Pigeon Memories

Twice per day, like clockwork, a lone pigeon lands on the window sill at work, pecks the glass. A taunting reminder to my soul that I am the one sitting in the glass cage. A reminder that when the sky beckons, it is often a time to drop everything, and fly! Within reason of course.
This last week has been pretty quiet for paragliding as the weather has been less than flyable. In fact, it has been completely miserable. You would think I was living in the Oregon or something with all the rain (I do love Oregon by the way). I was able to sneak out for a short evening session on the North Side with only a few other pilots between gust fronts. It was an erie sky, but I just had to get out and get some time logged in my new wing from Skywalk. So with the lack of flying, it has caused some reflection.

My friendly pigeon. At least it is a picture.

A week or so ago all signs pointed to a potential XC day. As the day progressed I watched the cumulus clouds through my glass cage, bubble in perfect succession across the sky. It is still early spring, but I decided to give my home site a go. As I was hiking up to the launch, the air felt still....nothing lifting. When no air is lifting, my spirits often sink at this site, but hey, at least my feet will leave the ground. My home site is tricky in that you only have about 60 seconds to find some lift before you are on the ground! A few of my friends join me. We lay out our wings and wait. A promising piece of air lifts, and I launch. I rise for a few minutes then begin to sink. No lift anywhere, so I land halfway up the hill. Pull the wing from the sage brush, shoulder the load and hike back to the top. Clark and Paul attempt, with the same results.
Back on launch the air goes completely still. Looks like another sled ride. It is hot, so I take off my warm coat, stuff my gloves in the pockets of my shell and ditch my hat and all the camera gear into the back of my harness. My friends do the same.  I watch a bird off to my left slowly rising. Hmmm, still no breeze. I feel a little air on my sweaty face, enough to pull up my wing. I guess I will go, I should probably go home and see my family anyway. I smash my way through the scrub oak, turn left and settle into the harness. The precious seconds tick by, and the ground gets ever closer. I feel a gentle surge and my variometer beeps back. I turn. I center in the weak core. 50 turns later I am above 12,000 feet (~4,000m) nearly over Twin Peaks with Paul right below. My bare hands are freezing. I am able to pull my gloves from my pockets, put them on and keep climbing. So often when flying I find myself looking down; looking for thermal triggers, but at this altitude my attention turns up as we climb to cloud base. The lift increases, and it is time to head to the boundaries of the cloud. Speed bar engaged, and off we go.
The view of the Wasatch is indescribable. Still covered in snow, and being a thousand or more feet above the tallest peak. Yes, a view that not many humans get to experience. Oh sure, from an airplane maybe, from a cage, but not with the wind flowing across your face; not in the quiet solitude of nature. It is truly a touch of heaven above the earth. No camera this time. Just the memory.
Paul and I head towards Mount Olympus, then turn back. I hear Clark crackle through the radio. He too has found his way up over 9,000 feet. We chatter back and forth and decide to turn south and head for Draper. Clark has not yet done the milk run from here to The Point, so I tell him to stick together and we will make it in. From nearly 12,000 feet it is difficult to perceive depth, and seeing Clark below I fear we may not make it. Once over Little Cottonwood Canyon we decide to fly to Granite Park....a great first XC for the year. As we near the park I see Clark find some lift and start to turn. I quickly follow, and also find it. 30 turns later we are back at 11,000 feet. We make the turn south and literally glide all the way to Draper. A safe landing, despite the frozen bones. A few minutes pass and Paul glides in to land. A successful day. All smiles.

As I now sit in my glass cage, it is days like this that keep me sane, keep me looking forward to great adventures that lay ahead. Remind me of experiences I have been so lucky to have, experiences that so few ever taste. So when the pigeon knocks on my glass cage, It is a reminder that I just have to smile.

Is This My Life?

I have watched the yellow lines pass by outside my window for nearly 12 hours today. The landscapes have changed from oceans edge, thru desert heat, to the top of the snowy mountains I call home. While driving, I happened to find an audio book buried in my iPhone, and trying to pass the hours I turned it on. As I tried to keep my eyes open as the hours passed, one quote caught my attention. In the story an old wise man said the following: “I don’t live in either my past or my future. I’m interested only in the present. If you can concentrate always on the present, you’ll be a happy man....life is the moment we’re living now.” As I thought on that statement for several hours, my mind not only reflected on the moments of the last 10 days, but also those important moments that encompass my life.

 
The last 10 days have been packed with a harness full of memorable moments, treasures in my life. Soaring coastal cliffs over deep blue waters, thermal flying many thousands of feet over various desert mountains and valleys; camp fires, great friends, burned chicken, orange brownies, flying kites, and playing 'brain quest' with my kids through endless hours in the car. It is true that every day is a blessing, a miracle really. A miracle that deserves our utmost energy to truly live, to take advantage of these fleeting moments of time. It has been a wonderful week spending time with Clark and his awesome family; getting a glimpse of what a 14 year old can actually eat in any given day. It is great traveling with people who share the same values, ideals and enthusiasm for life....so much so that I am always exhausted at the end of the day (the way it should be). Great to spend time with Gary and his wonderful family. Although his hair is silver, his passion for paragliding, surfing, and life burns brighter than most.

As I reflect on the moments of my life, I realize despite challenges and hardships I am truly a lucky human being. Thankful for the miracle of flight that has sunk its talons deep into my soul. It continues to make my heart race, make me smile, and remind me of what is important in life; The smile of my kids, the touch of my wife, faith in a power bigger than myself, and the endless wind in my extended arms. Yes, this is my life and it continues to be an amazing journey.

The Valley Crossing.....

Soaring the cliffs of Torrey Pines

Feet extending into the sky

Clark carving high above the desert mountains

There's a Springtime Ahead

Music is an important part of my life. I like all kinds and flavors. I am particularly drawn to the lyrical aspect of music, and often find myself dwelling on melodic words from time to time. This winter has been the longest, coldest, grayest winter I can remember in recent years. Through the gray times I have often been reminded of a favorite lyric from an acoustical performance by Pearl Jam. The song has a rather sad tone, but in my opinion represents one of the best songs ever written. A particular line echoes "No matter how cold the winter, there's a springtime ahead." I have been looking forward to that springtime, both literally and metaphorically all winter long.

It feels like spring. View from my house.

The grass in my yard has been covered in snow since late October. There has been two feet of ice hanging off my rain gutters, with icicles extending all the way to the ground. Then, all of the sudden it seems to have happened. The ice has miraculously disappeared and I can see patches of grass again. The air has a musty smell to it as the ground is trying to breath once again...and two days ago I actually felt a thermal lift, and with it a smile crossed my face.

I love winter, and continue to fly just as intensely during that season as I do throughout all the other months of the year. However, with Spring comes lifting air again, which means longer, higher flights, and the ability to actually travel somewhere other than down. As I rolled out of bed this morning and glanced at the weather forecast I quickly realized that today the air is going to lift!

Waiting for the right thermal cycle.

The early afternoon finds me and Matt hiking up the familiar trail to Lone Peak in a light north wind. Approaching the first open meadow it is clear that warm air is rising....perhaps we launch from here? Saves us from hiking another 1500 vertical feet. I lay out my glider amidst the breathing grass, bushes and deer droppings (only in the west). We wait for the right cycle of thermal waves, watching the vultures effortlessly circle upward. Then we see the grass move, and feel the cycle begin.

8,000 feet above the Wasatch

Lift the risers, feel the pull and then step into the sky. It does not take long for instinctive skills to kick in as a response to the violent early spring thermal that just slammed my wing. The focus sharpens and the texture of the air now resonates through every one of my human senses. Several minutes later, climbs in excess of 8,000 feet, I continue to circle and take in the magnificent views of the snow covered Wasatch Mountains. I have missed it these several months... it is good to be back up here. After several minutes Matt and I both decide to turn west and fly out to The Point for the first cross country flight of the year. As I cross the valley and fly in towards the final ridge it is clear that no air is lifting here and about halfway down the ridge I turn back and land in the neighborhood park.

With my feet now firmly back on the ground I feel a new sense of energy and revitalization. I am sure we will see a few more snow storms in the coming weeks, but now I actually feel the realization that there IS a springtime ahead.