Spiralling through the sky

TRACY NEAL

HIGH FLYER: John Pinel at Lake Station with the Nelson Lakes Gliding Club.

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Tracy Neal finds herself catapulted skywards.

Fitting into a fibreglass shell that's about to be flung 450 metres in the air is contrary to my sense of acceptable risk.

But, as a loyal friend, I dutifully step into the small pod that houses the pilot and passenger of the twin-seat glider, snuggle down, lock in and shut my eyes.

With knees knocking and heart thumping, I wait, knowing I'm at the point of no return as the wire attached to the nose of the glider suddenly becomes taut and snaps into action.

April, my pilot and an instructor with the Nelson Lakes Gliding Club, is at the controls. We are being pulled by a launching winch more than a kilometre away at the end of the paddock, fashioned into an airstrip at Lake Station near St Arnaud.

Within seconds our slow roll converts into a forward thrust and the glider is chomping at the wire in its bid to become airborne.

I am pushed back in my seat as the express elevator I'm in zips upwards at a 35-40 degree angle. The ground recedes rapidly below as the glider flexes in anticipation of release from the cord that tethers it to earth. When the wire has reached as far as it can vertically, the glider unhooks automatically with a loud "knock". April has warned me it's nothing to worry about. The nose dips suddenly – we're on our own. I know she knows what to do. I hope the wings don't fall off.

The wire drops back to the ground, its descent slowed by a small parachute which opens automatically. April helps the aircraft find its equilibrium on a cool, clear day. We need clouds, which are street signs for glider pilots, who can see invisible thermals from shadows formed on the ground and from the shape of clouds above.

We bank right in a gentle arc above a nearby ridgeline. The forest is already casting long shadows in the late afternoon sun and the Buller River disgorges from Lake Rotoiti far below, beginning its energetic dash to the West Coast.

We are losing height. April dips a wing of the glider and we are suddenly spiralling on a thermal in a bid to gain altitude. My sense of joy with the world is suddenly eroded, and I quickly check the location of the sick bags in a side pocket next to me.

The chatter stops – a pilot's first clue all is not well in the passenger seat, and we become level again before making a beeline for the runway. April lines the glider up, and its huge wings flex either side of us. The earth is approaching at an alarming speed, and suddenly it rushes at us. The landing is almost undetectable. The glider slews to a stop and I unfold myself from the capsule, pre-flight nerves long since dissipated.

Costs vary depending on time in the air. Email: info@glidingnelson.co.nz or visit glidingnelson.co.nz.

• Try This is a weekly feature in which a Nelson Mail reporter tries a new experience and reports back.

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