Weekend Report: Paragliding Part 2: The Paragliderer

After the first course, Gabriel and I decided we wanted to pursue continued education in paragliding and to that end, bought the wings and harnesses and the P2 course booking, which was a frankly shocking amount of money that I won't dwell upon. After all, money is just a social construct, whereas a paragliding wing is a real thing.

Before this course, which is a continution of the P1 we did back in May, we did plenty of ground handling. This is when you go to a park and try to fly your wing above your head like a kite while it refuses to participate and people stare at you. I did enjoy biking over Burrard bridge with my giant backpack to practice in Vanier Park on the seawall; it felt like a very Vancouver thing to do.

The site in Savona is on a mix of Skeetchestn land and crown land with a couple different launch sites overlooking Kamloops Lake and the winding Thompson River. For our first two days, we had some chaotic wind and weather conditions -- as you can see in the photo above, it was classic BC June weekend, with cooler temperatures and a bit of rain. Please note I strongly approve of cooler temperatures and rain.

Anyways, I won't go into all the exciting learnings about the weather, but let it suffice to say that I haven't been this interested in clouds since the first grade when we learned about the water cycle.

Since we were P2 students the instructors gradually let us start initiating our own launches and our own flight paths. This was not without it's hiccups -- I managed to faceplant into some cacti -- but by day four we were pretty confidently soaring about on the lower launches and starting to catch the lift bands, or pulses of upwards air, from the ridges on the launch sites. The lower launches are maybe 100m high and you're close to the hillside, so it still feels relatively protected even as you're in the air.

As the final day approached, I had a couple nagging doubts. Everyone else in the courses had some deep-seated desire to go flying which I didn't really share; I liked the progression and the opportunities it offered, but I hadn't had my 'click' moment yet while flying, and I still didn't really know what actually flying up high felt like. I was also concerned since the composition of the couples taking the course seemed to mostly be guys who were really keen on flying and their less enthusiastic girlfriends. Since Gabriel had initiated the first booking of the course I really didn't want to be the unenthusiastic girlfriend.

On the last day, we had a couple flights at the Lakeside launch, and then the winds shifted to the southwest which allowed us to check out some of the higher launch sites. This involved a lot of waiting around for the wind to shift and debating on whether or not to call it.

Eventually the winds were consistent enough to launch an instructor, and then Gabriel, and then it was my turn. This launch site was much higher than the two we'd practised on, so I was already nervous, but then I ran off the edge of the launch and the wind grabbed me and hoisted me a thousand feet in the air. Then I was really nervous.

Something I hadn't anticipated was how alive and turbulent the air would feel. Knowing that it was complex and nuanced and active from reading it in a textbook was entirely different from being flung about by it. I was just a small body all alone, high above the earth, with nothing but the wind whistling in my ears, supported by two carabiners and some optimistic fabric.

However, I've also spent the past three months practising being afraid and managing it on climbs, so as my wing serenely floated high above the valley -- I must say I had an excellent view of the scene -- I managed to take a few deep breaths and calm down.

I was up there for either a lifetime or two minutes. During the flight I wasn't able to think about anything. Afterwards I remember my art history courses and the concept of the sublime; the awe and terror of certain experiences in nature, how "when danger or pain press too nearly, they are incapable of giving any delight, and are simply terrible; but at certain distances, and with certain modifications, they may be, and they are, delightful", as Kant puts it. It turns out your art undergrad degree never really abandons you in moments of stress.

Eventually, after the longest twenty minutes of my life, I cruised out of the lift bands and started sinking back towards the ground; from there I began winding my way in looping turns towards the landing zone, and touched down just two metres away from the battered orange bucket lid we'd set up for target practice.

I hope eventually I'll get enough flights in to be prosaic about this first one; like yes, very nice, that's an entirely typical beginner's flight. Right now, every time I close my eyes, I remember it, and I'm surprised every time; surprised, and, in a nod to Kant, delighted.