variometer had been emitting a constant depressing drone indicating how fast I was sinking. As I neared the ground and began searching for a good landing field free from high-powered cables and tall trees I noticed a dark patch of ground, a sort of earthy hillock just to the right of the town’s bull-ring. This had been one of the ‘trigger points’ that John had pointed out to me. I turned towards it, flying to its downwind side, feeling dubious about the chances of getting a saving climb from this low in the valley.
Suddenly the leading edge of my canopy buckled on the left side and the wing tip momentarily tucked beneath itself. I kept pressure on the right brake handle to maintain my direction and watched as the wing tip popped out again. I had flown into a thermal. It was small, tight and punchy and as I turned into its centre and began to circle as tightly as I could. I was delighted to hear the variometer making a rapid high-pitched pipping noise. I did not need it to tell me I was climbing. It felt as if I had been sitting in the armchair comfort of my harness and suddenly a huge hand had reached down and hauled me bodily upwards. The initial violent lift had thrown me to one side and my heart was hammering as I shot skywards. I had never done anything like it before and was at once exhilarated and apprehensive. As I gained height the thermal became smoother and wider and easier to core. I glanced at my vario, which at times was showing a climbing rate of 1600 feet per minute. I looked around to see if there were any other canopies in the thermal but I was alone. I relaxed a little, glad to know I didn’t have to contend with a gaggle of up to forty wings searching and circling above the take-off zone in a hectic chaotic multi-coloured mass where I would have been terrified of a mid-air collision. I can enjoy this , I thought, as I flew inexpertly out of the back of the thermal and felt the canopy bang over in a partial collapse as it was hit by the rapidly sinking air.
Soon I had climbed 3500 feet and could see that I was in the centre of the wide valley leading towards the pass cutting through the hills to the west. I wondered whether I should head back for the comfort of the ridge line and almost immediately bounced exuberantly into another powerful thermal and began to spin upwards. As I approached the pass I began to worry about whether I had the experience to be doing this sort of flying. I tried to remember how much height above take-off John had said I needed to clear the pass safely. If I crossed without enough height I would risk being caught by fast sinking air and turbulent rotor on the other side. John had warned me that a pilot had broken his ankle in a hard landing doing just that the previous year. What had he said? I couldn’t for the life of me remember. I was using all the concentration I could muster simply to keep flying. I began to feel stressed and anxious. Three thousand feet above take-off. That was it. So where am I now ? I glanced at my vario. Five hundred feet above take-off. It’s not enough. I had to find another climb. I hit sinking air and the vario began its depressing drone, then stopped: silence for a moment, then a pip, another pip, then another. Come on, come on, catch me, I muttered to the invisible thermal – and it did.
Swinging in wide climbing circles I watched two large birds of prey circling below me. Their wing-tip flight feathers moved imperceptibly as they rode the rising air. Suddenly I saw another paraglider sweeping in from my left. He had seen me catch the thermal and had glided straight for my position.
We hung opposite each other, exactly level, carving great sweeping circles through the sky. Sometimes it felt as if we were still and the world was spinning around us and I had to look away. I was laughing as we rose, then swearing as I fell out of the back of the thermal again and I had to scratch around the sky looking for lift. I was keenly aware of my
Suddenly the leading edge of my canopy buckled on the left side and the wing tip momentarily tucked beneath itself. I kept pressure on the right brake handle to maintain my direction and watched as the wing tip popped out again. I had flown into a thermal. It was small, tight and punchy and as I turned into its centre and began to circle as tightly as I could. I was delighted to hear the variometer making a rapid high-pitched pipping noise. I did not need it to tell me I was climbing. It felt as if I had been sitting in the armchair comfort of my harness and suddenly a huge hand had reached down and hauled me bodily upwards. The initial violent lift had thrown me to one side and my heart was hammering as I shot skywards. I had never done anything like it before and was at once exhilarated and apprehensive. As I gained height the thermal became smoother and wider and easier to core. I glanced at my vario, which at times was showing a climbing rate of 1600 feet per minute. I looked around to see if there were any other canopies in the thermal but I was alone. I relaxed a little, glad to know I didn’t have to contend with a gaggle of up to forty wings searching and circling above the take-off zone in a hectic chaotic multi-coloured mass where I would have been terrified of a mid-air collision. I can enjoy this , I thought, as I flew inexpertly out of the back of the thermal and felt the canopy bang over in a partial collapse as it was hit by the rapidly sinking air.
Soon I had climbed 3500 feet and could see that I was in the centre of the wide valley leading towards the pass cutting through the hills to the west. I wondered whether I should head back for the comfort of the ridge line and almost immediately bounced exuberantly into another powerful thermal and began to spin upwards. As I approached the pass I began to worry about whether I had the experience to be doing this sort of flying. I tried to remember how much height above take-off John had said I needed to clear the pass safely. If I crossed without enough height I would risk being caught by fast sinking air and turbulent rotor on the other side. John had warned me that a pilot had broken his ankle in a hard landing doing just that the previous year. What had he said? I couldn’t for the life of me remember. I was using all the concentration I could muster simply to keep flying. I began to feel stressed and anxious. Three thousand feet above take-off. That was it. So where am I now ? I glanced at my vario. Five hundred feet above take-off. It’s not enough. I had to find another climb. I hit sinking air and the vario began its depressing drone, then stopped: silence for a moment, then a pip, another pip, then another. Come on, come on, catch me, I muttered to the invisible thermal – and it did.
Swinging in wide climbing circles I watched two large birds of prey circling below me. Their wing-tip flight feathers moved imperceptibly as they rode the rising air. Suddenly I saw another paraglider sweeping in from my left. He had seen me catch the thermal and had glided straight for my position.
We hung opposite each other, exactly level, carving great sweeping circles through the sky. Sometimes it felt as if we were still and the world was spinning around us and I had to look away. I was laughing as we rose, then swearing as I fell out of the back of the thermal again and I had to scratch around the sky looking for lift. I was keenly aware of my
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