TO AIR IS HUMAN

It didn't look good. Lush mountains cascaded out before me in great waves leading to the ocean. The rainforest surrounded the grassy peak where I waited. And I couldn't see any big fields or airstrips for the hang glider to land.

As I pondered whether this was such a smart idea, Keishya Salko and Bob Hastings, owners of Team Spirit Hang Gliding, finally arrived in their jeep. Keishya immediately set about dispelling my concerns. She showed me the location of the landing field, which was just beyond a small ridge. As her husband Bob assembled the red and yellow glider, she offered a brief history of the sport and went over, step by step, what would happen during the flight. Once Bob finished, he walked me through a pre-flight inspection of the machine, describing the various parts.

We then suited up in the harnesses from which we would be suspended side by side. My biggest job was going to be to run when he yelled CLEAR. Reminiscent of a three legged race, Bob and I practiced our launch run back and forth across a clearing. Once airborne, Bob would be controlling the flight unless I felt up to taking a stab at it. He then hooked me into the glider and reviewed the basic controls. Pull in on a control bar (the base tube) to go faster and down, ease out to slow down. Throw hips to the left to turn left and visa-versa to turn right.

With launch conditions looking good to Bob, we donned our helmets and hooked into the glider together. Keishya assisted us to the edge of the hill and then inspected our hanging positions. My heart started to pump. We were about to run off of a 1400-foot-high mountain. Bob picked up the glider while a steady breeze buffeted our faces. He asked me if I was ready. "As ready as ever," I replied.

He yelled, "Ready - CLEAR!" and off we ran. Before I had time to think about it, we were flying…and GOING UP!!! The wind striking the mountain ridge pushes the glider up in what's known as ridge lift. Bob executed a 90-degree turn to stay in this “lift band.” A device called a variometer/altimeter (vario) measures the rate of ascent and descent and displays this information. When going up, the vario also emits a happy beep.

After turning back towards launch, Bob asked if wanted to take control. Following a little dance of moving my arms into place and his out of the way, I grabbed the base tube and flew the giant kite. He guided me through the first couple of turns, passing back and forth 100' above where we had just launched. Keishya smiled and waved at us. I've been a rock climber for about four years and have never been afraid of heights, but I still get a touch of vertigo, a feeling of being pulled downward when standing close to the edge of a sheer cliff or tall building. I had no such feeling in the glider. It seemed more like looking out from the top of a scenic overlook, but with the scenery constantly changing.

On our next pass we started to descend. "The breeze is backing off," Bob explained. "If we want to stay up, we'll need to find a thermal." Thermals are rising columns or bubbles of hot air. Hang gliders circle and climb in these thermals the same way as hawks and other soaring birds. Though hang glider pilots often 'boat around' in ridge lift for hours at a time, thermal flying is what hang gliding is all about. With thermals, pilots can reach incredible heights and fly across vast distances by drifting with and gliding between these warm updrafts. The current world record is over 400 miles.

Heading out into the valley, Bob chided me to stop looking at the vario and release the tension in my hands. "You have to feel the thermal", he instructed. As we continued to slowly sink, now below launch level, I felt the nose of the glider pitch up. "Try turning to the right," Bob suggested. As we did, the vario begins to beep and the ground dropped away while we spiraled upwards. The higher we climbed, the faster we ascended and the vario sang out louder and more rapidly.

The views of the verdant mountains and the ocean were incredible. We could even see San Juan almost 20 miles away! Approaching the base of the clouds, now 1200 feet above launch (that's 2600' above the ground), Bob asked to re-take control to steer away from the clouds. FAA regulations prohibit hang gliders from flying in or too close to clouds. Basically, hang glider pilots need to see in order to fly. You can't see anything in a cloud. But big puffy cumulus clouds are a pilot's friend since these clouds indicate the presence of a thermal. It is warm, moist rising air that forms this type of cloud.

Descending once again, I retook the helm and headed towards another cloud and we rose upwards again. We repeated this process for about 20 minutes before Bob told me that it was time to land. The same sun-driven convection that causes larger thermals as the day progresses also causes more turbulence close to the ground. In order to make landing easier, Bob only offers tandem flights in the morning or late in the day, when the thermal activity is low. It was about 11 a.m. now. Looking back at launch I could see other hang glider pilots arriving and setting up their gliders. Though not good for tandems or new pilots, this was prime time for experienced aerialists. Many would fly 15 miles down the ridge that day.

As we came into land, Bob pulled in for speed to cut through the turbulence and then eased out, touching down and rolling on a large pair of wheels. Solo pilots perform an aggressive push out just prior to landing that pops them down onto their feet in a maneuver called a flare, but this is usually too complex to perform with two people in a glider.

Now again a creature of the land, I stared back up at the mountain as other pilots launched, climbed into the sky and disappeared down the mountain ridge. One day, soon, I'll be joining them.