Hanging with the Buzzards
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- Annuitants & Former ExPats
Author: Jim Corley
Released 24 September 2005
Jim Corley Flying High
Photograph Contributed by Jim Corley
My mom, Ruth Corley, probably realized that her only son was a little strange when she found that I had joined the first Mississippi State parachute club and that my dad, Galloway Corley, had secretly signed the permission slip for me. The ramifications echoed for months. So when I first mentioned to my wife that I would like to visit an old friend in Chattanooga and go hang gliding, I was watchful for any slight sign of disapproval. But to my delight, Nancy, with maybe a little roll of the eyes, indicated that would be okay and I would probably enjoy the trip. I guess that after 24 years of marriage, she has concluded that her smart, intelligent husband really doesn’t have a lick of common sense. Over the years she has watched me skydive, bungee jump, paraglide in the Alps and raft the Colorado. She’s even been there to watch me jump.
Nancy’s acceptance of my crazy attitude toward life is even more remarkable since I know that she does not understand it at all and yet she lets me do these things and even gives me encouragement. It sure makes for a solid marriage.
So armed with tacit approval from Nancy, I make a Friday noon reservation to go hang gliding at Lookout Mountain Hang Gliding. (www.hanglide.com). I chose a tandem flight with a towed launch to 2000 feet. I set out in the Porsche to Chattanooga and arrived at my friend Doug’s place on Signal Mountain where we caught up on old times and the various projects we’ve worked on in the past 35 years or so. Doug and I had each attempted to fly homemade gyrocopters in the early days, but that’s another story. Suffice it to say, we both survived but our copters didn’t.
Doug is truly a remarkable and creative individual. He is building a revolutionary bicycle in his basement that he thinks an average person can use to travel at highway speeds (60 mph). Doug also has a humongous laser in his basement that has the power density that is a million times greater than the surface of the sun.
On Thursday, after seeing the sights around town, I thought it was such a pretty day that I should see if I could move the launch day up and go that afternoon. I got the okay to move the launch up and Doug and I set out for the top of Lookout Mountain. This had the added advantage of allowing Nancy a good night's sleep since she would not be starting to worry until after the event was over. I had opted for a towed tandem ride that would take place from the valley below. A small ultra light airplane would tow the pilot and me up to an altitude of 2,000 feet and cut us loose. That’s several hundred feet above the top of Lookout Mountain.
Just as we arrived at the office overlooking the side of Lookout Mountain, a hang glider was launching off of the launch ramp. This is a sloping concrete pad that allows the hang glider to get a running start and ends at the cliff edge over a 1,000 foot of NOTHING. Looking out over the cliff, the landing zone is a postage stamp some two miles away and a quarter of a mile down! Talk about a “Leap of Faith.”
I presented myself at the desk to sign the paperwork that ensures that if something bad happened to me, the company, the pilot, the State of Georgia and nobody but God would be to blame. In all of the small type that I signed, there was probably a clause that allowed the company to pull out a gun and shoot me without being held to blame by my heirs.
The legal formalities over, we were told to drive down to the aforementioned postage stamp to receive flight instructions and my ride (make that lesson). For FAA reasons, there are no “rides”, only “students and lessons”. After watching (or not) a 10 minute video and answering 6 yes or no questions, I would become an official “Affiliate Student Member No. 200038 of USHGA, The United States Hang Gliding Association, with all of the benefits and privileges of such membership for 30 days- Impressive!
As we arrived at the launch site, a “student” was landing and his girl friend was preparing to go up. She was somewhat apprehensive and there was the usual noire gallows humor bantered about by the gathered spectators. The girl got strapped in and the small airplane took off with the hang glider in tow. The video I was watching said something about the use and technique of an emergency parachute that was used if the wings fell off. Doug asked one of the guys who looked like he had done this before if the parachute could get caught in the hang glider. The guy said that he had never had to use one and he wasn’t sure if the darned thing worked anyway - phrasing cleaned up for this family publication. About this time, the girl and pilot were landing and the craft rolled right up to the waiting shed. The girl was laughing hysterically. I think the hysteria was a sign that she had had a great time. I could be wrong.
It was now my turn and the moment had come. At 64 years old, the old excuse of “young and foolish” no longer applied, at least the “young” part. My pilot/teacher introduced himself as Rex and asked to see my questionnaire. I still had a question about the emergency parachute, which he answered. I completed the 6 questions and he gave me my official membership in USHGA.
Rex asks me to get into the harness, which looks to be a lot more complicated than a combination of a lady’s corset and a horse harness. It required that I stand on one foot and get the other foot through several layers of straps and other paraphernalia. I don’t know about you, but at my age, balancing on one foot while snaking the other down several layers of straps is just not possible. But with the help of Rex and the rail of the shed, I manage to get suited up. I ask about the goggles that I could wear so that I would not lose my glasses. After all I did want to be able to see the ground rushing up at me in those last few moments. I had been told that they did supply goggles and I would not need straps for my glasses. I wonder what else they had told me that might not be true.
Anyway, there I stood, sans glasses retainers and Doug remembered the duct tape that I always keep in the Porsche for emergency repairs - really. So using the old rule that if something moves and is not supposed to, duct tape it secure, I fashioned a glasses retainer. Of course the tape did pull out my hair when I took it off later.
We were now ready to fly. I have learned from past experience that when one reaches this point in an adventure, it is best to not think about the outcome and just do it. Rex had me strap in first and when he got hooked up we were both lying prone about 10 inches above the ground. Rex said that his harness had two straps on it for me to hold on to, my left had on his left side and my right over his back to the right side. I was told that this was the only acceptable position for my hands during takeoff and landing. I suspect that somewhere in the distant past that a student in a moment of panic had thought that he could control the hang glider better than the pilot. Anyway, I overcame my reluctance to hug this guy and I grabbed hold and off we go, my face mere inches above the ground.
The hang glider lifted off after a short roll and we are 10 or 20 feet high when the ultra light tow plane clears the ground. The tow plane seems to struggle as we near the end of the field with the row of trees but we pass over them with a great deal of room to spare. At least I think that we have room, it being difficult to judge distance accurately with ones eyes closed. The little plane makes a turn toward Lookout Mountain and we start the long climb out to 2,000 feet. There is a bit of turbulence as we climb, at least from my perspective. Rex seems totally undisturbed. I think that is a good sign. The “little engine that could” towed us ever higher and occasionally Rex would bump us up for better positioning behind the plane. It’s not unlike the top of a roller coaster. I tell Rex that I’m not sure if I want the same kind of ride with fast turns etc. that I had seen on other flights and he nods, I think. There is a bit of noise from the wind since we are climbing at about 45 mph and there is still a slight turbulence. As we are now well above the top of Lookout Mountain and our climb-out is nearing an end. Rex tells me that at 2,000 feet on the altimeter, he will cut loose from the tow plane and that we would feel a slight drop. I’m not sure if it is his definition of “slight” or mine. As the altimeter hit 2,000, Rex pulls a lanyard and the towrope falls away, as does my stomach.
The wind falls away to silence and we are truly flying. Not flying as in an airplane or even as a skydiver falls, but really flying. There is almost no sound and the sight below my eyes contains nothing but space and the ground far below. It is exactly the sensory experience that a soaring eagle must feel. Rex tells me to let go of the control bar ( I had shifted my arms from the hug of the takeoff) and put my arms out in front of me, ala Superman. He said that he wants me to feel at ease, that the glider will not fall if I’m not holding on. I think that he might be worried about the dimples that I was putting in his aluminum control bar.
I let go of the bar and reach out with my hands stretched out before me. I suspect that each and every one of us has, when we were very young, tied a bath towel around our necks and tried to fly like Superman. I’ve heard that some youngsters even went as far as to jump off low buildings with the expected ramifications. Strapped into a hang glider at 2,000 feet makes you really fly like Superman. You feel the wind in your face, the earth is moving far below you and you can soar and swoop at will. You can do all of the things that a bird does, even go back up. Rex points to an instrument near my left ear and tells me what it measures when we are in an uprising thermal and thus getting lift from the rising air. When we are going up it beeps to let us know so that the hang glider can stay in the thermal and thus rise like a buzzard. He says that when they can’t find a good thermal to use for soaring, they try to spot a flock of buzzards circling around and go join the group. Just one of the gang. Millions of years of evolution have taught the buzzard how to find thermals much better than we can.
As I hold my arms out in front of me and play Superman, I look over at Rex and he has taken his hands off of the control bar also. Heck, who’s flying this thing! Rex tells me to relax; the hang glider can fly well without any help from us. And sure enough, we just float right along as easy as can be. I could learn to like this.
Rex tells me to take hold of the bar that is in front of my face, spread my hands apart, and we will start the “lesson” part of the ride. He tells me that if I want to slow down and rise, to push the bar away from me a couple of inches and sure enough, I feel the glider rise. Pulling back an inch or so shifts our weight forward and the nose drops and we speed up and go down. The control of the hang glider is done totally by shifting of the pilot’s weight. I guess with my weight, it makes it very easy for me to control the thing. I didn’t have to shift very much.
To turn, Rex tells me to look in the direction that I’d like to turn and to push the bar in the opposite direction. The glider then makes a slow turn in the direction I’m looking and will continue to circle until I straighten it out by a slight push in the opposite direction. It’s a piece of cake. Flying the thing is much easier than riding a bike.
We circle back toward the direction of the landing strip that is much closer now. I try a few turns and am able to stop the turn in a specified direction. Man, this is getting better and better. By this time I have completely forgotten that we are 1,000 feet above the ground and I have no real sense of being high or in a dangerous place. It is completely relaxing and pure unadulterated fun, just like a bird. Although, I guess that it is better than being a bird, because a bird probably has no awareness of the sheer fun of flying, it is just something that a bird does. By this time, Rex tells me that he will have to make a sharp turn over the field to line up the landing. All my nervousness is gone about turns and maneuvers. I just hate that we are going down and ending this grand and exhilarating experience.
We gently descend toward the field and there’s not a bobble as the wheels touch and we roll right up to the shed. As I become reacquainted with terra firma, I know why the girl was laughing hysterically. It was just so much darned fun.
I called Nancy to let her relax. I was down physically, but the adrenalin high would not drop for hours.
At church this Sunday, a friend good-naturedly asked Nancy, "when did she think that I would grow up." She said that maybe by the time I was 70. That got me to thinking about why I do such things as this. Nancy told me years ago that it seemed that I had a death wish because of the things that I did. I have concluded that nothing could be farther from the truth. After I do such foolishness as hang gliding, I feel really young and alive. I thought of a great epitaph that sums it up, “He lived to an old age and died young.”
Now if I can just find a real high mountain in south Mississippi.