PARAGLIDING IN SA  |   FLYING SITES  |   REVIEWS  |   AIRLORE  |   STORIES  |   GALLERY |   CARTOONS Into Deep Rock The Cedarberg mountains form an imposing mass to the east of our traditional flying routes - untamed, wild, unexplored. The afternoon cumulus clouds bulge from the air forced upward by a myriad of baking valleys and steep cliffs. There are few trails, fewer roads. It is a hot, dry, and deserted place. We headed for the heart of rock, and flew in as far as we could go. Bivouac flying is a challenging discipline. Apart from well-aged xc flying skills, the bivouac pilot needs survival and orienteering abilities, and good first aid knowledge. Gill Hartley (16th place in the SA Nationals) teamed up with Mark Bailey (paramedic and winner of the SA tandem class) on the Sky Maxi t andem wing. Johan Kritzinger (5th place SA Nationals) chose to go solo on his Apco Bagheera, and I on my Freex Spear. We packed food supplies for two days, 4 litres of water each, and basic survival gear. The plan was to head for the Middelberg Pass, a narrow passage which climbs into the Koue-Bokkeveld to the east of Citrusdal. It was a route which was to be technical, breathtaking and very different to what we expected. Lifting off from the Dasklip Pass at around midday, we attempted a stab towards the south, but the southerly wind was already pushing through. We were forced to run to Bumpy Peak, 18km to the north. Mark and Gill on the tandem struggled to work the narrow-cored thermals as tightly as the solo wings. Johan and I climbed out above them in the boomer of the day, working the 5m/s thermal from 1000m asl to 2200m asl, high above the front ridge. When we had topped out and were beginning to lose the core, we g lided directly east, across the Citrusdal valley and beyond, into the rocky wilderness. It is a liberating feeling once you have left the roads behind, when your only route to escape is by flying your wing, and flying it well. We hung on to the scrappy thermals, sinking lower and lower as the expected lift proved to be an illusion. The wind began to shift to SW, as the draw of the mountains entrained the valley winds. The broken terrain split our group into three - the tandem working the foothills, Johan the central plateau, while I found a good climb and sneaked over to the Middelberg Pass. I entered a sheltered triangular valley, with a few farm-buildings and orchards. The wind had swung f rom SW to W, and was strengthening quite rapidly. I got the speedbar ready, and crept along the Middelberg, waiting for a thermal. Johan came scuttling over to join me, having been squeezed over the upwind rim at 50m above ground level. (The definition o f scuttling, we decided later, was to be 'running from the wind, nervously in Middelberg Pass, looking west, Citrusdal far rightcontrol') He scared his shadow many times during the downwind glide, swooping low over the rocks. He did not have enough height to cross the valley floor, and was forced to land 200m short of the ridge I was soaring. I considered landing at the top of the pass as we had agreed, but was hoofed up in a very determined thermal. I had no forward speed at all, and was climbing at 5m/s, so I decided to hold onto it and ride over in to the next valley. I radioed down to Johan that I'd meet him that evening at a little dam I'd spied at the top of the pass, a good overnight spot. Gill confirmed receipt of the message as well. They were still working the ridges closer to Citrusdal, and would try to get over the pass. For the moment, I was alone. This was completely new terrain for me, and I slowed down to analyze what the wind was doing. The afternoon valley wind had set up, and was becoming stronger all the while. A local farmer later told me that the wind always blows SE in the morning, up until 11am, when the wind switches to a WNW. By 3pm the WNW is very strong, and it continues to blow towards the barren Ceres-Karoo desert until sundown. I decided to push further south along the Koue-Bokkeveld valley, choosing the inhabited areas once more over the inhospitable-looking terrain to the east. The valley is surprisingly lush, and boasts fertile citrus orchards beside a plentiful river. Although my course was in the lee of the big mountain range, I was high up and believed that I could risk the cross-wind glide. I got thumped a few times, but nothing severe enough to cause a wing collapse or whimper from the pilot's seat. The wind continued to increase, and after half an hour of flying on speedbar, I decided to land. While folding my glider, I noticed a smiling farmer approaching in his 4x4 vehicle. Out jumps a young Afrikaner, eager to know where I'd come from, and where I was going to. "I'll be hiking up to the top of the Middelberg Pass," I replied in Afrikaans. "It isn't that far, is it?" The farmer, du Toit, smiled knowingly and shook his head. "That's a long walk. Come, I'll drive you there," he said. I hadn't even finished folding my wing, and I was being offered a retrieve! What a great place. On the way, du Toit pulled in to a packing shed, and scurried around filling a box with fruit. I eyed him from the vehicle, unsure if I should help him fill the box, or if he was choosing specific fruit for the market. It was a big fruit-box, and when he returned to the vehicle, it was bulging past the rim with nectarines and pears. "Here, this is for you," du Toit offered. I was astounded. The fruit was succulent, the conversation easy. We passed a slow-moving vehicle as we drove up the pass. It's occupants - Gill and Mark, receiving the same warm reception from the locals. I narrowly beat them to the top of the pass. We laughed amongst ourselves as we recounted our luck. We had hoped to meet Johan at the top of the pass, and head off to set up camp. He was nowhere to be seen. The radio yielded no answer. The wind, by now, was howling, well over 45km/h. We had seen him land short of the pass. "He must already have walked to the dam behind the pass," I ventured hopefully. We set off with our heavy box of fruit to the rendezvous. As we crested the hill, we saw an amazing sight. A little red glider, climbing above the nearby peaks, going up. And backwards. It was Johan, and he had underestimated the strength of the afternoon wind. We tried to raise him on the radio once more, but to no avail. Johan climbed and climbed, obviously on full speed bar and going nowhere, fast. When he had topped out, he turned and ran to the valley we had just been retrieved from. We watched as his glider was thumped in the rotor. His lines knotted around a parasitic twig, and he performed some involuntary aerobatics. Thankfully the lower air was smooth, and he controlled his glider in for a safe landing. Half an hour later, he was at the top of the pass. Of course he had been retrieved immediately by the locals!! We set up camp beneath the shelter of a small tree, and tucked into the huge supply of fruit. The sun set on a marvellous day, and one by one the stars pricked through the fabric of a cool night in the Cedarberg. I layed my wing over my friends, and we curled up to a welcome sleep on the hard ground, dreaming of the day to come, and the mystery of adventuring.