PARAGLIDING IN SA  |   FLYING SITES  |   REVIEWS  |   AIRLORE  |   STORIES  |   GALLERY |   CARTOONS On the wings of an angel When you need more than luck It is said that much can be learned from observing what lies in the grass on either side of the highway. If all the aerial accident documentation was layed down in a row, the thickest path would contain all those explainable events that were obvious in hindsight. Julian set up to land downwind from the trees, and encountered severe turbulence, and crashed. Paul flared too high, and stalled his glider, falling to the ground. Penelope took off when the wind was blowing too strongly, and was blown over the back of the mountain. The obvious consequence of these standard mistakes was injury. Slowly, these pains will be absorbed as lessons to newcomers, passed on from the elders, to prevent it happening again. But scattered beside the main path of building knowledge, hidden in the long grass on either side, lie stranger facts. I have seen friends fall from the sky, fighting failing scraps of tattered fabric in spiralling decent, until they impact the ground. Hundreds of metres some have fallen, and landed amongst the shattered rocks of the wild lands we fly over. These fallen pilots stand again, waving casually at the airborne watchers, and proceed to pack up their equipment, without a scratch to their bodies. A pilot entered a spin, and was sucked over the back of the mountain. He crashed into a small tree which broke his fall and left him uninjured. On either side of the tree, was a jagged tooth of rock, and all around him, the slope lay littered with skree. Yet when he had pendulumed in at incredible speed, he had hit the only tree within sight, and was saved. These incidents recur, and most likely you have your own 'miraculous escape' stories to add. Then on the other hand, there are those that happen so strangely, without warning to those complete innocents. John took off and skimmed low over the ground. He misjudged his height slightly, and he clipped an upthrust rock just in front of takeoff. We rushed to his aid, but it was too late - his spine had been injured, he was paralysed from the waist down. The punishment doesn't seem to fit the crime. Who's system of law are we looking at here? Certainly not the simple laws of airmanship, for there are those who are technically good pilots, yet they still get taken. And some with no apparent skill seem to be lucky all the time. Why is there this inequality, why do some pilots continue to get off scott-free from horrendous mistakes, when others merely trip over a little rock, and break an ankle, or worse? I wondered, until I fell, and was saved. The memory of the invisible force that intervened makes me feel special, though I know not what I have done to deserve favour. There are angels, and it pays to keep them on your side. It was late one afternoon, and the sun was gathering her golden robes about her, preparing to sink into the deep blue Atlantic ocean. We had walked up Lion's Head, my passenger and I, and where gazing out over the panoramic beauty, waiting for a puff of wind to come up the mountain slope. Behind us lay the purple folds of my tandem paraglider, poised for action. In front; the steep, rocky slope f ell away into the spacious chasm of air. Loose rocks shifted uneasily beneath our feet, and I steadied my passenger's quavering arm. "Don't worry, we'll be fine. Just waiting for a little breeze, then we'll pull up, run a few steps, and be off. The most important thing is to be committed - once we start, I need you to run as fast as you can, right out into the air." An image of Wile-E-Coyote chasing the RoadRunner came to mind - he would always run way off a cliff before he realised his danger, then he would look down, his eyes would go wide, and only then would he begin to fall. Accompanied by much laughter from the children. I brought myself back to reality. There were no children nearby. And this was no cartoon, this was real life. The wind continued to frustrate us for ages, blowing gently from the left side of takeoff, never curling to blow up the slope. We could not launch, for we needed some resistance for our pull-up. In crosswind conditions, the tandem glider just took too l ong to build up the required airspeed, and on Lion's Head, with its limited runway before the cliff, it was just not safe. We waited, and watched the sun sinking further down towards the sea and the inevitable end to the flying day. But then I became aware of a subtle shift in the wind. It was angling ever-so-slightly up the slope, pushing the streamer up towards us. "You ready?" I queried my passenger. There was no time to lose. "Yes," came the small voice from the front, willing to trust my judgement, but ever fearful of the looming cliff-drop. We ran forward, pulling the glider into the air behind, and with each step we lunged towards the cliff. "Run, Run, RUN!" I shouted to my passenger, who responded immediately and gave it all she had got. It wasn't enough. The glider was dragging along behind us, reluctant to become airborne in such little wind. We were leaning forwards, and putting all our effort into running down the slope, and still it lingered behind us, never quite reaching the apex of its pullup arc. Okay, this is the decision point, I thought. We can't go past here without the glider flying, I'll have to abort the takeoff and begin again . . . At that instant, the glider bit into the air and surged overhead. It had been retarded on our left side as we began. As it caught into the air, it lunged way over to our right side, compensating for the off-balanced pullup. We were running fast now, and our momentum would carry us over the edge. There would be no problem, because the glider would stabilise once we were airborne. We would launch skew, but then swing underneath the glider as our feet left the ground, and we would be airborne, immersed in the freedom and safety of a gentle glide down to the awaiting family and friends below. The glider, however, was not flying. As we ran off the end of the takeoff site, and leaped out into the air, the glider merely followed, weakly retarding our fall, acting as a parachute. "Oh My GOD," came the terrified voice from the front - a normal reaction to the first second of being airborne. I am very glad she called out, that time. We fell maybe five metres, and collided with the steep slope again, running, trying to get the glider to fly, to save our lives. In a mighty leap, we were airborne again, falling past the short cliff to the path another ten metres below. Another thudding impact as we bounced from the third rock ledge, shattered stones blasting out from under us, dust exploding into the air. Come on baby, fly, fly FLY, I urged my glider, praying for her to save us, fly, FLY. . . I felt a presence wrap around my body, strangely invisible wings, though if I were to give them a colour now, they would be white. Some part of me knew that I was safe. I watched with amazement as I tumbled through the air, cuddling my passenger in my arms, trying to protect her from the vicious impacts with the slope. I pulled the brakes down to their stops, this paraglider was not going to fly, we were coming in for landing. I somersaulted over my passenger, and we landed together on my back, bouncing off the thick foam harness and spongy bush. Out into the air again, spinning falling. Thump! we hit the second path, a thin ledge in a steep slope of rock and scrub, where we finally came to a stop. I was desperately worried about my passenger, and I rapidly unclipped from my harness and helped her to her feet. She had a small graze on her right leg. Miraculously, she was completely free from injury. "Are we going to launch again?" she asked, not without a hint of apprehension. I laughed then, relieved at her resilience, amazed at her courage. "No," I said, "I think we made the angels work enough for one day."