April 7th 2002

Finally Flew - In Carriacou

Well finally I get in the air again! To be fair, I hadn't expected to, yet, as the winds are generally too strong here until the trade winds die down for the summer months.

I must admit I tried once in Grenada and got dragged through a cactus and other even sharper thorn trees at considerable speed. I had to get a friend to cut my arm open with a razor blade to get one 3/4 inch thorn out of my forearm so I could function enough to spend three hours getting the wing out the thorn tree. The tree is no longer, I cut it down piece by piece and got the wing out intact. Then off to the hospital where xray shows two more lodged deep in my leg - they left them there and said they'll either stay there or work their way out. One seems OK but the other is lodged against my shin bone and is getting infected so I guess I'll have to go at it with a razor and a bottle of rum...

Anyway that was then and this is now.... here I am on the next island up the chain. I'm supposed to be on the way back to Grenada from racing in the Bequia Sailing Regatta but the wind went light and I went on the prowl here in Carriacou for a virgin site to fly. I knew Carriacou had the best possibilities so I took a hike, without my wing, to Belair, on the northern end of the island and found a site that a friend on another boat had said seemed to be what I am looking for. It was not bad and I checked it out and then dropped into a great little rum shop on the hilltop for a beer and made some new friends who were really excited at the thought of me flying there. They have never seen anything like that here. I promised I would make sure to call them in the morning if I was going to go back and fly.

The next day the weather was still light so I called Shabba, the rumshop owner, and took a bus into town and another up to Belair. People are so friendly here. The wind seemed stronger than I wanted so I spent the day hanging out with the local guys in the rumshop, popping up to the site to check the conditions from time to time. It was interesting to hangout with the locals and get to know them a bit. Some have been working abroad and retired early and come back and others were just here on holiday. They took me up the hill to where half a dozen beautiful Macaws have taken refuge. They are not indigenous but were let loose after a exotic bird export business was busted some years back.

In the evening maybe the wind had dropped or maybe my courage grew too but it seemed doable so I set up. I was worried about being swept back over the ridge - nightmare! So after playing with the wing a little I took off on a light cycle and off I went. I was pretty wary so I headed straight out. There was lots of lift.

I pulled ears in case the wind was stronger higher up. Lower down I hit big sink from the ridge on my right as I headed out and only just scraped over the trees into a field. Some kids came over and stood shyly at a distance. "Don't worry, I said, I'm not the Taliban!" My friends were waiting for me when I got back up the hill to the rumshop. A long hike with the glider and 35 celcius but one of the kids walked all the way with me to keep me company.

Back at the rumshop they were thrilled; we all had a cold beer and relived the whole thing, looking at the photos they had taken with my digital camera. Then Shaba's wife cooked me a wonderful dinner and we ate as the evening sky turned a lovely pink and the sun slid away. Then a bus came along, rare on that back road, and I hopped in for the ride to Hillsborough, capital of the island and caught another little bus back to Tyrrel Bay where my boat lies at anchor.

Next day I was back up there at 8 am, conditions were even lighter. Perfect! I got a couple easy flights in before the day began to heat up. The weather was changing too, I could see it in the clouds. The wind got up a bit but it was steady. I figured it was still OK so I took off again and found good lift.

This time I hunted it and took it up to 150 above launch. Yippee!!! I was in heaven! Six months without flying and I needed it bad! Maybe you know the feeling! I rode that ridge for an hour before I risked anything that might make me have to land. I enjoyed the most spectacular view of the reefs, the islands, the boats in the bay over my shoulder. Then I began hopping around a bit.

I hopped over to a small peak that Melt and I had hiked up. I circled over that at about 650 feet for a while then hopped back to along the ridge to try to get to the higher hills behind that but got too much bad air from hills in front so I headed back above launch. Eventually I landed after 1.5 hours as I was very thirsty and the air was getting bumby from the noon heat - it had been overcast but it cleared a little and heated up. I packed up and walked back along the road. Everybody I passed stopped and asked me if I was the one up there and wanted to know all about it. They were really thrilled and asked me to fly again soon. I promised them I would do so just as soon as I can...

Turned out to be the very next day as the weather stayed light and I decided not to head down to Grenada until the wind made it too strong to fly.

I went up to the site a little later to dispense with the sledder flights and get on with some serious flights in the warmer part of the day. Thermals were coming up nicely as I setup so I didn't delay, I took off and scratched round launch. It's quite low at about 280 feet so if the breeze is light you have to work to get up into the better thermals. But that adds to the fun as it if was too easy it would get boring after a while. So I got up over launch and got about 200 feet over and made the jump to that sharp peak you can see in the panorama, if you don't mind loading a 450kb file. I arrived fairly low at the base as it was still early I had to work hard to get up the slope. Once up there a bit I found the thermals were quite a long way out in front which was safer than scraping the tree tops so I headed out and thermaled for about an hour until for some reason it died off and I descended, scratching all the way to the LZ where I landed lightly and packed up. I hiked back up and sat in the shade and ate some lunch then setup to take off and managed to tear a couple of small holes in my wing - first ever - so I decided to clear some of the dead stuff from the area. As I was breaking some branches with my boot a small branch went right through the sole and into my foot with considerable force. Here we go again I groaned as warmth flowed in my boot. I whipped the boot off and found it awash with blood. Fortunatly I carry a firstaid kit in my harness so I bound it up and bunged the boot back on, knowing it was going to hurt like hell so I might as well fly while I could. I took off and found conditions were stronger and thermals were popping up all over the place. My left wingtip tugged so I cranked a hard left and wound into that beauty and 360'd up at 4.7 m/s all the way to 750 feet where they all seem to top out here so far. It went on like this for an hour as I explored the nearest hills and kept coming back to the house thermal to top up if I got low. Finally my foot was throbbing enough to get through the joy of being in the air so I hopped over a couple of hills and landed in a cemetary near the sea. The wind was blowing just nicely down my chosen landing spot so I gently hauled in a little brake and came down vertically, stopping to hover from time to time and to enjoy the view. A small group of local kids were most impressed. I packed up and hobbled up to the main road and the nearest rum shop for a cold drink and to wait for a bus back to the boat.

My foot swelled up like a balloon and I am sitting on my boat, two days later, writing this and have just come up with a brilliant scheme to persuade one of my more health conscious yachtie friends that it would be a great idea if he were to carry my wing up the hill, instead of doing his dailiy fitness routine, while I hobble along behind. And he can watch me fly and take photos too! We'll see if someone falls for it.

Well, after a couple days the swelling did go down enough to cram a boot on it and hobble back up the hill for some more flying, some friends came and took some photos.

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Pete the Nomad