Savannah and Trinity practicing with my harness on their playset.
I checked conditions at Torrey online all week and saw they sucked. I didn't even bother having lunch there. Friday looked a bit more promising. I wanted to just feel the lines, even if it meant going to the beach.
I said "Hi" to Ivan who said today looked promising. I got my wing up and started playing. I've been getting pretty good and kiting back up the hill,l to the left and right, and pretty much getting whereever I want to be on the hill. At one point I was kiting where the tandems take off. Some dude yelled over to me to get out of the area. I was agitated. He obviously wasn't paying much attention to what I was doing. Without being too much of an asshole I kited out of the area.
I've been thinking a lot lately of how distorted my view of life has become. I like having a clear mind - to see things as they are. I don't like feeling insecure about money or sex or security or (fill in the blank). And, I suppose it goes without saying, I've been feeling insecure lately. My first reaction seems to be blame. I blame my wife for everything, then my friends. I'm in control enough not to say anything out loud, but I act like I'm blaming (because I am). It leads to many uncomfortable situations.
So, big old fat ass starts telling me to move my wing out of the tandem area and I start blaming. Oy! This isn't right. It's a blessing though. Let me tell you why.
My nuts have been twisted in a gordian knot for a week and it didn't occur to me what was going on. Everyone else in the world was wrong: politicians, my wife, the market, you name it – everything but me.
The world is my mirror. When that mirror is dirty that's all I see: the dirt. I don't see my friends, the beauty, the love. Ass monkey with his loud mouth got me thinking about this: "Should go over to this dude and educate him on how to treat me?" Then I thought, "Actually, he's right. I shouldn't kite there." The knot began to unfold.
The world isn't the way I want it to be. I'm not milking all my opportunities, the phone is not ringing off the hook. If I told you the details you would say "What a whiny rich guy." And that's what it is: whining.
It didn't all fall apart at once, but over the rest of the day I began to breathe a bit more deeply, relax. I reintroduced some care and spontaneity into my moments.
Flight 53:
Some stronger winds started coming in and I jumped on this opportunity. I kept one eye on my vario as I approached the end of the north ridge: 480. Not exactly soaring from the LZ at 330, but I can stay up if I like. Two or three more passes and I came in for a landing. I did a south approach and turned late. I hit the ground running: not good. Ivan said I needed to crab in. I knew that but I wanted to get in deeper. Anyway, it wasn't a good landing.
Flight 54:
After the LZ cleared I got back out. Fat ass petty tyrant was launching right in front of me. He had an orange wing. My intuition told me to stay away from him. He went south, I went north.
Again I tried to practice a spot landing. The wind was dying. When I turned to approach on the south again I was at 380. It felt too low. I was hoping for venturi as I approached the ridge, but it didn't materialize. I think the wind was dead. Regardless I didn't feel comfortable so I turned back out to the ocean at what I felt was the last moment.
Heading north my suspicions were confirmed. I was sinking. Ivan said, "Keep your brakes up when you're sinking, and light brakes when you're getting lift. Cool. I liked that. Actually, I liked the fact that I had to scrape. I'm getting much better at judging what the wing can do.
I scraped for almost 15 minutes. At one point I got back up to 380, well above the ridge, but I was at the end of the north ridge. When I was back at the LZ I was below the ridge again.
I had heard that the bowl where the trail leads up on the south side was better for light lift because of the gradual slope. I headed over there and gave it a try. 250, 225, 200, 180 okay, I'm not getting back up there. I turned out again, further south, positioning myself to land right at the trailhead. On this score I did very well, a spot landing indeed about 10 feet from the trailhead.
I enjoyed this hike up. I usually do. They've fixed the trail and it's a much easier hike.
It's all about the moment paragliding, the moment of spontaneity. It doesn't matter if you're para-waiting, soaring, scraping for lift or hiking back up. It's beautiful. The point of paragliding is the moment. There's no particular moment, but there are moments to talk about. Everything about the sport puts you back in the moment.
"There is no point to a song", I heard Todd Park Mohr say in his philosophy podcast. It's just the beat: each moment puts you in the ecstasy of that moment. "The point of a song is not the last note." Similarly, I don't know what's going to happen each time I put my wing in the trunk and head to the LZ. The point certainly is not the landing. The point, if there really is one, is the ecstasy, the aesthetics, the truth and beauty, and the occasional kick in the ass that brings you to your senses.
Everything we need is in the present moment. Why do we look elsewhere? The present moment alone is real. Everything else is a shadow.
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