My First Solo flight

Tell me about your first solo flight. Click on "Comments" below. Here's my story:

My first solo flight was my first flight. I recommend anyone interested in paragliding take a tandem flight first to see what it’s all about, to get the experience and build some motivation to get through the training process. I didn’t need to have that tandem to know that I needed to fly, but I’m a bit different.

When my long-time friend Gal Bar-or discovered that I had moved to San Diego he came to visit right away telling me that I lived in the paragliding capital of the United States. He’s a pilot with his own plane and has been paragliding for years. When he came for his visit he told me to block off 3 days – no easy task – which I did.

Here's my buddy Gal – the guy who got me into this.

When we arrived at the Torrey Pines Gliderport I was ready to learn how to fly. I listened carefully as we went though the first day’s talking lesson. Then I got geared up and learned how to kite.

My first day was a wash. I muscled though everything: getting the wing in the air, getting balance, launch runs: I wish I had a videotape of that day. What an idiot I must have looked like.

Ki, resident instructor - a wing and harness designer and sport advocate from the beginning, gave some advice to all the newbies: “Don’t fight the wing, the wing will always win. Make small adjustments, finesse the wing as you would a woman.” Okay. Got it. This sport is about balance and finesse.

Day 2 was much better. I thought about Ki, his advice and my experience. I committed to listening more than talking, observing more than “making something happen”. Much better approach by the way.

Midway through the day the newbie group I was in started practicing some launches. Chad, a geologist whom I’d spoken with a few times and who now’s a good friend, took off midway down the LZ, and kept going. I suppose we hadn’t talked about flaring yet.

Chad went off the 330-foot ridge ridge at the Torrey Pines LZ to his and nearly everyone’s surprise. The instructors were very calm and cool about this. We’d already done a lot of kiting and Chad was doing well. They talked him though the sled ride to the nude beach down below. According to my radio, and the applause of the folks at the ledge, his flight was a success. Prognosis of the instructor: Everyone’s ready for their first sled ride.

Torrey Pines Gliderport is one of the most beautiful places on earth. It’s a place where the Pacific Ocean butts right up against a 330-foot cliff. The water is Southern California warm, teaming with dolphins and seals. Up above you have La Jolla, a gem of a town with some of the most expensive real estate in the world, the PGA-class Torrey Pines Golf Course and the University of California as San Diego. It’s sitting on some pretty valuable real estate for such a rogue activity.

I was aware I was on the edge of a cliff. I’ve had a second home here and have been visiting for over 10 years. I know the terrain. However, I was not prepared for what came next.

I knew how to inflate my wing. I could keep it overhead. I knew what the brakes did. I knew how to run in a launch, and I’d been lifted a few times. However, when I ran to the ledge for my first launch, for some reason, I had forgotten it was the edge of a cliff. I went off the edge with full commitment. Later Ki told me that was why he let me launch. He saw no fear in my eyes.

I looked down and saw the eroded rocks and dirt that make up the ridge. What a sight. Pure beauty. I saw the long ocean waves. Then I heard something that took me more than any other sense: silence.

I expected a lot. I expected adrenaline, to be scared and thrilled. I didn’t expect silence. I could hear the waves breaking on the beach, conversations, even the whack of a golf ball. Amazing.

My instructor walked me through the motions. I saw the golf course. It was a perfect Southern California day: full sun, fresh ocean air. As my instructor guided me through my first turn I thought to myself, “This thing doesn’t turn very quickly.” But., with my commitment to take my time, relax and trust the instructors I just waited through my 90˚ turn. I turned to the beach. I could see it approaching with dozens of nude onlookers. Interesting that I was a sight for them.

As the land approached I seemed to be moving so slowly, gently. I flared and was surprised to get lift. I held it and ran it down. I stopped and the wing fell over my head.

I stopped dead on the beach. What was that? It wasn’t anything like I expected. It wasn’t just a thrill. It was nothing like skydiving. I started collecting my wing. Another student who’d had a few sled rides came over and helped me pack. He told me what to do. There is a path a quarter mile or so away. We’ve got a walk to it, then a pretty gruesome walk up the hill.
As he helped and I packed up I started sorting out that feeling. What was it that I felt up there? Then a word hit me: joy. That’s pure joy. How often do you experience pure joy?

I hiked up the hill and shared that word with my group. There were no surprises. Everyone was pretty pumped. Now what do you do with all this? Learn to do it better I suppose. Learn to get lift, stay on above the ridge and land on the LZ I suppose.
You’re sort of in a bubble after an experience like that. Nothing seems to touch you. You’re reliving it, your looking at things differently in the moment and waiting for the time to do it again.

The trail back up to the top.

I picked up a copy of Paraglider magazine from the shop and took it home. It’s an oversized magazine packed with beautiful photography. As I leafed through the pages I got it: you travel. You do this all over the world in the most gorgeous places on earth. I can handle that. I can work my family into that. This works.