I don’t quite remember when, but at some point in my childhood I wanted to be a bird. While grown-ups romanticise about being free from the shackles of gravity and flying with the angels, my reasoning was a tad irregular: birds never had to do homework, they could escape a mother’s flying slipper with ease, and if the urge arose, they could crap on their enemies from a dizzy height.
I’ve grown up since those heady schoolboy days of grass burns and “ching chong cha”, in that I no longer feel the urge to defecate in public to spite my enemies – that’s what Facebook is for.
Barring those losers who have acrophobia, the thought of flying without a motor is a dream nestled within each of us, whether we’d like to admit it or not, which brings me to the point of this rambling.
Being married to a woman who is intent on making all my dreams come true certainly has its perks. As a birthday present she had me bound and delicately attached to metal bars which belonged to…of course, a hang glider. I’ve come to expect the unexpected from my more glamorous half, but even this came out of left field. I gratefully accepted, with fear in my heart, though I never admitted it openly.
So there I was cruising down the R512 towards Hartbeespoort Dam on an early Sunday morning with an appointment to meet a stranger called Shawn; a stranger in whose hands I would later place my life.
Soon after arriving at Thermal Riders at Aviators Paradise I tried to interrogate Shawn’s credentials with my usual tact and decorum. “So, have you killed anyone recently?”
As he pieced together the hang glider he gave me a glimpse into his life. It turns out Shawn has been doing this for 18 years and has a clean record. He met his wife while hang gliding. He used to be in the air force, but now is a Lieutenant-Colonel in the army. That immediately put my mind at ease because, hey, if you can survive the army you can survive anything right?
Minutes later there I was cocooned in my harness, helmet on and lying parallel to the runway. At this point I should mention that the reason I am suspended face down above tarmac is that the mountains nearby are off limits. The cableway broke down a few years ago, so we weren’t jumping off a cliff – thankfully. Instead a microlight towed us at considerable speed along the ground.
Not since my dog dragged me on the road, clinging to her leash as a nine-year-old have I been this close to the ground, at this speed.
Doing the tandem glide meant I had to cling to my instructor’s back like a Spanish lover. Before long I felt the tug, and in that moment fear, anxiety and excitement combined to make my head hurt as we hurtled along. In that moment I swear I heard a tiny voice say, “There’s no turning back. You’re screwed now.”
Up we glided, higher and higher, still attached to the microlight by a cable floating in the wind. The clear sky and the crisp morning air welcomed us, inviting us to go higher. Soon the highway and runway beneath us became strips of liqourice and the mielie fields giant green circles of candy. In an instant I was transported to a world of make believe, where dust and grime didn’t exist, and all I could see was glorious colour, all I could feel was a chill in the air, and all I could hear was the sound of my voice and the wind slapping against the glider.
At a height of 700 metres we were unceremoniously unhooked from the microlight. We were on our own, at the mercy of the elements, the untamed wind, the curious birds and that thing called gravity.
What came next can only be described as a state of aerial bliss as the wind rushed between my helmet and my receding hairline. The tension evaporated from my body, my headache disappeared and made my eyes began to water. That feeling of letting your fears go and being in that moment is what this experience is all about; accepting that if you were to drop from the sky headfirst – it’s a helluva way to go.
In truth though, I never once felt unsafe. Shawn’s skill and the reliability of the equipment meant I was never in any real danger, as long as I followed the rules: don’t try anything fancy.
We played around in the small thermals that shot us up before we gently floated downwards.
Before long we were on our way down, and it was time to prep for our landing. Shawn swirled around a few times as the ground rushed up to meet us. We lined up the glider, heading straight for the runway. It was a perfect landing and easier than I thought although I did none of the work.
For a few moments in my life I defeated gravity, I saw a part of the world from a rare perspective, I soared with the angels and hadedas. And I can’t wait to do it again.
To book a hang gliding session call Shawn Fowler on 0825381512, email [email protected] or go to www.hanggliding.co.za - IOL