Reality--Man Can Fly!

It has become obvious that modern mankind has become so befuddled that many simply cannot sort out the difference between things that are "real" and things that exist only in imagination.  This can certainly be understood if we are talking about Quarks or Bosons, physics being a place where reality gets pretty twisty.  That thousands, maybe even millions of people are actually of the opinion that the earth is 6000 years old, and that they feel that this opinion deserves respect is just one example of the unhinged drivel that passes for thoughts drifting through the tissue that passes for brains carried atop the spines of nitwits trying to pass as homo sapiens-sapiens.  If that example seems offensive or intolerant pick something else that you think seems sillier;  say, those who are convinced NASA faked the entire moon landing.  Or perhaps you'd like a darker reality check like the dwindling number of people who "believe" the Holocaust happened or that the death camps existed. 

How fortunate we are that a grasp of reality is seldom required to stay merrily going around about our business.  Truth or lack of it is seldom a prerequisite to get through the day;  a little lipstick dresses up the nonsense and makes it easy to accept that "whatever" is close enough, it'll work, get 'er done.  If you believe that the television is actually a little stage where tiny little robots mimic humans and it's all filmed in a secret place and beamed to the networks it will have no major effect on your ability to purchase a cheeseburger for dinner at McDonalds; and, if you credit your burgeoning waistline to your amazing genetically unique ability to gain weight despite the fact that you never hardly eat at all, and expect this opinion to be respected as truth--trust me, you are in fine company and surrounded by legions of your peers.  Rest easy, you're in no danger of extinction, in fact, it appears you and your kind are well on your way to a majority stake.  Delusional thought shared by sufficient numbers is apparently felt to at some point magically acquire validity.

In fact, it almost seems that by disconnecting from the necessity to make thoughtful decisions about what is "real" and what is "not real"  a person can soar to success--sprinkling happy nonsense about like so much Spring rain and watching it yield roses and tulips with wonderful result.  And that is okay, just fine in fact.  One does not have to know what makes a motor run to cut the grass;  whether or not the gasoline is in your opinion the urine of long extinct unicorns or that the grass grows primarily based on the darkness it absorbs during the night is of no consequence. 

I think, though, that in the end nonsense tends to breed nonsense and tends towards loss of energy to entropy.  Living organisms have only so much time to struggle against entropy.  I submit that it is a better thing to continue to struggle honorably by seeking discernment.   While there may actually not be black and white, but only varying shades of grey, that is not sufficient to conclude that light does not matter.  I guess lots of time one cannot fix stupid, nor should one necessarily try;  but, one can examine one's beliefs, motivations, and closely held opinions now and again--maybe mop up a little internal stupid here and there.  It's good for the universe.  

The Lee Is Just Fine (On Tenerife)

My first blog on this site relates to pilots who met their demise flying in the dreaded lee.  As things turn out, I just spent a vacation on Tenerife, one of the Canary Islands, where they pretty much always fly in the lee!  The trade winds blow most of the time hard out of the northeast.  The Tenerife pilots fly pleasant thermal conditions on the southwest side of the island.  It works mainly when the prevailing winds are strong, when they weaken the cloud base drops and conditions dwindle.  Trying to forecast conditions there was impossible for me, as my brain was wired backwards to the way the place works!

I mention this for a couple of reasons.  First, despite nearly twenty years of perusing weather reports trying to figure out where to fly and when, I was totally baffled on Tenerife.  Thank heavens I had found a wonderful local guide, Henry, who had the place wired.  Which is my second point, find somebody who knows the place you want to go fly--life is short and precious, local knowledge is golden nectar of the gods.  Third, sometimes things just ain't the way you think they are or should be, and it behooves one to quickly figure that out when that's the way it is.  Even though my tendency is to get terribly stuck in my ways, and "cosmic force habits" (a Willy term) are usually quite useful, when you are 180 degrees off in your thinking it becomes obvious pretty quickly if you are paying attention.  It is then time to change your thinking before you end up missing whatever boat you are trying to catch.

Henry was a grand guide, and his stock in trade comments "What's the worse that can happen? " and "I've got a cunning plan." will bounce around in my head for a bit.  His better half and associate
Simonetta keeps him grounded, and I think whispers the secret knowledge that helps him to find flying conditions that work.  She also makes really cool little paragliding elves from local materials, wonderful little reminders of a great visit.  Thanks to both of them Maggie and I had a great trip.  Just had to adjust my thinking now and again.  

Paragliding like a Saint

Welcome to Juniper Canyon on the Columbia River at the border of Oregon and Washington. A fine place for a peripatetic moment. Suspend your opinions on the existence of God for a bit and let us make some assumptions for the purpose of this discussion. Let us assume now that there is an invisible type of energy that permeates all of existence and is the fundamental life force driving the creation and sustenance of the universe. Let us further assume that it is a positive force in that as it pertains to mankind it is intrinsically loving and fundamentally supportive of human growth and development in line with it's tendency to create and make manifest not only that which is inanimate but animate. Lets agree, if you don't mind, to call this force The Spirit. Now, let's assume that we are paraglider pilots. Paraglider pilots need every possible advantage to stay airborne. If so, should we not avail ourselves of this energy in whatever fashion reasonably possible to help sustain flight? And if so, how?

Catholics have a quaint little group that they revere as "mystics," including St. John of the Cross, St. Teresa of Avila, and St. Francis. St. John and St. Teresa are the principal teachers (Doctors of the Church, actually) of what is called contemplative or infused prayer--two way communication with God. St. Francis was also quite in touch with his diety. Another Saint pertinent to paragliding is St. Joseph of Cuportino, one of three patron saints of aviation. St. Joseph was in the habit of levitation when he was communing with God, sticking him with pins or poking him with burning embers didn't get him out of the air, only direct orders from his superiors could get him down. What can we take from these saints and their interaction with their God that might be useful to us as paraglider pilots should we desire to attempt interaction with The Spirit and help stay in the air?

From my readings about these saints, it appears that what they have to say coincides rather well with some of the comments in Mads Syndergaards book regarding the mental state required for successful paraglider competition. What is required is a mind cleared of encumbrance and quiet, as if for meditation, yet completely open to receive proper data. Study and training is required so that the act of flying is second nature, and the usual cluttered thought process (looking for triggers, birds, clouds, checking wind and instruments, etc.) can be pushed down towards the subconscious. (The contemplative saints were no poorly trained alter boys going straight for the prayer Olympics, these were all seasoned veterans.) The type of communication is not that of a couple of CB radio operators chatting mindlessly from their big rigs, but rather that of a nearly entranced ham radio expert in the quiet of his station in the middle of the night mind tuned mainly to receive, but ready and able to respond as necessary.

In order to communicate with The Spirit, to perhaps better pilot our paraglider, we must study and train and prepare, watching the details, and take great care of our mental state. Forgetting batteries for one's vario, having a pissing match with some idiot on the hill, worrying about this and that, whatever--got to let it go when it comes time, and get ready to fly.

The Spirit can infuse information into a receptive mind, actionable data perhaps? Set your priorities, set mind to receive, attempt to identify actionable data (preferentially subconsciously, as you most likely will not recognize it empirically as useful data) and allow proper action to ensue.

I think that in addition to mindset and the usual preparations for flying, it is reasonable to include an aspect of spiritual foundation to flight preparation if one wishes to include The Spirit in one's flying. Coming from a childhood spent in Catholic oriented spirituality, it is immediately obvious that such a preparation might include standard spoken (verbal, non-verbal, up to you, I'm not Jewish) prayer. The saints often used standard prayer as prelude to contemplative/infused prayer. Those raised Catholic have any number of memorized prayers readily at hand for such a purpose, I have personally had some success using the "Hail Mary," though, muttering about the hour of one's death just before launching is a bit disconcerting. A simple moment of silence prior to launch, however brief, giving thanks to The Spirit for the opportunity to take flight would certainly suffice. I suspect even a pretty rock solid stoic agnostic could give fair duty to a quick thank you prior to launching.

While you are contemplating the above, I'll introduce an ancillary concept. In Stephen King's Gunslinger Series, the author contemplates certain geographic locations where the fabric of space and time are thin and different dimensions are closer together. Sounds like the nodes down by Sedona in current New-Age religious theory I suppose (not a great fan) but even traditional Christian, Jewish, and Muslim people recognize holy places. Welcome to Lourdes, France. I've been there, it feels....like a place with intrinsic power of some sort.


Most paraglider launches are places of beauty and height fully worthy of being spiritually active places. It would likely enhance one's ability to engage The Spirit to be in a spiritually active place; I would therefore encourage you to spend some of your launch prep time recognizing the opportunity to perceive of your location in this unique fashion. Even a dead set atheist might be willing to acknowledge the possibility of trans-dimensional communications at certain locations in light of current physics multi-universe theory.

Ah, but lets leave the mundane of where we set our feet and amble back to communication with The Spirit. After you prepare, and you get your mind right, and you listen and react and fly and land, how do you feel? I've got to say I generally feel pretty darn good. This is traditionally the sort of time when those who are spiritually oriented give pause to give thanks. As we have made the assumption that you are a paraglider pilot, I know that there have been times when you hit the ground perfectly happy to kiss the earth and thank everybody and everything for your continuing existence--it would only be logical to consider doing so after every landing.

The Muslim folks pray, I think, five times a day. Some religious seem to save it for the sabbath. I guess many people don't pray, and it seems from my studies that contemplative/infused prayer is not a widespread experience even for the devout. Contact with The Spirit is to be strongly encouraged to increase the user perceived value of piloting a paraglider. Furthermore, if there is even the most remote possibility that infused prayer can positively improve in-flight decision making or otherwise enhance flight outcome it deserves a place in one's kit. Miracles don't just happen you know, they are made.

Teresa of Avilar, mystic and
Doctor of the Church.

Getting Back

The phases of a cross country paragliding flight include planning and approach, flying and getting back. Whenever I talk about cross country flying with non-pilots, the inevitable question is "How do you get back?" This always makes me smile inside, and sometimes even on the outside.

I'm afraid I've not yet managed to get to Jeff K.'s lofty level on this subject. "Rig's on launch, keys on the dash, doors are open. Launching." That about sums it up. Seems he and his hang glider pretty much manage to get home, every darn time. Then again, Jeff's theory of cross country flying goes something like this; "After launch turn in lift, make circles until the top of the lift, then go down wind and repeat." Seems this works well for him, as he most often gets high and goes far. With mastery comes simplicity.

For the rest of us, "How do you get back?" remains a valid question. Walking works okay for relatively short distances, but once one gets to double digits in either miles or kilometers this can be a bit of a serious penance to pay for our jolly little flutter about the countryside this fine afternoon thank you very much. Then again a nice walkabout with the ol' knapsack is a pleasant way to spend time. Those who meditate have written about "walking meditation," and those who have hauled their kit for a few miles know of this. The not insignificant effort to keep up the struggle against gravity long after soaring flight has ceased does tend to quiet the internal dialogue, though I've not found it particularly transcendental. Does offer plenty of time for introspection and genuinely helps reinforce one's next effort to find and work that next little speck of lift someday.

At some point motorized travel is a welcome respite if not a lifesaving necessity. With luck, you've gone out flying with a bunch of pilots and rigs and buddies, or you've got a driver on the way with your SPOT coordinates to pick you up. If not, you are going to have to wrangle yourself a ride. Wives who will answer your cell phone call when they know you are out flying are a blessing and not quite as rare as wives who will drive for you when you fly. With a little luck you are not much further away then the grocery store, and with some pleading and cajoling and perhaps a concession or two to sweeten the pot you might get a ride. I've heard that girlfriends are a better shot for a retrieve than wives, but it has been nearly three decades since I've had one, and, I've only been flying for fifteen years, so, couldn't say. A couple of driving age or older sons who will at least respond via text also can be quite useful, but, as they are either in school, with friends, or otherwise so very busy, maybe even (hope never dies) working, they only infrequently seem to be available to come provide retrieve. If you fly for enough years, such sons inevitably grow up, get married and move away. They might still text back, but chances of a ride drop significantly. I would guess that daughters are similar. If you have any friends who are not out flying themselves maybe they'll come pick you up, but, I guarantee you if you play this particular card too many times their phone numbers start to yield messages. They seem to get back to you well after dark and are genuinely relieved to find you safely back to wherever you might be.

Ah yes, there is hitchhiking. With the superfluity of sadistic mass murderers, serial rapists, and other less than stellar personalities out there this venerable form of transportation has fallen upon hard times here in "The States." Still, many pilots are experts at it. I've been told that anybody who pulls over to watch your landing is a prime potential for a ride. New local pilot Doug H., recently from Hawaii, can get a ride almost faster than he can pack up. And that fellow can pack up faster than I can believe. Launches in no time too. Perhaps that is why the average paraglider pilot looks a lot more like a boyscout than like a wacko biker from hell, it helps the nice lady in the mini-van come to grips with slowing down and considering helping you out.

Which brings us to the crux of "Getting Back." In order to get back, you have to ask for help. This is difficult at first for those of us raised up on John Wayne movies but hopefully less so if one was weaned on Alan Alda. Mr. Rogers' neighborhood can be yours if you will get right with the universe and let it happen. If you are more an Oprah person, then this should be a delightful picnic for you. If Dr. Phil is your man, well, sorry, can't really stomach the fellow-but, I'd probably give him a ride if I saw him needing one. The more I learn to ask for help getting back, the more I find myself looking to pay it forward by being more helpful, and the less bothered I am by being taken advantage of--after all, it is a way of being helpful I guess.

The more I practice being helpful the happier I am! I'm still not particularly gregariously, touchy-feely come to meeting lets do lunch and paint each other's nails about the whole thing, but I do like to wander around and take pictures of flowers while I'm trying to decide when to launch...

There is also the element of learning to be comfortable with a degree of uncertainty. Modern American culture seems to feel that there is always a cause and effect, always a reason, a logical conclusion or result, flick the switch and the light goes on. As foot launched pilots we learn that this is not always so cut and dried, the relationships are more convoluted and complex. Sometimes you eat the bear, sometimes the bear eats you. Sometimes nobody gets dinner, or you walk through the night. It is, like life, an adventure for heaven's sake! Do you really want it to be so carefully scripted? If there was always a thermal exactly where you wanted one would flying a paraglider be such a cool thing?

Maybe you come around
the corner and see pretty
flowers. Maybe you almost step on little brother rattlesnake. Maybe you should be totally aware and a part of everything that is going on so as not to miss even one tiny exciting moment of this wondrous experience! Little brother spent a few unpleasant moments in a coffee cup before he was let back out to terrorize the stink bugs in the neighborhood. We hope he remembers us fondly when we meet him as a full grown Western Diamondback!

In the end, getting back requires that you refuse to accept a cold isolating universe where you are an entity apart and alone, and find yourself instead in a warmer more connected world where you can give and receive help to and from your fellow human beings as part of something greater.

The Lakota Sioux spiritual tradition teaches that "We are all related."

So, the next time you are starting to wonder how you are going to get back, put on your "Paraglider Pilot needs ride" tee-shirt, smile and start walking in the right direction!

Fly with Eagle Day

Similar to the question, "would you like some chocolate?" when somebody says "would you like to fly with the eagle?" the natural and immediate response of any foot launch pilot who has been flying for any length of time is "of course I would!"

Blue Mountain Wildlife had, I was told, rehabilitated a juvenile bald eagle and were ready to return him to the wild. (Lynn and Bob Tompkins, www.bluemountainwildlife.org) They were looking to put on an event, grab a little PR, coerce some coinage into the jar, and wondered if the local paraglider pilots were interested. Turns out the eagle (dubbed 10-007) had munched on a euthanized carcass and overdosed on barbituates, flown into a power line, and crashed in a field. Requiring also a course of treatment for lead poisoning, and now clean and sober, 007 was tearing down the flight cage in his determination to get back in the air. Could we put together a little something, uh, soon? Great, no problem, let's ignore the vagaries of February weather not to mention the difficulty of mobilizing a gaggle of pilots sluggish from their winter slumber.

When the weather started to show clearing skies and favorable north winds for Kiona, it was time to seize the opportunity and mobilize the forces. Lynn and Carol started the presses energizing the media, Lori went to her sketch pad to put together a memorial t-shirt, I dug my old friend Bernie Cliff out of the woodwork to see if he would do a little eagle blessing, and a couple postings to the regional paragliding web sites went out to sample the waters.

The weather went through more convolutions than Brett Favre but finally decided to play ball--kinda. Pilots slowly began to show interest, even the mythical El Diablo from Whidbey Island decided to come visit! The sketch emerged and the T-Shirts went to the screen printer. The media releases made it out. The eagle was going to fly!

On the day of the event I as I was putting out wind streamers at the base of the hill, winds were looking rather strong. A report came down from the ridge top, "Hey, whats going on? I've had a couple flights on my tandem up here, picking up a bit now." Leave it to mythical pilots to get there early and grab the first flight of the day! Shortly thereafter, and as the guests began to arrive, the wind up on launch built to a howling thirty mile an hour gale! Oh well, back to the bottom of the hill to park cars and get the eagle folks situated.

Oddly enough, the day then proceeded to unfold like a children's storybook. Lynn and Bob showed up with two eagles, Ula to visit with the crowd, and 007 hunkered down in a kennel waiting to grab his freedom. In no time at all they were set up to meet and greet, a table for Lori's t-shirts magically appeared, and the folks started to show up. Pilots launched speed wings and reported improving conditions. The TV and newspaper reporters arrived, families and kids were enjoying the sunshine and admiring the gorgeous golden eagle on her perch. The release time was set for 2 pm. Would the winds drop enough for me to launch in time to be in the air when 007 made his play?

Leaving the crowd at the bottom and headed back up to our "high wind launch," I could see that Preacher had managed to huck himself off the hill and was starting to work into the wind towards the eagle release site. With a little help from El D. and Mr. D. Bockle I managed to struggle my way into the air and headed after Preacher. On the radio I could hear that Alan Cliff had made it and that a ceremony was underway to prepare the eagle for release. As I finally made it around the corner and over the landing area Bob B. announced on the radio that the eagle was free, and was headed for the hill!


Looking down I could see 007 zig-zagging his way up the ridge right beneath my feet. When he finally decided to make a circle I dropped in right above and joined him for a couple turns, then he squirted away down the ridge looking for better stuff. Winds settled down and more and more gliders took to the air, the ridge was working nicely throughout the afternoon and on to dusk! We spotted 007 a couple more times down range, I last saw him about five hundred feet below the ridge top, tucked and cranking down-wind going for a speed run and living large. Doug H. launched his tandem and took Lori for a flight, and every pilot who wanted airtime was able to fill their flight log. Folks were top landing and re-launching. I flew until I was tired and getting chilly, then dropped it down next to the truck for a cup of coffee.

By the time I packed up and got down to the bottom, only Preacher, El Diablo and his buddy Don remained. One glider was in the sky on a pretty sunset flight, and the scotch and cigars came out. It was suggested to me, as Preacher, Doc and the Devil mulled the universe that I could expand my somewhat literal interpretation of the doctrine of fallen angels, loosen up some of my held since childhood Catholic instilled theological concepts and begin to look a little deeper at the almost Darwinian spiritual evolution of mankind. Seemed a fitting way to close the page on the story of "Fly with Eagle Day." (Photo credits Lynn Tompkins, Tri-Cities News Herald. Original eagle sketch by Lori Harris.)

Low Saves In Mexico

Once again I succumb to the temptation to escape the persistent inverted gray skies of the Mid-Columbia and scurry off to the delightful sub-tropical pilot's paradise, Valle de Bravo, Mexico. This year Maggie decided to visit her friend Cathy in Arizona for "Winter Break" so I was to be on my own.

How to play it? Join Preacher and the Seattle crowd, stay in town at a local pilots hang out? Sounds pretty cool, not sure how to get to Valle from Mexico City, but they seem to be able to do it. Transportation is supposedly easy enough with the local taxi fleet, the restaurants serve a delicious regional batch of favorite foods, good times with the Washington folks down south!

Or, maybe it is time to try a real competition--the Monarca. Might as well give it a shot, touch bases with Rob and the merry band of comp pilots and chum around with them. Over my head a bit, but I'm told the best way to really learn to fly a paraglider is do do some comps. They always schedule the Monarca when they figure Valle will be at its best.

Or, speaking of Rob, maybe just do another one of his tours. For two weeks preceding the comp he and his "band of merry men" (this year it included three pilots who won a day at last year's world's paragliding championships as well as the woman who holds the current world's record paragliding distance flight, amongst other talented instructors) rent a big casa outside of town and host visiting pilots. Kevin does the cooking, Raul drives the retrieve van, and pilots get intensive coaching. This option is a bit more spendy, but, one often gets what one pays for.

After talking with several of my paragliding mentors I decided to go on tour again with Rob. Maybe it is just the wanna-be perennial student in me, but having the opportunity to get that level of instruction from people with that much experience and ability just seems like a fair value, and, Kevin is rather an exceptional cook. And I don't like haggling with taxi drivers, nor am I fond of restaurants. Furthermore, my memory of the casa as a lovely relaxing place with a bunch of happy friendly pilots had pretty much made up my mind before I even got started cogitating.

Turned out to be a wonderful choice. I ended up with hours and hours of long flights, playing about in the clouds, with excellent feedback and mentoring from outstanding teachers. The food and company were great, and I rarely needed a taxi except to cruise into town to visit with Preacher. I even had two exceptional "low saves." Low saves are one of the real high points of paragliding. A low save happens when you are running out of altitude, which during a cross country flight often means that you are coming to the end of the fun part of the day. Landing seems imminent, you have picked your place to set down, maybe even have your feet down, and are pretty much set to admit defeat and be ground bound once again. Then, at seemingly the last possible moment, you run into a thermal and manage to pull off a turn and start to go up again!

Usually, thermals are quite rowdy that close to the ground, difficult to negotiate and quite spanky. One often gets "worked" working a thermal that low, and it takes more concentration and determination than usual to stick with it and keep flying. But with luck and grace sometimes it works, and after a bit of a struggle you are back up to the clouds and back in the game. I managed two of these during my week in Mexico, both from very low down in hard to get home from places, and relished them both like a desert straggler would a cold glass of water. Low saves make you feel like a hero, they fill you with thanks and awe and wonder. They make you quiver with excitement and gush with happiness. The jolt from hopelessness, misery, and defeat to elation, success and joy is almost indescribable.

What seemed impossible moments ago is now within your grasp. Your horizon has literally expanded to meet your imagination. You were lost, imprisoned by gravity, stuck in a rut, pinned down, going nowhere. Now you are free again to dream some more, high on life, alive and headed somewhere. Back where you belong and living large. Leaving hot, sweating, stinking fear below and arriving at cool, clear, smiling laughter above. A quick trip from the gates of hell to the doorstep of heaven.

Yeah, I am exceeding fond of low saves. They are rare enough to be appreciated in a special way. I remember quite clearly one in particular that was over ten years ago, recall the hawk that showed me the way out and up. They move you suddenly into a separate reality, a numinal space where you cannot ignore the miracle of your incredible good fortune. A unique brief salvation
and answer to your prayers, whether they were unspoken or screamed in despair. Awesome, humbling, they can leave you nearly spent and trembling.

The rest of the flying was pretty decent as well, popping in and out of the edge of the clouds, finding lots of great climbs, and making the long glide to the landing zone at the lake.














All in all a great winter get away. A refreshing and transforming adventure. Much thanks to Rob, Farmer, Erik, Trey, Kevin, Brad, and all the rest. Had a pretty good afternoon and evening visiting with Preacher in town too, good on ya mate and good flying with you as well!

------Doc

Photo worth a thousand words

Just wanted to share this photograph of an original drawing by L. Harris. The more I get to share the air with other winged creatures the more I appreciate their skill. The soaring birds have become if not quite friends at least acquaintances and spending time in their presence sharing a little air time has become a unique wildlife experience.