The Jagged peaks of southern New Zealand rise above the green valley floor. From my vantage point high on Coronet Peak I can see forever. Everything slowly comes to life as the sun inches above the horizon. I struggle to return to the task at hand while surrounded by the movie-set scenery. The lines to the grounded paragliding wing transition from slack to taut with the cycles of the wind. The wing flutters, eager to fly as it fills with air. Everything feels right, it’s time to focus and commit. I guide the wing over my head then control it so the wing stops directly over me. After taking a few steps the ground beneath me slowly moves away.
I vividly remember a series of childhood dreams where I was able to float effortlessly like a super hero, this experience surpasses my dreams.
Why haven’t I done this sooner?
In less than 10 seconds I find myself soaring away from the mountain 2,500 feet above the New Zealand valley floor with a breeze on my face. Three miles away I can see a tiny grass area that I begin to steer towards. I remember the flying theory and hear the instructor on the radio, but somehow I can’t be bothered by it all right now. I’m in control and living my childhood dream of floating through the air effortlessly.
As the landing area gets closer, I enter a pre-planned pattern, and make a series of turns to line up and land. The ground slowly gets closer until I’m only a few feet above the grass and I hit the brakes hard which practically stops my wing in space as I land effortlessly. I won’t forget this flight, and each of the hundreds of flights that would follow.
Mastering outdoor pursuits on land feels natural to me. Water isn’t really my go-to element, but I know enough about it to be competent while having fun. My wife is basically a fish, so she leads in the water environment while I generally lead in the mountains. But, I’ve never considered mastering the air…
…The air breathes in and out of valleys, it converges, rises sharply and is always full of surprises. The sun warms the ground and triggers thermals that swirl in an unseen vortex like a dust devil. If you were to take a 3D map and pour syrup all over it, then turn it upside down, the drips would generally be the places where the thermals would release. Putting the theory into practice makes for an aerial chess match that suits my logic-based personality.
Once you find a thermal, you turn sharply to stay in its core and can rise thousands of feet in the air. After you’ve taken the thermal for all it has, it’s time to point your wing in the direction of travel and look for the next one. This is the basic concept of cross-country paragliding, the aspect of paragliding that interests me the most. Some pilots enjoy the “hike and glide” of a smooth descent from a hilltop, while some prefer doing acrobatics. For me the joy is in the challenge of “seeing” the invisible rising air, finding it, and making quick decisions about how to fly a route powered only by Mother Nature.
My first cross-country attempt was from the top of Coronet Peak in New Zealand. I’d hiked an hour to the top with my wing. Conditions are everything, and I arrived too early, so I had an hour or so to wait for the thermals to begin releasing. I was above the cloud layer that morning, and the wind was calm. Everything was quiet and I had time to think. These are the life memories that give me the most joy; new challenges, exploring, and learning. The clouds parted, the sun was strong and the winds picked up; everything was as it should be. I guided the wing above my head and launched from the top of a grassy ski slope. Right away the earth dropped away a thousand feet to my left and I could feel the updraft of air pushing up the massive face. The ride down the ridgeline was rowdy as rising air from both directions buffeted the wing. The air was barely enough for me to gain a little altitude as I made progress in my direction of travel.
As I got closer to a small summit I hit my first strong thermal. I could feel it picking my wing up and the ground began to move away as I rose higher. I tried to turn quickly to stay in the thermal but shot out of the back unexpectedly into downward moving air. I circled to get back in the thermal but couldn’t find it as the thermal snaked laterally like a tornado shifting and wobbling. The ridge was getting closer as I struggled to re-enter the thermal and I slowly dropped from lack of lift. I had to veer away from the ridge when I was less than 50 feet above it, and with that decision my first cross-country attempt ended. It was a slow descent to the landing zone four miles away without the ridgeline to produce lift.
Even though the flight was short lived, I had learned so much. The process of exploring in an unfamiliar environment and learning brings the most joy, even in activities I’ve been doing for decades. There are a few outdoor sports that have stuck with me through the years like climbing and trail running, but I know paragliding will be added to the list. Each time my feet lift off the ground it’s like that reoccurring childhood dream; it never gets old.
