Learning To Fly
While Backpacking In New Zealand

On a grassy hill overlooking the Pacific Ocean on the western coast of northern New Zealand, I sat in Jean shorts and a tank top soaking up the February sun. A warm soothing breeze pressed against my face and rattled long grass against my shins. The waves patted the beach below and white sands held hundreds of birds and a handful of people. It was a breathtaking view. My new friends, however, did not seize the same sensation as I. They were busy at the edge of the hillside chatting and pointing in different directions.

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Paragliding. That was what they called it. Being from East Coast USA and having learned about nature through the television, I knew little about adventure in the outdoors. I blurted out all the notorious paragliding faux pas. "Oh, you mean parasailing. No? Sky diving. No? What, you jump off a cliff?" I certainly did not "get it," but I was willing to watch. Being afraid of heights, I sat away from the edge and watched the four gentlemen ready their gear -- all that fancy gear for a beautiful sea breeze seemed odd.

The first pilot to launch was a New Zealand paragliding student. He was a 747 pilot with one paragliding lesson under his belt. His parachute, as I called it, lay behind him. He was strapped into various "things" and fumbled about. Once ready, he began to run. Fumble, fumble, bumble. He was off. A clutter of jumbled lines, straps, and clumsy jolts, had produced a solid airborne wing. Mike Eberle, Jeff Duenwald, the remaining Kiwi and I watched the student pop up into the sky and soon he was soaring with the sea gulls.

Jeff, an experienced pilot was next. His launch was, as I later learned, a reverse inflation. He stood facing his wing with his back to the drop off. Jeff gently grabbed certain lines, brought the wing overhead and was airborne, but moving backwards. He turned himself around in the nick of time and was soon flying with "no worries mate."

Mike had finished watching and analyzing, and clipped in. He also did a reverse inflation, but balanced his wing and lines above him. Once his wing was completely motionless overhead, he merely turned around and was lifted gently from his feet and sucked into the sky. He joined the other two wings and faded to become a part of the seascape.

The silent paragliders thrived on the same pressures that lifted the birds and rattled the grass around me. "We are ready; grab your helmet," the Kiwi stated in his foreign accent with a tandem wing waiting. My heart pounded so hard against my chest my ears popped; remember, I was scared to death of heights. "You are kidding, right?" I asked. Then the east coast in me took over and I heard a voice; "It's FREE."

I am sure I did the same fumble bumble as the other student, but I don't remember. A different array of thoughts and sensations accompanies this memory. That day in New Zealand I experienced excitement never felt before. I thought I would feel sheer terror. But to my surprise, the weightless feeling of flight, with all my senses screaming for more, overrode this fear. Allowing my anxiety to relax into acceptance of my passion for flight, was one of the most exhilarating feelings of my life.