Booti call

All good things have to come to an end (otherwise, Hey Day! would still be on TV), so with the winds misbehaving like a child on red cordial, I packed the Del Sol with my gear, said a sad goodbye to my Cloudbase homies, and headed home.

On the way I stopped at the wonderfully-named Booti Booti National Park, just south of Forster, where I stripped off and had a delightful swim in Wallis Lake. I splished and splashed, enjoying an hour or so in an unspoiled paradise.

Unspoiled, that is, except for Ian.

When I got out of the water, a fat man with glasses was taking a good, hard look at my car. When he saw me approaching, my six pack glistening and my hair hanging down to my shoulders like some sort of ancient god, he stood up straight, smile, and stuck out his hand.

“Hi, I’m Ian,” said Ian. “Nice car! I bet you could fit a body or two in the boot!”

And, with that, I stepped into my Del Sol and left Ian eating dust.

The last week hasn’t seen the best of conditions, but I’ve had a bodacious time. I’ve explored childhood memories, looked for new places to lived, had flying failures and glorious success high above the ground.

I started paragliding because I was disappointed with how small and unadventurous my life had become. Through it I have excitement and challenge and new friends, I’ve become a more excellent dude, and more in tune with this brilliant world around us.

And that, to me, is what life’s about. Seeing new shit and doing new shit and meeting new people (who, hopefully, aren’t shit), and pushing the envelope. Get out there, get amongst it, and have a fucking good time.