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Pure Flight by Barrie James
Thrilling, exciting, awesome are but three adjectives that pale before the rapture of free, silent, effortless flight. The early summer sun shed a golden glow over dew covered Dartmoor and a light wind caressed my cheeks. Already ranges of cumulus cloud were forming, brilliant white against the deep blue of the heavens. A flock of swifts clustered overhead feeding on the many small insects that had been swept aloft by an early bubble of rising air. I stood on a windward facing ridge, near one of the many Tors in this lovely part of the world and waited, arms outstretched and poised for flight. The wind increased to a gentle breeze and I felt a tug as my body rose easily from the ground then ascended swiftly to join a lone buzzard who regarded me steadfastly with an unwinking eye. Had I invaded his territory? Comfortable in my nylon seat I eased my weight to the right and drew gently on a control line. My craft angled away and I flew along the ridge to the east. The rising air pushed me even higher and a few minutes later I was at a thousand feet and the moor stretched out before me like a colourful map. Sheep dotted the fields and in the distance, cars carried their confined occupants on earthbound journeys whilst I, God-like, soared in virtual silence the boundless heavens. With a heart bursting with the sheer joy of unencumbered flight I gazed up at the colourful canopy and drew gently on the steering lines, the craft banked and turned dutifully first one way then the other as I traced a serpents path through the smooth morning air. At sixty-three years of age I had retired from work and divided my time between writing romantic stories, carrying out Neighbourhood-Watch duties and gardening. Whilst growing geraniums and keeping lawns weed-free was rewarding, I knew that I needed a new hobby. I love flying but piloting light-aircraft is now very expensive. Then I discovered a local school that taught paragliding and with some reservation enrolled for a 'taster' lesson. There were five students and we hung onto our instructors every word. The 'wing' was laid out on the grass and we were shown the strength of the material, how to carry out a 'daily inspection and sort out the many lines, harness and risers. The most astonishing part was the manner in which the glider, once inflated, would hover above our heads literally flying and waiting for us to take a few short steps down the slope and thence into the air. Thus we made our first low level flights. These were mostly about six feet from the ground, a couple of hundred feet in length and about twenty miles per hour. On my first flight I landed in a bog and my second in a pile of sheep droppings. Thereafter I learned to steer a course away from such hazards. We would then gather our gliders (they are not parachutes) and make our way back up to the launch site. Our instructor would then take us further up the hill and the flights increased in both length and height. After my first flight I was hooked. Travelling through the air in virtual silence with no apparent support (unless one looked up) is a feeling I will never forget. Thrilling, exciting, awesome are but three adjectives that pale before the true rapture of free, silent, effortless flight. Students are taught to 'flare' the glider just before landings which are no more strenuous than stepping from a twelve inch height. On one landing I mistakenly allowed the craft to collapse on top of me, the world went dark for a few moments as the canopy obscured the world and I was entangled in seemingly miles of lines and fabric. It took ages to sort it all out and that evening I noticed wryly that my dear wife had prepared spaghetti - for a moment I thought I should sort it out before eating... |
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