Golden, British columbia
Slipping the surly bonds of earth
Paragliding offers some surprising results
A few months ago, I recounted my high-flying adventures in Revelstoke and admitted that stepping off the precipice was a daunting task. I had to screw my courage to the sticking point in order to walk on wires high above the forest floor. I did it and it was exhilarating, and I would recommend the experience to anyone.
The wind catches a paragliding canopy just before an instructor and student leave the ground.—photo by Tanya Laing
But there is still no denying my fear of heights, which is what makes it so astounding that I found myself staring over the edge of a steep drop-off near Golden, B.C., last summer with what seemed to be an insufficient amount of cloth strapped to my back. You see, I somehow convinced myself that paragliding was exactly the adventure for me.
For those not in the know, paragliding is a strange and wonderful pastime that involves wind, thermals, a parachute-like canopy and a certain disregard for peril. When the weather is right, enthusiasts hurl themselves from mountaintops and attempt to stay aloft with fabric, warm air and a seemingly wanton defiance of gravity.
The first hurl is always done with an expert secured to one’s back. The second and third hurls come later.
To launch oneself into the air, the pair of paragliders runs down a steep incline in tandem, waiting for the canopy to be caught by the wind and gravity to be flipped the bird, so to speak. Defying logic and instinct, I managed to do exactly this. Whether it was bravery or a man who weighed slightly more than I do running behind me, I can’t say for certain, but there I went. I ran. I jumped, and just like that—to quote John Gillespie Magee—I slipped the surly bonds of earth and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.
It turns out that leaving the ground behind is remarkably easy. We dipped. We soared. We topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace. It was almost poetic.
Until I noticed that we were going in circles rather a lot. You see, it turns out that height is only one small part of my neurosis. I may have been able to convince my head that gravity held no dominion over me but my stomach was having no part of it.
To make an embarrassing story no less embarrassing (but only slightly shorter), I may have—to put it politely—jettisoned some cargo midflight. Twice. There may be people who were a few thousand feet below me who were concerned about the strange and possibly biblical weather they were experiencing. But in my defense, I was very ladylike about the divulging of my stomach’s contents; I did say “excuse me” after all.
On ground, I shakily but resolutely thanked my instructor for an amazing flight. It was an unparalleled view of the Columbia Valley and—aside from the spinny spinny—very enjoyable. I said I’d recommend it to everyone I knew. I said that the experience was unforgettable. I said that I was so very glad I had done it. And then I excused myself and wobbled to the bathroom—where I performed amazing feats of acrobatics as I dislodged dinners that I had digested in previous decades.
Still, I would do it again. I may, provided I can find the right medication to calm my turbulent tummy. I will say this: it’s been 18 months since I took the flight of fancy and I cannot stop thinking about it. My instructor was patient, kind and knowledgeable. I wasn’t the first to have a man-overboard moment and I likely wasn’t the last. And for one blissful moment—no, for many moments—the only sound I heard up there was the gentle rippling of the fabric. There is no wind because you’re riding the wind. The view goes on forever. I’ve had dreams of flight and this experience surpassed them all. It was real. It was in colour. And with enough Gravol, it was as easy as stepping off a cliff—and soaring with the eagles.
Perhaps I’m not as afraid of heights as I thought. Perhaps I’m really just afraid of widths, and the rapid circling of them.
For more information visit: www.heliparagliding.com
