Paragliding, Sky Jumping and Dying Over San Francisco
/
My paraglide partner Daniel and I about to take off from Coyote Launch.
I was having a glass of wine in my San Francisco apartment thinking about the amazing ride I just had in a paraglider when it struck me that the experience did not have to end there. There must be more to human flying than a 45-minute tete-a-tete with death. That’s a joke.
Are you familiar with paragliding? I’ll explain in terms I understand. A paraglide is a parachute that is launched or deployed from a high elevation, usually a mountain cliff. The goal is to set the parachute afloat so that its pilot and maybe a passenger would sail happily in the sky and enjoy the view and the universe and thank Jesus for a wonderful world. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I heard my pilot say more than a few times as we glided over the Pacific Coast.
“Yes, it is,” I said.
A northern view from Mussel Rock
A paraglide has no motor. It relies solely on air current and body weight to fly, somewhat similar to a kite floating in the vault of heaven. What you do is sit on a canvas seat tied to a harness that is attached to a big limp umbrella meticulously laid on the ground behind you. Since I had never paraglided before, my pilot, Daniel, needed to give me some training. I was still catching my breath from climbing up the steep Coyote Cliff launch at Mussel Rock when Daniel decided that the wind and other dynamics were perfect and there was no time to waste.
The Coyote, I later found out, was one of the higher launch sites for gliding and because of its small size and steep elevation, it is fairly unforgiving. Glad I did not know that.
There was nothing between me and the craggy Pacific shore.
There was about six feet between where I was standing and the edge of the cliff. Daniel said “Take three or four steps forward and then hold on to the harness.” That completed the training instructions. And with that I got in my seat. Daniel put on my helmet and then set himself behind me. “Let’s roll,” he cried and I took a first step forward, then two and three and then thump! The seat popped to my butt, the parachute burst wide open and right away we were afloat at maybe 7,000 feet.
Oh, how beautiful the ocean, the waves, the shore! And those birds flying below us, the condominiums of Pacifica—oh, the condo where my late husband, Bert, and I spent our last overseas vacation in 2017. Tears fell. Bert and I spent countless hours in our balcony watching paragliders drifting past and although he never dreamed of getting into one, I, on the other hand, thought it might be fun. And here I was.
Daniel maneuvered our chute professionally. He said he had come up to San Francisco from LA a few years ago and took fancy to paragliding, took lessons, hooked up with SF Paragliding and here he was taking me for a $199 ride that could put my life to an end, give or take a few minutes.
The view from my front seat was excellent. At a 90-degree angle I saw blue sky and other parachutes in flight. At 45 degrees I could see a far off shore leading to Rockaway Beach, Half Moon Bay and beyond. Then directly below me, at 360 degrees, were my feet dangling from my hips. Hmm, nice shoes, I thought. I took a picture of waves crashing onto the craggy shore below and prayed I wouldn’t drop my phone.
We were floating for about half an hour when Daniel asked, “Want to have some fun?” Hmm. I thought we were already having fun but sure, why not. With that, he rocked our seats to the right, then to the left, then to the far right and back to the left. Yaww no, no! I hate this! I hate rocking! It is nauseating and it is not fun!
“Stop, Daniel!” I said. “Let’s land.”
“Oh,” he replied like I had just called the party to end. “You sure?”
I had never been surer in my life. I wasn’t about to puke at 5,000 feet in the air.
He got us moving slowly, then softly, we fell smoothly on the ground.
I sat with my hands on my forehead, thinking not about what I had just experienced, but rather, how I could keep myself from throwing up.
The disappointing end was short-lived, however, and quickly my brain switched to gratitude. Thank you, Lord, for keeping me safe and more than that, thank you for an amazing experience! Not everyone gets to live long enough to try this.
And that takes me to the glass of wine I started this story with and what do you know, I started googling “Skyjump San Francisco.”
A number of companies popped up, each boasting of being the safest, but their rates differed widely. There was a tandem dive with 10 seconds of freefall from 8,000 feet high for $178. On the opposite end, 120 seconds of freefall from 18,000 feet for $330.
I chose to book with the company that operated closest to San Francisco – Skydive Golden Gate. For $249 my skydive partner and I would get on a small plane and circle over the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz and all that scenic doodad. At 12,000 feet we would jump off the plane and freefall for 30 seconds before deploying the parachute. Then we would float for about seven minutes before finally landing.
It sounded good. Oh, and to be sure I would have bragging rights to the dive, I could throw in another $120 for a video recording of the jump.
I booked to skydive at 3:00 p.m. on Thursday, May 25, 2023.
My friend and I arrived in the Novato airport at 10:00, taking a chance the company would take me in earlier if anyone cancelled or no-showed. The guy at the counter said, “Fat chance.” What he meant was that there was almost nary a chance I’d jump at all today! The clouds were dark and gloomy and our small plane would not risk flying in such condition. I just about cried. In my head I was a baby throwing a major fit.
The guy took pity and made me fill out an eight-page waiver that basically said that if anything untoward happened, I’m dead.
The clouds got darker. I did the only thing I could do at that point. I prayed.
God is kind, right?
By some miracle or stroke of good luck, the sky started to clear. At 2:00 the sun came out and by 2:30 the airport boss gave us the thumbs up. The first two jumpers were told to put on their jumpsuits and get on the plane. By 3:00 their small aircraft taxied off the runway.
A young Chinese guy and I were up next. We wore our orange jumpsuits and met our tandem pilots. My partner was a tall guy whose name I forget and the only instruction he gave me was that when he tapped he on my shoulder I should look like a banana. Oh. What does a banana look like?
Getting ready to walk to the aircraft that would take us over the bay.
Stretch your arms out wide and bend over backward.
At about 3:30 the first two girls came back from their jump all giggly and smiles; not a tinge of fear or regret on their faces. “It was unbelievable!” they raved.
That got me very excited. I put on my harness and walked to the tiny aircraft waiting in the runway. I was told to sit on the floor behind the pilot, beside my tandem partner. Sitting in the space in front of me were the Chinese kid and his partner. We were like folks being hoarded off by human traffickers.
The door closed and pilot switched on a very loud motor. We roared several hundred feet and then swoosh, we lifted above ground and off we went flying over beautiful waters and mountains of the Bay Area and beyond. After about 15 or 20 minutes the plane slowed down and its side door popped open. The kid beside me and his tandem partner scooted over to the open door. I watched as he dropped his feet from the edge of the plane and I looked at his eyes and they were blank.
“Jump!” his partner cried from behind and then they were gone.
My partner pushed me to where the kid had been. It was a little hard to slide over because my legs got in the way but there was no time to fart around. Before I knew it, I was sitting in an open door with wind blowing in my face at 12,000 feet above ground. My legs were hanging from the edge of the plane. My partner, hopefully, was strapped behind me. He put on my helmet.
“Remember,” he reminded, “look like a banana!”
And then I felt a strong push on my back and off we went falling at who knows what speed, who cares because I was dead. My partner’s GoPro recorded a shocking look of terror on my face.
It was the longest, scariest 30 seconds of my life.
Oh that feeling of joy when the parachute finally opened at 5,000 ft.
I stretched my arms out wide and I was bent over backward when I felt the tap on my shoulder. Oh sorry, I preceded the cue. The parachute popped open and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I would live to tell this story after all.
The part of the fall when the parachute was open felt wonderful. Adrenalin was pumping and I was flitting in the air like a feather.
But just when I had settled to relax in my seat, my partner said it was time to rock. I took it to mean rock ‘n roll so Woohoo, roll over Beethoven!
He rocked our seats. Just like Daniel the paraglider rocked our seats. Dammit! Not again! This is making me dizzy. Get me out of here! I asked my partner to stop rocking and to land quickly.
I was very relieved to touch ground and again averted a throw up. But just like the paraglide, the discomfort was short-lived and my disappointment turned to exuberance. I began to digest what I just did.
I jumped from a plane.
I died and reincarnated as a banana.
I floated in the sky like a feather.
Then I landed back on solid ground.
Life is like that.
Great relief upon landing from the skyjump
Bella Bonner is a journalism graduate of the UP Institute of Mass Communications. Among others, she worked as a grant writer and hotelier in Texas where she lived for 30 years. She has retired, returned to Manila and spends her days in sports, traveling and writing a personal blog, "Chicharon Diaries."
More articles from Bella Bonner
