Hang Gliding and Paragliding Volume 44 / Issue 3: March 2014 | Page 66

THE 1

by PATRICK JOYCE

We know there was a day when it all worked for you. When your training clicked, the conditions were perfect, the stars
aligned, and you soared to new heights (real or imagined). Send in your tale of “The 1” flight you'll never forget, and we'll
print it right here. You'll be entered into the annual drawing for a USHPA soft shell jacket!

I began the day at the main site,
Lagoa da Conceição, which is never
empty in a southeast wind. I watched
as pilots launched one after another
and struggled to keep their wings
straight and true. With each passing
thermal my excitement was becoming
doubt, and it was soon obvious that
now was not the time for me to fly
Lagoa. I waited it out a bit longer and
made the decision to head toward the
coast in search of a smoother breeze.
I couldn’t find the trail to Galheta,
but lucky for me some other pilots
had followed close behind from
Lagoa. They pointed out the trail and
we began the trek upwards. I was
leading the way and wagged a stick in
front of me to keep from discovering
any spider webs with my face. I wasn’t
speaking much with these pilots, as I
didn’t speak Portuguese very well at
the time. I concentrated on the trees
swaying gently overhead while my
anticipation was already beginning to
soar. I had just moved to Brazil, after
learning to fly in Fairbanks, Alaska,
and I was eager to begin cashing in on
many hours kiting in the snow.
After munching on a wild guava,
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HANG GLIDING & PARAGLIDING MAGAZINE

one pilot quickly and effortlessly
became airborne. I let the locals scope
it out first. It was smooth. But even
in perfect conditions, the launch at
Galheta is a hair-raising one: clifflike and tiny. It requires a perfect
inflation; any deviations mean abort.
When my turn came, I brought
my wing up straight, turned, kept
it steady for a couple seconds, and
charged forward. Within two steps
I was picked up and before I knew it
I was higher than launch and giddy
with the feeling of getting “free”
altitude.
I worked the small lift band near
launch, perfectly content and overjoyed to be soaring. Some other pilots
were venturing downwind, to a cove
that provided an additional large
lift band in a good southeast wind.
Conditions needed to be just right to
venture that way, unless you planned
on landing at the nudist beach bailout
below. But then one pilot returned
from his explorations, gave a whistle,
and motioned for me to follow.
I gave a light tug to the left and we
cruised downwind. Suddenly I was
one in a flock, airborne with a desti-

nation. We were hugging the terrain,
but not losing any altitude. I could
make out the individual shapes and
textures of the trees and outcroppings
of rock—such a magnificent view
from a little change of perspective.
The lift band was wide, smooth,
and plentiful. We arrived and traversed the ridge a few times before
we followed it all the way out to
the point, which jutted out into the
ocean. My pilot guide cut back to
make another pass along the ridge,
but I remained. A stranger had just
shown me to the best seat in the
house. I saw an expanse of inaccessible cliffs on the lee side, waves battering on boulders below me, frigate
birds and vultures soaring beside me,
and as I looked out into the immense
ocean I saw the moon, almost full,
set amongst a sky with the pinks
and purples of twilight creeping in.
The sun was setting, the day and the
flight n V"F