SAFA Skysailor Magazine

49 WINTER 2025 | June-July-August SKY SAILOR Gaining little from the lifeless air, he rounds the ridge where the exposed rocks release thermals which mix with the cool air from the ocean, hoping for anything to pull him up and avoid a long walk-out. The glider kicks back momentarily, then bites the rough thermal, tucking 40% on the left tip throwing him towards the rock face. Weightshifting to the right, he maintains direction, pumps out the deflation and climbs the face of huge black boulders, mindful of protruding branches eager to catch a rising wing tip. Now well above, in the distance colours begin to dot the sky – other pilots satisfying their obsession. He flew out over the sea and played in the buoyant lift. Big sloppy wingovers, lazy spirals to see how low he could get before climbing back up the ridge… until he blew it. Crawling back to the rock ledge, he scratched, scouring the undergrowth for any sign of lift, before decking it on an isolated beach. A dark cloud bank building to the north made him nervous. ‘Probably just as well,’ he thought, and found a patch of grass to pack the glider. With the glider on his back, he commenced the long walk up, his boots sinking into the loose sand under the weight. Not a soul to be seen, just a pristine beach. A few blue bottle stingers marked the waterline. A row of huts lined the foreshore, built into the lee of the grassy ridge during the great depression. He wound his way up the track that lead to the clear spring where dragonflies hovered amongst the reeds and lilies. He filled his water bottle and sat sipping while looking out over the beach. An old man came into view, legs crossed on a verandah railing. Slumped in a weath- er-beaten cane chair, his ‘seen better day’s hat’ hiding his leathered face. The dog at his feet engrossed in the mid-morning sun. As he approached, he could hear snoring, he waited, unsure of his next move. “Where’d you come from?” A gravelly voice broke the air. Startled, he replied, “I flew in from the lookout.“ “Ah, you’re one of those hang glider blokes. I’ve dragged a few of ‘em out of the ocean over the years. We lost one of ‘em, one time, but the others made it alright.“ “Actually, I fly a paraglider, they’re quite a bit different,“ he replied. Photos: Tony Sandeberg