REUNION ISLAND - IMPRESSIONS OF BEAUTY

Reunion Island is a French principality, and is situated at 21*06'S 55*36'E, just to the west of Mauritius, and to the east of Madagascar. It measures just 60km in diameter, and has peaks rising to 3000m. It is, in all, quite dramatic. The trade winds blow from the south-east, making that the wet side of the island, with rain, waterfalls and tropical vegetation. The dry, flyable side of the island is the westerly side, where pilots can play safely in the lee-side reverse-wind caused by the island's conical central peaks. There are tarred roads to nearly all the sites, and paragliders and hanggliders are welcomed.

"Wake up, Greg, it's flyable!" my friend whispered in my ear.

I sprang to my feet, and hastily donned shoes and shorts. Jannie was already retreating from my room, and I fumbled with my laces as I watched him run out into the fresh morning light. It was 5am, and we were on Reunion Island, a little French paradise in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Finally, the big day had arrived. We were going to fly The Maido. I caught up to Jannie on the beach, and we crunched along in the sand, watching the waves crash into the coral reefs close by. The air was a blend of rich, tropical softness and pungent freshness that was envigorating and pure. I wondered what I would be like if I had to breathe such air daily. My answer ran past me on the beach, joined by ten others. Everyone seemed to be fit, young and exercising. Running, cycling, surfing. Smiling. And paragliding! We had flown every day of the week since we had arrived, bar two. Gentle, wonderful holiday flying. The thermals seemed to be poured from a pot of melted gold - smooth transitions into the lift, easy cores to follow. The launch sites were trimmed grass, some with royal carpets of cloth laid down for paragliders' ease. The roads were tarred and wound their way almost to every launch site we flew. That is, if you made it to the site. The roads are narrow. The locals drive well, but fast, because they are, well, locals! The flying began for us at a site called les Colimacons , a regular school site with a launching field tucked amongst the sugar-cane 800m above the sea level (asl). For beginners, it can be a wonderfully scenic, smooth glide to the beach. For the more advanced, as with all the sites on Reunion, it can offer the beginning of some mellow cross-country flying, with intensely beautiful landing sites on the beaches, beside the sparkling clear water. On the beach, we met Charl. He owned a Nova Xenon, which he had put 450hours on in the last 9months. He lived on the landing field. Where? we asked innocently. He waved to two parked station-wagons - one (empty) to drive, the other (crammed to the roof with all his worldly possessions) to sleep in. At 42, he had retired. But he had all the ways of the youthful backpacker, stretching his money out as thinly as possible, to extend the living dream of flying. every. single. day. He laughed a lot. He made us laugh a lot. And to our delight, he spoke French (which we didn't) and German (which some of us could). And so we met our translator, tour guide, instructor, fellow pilot and friend. For the simple cost of a few meals and free rides to the launchsites, we had a great man in our holiday team. We soon were lured to greater heights, and sneaked past the Colimacon site to a higher takeoff hidden amongst the wooded slopes at 1400m asl. Charl lent me a tandem glider, and my friend Paula clipped in for her first paragliding flight. We launched into an hour of thermals and island beauty, clouds and sea, filtered sunlight and moist, warm air above villages of friendly Creoles. The days flew by, and we visited more sites, between playing, lying in the sun, swimming, hiking, and running on the beaches. Peering over Rivier de Galee is a little village named Dos d'Anne, and from its fringe we launched into a dramatic flight - strong thermals running up through the dense vegetation on both sides of the deep river-gorge, the rocky riverbed far (700m) below. The sound of a singing congregation floated upwards from the village, and wisps of the ever-present strato-cumulus cloud swirled above us. We truly were in another land, the magical island kingdom of Reunion. Bellemene offered a 300m height difference to the plains of Savannah, with a challenging glide during the first quarter of the flight (you have to lift your feet up to avoid the farmhouse roofs!). There were other flying sites printed on our informative tourism map, but we didn't have the time, or the wind, to fly from them. And the site we were really awaiting was The Maido, for on the map we could see it was over 2000m high. That is why, on the morning of truth, we set out at 5o'clock, to get ahead before the traffic. We emerged on the takeoff site to a visual feast. We were standing on another perfectly manicured lawn, in the heart of a circular amphitheatre of mountain splendour. Truly awe-inspiring peaks thrust up from the darkness of fearsomely deep river-gorges. Sharp, green ridges cut the canyon into a confused pattern of three-dimensional landing nightmares. There were no roads below, no open spaces, no easy options. Only a little hiking trail snaked its way up the side of one ridge, then dropped over the other side, only to snake upwards again after crossing the river. Finally, the trail reached a small village, a cluster of houses isolated in isolation. Only God alone knows why these people live where even an adventurous paraglider pilot would fear to tread. Clouds had begun to form across the valley, pushing through the distant peaks, driven by the easterly trade wind. It was going to get strong soon, if it wasn't too strong already. We scuttled about on the launch site, preparing our kit. Charl, true to his island-nature, generously offered to sacrifice himself to the vagaries of the wind first - he would be our 'wind-dummy', sent out to test the air. It was to be a greater sacrifice than any of us had anticipated. He launched, soared off down the ridge, and was soon a small floating figure above a heart-stopping abyss. Then the ridge turned, and he disappeared from view. Something about the clouds didn't look right to me. They were too smooth, too familiar looking, like the orographic cloud which forms over my home town mountain when the wind pushes over 50km/h. Such clouds would form on the windward side of the mountain, and evaporate in the downdraught on the lee. They generally looked tattered on the leeward side, and the wind would blow tourists and those-little-white-fluffy-dogs-grannies-love-to-own, into the sea. "Hold on, Jannie!" I shouted across the launch site. "Don't launch yet!" I tried to raise Charl on the radio, but there was no response. He had probably flown into some hidden river gorge, and was uncontactable. Still, he was a good pilot, and should be airborne. I ran through the bushes, heading along the cliff to a better vantage point. "Charl, Charl, come in for Greg!" I tried again. Nothing. A helicopter buzzed over, bringing a load of passengers on a sightseeing tour, oblivious to my predicament. "Charl, Charl, Charl!" The radio crackled to life, and I breathed a sigh of relief. "...icht ... crrr ... du ... muss ... crrr ... nicht ... starten!" came the warning in German. I could not see his glider, but I knew that somewhere out there, Charl was flying, and not enjoying it at all. We packed our gliders away, and soaked up the sun and the view. I am sure that the flight from The Maido in the correct conditions is superb, and the longer I look at the photographs, the more I want to return to Reunion, just for that flight. But Charl, he had a different story.

It was the worst flight of his entire life. He had over 1000 logged flights, and never before had he been trashed as badly. The wind had pushed him backwards over the cliff with an excess of 30m clearance, and he had to turn and run to survive the rotor turbulence. The ground slopes gently away towards the sea, on the back side of the cliff, and the terrain is heavily wooded in parts. So Charl was fighting big collapses on his glider close to the trees, for a long time, as he was blown downhill through the churning air. It was a testimony to his piloting skills, and to miracles, that he escaped unscathed, to land out on the plains of Savannah. We spent a few more days exploring the island, trying to avoid being caught by heavily inflated tourist prices, soaking up the clean beauty of the sunsets, becoming envigorated by the dramatic hike to the island's recently active volcano, and smiling Bonjours! at all the locals. Reunion is an exotic, inspiring place, and though my adventures will surely take me to new and exciting places, part of me will always be standing on the beach after the landing at Colimacon, holding my glider overhead, and feeling the softness of the warm trade wind touching my soul.

CONTACTS ON THE ISLAND
Parapente Reunion, 4 CD 12, Route des Colimacons, 97436, Saint Leu, # 0 262 24 87 84 (fax 248715)
Azurtech Paragliding, # 0 262 85 04 00
Potenciel Paragliding, # 0 262 24 25 45
Arthurium Hotels, 10 bis Chemin des Fougeres, 97400, St-Denis, # 0 262 30 19 29 (Fax 30 36 98)
Le Goelo Bed & Breakfast, 4 bis, RN1, 97426 Littoral Trois Bassins, # 0 262 24 67 48 Phone/Fax