7000 Feet in High Definition

By David Chorney

I have been feeling a bit giddy since I got up this morning. Today, I get to experience the excitement of flying my paraglider. It is a soaring evolution of a parachute, capable of outclimbing even the best sailplanes. I am really stoked after I call the wind talker, which indicates the likelihood of thermals, rising columns of hot air that will carry me aloft. Everything points to a good day. I anticipate a big flight, maybe a personal best. I load up my flying gear and head for Mecca, Marshall Peak, a 1000-foot high mountain in the high desert with strong thermals and a reputation for long flights.

I hitch a ride to launch with a couple of hang glider pilots. At the top are some familiar faces, guys I fly with every week. We exchange greetings with 2-time champion Dave Bridges, with Mitch who is recovered from recent injuries and with Cary, my flying guru. We wait for the land to heat up and generate soarable thermal conditions. While keeping an eye on the hawks, we gossip.

It is finally time. I open my rucksack and unfurl my gliding wing. My pulse quickens. All pilots know the air is capricious. I straighten the lines, attach my harness, put on my helmet and strap in. I jerk the wing up slightly to form a horseshoe. The routine calms me only slightly. I wait for the right moment, when a thermal climbs up the hill and lifts off the ground.

I feel a warm gust, pull the wing over my head and run a few steps, quickly lifting off the ground. This is a fat, strong thermal. Within a few seconds, I am lifted 100 feet looking down at my friends. I mockingly yell “bye-bye!” to those still on the ground. I am soon humbled when I cannot stay in this thermal and immediately plummet 50 feet in the angry, swirling eddies that surround it. This sudden sinking isn’t called “going over the falls” for nothing.

I still have enough altitude, so I fly away from Marshall, surveying the valley below. The wind is the only sound, a low, eerie whisper. I am in a harness seat suspended from my wing by a set of thin lines hundreds of feet above terra firma. I feel vulnerable, but excited. It is surreal, beautiful and exhilarating.

It is time to hunt for a thermal. I am looking for places on the terrain likely to generate thermals, with no luck so far. I can only get a little lift on one side of my wing for a second or two. Relaxed now, I look around and see a dirt bike darting around the winding access road. Later, a hawk decides to fly in formation with me, coming almost close enough to touch. We share a mutual fascination, turning in unison for a few minutes, and then my hawk friend vanishes as suddenly as he appears. I find bare patch of ground that must be a hot spot. Then suddenly…

All hell breaks loose! My wing swings behind me, then pendulums forward so far that I catch a glimpse of it front of me. Just as it begins to stabilize when the left side lifts, rocking my harness sideways. I am wrestling with a beast of a thermal! I turn left into the lift that I sense from the pull of my wing. My variometer is going crazy, beeping with an intensity that I have never before experienced. I tighten my turn in order to catch even stronger lift. Now I am in the core, climbing at 1500 feet per minute. This thermal is a torrential, invisible tunnel of air that I dare not leave, because the turbulence at the boundary is even stronger. Besides, this thermal aroused my warrior spirit, and I want to ride it to the top.

Again, my pulse and breath quicken. I experience a wonderful focus that can only occur during such an intense situation. I need all the flying instincts that I have accumulated to respond to sudden changes in the thermal and continue to climb at this frenetic rate. I am locked in physically and mentally.

The thermal is beginning to become wider and smoother, while the rate of climb has lessened. I can relax now, and just hover in the lighter lift. I look around, and for the first I time ever I can see over the mountains and take in the view of the dry lakes and the other mountain ranges in the distance. The hue of the desert takes on a new beauty. The mountains reveal the contours of their spines and canyons, and the roads wind geometric patterns through the mountains. The sky is bluer, the air is fresh and cool and the Sun is brighter. I am experiencing the world in high-definition. I have climbed to 7000 feet by riding the forces of nature.

But I have never been this high before. I cannot recognize anything as I look down. All my reference points vanished during my frenzied ride. I decide not to worry. Everything will reappear as I descend. For the moment, I am able to enjoy the solitude and tranquility of my place in this universe. I don’t know how long I have been aloft. All I have is this perfect moment. I feel very privileged to be here.

Finally, I begin to descend, weaving a figure-8 pattern during my sled ride to the landing zone. Everything below is becoming familiar again, which is reassuring. I finally see the landing zone, a welcome sight. I go into the landing pattern, only 150 feet high now. I turn onto final and then flare as my feet touch down. It’s a perfect landing. I gather my wing and take my gear to the packing area. I am physically and emotionally spent. My hair is matted down, I am soaked in perspiration and I am hungry and thirsty, but I am mostly elated by this extraordinary flight.

As pack my flight gear, I am unusually quiet. Usually, we like to talk about the conditions and our flights, but I am alone with my thoughts. I feel a primordial sense of conquest. I load up my gear and head for home. I turn on my radio and I sing to the music all the way.