This morning fellow hang gliding friend Greg Billow and I hatched a plan to escape work and fly the South Side of the Point. We arrived early to take advantage of the sweet morning air. The first flight of what became a multitude of heart stopping and harrowing sorties was somewhat smooth, but in the air was embedded a hint of the thrashing about that was to come.
After an hour or so and a plethora of high speed strafing runs at only inches above the knife-like ridge top, it was obvious Greg had a competitive itch to scratch. The battle was on! For the next few hours Greg and I commanded the ridge top like two flying aces of days gone by. The thermals only strengthened with time, and at the apex of the early afternoon the air was a boiling cauldron of spring convection. Climbing, banking, diving in the vertically bound columns of air, we fought it out like comrades, friends - like brothers.
Afterwards, crazed and shell-shocked from the airborne battle, Greg decides to take up paragliding. Seen here at his first lesson at Cloud Nine.
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