‘PE Express’ freelance writer HEIDI BOTHA recently embarked on a thrilling adventure as she overcame her middle-aged fears and took to the skies in aparagliding experience over the stunning Maitland Beach. Guided by the experienced Dave Scott from Hawkwind Paragliding Club, she discovered theserene beauty and exhilarating freedom of soaring above the coastline. Heidi described her experience to ‘PE Express’ readers.
For someone who loved chasing roller coasters throughout my youth, I have become quite faint-hearted in middle age. For that reason, I was mildly petrified – to say the least – when I was kindly invited to join a paragliding flight. However, finding it hard to say no to an adventure, I took a friend with me for some emotional support, a pair of watchful eyes, and help on the ground in case of an emergency.
Floating above the unspoiled beauty of Maitland Beach, quite a few paragliders were already enjoying their Sunday afternoon from up high when we arrived. Gliding smoothly through the air – the paragliders’ elliptical, colourful canopies decorating the clear sky – all seemed dreamy and effortless. Nevertheless, the height at which they were challenging thermals and catching updrafts was highlighted as I noticed the almost undetectable nature of the steering lines that connected wings and paragliders. As a result, I wasn’t exactly raring to take to the sky, to put it mildly.
Therefore, on meeting my tandem instructor and Hawkwind Paragliding Club pro, Dave Scott, I was beyond grateful to learn that he had 17 years of paragliding experience under his belt. Needless to say, I felt more reassured to brave the sky with someone who knew how to control the multitude of suspension lines and risers connected to the wing which, subsequently, was connected to my pilot and yours truly. Once strapped up to the paraglider and positioned in the harness, we were ready to go.
After an inelegant sideways scuttle of a few metres over the ground – combined with a haphazard silent prayer on my part – we were whisked off our feet with a sudden whoosh and fluttered up into an abyss of perfect sky. As the lift counteracted gravity, we suddenly became airborne. I thanked all my lucky stars, hidden somewhere beyond the layer of the cloudless firmament, that Dave was perfectly able to maintain the aerodynamic phenomena of lift and drag as he assured me for the umpteenth time (I did enquire a few times, I have to admit) that the wind speed was just right.
Below us, I knew that wave after wave swelled, thunderously broke, and swept in long stretches of foamy white towards the beach. But from up high, silence reigned. For a few exhilarating minutes of flying, time fell away, and I felt oddly unperturbed by the daily commotions and events down below while given the opportunity to marvel at the scenic beauty from my aerial perspective. On the right of us, the Maitland River Mouth wound its way towards the sea, the green hills and sand dunes struck a stunning contrast to the azure blue of the vast ocean, and Seaview Road was a narrow line chalked against the hill.
The inflated wing – decked out in soothing watercolour oranges, powder blues, and pale yellows – stretched itself like a rainbow above us as it trapped the air in its bright fabric cells. And, as I found myself relaxing into the wonder of the weightlessness of body and mind, a line from Jimi Hendrix’s “Purple Haze” lyrics drifted into my mind: “’Scuse me while I kiss the sky.”
While skilfully controlling the speed and direction of the paraglider, Dave simultaneously took photos with a selfie stick which did loops in the air and photographed our soaring flight from all possible angles. Reminiscent of my roller coaster days, I felt the old thrill returning as our paraglider started doing some impressive aerobatic manoeuvres. We tilted and dived through the air while performing hair-raising, albeit exhilarating, stunts called wingovers and spiral dives. Even though plunging, dipping, and rising again, the sensation of floating continued throughout.
Dave, who always dreamed about being able to fly, has most definitely found his niche. It is people like him who ensure that those who spend most of their time on the ground have a unique and unforgettable experience.
When Dave told me that it was on a small Scottish island, Isle of Arran, that the paragliding bug bit him, undulating green Scottish pastures and rugged mountain peaks flashed through my mind. But only momentarily. It is the spectacular scenery of our local dramatic coastline and endless African sky that has stayed with me after our safe landing. And the memory of how, for a while, I touched the heavens and floated on air.
