Newcastle Hang Gliding Club

And had another fly today in something a bit more performance. I am relieved to say the body is dialled-in as if it never missed a day and despite other’s expectations the headspace was never going to be a problem, but I understand how people could think this might have been the case.

I felt this flight was going to be a keeper and I wasn’t disappointed. It’s a shame I didn’t take any footage or stills. The previous two flights were more like an examination or a test for the body but with all that now out of the road the mind is free to just absorb and enjoy the air time.

I was hoping it would be Merewether again but by the turn-off to Scenic Drive all the indicators said it was too light and as the Hyundai reached the descent of the ‘S’ bends the first view of the ocean flickered through the tree canopy. It was a clear and beautiful day with the classic mild conditions of autumn which also included a light wind. Dixon Park was now also a long shot. The flags at Bar Beach had the final say as they flapped lethargically and aligned left of square. Strzeleki it would be.

I was airborne in 20 minutes quickly followed by two paragliders. At launch the tourist crowd armed with their cameras provided sufficient encouragement to lure my comrades in to concentrate around the launch and put on a show for the gallery. I was up for some solitude so after logging an hour at Strezleki and topping-out I flew a course south to the next headland. There was not much buffer in the altitude and the line-up of the hills and descent rate said no margin for inefficient flying or error. VG was on all the way.

It was a bit light but the knack was the same as always: relax, milk the air and try to be smooth.

Enroute I scanned the ocean swimming pool ahead at the base of the first cliff just passed the Beaches Hotel. Sometimes the air shuts down along this section of the coast while all around the prevailing strength is constant. The water is a classic tell-tail if this is happening. Many a pilot have been caught here and if they’re quick to realise what’s going on they can get around a 180 for the only short final available onto a smallish patch of beach.

Sure enough the pool was a millpond. Just out to sea the windlines faded before making the beach and there were no white caps to speak of. The ridgeline continued its climb from sea level and the salt bush along its face remained completely still until the true lip of cliff began just south of the ocean baths. There I could see the leaves waving back and forth if only ever so slightly. Minimum 'stay in the air' altitude was probably about 70' where the wind provided just enough to keep the wing aloft.

The glide slope had been consistently homing-in on this point for a while so it felt like 50/50 odds when we arrived at that spot on the hill. The 168 intercepted and hung onto the bottom rung of lift during the first, second, and third pass. It was like a negotiation between the 168 and the wind and I felt like a chauffeur with no say in the discussion, quietly doing my job but also trying to listen-in while the clients in the back decided on an outcome. If I had to bow out and do the 180 I wasn't worried, I already had 60+ minutes of satisfaction under the belt but if I had a choice... More flying was on the mind and perhaps still on the cards.

The air was silk and the glider translated even the most subtle variation in the airflow as it flowed up the cliff. The hill climbed and changed shape so the air began changing accordingly: a little stronger in some areas but transitioning back to light stuff as it was forced into a different direction or forced to slow down and sometimes eddy a little in the 'back-up zone' before working its way through to a path of least resistance. Hugging the face a little more in the hunt for a few more feet per second meant being closer to the boundary layer where even this seamless seabreeze showed some rough edges as it tried to blend in with the more angular and rocky profile of the cliff. The 4th pass gained about 10' and slowly we clawed our way up to about 300'.

The view was brilliant thanks in part to the April weather which has been fantastic: water crystal clear and temp 21 degrees, air temp 25+, half the sky bright blue and the other half picture perfect cumuli (and always out of reach from the coastal fringe thanks to the cool moist seabreeze).

The hum of the airflow was just quiet enough so the 3' surf all the way below could be heard breaking regularly with each set of waves. And soaring over the cliff line put you within earshot of ‘The Bowl’, a small leeside valley which was totally still and had the acoustics of an amphitheatre. I could recognise more than few bird calls that echoed up loudly enough to sound as if they were sitting on the basebar. I grew up in this neck of the woods and like many others cut my teeth as a student at Merewether. It’s technical and is a thorough teacher. Being next to a state forest it is undeveloped and rugged with a series of headlands that put a dent into the Pacific every K or so. It is beautiful and no more so than from the perch of a HG.

I flew back over the ocean baths and saw about 15 swimmers doing laps and realised that has been me for the last 6 months.

Slowly my shadow crossed the lanes as I watched them steadily pulling through the water with each stoke then touching the end of the 50m or 100m mark before turning around to do it all again. It dawned on me that is what I have looked like every day often before dawn and sometimes earlier, and sometimes when pilots filled the sky on a perfect seabreeze. During many of those swims with each lap and every breath I could see the windlines on the water and would catch a glimpse of my mates and the students, and other pilots who I don't know sometimes soaring no more than 500' away. None of them would have known I was down in the pool trying to resurrect a broken body with the hope of being able to do what they were doing. I was happy for them and it reminded me of the goal that drove me through the water.

I had it to myself today.

I eased into some aerobatics eventually testing out the torso with care. The last few went around 120 degrees but easy did it. There was no pain, discomfort or signs of weakness, but baby steps all the way.

I noticed the PGs had long since left Strzeleki which wasn’t surprising since the wind direction had gone easterly, still fine for the north side of Hickson St but the bladder had been making requests. A b-line would have me just sneaking into the upwind side of the BBQ at Dixon but a family of five stopped right on the spot to watch my approach so the touch down was next to the stairs that lead to the beach.

After packing-up I drove down to the pool and swam the 2K and during every lap if I wasn't thinking of the flight I was still feeling the endorphin high that will probably linger a few more days yet.

It might be a while before venturing XC, then again maybe not. I need a lot of replacement gear for inland but that's of little concern. I giggle at the realisation that in about 6 seconds my entire kit was literally obliterated except for about half a grands worth of merino thermal layers, but the Ambos took about the same time with their shears to slice them in half.

Much more important than equipment, playing it by ear and listening to instinct has, worked even before the accident. Severe trauma hammers the mind shocking it into survival mode. You’re operating on bare essentials. The good news is something else there will then want to take over. So long as you can put one foot in front of the other and drift with instinct the right direction will follow, slowly perhaps, but with the correct course the result is only a matter of time. Same deal during the freefall: no fighting it but going with what was happening, working with it not against it even when the potential outcomes were polar opposites and everything was on the line. It's not pretty but it is a survival that may lead to better days ahead. The body is a little different, it can take it's time with some things but then arrive at another place well ahead and better than expectations.

I can get airborne here on the coast with what I've got. I am 99.9% home. Time is what I may have another even chance at now, barring anymore 180s.

C’est la vie.