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