has dived inside the turn like a student would; pulling my tail with him. Gliders turn much faster than towplanes; so a student matching wing angle will fly inside the towplane. It takes practice to get the turn right; naturally. Opposite rudder to compensate; a bit more aileron; I relax again; only to start yawing in the opposite direction - Hans has overcorrected and is now sliding way off to the left. He knows exactly what he's doing; simulating a typical student's over-corrections; though safely, with far less movement than a student will actually show. He's clearly enjoying himself. Cursing breaks the tension; I bitch loudly and play the rudder to keep the flight constant; keeping an eye on the T, the cowling and the altitude. Almost perfect - I wind up flying upwind at 1800 feet. A final turn to crosswind and level the wings. At 2000'; throttle back to half and... clack! With the 1-26 gone; the Citabria jumps in the air. Throttle to idle; roll sharp left; turning 270deg. to pick up the airfield. Ten seconds after release; Hans is already way above me; I can just see him over my left shoulder. I like the descent best - a rapid drop and quick entry into a right-hand circuit; gliders use a left-hand for separation. A high flare over the highway (keeping in mind I've got that bloody long rope dangling behind me); fast sink and release the rope as I flare; all comfortable. A rather bouncy less-than-three-point landing; and the green beast is suddenly turning in a smart pivot back towards the pickup point; as though she were doing it herself. Relief - what a great flight! Hans is up; I'm down; as far as I could see a picture-perfect tow.
Ten minutes later; I've been a bit deflated; turns out it wasn't quite so perfect as I thought. I came in far too high; the climb wasn't nearly as smooth as it could have been. A whole pile of tows later (including many, many student flights which made Hans's antics look smooth and refined; which they were); tow had become almost routine. I began eyeing those lovely Pawnees with the hope of qualifying in one. (I never did.) But I've never beed as scared...well; nervous (no; scared) as the runup to that first tow. And you have no idea how much I'd love to feel that again.
Cheers!