If I was to make a list of ways I’d like to spend a Saturday morning, climbing up a 600m cliff with a 15km pack on my back probably wouldn’t make it on there. But that’s just what I did a couple of days ago, when I travelled to Lake St. Clair, north of Singleton, and spent close to two hours clambering through bush and caves on my way to the top.
The view from the peak was beautiful, but I wasn’t there to just look out over the water while willing my heart not to pack it in. I was there to fly off the top while strapped to my paraglider, Kenny, and in the face of worsening conditions I wasted no time and just did that. And when I was up in the air, well, the struggle up to the launch area paled in comparison.
The best things in life aren’t easily achieved. Like spending months chasing a pretty girl, or years saving up for a Lamborghini, it’s all worth the effort because the end result is absolutely brilliant. I’d walk up that mountain a thousand times if I got a decent flight at the end of it. But, y’know, if they want to build an escalator to the top, that’d be be cool.
I managed to stay airborne for nearly half an hour, which was a record for me (just ask any of my ex-girlfriends). After I launched, another seven or eight pilots joined me in the air (alright, they were a bit more experienced, so they were maybe 150m higher than me), and it was a great sight to see so many paragliders dancing through the cold air. For the first time I felt comfortable up there, and was able to relax, enjoy the flight and mess around with my glider, rather than attempting to stop frite shite from oozing out of my shorts.
I played around in the sky, looking down at cows and dams far below, before gliding down to the water’s edge for a perfect landing. Come on, no-one actually saw me land, so let’s just forget the fact that I almost ended up on top of a cow (but enough about my sex life! [that joke never gets old {and how good are multiple brackets!}]).
Alright, maybe my landing wasn’t that good.
The Drunk and Jobless World Tour 