The
1
by Lucas Soler
S
hortly after securing my paragliding pilot license in late September of 2014, I was eager to fly, but the flying season in Vermont had passed. A good friend invited me to fly in Valle de Bravo, Mexico, in December, just a few months later. He reported that in Valle, the flying conditions are superb and extremely consistent, with just the right wind speed and hot sun to warm up the ground and generate large thermals. Once in Valle, I realized I had inadvertently arrived during the yearly celebration of the Virgin de Guadalupe. The entire first night I was kept awake by sporadic, ear-splitting fireworks. I finally resorted to devising a defense; I inserted earplugs, then tied a pillow around my head with a paragliding compression strap. (Unfortunately, this celebration continued for the entire week, forcing me to rely on my new headdress every night.) But while standing at the famous El Peñón launch site the next morning, I was in awe of the wide, unique terrain that appeared before me like a red carpet. This site gives a paraglider the thrill that children must get from an amusement park: It has air convergence areas for lift, deep valleys, strong thermal areas, huge cliffs, huge XC
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potential, and a massive rock formation, El Peñón, towering 3000 feet above it all. I was instantly humbled by the view. As a beginner paraglider pilot with only two hours of flight time, I felt as if I were at the Tour de France wearing my training wheels. My first flight was a complete sledder, by choice. I sprinted through the amusement park without stopping at any of the rides. The fear of my glider’s collapsing and falling to the ground overwhelmed me. I couldn’t stop myself from looking down to calculate my height, which was around 2000 feet agl. I was so tense that I was sweating profusely. As I approached the landing zone from about 100 feet agl, I spotted a score of local children rushing to greet me at touchdown. And as soon as my feet hit the ground, these lively kids swarmed around me, each one signaling his eagerness for me to choose him to pack my glider, hoping to earn two or three bucks. In Spanish, I asked them to split into two groups: supporters of Barcelona versus supporters of their never-ending rival, Real Madrid. Immediately, the sea of kids shuffled to their preferred side, some of them calling out their favorite players, as if stepping to one side wasn’t enough to declare allegiance. I chose two kids from the Barcelona side
to pack my glider: the oldest and the youngest. They usually pack gliders alone, but I couldn’t think of a better way to bring experience to the young ones. (My future landings followed the same scenario as the first, but when it came time to choose a side, all the kids had become Barcelona supporters!) While lying on my packed glider waiting for the others to land, I reflected on my experience. That flight was NOT fun. It was off my bucket list. I wondered if this would be my exit from the sport… I realized I had to either let go of the fear or be grounded for the rest of the weeklong trip. And I decided I had to continue. My flight the following day was just over one hour. I’m glad to report that I was present during that flight. I released my tension and fear, embraced the techniques I had learned, and decided to trust my paraglider, deciding it really does want to fly. I think I was successful that day because I avoided constantly looking down at the ground. Instead, I focused on the enjoyment of the landscape nature offered, the feeling of the wind in my face, and the majesty of flight. With that flight, I took one small step away from thinking like a human and one step closer to thinking like a bird.