CHAPTER 17
Two long days of driving through the Colombian country side, the rolling green hills dotted with palm trees and cattle, we arrived at an obscure little town built along the riverbank in the bottom of a narrow valley, whose cobbled streets worked their way up the steep valley walls. The town square was tranquil and inviting, the locals friendly and hospitable- but this was not why we had come to San Gil. Within minutes of booking our room, we had also booked a day of parapente, or paragliding as we call it, through the tour office in the hotel lobby. The next day, a lemon of a car pulled up to the front doors of our hotel, and two young guys got out and introduced themselves as Jerome and Diego. They were brothers, both looked like any college aged extreme sport addict that you might find in the states, and they were our paragliding pilots. On the way up to the mountain take-off-point, their jalopy of a car died twice within the first 10 miles without cause, and was only revived after a few long minutes of cranking the ignition. Not knowing where we were going, or how long it would take to get there, I really started to wonder about the fruitful outcome of our expedition. My mind wandered further, and I came to ponder upon the quality and frequency of maintenance of the paragliding equipment owned by two young Colombians, who as a main part of their business, employed the use of such a completely unreliable POS car.
After countless switchbacks up a rutted dirt road, we finally arrived at the top of the mountain, though it was more a mountain in the Eastern sense of the word- not cragled with rocky outcroppings that poke through the clouds, but rather a smooth hilltop where the trees had been cleared, surrounded on all sides by sloping pasture and crop land. Even so, this poor excuse for a mountain rose quite high above the countryside and offered an amazing view of the sprawling farmland below. Beyond this, there was a giant canyon that cut across the landscape, bordered by a long, tall mountain range. A large grass clearing was roped off with yellow caution tap strung up between flimsy branches thrust into the ground. The two Colombians left Kacey and me standing in this makeshift landing site to question what we had got ourselves into, but soon returned with some very large backpack looking devices. These funny looking packs strapped onto your body like a backpack, with arm straps, but were kind of shaped like a chair, with the bottom part under your bum full of airbags for padding.
Out of another bag, they unfurled a large wing shaped parachute, laid it out on the ground behind us, and attached its lines to the pilot’s backpack-chair thing. They plopped a helmet on Kacey’s head, cinched her into her pack, and with carabineers, attached the back of her pack to the front of the pilot’s. Watching them work with their equipment, seeing how they carefully checked, and rechecked each item, each connection, my fears concerning the reliability of their gear and their operation vanished- I realized they were like any cash-strapped outdoor enthusiasts: they spent their time and money on procuring and maintaining those treasured pieces of equipment that let them enjoy their sport, not on such frivolous things like a fancy car or a slick touristy base of operations. I remember my brother, an avid mountain climber, forsaking a few gallons of gas for his old beat up car, so that he could buy one more piece of climbing equipment, and subsequently having to bum a ride to the mountains. This passion that they showed for their hobby was infecting, and in the end made you feel like you were out there with two friends taking you on an adventure for the afternoon, rather than some 2-bit tourist attraction you had been roped into.
The wind coming up the side of the hill strengthened a bit, and woosh! The parachute had filled and was soaring above Kacey and the pilot, who were still standing solidly on the ground. They stood there waiting for a good minute or two, and a second later, the wind picked up just slightly, and Kacey and the pilot slowly lifted into the air! They rose quickly and soon had flown off over the trees around the other side of the mountain. I couldn’t believe it- I was picturing more of a reckless leap off a cliff edge into the oblivion, with the shoot barely opening at the last minute before they were dashed upon the rocks below- this was like watching an old lady stand up out of a chair- there was nothing rushed or dangerous about it. The fact that they were flying was pretty darn impressive though, and watching them soar back and forth above the trees was mesmerizing. They came back towards the landing site and softly touched down on the grass- the padded chair acting like a giant cushion against the impact. Kacey was grinning ear to ear, and couldn’t have been more excited to tell me what it was like. Since the wind was light, and the flight short, Kacey went up twice more to try and find some good wind currents. The last time though, the wind had lessened mid flight, and not being able to make it back to the landing site, they had to coast down to the bottom of the mountain and ditch in a farmer’s field. I was a little concerned with how they would get back to the top of the mountain, but the other pilot said that a car would go pick them up and bring them back- apparently, it seems that this happens quite frequently.
In the meanwhile, my pilot decided that maybe the wind had increased enough to pick us up, and after strapping on all the equipment we were ready to go. The wind opened the parachute, and before I knew it we had started to lift off the ground. Higher and higher we went, with the land falling out from below us. It wasn’t scary, it felt like you were sitting in a flying bean bag, but with the maneuverability of a bird, easily flying wherever you pleased in total control. At one point the pilot told me we were over 300 meters above the ground, about 1000 feet! The view was amazing, and because the pilot was doing all the work, I was able to take the camera along and get some incredible shots. We finally returned to the landing site, and touched down without an effort. Kacey had made it back up the hill, but by this time the wind had died completely, so our paragliding for the day was over. This was undoubtedly one of the most amazing things we had experienced on our trip, and with our freshly signed “Beginner Paraglider” certificates in our hands, we both promised each other that this wouldn’t be our last time.
San Gil offered a wide array of adventure sports, but being limited on time, we chose an old favorite- white water rafting- for our second and last activity to undertake before we had to leave to Bogota. This time though, we did it with a twist. Instead of going on one of the large traditional rafts, like what you would see on any river in Colorado, we chose to go on the “donkey”, a small three-man inflatable canoe. With the guide perched in the back, and Kacey and me paddling/hanging on for dear life, we plunged down the river and through the massive rapids. This smaller craft was a lot more fun, but a lot more instable than the bigger rafts, and the highlight of the trip was when both the guide and I were thrown from our seats in a huge wave, and Kacey, being the only one left on board, had to paddle along by herself, and rescue us from the raging river.
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