I wasn’t sure I’d take to paragliding. I certainly don’t think I have important qualities in abundance – particularly a sizeable risk appetite. On day one of the paragliding course, I found myself on a table of twelve strangers who were reciting their adventure sports experience – sky divers, mountaineers, cavers, back country skiers, sailplane pilots, ultra marathon runners, base jumpers. I didn’t have much to contribute – I’d been skiing a handful of times, I dabble in mountain biking (I was scraping the barrel) and I’ve been on a few tandem paraglides where I was well and truly distracted by the view and didn’t notice much about the flying.
Fast forward nine days and that table of strangers was Dan’s and my firm friends. We’d all exceeded the expectations of our instructors, staying aloft for long flights in lots of thermic lift, generally refusing to come down, and launching and landing with increasing (but still not much) grace. We’d sat shoulder-to-shoulder on countless trips up the mountain in the Troopies, sharing stories of our flights, encouraging each other and celebrating excellent launches and landings. We’d upset the balance maintained by the patient groundskeeper by regularly gathering all the outdoor chairs at the round table and Moe and Simon’s deck for meals and post-day nibbles together. It definitely felt like a shared journey, and I can’t imagine better people to have shared it with.
(I miss them so much, that I’m going to include an inordinate number of pictures of them.)
The course was at Fly Manilla, a world class paragliding site run by the indefatigable Godfrey. Mt Borah presides over the site, with her four launch sites facing the cardinal points so pilots can launch in any wind direction (but only in specific wind speeds – we’re still at the mercy of mother nature’s kindness to get airborne). The view from the top is magnificent – on a clear day, I think we could see 1/6th of NSW to the west. It’s surrounded by farmland (relatively safe for emergency landing!) and the grounds of the site include a headquarters with an airfoil-shaped roof and a generous number of cabins, glamping tents and other space for camping.
Godfrey teaches a rigorous course. There’s no “just read the textbook”-style learning here. Throughout all the non-flyable time on the course – easily in excess of 20 hours – we were methodically taught aerodynamics, meteorology (who knew synoptic charts could be so much fun?), general flying theory and plenty of stories and tips for getting through challenges and emergencies in the sky. I think it’s only through his meticulous teaching (and the fact that he and Karl, another of our instructors, were some of the professional testers that put the prototype of our style of glider through all kinds of horror situations to personally verify how well it recovered) that I developed sufficient confidence that I understood the air and trusted the glider to be able to run off the mountain.
I want to say that “flying is magical” because I miss it terribly already – but sometimes it wasn’t. There’s lots of rising air around Mt Borah, which is a paraglider’s dream for cross-country flying, but novice Viva just found it awfully bumpy and passed the time trying to keep her heart rate under control by reciting the recovery steps to every kind of thing that could happen while in the air. Paragliding feels super easy when the air is smooth and you sink through it – the conditions you get at sunrise and sunset. When it’s lifting, the glider ducks and weaves a bit around different moving air, and the feeling of being a bit buoyant in the seat is not exactly comforting.
I patiently endured the first few flights with lift, but eventually learned to manage the bubbliness and enjoy the scenery. In my last two flights on Sunday, Godfrey (from the launch site!) directed me over the radio to thermals where I’d do 360 turns up and up into the sky. I was high – probably 1500m to 2000m above sea level, and hundreds of metres above Mt Borah. From the second flight, I flew the 5km back to HQ and landed near our tent. It was all exhilarating, and I can’t wait to get my own glider and start flying as a licensed pilot.
Dan also had a ball. He got along with my coursemates like a house on fire, and they all commented on how graceful and controlled he is with his glider. He’s a pleasure to watch on launch. He too thermalled (solo, without instructor assistance!) and made it back to HQ on a flight. I can’t wait to start exploring some SEQ sites together.
As this particular chapter comes to a close, we hasten towards the start of the next one. In the 22 hours after Dan’s last Mt Borah flight, we drove back to Brisbane in two stints overnight, packed up for the boat, and flew into Townsville. We’re a bus ride away from Cardwell, where we embark tomorrow morning. I’m expecting limited/no reception, lots of fish (I think my vegetarianism doesn’t extend to fish personally and freshly hand-caught from the ocean), and a steep learning curve in terms of how the whole sailing thing works.
From open skies to open seas – here we come.
“Thermal Bird” (also known as Thistle Bird, during those few days when my landings were more often than not butt-slides into the weeds)
[Townsville]
PS It felt so strange driving after the week in Manilla, having intensively practised an ultra risk-aware mindset. I’ve always been a safe driver, but I feel like I’m suddenly more aware of just how dangerous it feels …
The Two Swords 