It was my first day of hang-gliding lessons, and already I felt like a bird.
A big, stupid, flightless bird.
I was running around in a damp field, harnessed into a huge set of wings, sweating like mad into my hiking boots and helmet.
“Run!” yelled my instructor, Greg Black. “Run faster! RUN!”
The glider was nearly half my body weight. And while cattle lowed in the next field, I was hustling through the weeds, trying to generate enough of a breeze to get the thing to lift off my back.
When signing in that morning, I’d wondered whether to mention my slight fear of heights. Turns out, height was the last thing I needed to worry about.
A short history of glider flight
Humans have messed around with glider-like gadgets for centuries, trying to replicate the flight of birds. But modern hang gliding is relatively new, the result of NASA research in the 1960s. Francis Rogallo developed a recovery system for spacecraft, which intrepid, sky-seeking souls started playing with.
By the early 1970s, the Southern California Hang Gliding Association, now the United States Hang Gliding Association was born.
It was also in the very early ‘70s that hang gliding came to Ellenville, New York, says Black. The small town is in the southern Catskill Mountains, in a valley just a couple of hours from New York City. The easy access, plus geography that provided lots of upwards air movement, made it a hot spot for gliding.
Back then when Black, who owns the Mountain Wings flight school and pro shop in Ellenville, learned how to hang glide, the sport was—in a word—dangerous. Gliders weren’t rated, pilots weren’t certified, and people were killed regularly. “Now hang gliding is one of the safest recreational sports you can do,” Black says.
There is a strict rating system, and you need to have certain certifications to buy certain gliders. The gliders themselves are extensively tested. With their sophisticated designs, the days of accidental nose-dives and mountain crashes are over.
“For somebody to get hurt, it’s not the fault of the sport or the equipment,” Black says.
That doesn’t mean there isn’t still some risk involved at jumping off a mountain with plastic wings strapped to your back.
The most common problem, Black says, is that people actually forget to attach themselves to the glider. They can cling on for a few seconds, but eventually drop to the ground. That’s why he starts every flight—even down the training hill—with a flight check to make sure the harness is secure.
But when you take a Superman-like dive into the mud, nothing will protect your knees from the ground. Or your ego from the bruise.
Getting the "hang" of it
I was in Ellenville not to hang glide, but to learn how to hang glide. Some schools encourage novices to take a tandem flight, getting towed into the air with an instructor to get a taste of sky. In flat areas, most of the teaching is done that way.
But Black believes the best place to start is on the ground, learning the tough stuff—take offs and landings—before worrying about finding thermals in the sky. “People that come with a clean mind learn a lot faster,” he says.
So on a Saturday morning, I met him at the jumbled Mountain Wings shop, filled with folded-up hang gliders, sleeping-bag-like harnesses hanging from the ceiling.
We watched a couple of introductory videos, and then drove five minutes to the training hill. Over my jeans, I donned into a harness. It fit around my torso like a backwards vest, and strapped around my thighs and back. Between my shoulder blades dangled the carabiner that would hook me to a glider. I donned a helmet, ready to fly.
But first, the simulator. Black hooked me into the skeleton of an old glider, set on a swiveling pole in the grass, and threw a rusty chain over the tail for balance.
The goal was to get a feel for handling a glider. The pilot isn’t firmly strapped in, but dangles from the center of the wings by a set of straps. You don’t grip tightly to the triangular bar that provides control. Instead, you push and pull it gently and smoothly, shifting your body weight in relation to the glider to execute turns and dips.
“Any time you’re using your hands, or a lot of muscle, you’re doing something wrong,” Black said. “Flying is a sport of your senses. The glider will tell you things.”
Look where you want to go, he said, and the glider will head that way. A rising wing means stronger wind on that side. I eased the bar out, pretending to slow down, then pulled it in, trying to gain speed. I turned the glider like a shopping cart, pivoting it slightly.
“You’re a natural,” Black said.
A few hours later, we were on the grassy training hill, crouching under the glider to get out of the sun, waiting for a good wind.
I had already practiced lifting the glider on my shoulders, then running on flat ground, feeling it lift slightly off my shoulders. And I had hurtled myself down the slope, running hard, feeling the glider pick up, trying not to grab on to the bar but instead pull it lightly towards me to get speed and air.
The goal was to learn how to take off at a run, fly for as long as possible, and land by pushing the nose of the glider up, stalling it and allowing for a light touchdown.
I had gotten close, but the heat in the valley was taking its toll. I was having trouble finding the sweet spot for the glider on my shoulders. Get it right and the glider feels almost weightless. Get it wrong, and humping your wings up the hill can cause some serious aches.
Relaxed at the beginning, I had gotten tired and tense, doing everything wrong and crashing into the grass. All I wanted to do was take refuge in the shade of the broken-down blue schoolbus where Black, who’s in the process of putting up a new building, stores equipment at the hill.
“You’re thinking too much now, and you’re screwing up big time,” he said, as I rose from a fall, cursing.
Trying again
By day two, I was feeling good again. Paragliders were on the hill, spreading their rainbow chutes in the air. Above us, a clutch of gliders wheeled in the sky, and more waited to launch from a bald spot on the nearby mountain.
Everyone in our novice group was doing the occasional body-slide, tumble or nose dive. Some of us even hit the ground sideways. But there were good flights where we left the ground with our legs still pumping, following Black’s shouted directions, landing bumpily but soundly. With a couple of good hill runs, I was having fantasies of buying my own glider.
But the wind got too strong, and blowing in the wrong direction—down or across the hill instead of into it. We sat under the glider, holding it down in hard breezes, checking nearby flags and wind socks for the right air. We were learning a very necessary skill. The experts call it “hang waiting.”
After a few lessons, things were coming a little more naturally. The Zen of hang gliding wasn’t exactly at my fingertips. Still, I was getting a few feet off the ground, and felt like I had a bit of control.
But it takes eight to 10 lessons to get good enough for a solo flight, and I wasn’t quite the natural I had seemed on the simulator. Impatient for adventure, I snuck out of the state.
A new start, and finally, flight
Morningside Flight Park, in Charlestown, N.H., is a former dairy farm that has been a hang gliding school for more than a quarter-century. Surrounded by pristine green hills, the school has a well-groomed 200-foot training hill, and several camping sites in the woods. The blue silo wears a windsock, and the old cow barn has been turned into a hangar that houses a shop, equipment and workspace.
Morningside is also the only flight school in New England that does tandem instructional flights.
Within a few minutes of pulling up, I was on grassy runway, being strapped into a padded harness. My instructor, Steve Prepost, hooked me into the glider and advised me not to grip the bar lightly.
I wondered whether this, finally, might be the moment to mention my issue with heights. But it was too late. He was already locked in next to me, hooking a 200-foot long cord to our bodies. Prepost gave a hand signal, and the pale-green ultralight airplane whirred into action, pulling our three-wheeled glider behind it.
The grass was rushing past, and within seconds we had left the ground. Before us lay Mount Ascutney, more than 3,000 feet high. We were climbing to 2,500 feet, at 30 miles an hour.
Realizing my hands were already cold from the wind, I looked down and gasped. The trees already looked like broccoli. We were high above the shining Z shape of the Connecticut River. Yet the air was open, not canned like in a plane. There were no windows, there was no floor. There was a motor, until Prepost squeezed a handle and released our tow line. We gently popped free of the plane. It got very quiet, and we quickly slowed down. It was freeing— frightening.
“Oh my God,” I said, stunned. “We’re flying.”
“Yes,” he said, with a grin. “You are.”
Cruising under a huge blue sky, we headed towards a small hill, to catch thermals that would lift us higher. Never had I had such an unimpeded view of the world.
Asking if I wanted to feel a stall, Prepost pushed the bar away from us. The wind that had been rushing past our ears ceased, and we hung in midair like angels, like magic, like Superman. He pulled the bar back in, and we dove slightly towards the ground, catching air again, and the righting. My stomach lurched, but it was true. The glider wanted to fly itself.
“Can we do it again?” I asked, and he obliged.
Prepost said we were aloft for about 20 minutes, though for me time was suspended. All I know is, it was effortless flight. I wasn’t running or lifting or peddling or even flapping.
In fact, it seemed too easy. The wonder was unearned, undeserved.
I’m heading back to flight school, before I get spoiled.
Hang Interactive
Taking flight
Hang gliding schools offer a range of services, from 20-minute tandem flights to 10-day lesson packages. A one-day course will provides the very basics, and includes equipment; more extended training will prepare you to go solo. There are hang gliding schools all over the county. A complete list is available from the U.S. Hang Gliding Association (www.ushga.org), but here are some of the top sites:
CaliforniaTorrey Pines Gliderport
La Jolla, California
Tandem flights at Torrey take place over the cliffs of the Pacific. In 2001, the school issued 10 percent of all the hang gliding certifications in the country. The three-to-four day basics program runs just under $800. Novice certification program, about $1,300. Tandems, $150.
Mission Soaring Center
Milpitas, California
Located south of the San Jose/San Francisco Bay area, Mission has two training hills. Single lessons for $140. Five-lesson package for $600, plus $120 for each additional lesson.
FloridaQuest Air Soaring Center
Groveland, Florida
In the flatlands of Florida, you need to be tugged into the air to fly. At Quest, itroductory tandem flights range from about $100 to over $200, depending on the height. Level One or Level Two training, including 10 tandem flights, $745.
Wallaby Ranch Flight Park
Wallaby Ranch, Florida
Created on a former cattle ranch, Wallaby’s take-off and landing field totals 45 grassy, treeless acres. The tandem flights are among the cheapest around, at $95 a pop. A 10-lesson package is $650.
New York:
Mountain Wings
Ellenville, New York
In the Catskill region, a couple of hours from New York City. On ripe days, countless advanced gliders soar overhead, launching from a nearby ridge. Single lesson, $140. Novice program, $750. Eagle package, including two high altitude flights, $1,300.
New Hampshire
Morningside Flight Park
Charlestown, New Hampshire
This well-run operation is the largest in New England—and the only one to offer tandem flight lessons. Single lesson, $120. Weekend intro, $225. Hang One Program (six lessons), $625. Tandem, $125.
Georgia
Lookout Mountain Flight Park
Rising Fawn, Georgia
www.hangglide.com
Lookout is well-known among gliders, and claims to have trained more pilots than any other school in the country. It offers traditional as well as aerotow flight packages. Weekend package, $400. Mountain packages (six to 10 days), $600. More for aerotow.
Utah:
Cloud Nine Soaring Center
Draper, Utah
The Point of the Mountain in Draper is known worldwide as a prime hang gliding spot, with good, steady wind. Intro lesson, $95. Hang 2 package (12 lessons), $1,100
North Carolina
Kitty Hawk Kites
North Carolina
Learn to fly at the birthplace of flight. Kitty Hawk offers a range of packages, some including kayaking. Beginner dune lesson $89. "Taste of Flight" package (dune lesson plus tandem), $189. Tandems $115-$260.