We made it to the top of the mountain. The launch point.
And then the fun began. What started out as a haphazard pile of aluminum poles, cables, and nylon sheeting, transformed into two fully functional hang-gliders. An engineering marvel, for sure, and a bit of a miracle.
There was stuff everywhere, but they were meticulous with the assembly procedure. The discarded shrapnel of the build process left a small pile of bags and parts that Dave tossed into the trunk of their car.
The moment came.
The launch pad is a two-level, wooden platform perched on the edge of a 1500-foot cliff overlooking a flat, green plain dotted with houses and farms extending to the navy blue coastline a couple miles away. Strapped into his giant kite, the glider pilot stands facing the void on the upper platform. The launch helper stands facing him on the lower platform with his back to that void like a rock climber one final move away from sending the route. The upper platform hits him in the chest, giving him just enough length to reach up and grab the glider’s control bar — the lower leg of the glider’s triangular frame. He’s got nothing behind him except a marginal safety strap and the birds. On command, the pilot kicks off into the nothing as the launch helper passes the glider back over his head like a reverse soccer throw while leaning back into the strap (and praying it holds).
I stand on the upper platform with Dave’s buddy, surveying the beautiful landscape below as he explains this procedure. My hands sweating and my knees wobbling.
So you’re just gonna jump off the cliff? I guess I don’t know what I was expecting, but I’m sure it was something not quite as dramatic.
“Hey, look down there. To the left of that big field is where we’ll be landing. You can leave the car there on the side of the road. We’ll find it. And you see that big house to the right of the landing zone? That’s where they filmed Magnum P.I”.
And then he says it.
“You wanna be the launch helper?”
“Um…hmmmm…ummmm…”
