Maneuvers

From: Ron Faoro
Activity_Date: 3/9-10
Remote Name: 165.247.242.39

Comments

"Do you want to do a SAT, Ron?" SA asked me as I geared up for my second and final tow on Sunday at Lake San Antonio. Without really thinking, I answered, "Yeah, I guess so." Then I did think about it. I had spun the Mistral twice already this weekend being a little heavy-handed on the brakes while performing asymmetric spirals. What would happen if I attempted this wild gyration with my weight on the light end of the spunky Mistral? As the fear crept up on me a bit, I voiced my concern to SA, maybe hoping to get out of it. "No problem!" he said, "you can use my Serak wing." Enlue O'Connor came over and gave me the basics. "Posture, timing and commitment are all you need." He promised me he'd do the timing. Posture and commitment sounded like something I could live with.

It was a good tow, getting me higher than all the previous five. There was a little development going on as the small front moved through Sunday at noontime and I felt a few small jolts as thermals around me disturbed the air with wispy signs of cloudbase. The bridle gave its characteristic snap as I released it and the air grew quiet while I floated, waiting for instructions. I took the one and one-half wrap in my right hand and let the left dangle at the strap. "Just float around while I get my radio working," Enlue said in my ear. I didn't need this wait. But I wasn't terribly nervous, so I looked around at the glorious view. "Just wait while I straighten out my radio." I took a 360 and looked down at the lake. Plenty of height for a recovery move, I thought. "Keep floating while I fix this radio." This anticipation is what we paragliders know so well, and, I'm afraid, may even be a macabre joy of the sport: Facing the extreme unknown sensation; knowing it will release a little of the inner demon for examination in a terrifying moment.

"O.K., get your wraps." Enlue's voice commanded. I looked at the wrap that had been there since I unhooked. "Push out as hard as you can on the left risers and LEAN hard right!" The glider started a lazy circle to the right. "Now come in with a little right brake." "Now, slowly, a little more." The glider started its dive to the right, much like initiating a spiral. I watched the lake start an accelerating spin beneath me. "NOW!"

We had discussed what "NOW" meant back at launch. That was the signal to bring the brake up against my side and hold it there, with my elbow locked in flexion. "What? So soon?" I thought. We couldn't be ready for this radical maneuver already. I had hardly made a 360. But, if I was anything at that moment, I was committed! I pulled back as hard as I could on my right brake and might as well have injected LSD intravenously as to experience what happened next. My body got slammed with more G's than I can remember and the sky and ground started spinning wildly as I put myself at the mercy of whoever made the wing and the madmen that "discovered" the SAT. Who are these Rodriguez brothers anyway? How could you ever know you were doing something right? In the midst of the chaos, reality re-entered through my right earphone. "Hard left brake!" My body responded and in no time I was in straight and level flight. I didn't know what to think. I didn't have to. "O.K. We're going to do it again."

I guess I can do them (with assistance) because I pulled off another one. Truthfully, it seemed easy enough if you just followed instructions. But something happened to me at that moment. It had been a good weekend. Although skeptical in the past about clinics, there was no doubt in my mind that you learned a lot. About flying, about your wing, about yourself. But, in a way I cannot explain, I felt I had crossed over to the other side that morning. Not the sensation of getting the bejeesus scared out of you. But the realization that it is an exciting world out there; more than you'll ever appreciate or understand. And there are challenges and rewards beyond expectation or even imagination. That morning gave me an appreciation for paragliding and life that has only been matched in my life by falling in love. Maybe I'm just a slow learner. But I think I was taking a great deal of paragliding for granted until last weekend.

It sounds somewhat contrived and hokey, but those were my thoughts as I cruised home through the beautiful midcoast scenery. What had we done? Why? The buzz tingled on for hours.

Thanks to Rob Sporrer for making the clinics available. He worked like a dog all day long, both days, always with a smile on his face. Thanks to my good friends: Bob Hurlbett, Bill Bailey and Casey Rogers for sharing their Topa sensibilities, senses of humor, GREAT food and wine and unbeatable comraderie. And thanks to Enlue O'Connor for sharing his vision of the joy of paragliding.