Jumping off at the steep end in Niederau

Location: Niederau, Austria

July 2007

“I want to do that,” Derek said.

We were sipping coffee in a tyrolian cafe watching brightly coloured paragliders float from the top of the mountain to the bottom like cartoon jellyfish. The sky was clean and the sun was hot, yet Derek’s words chilled me.

“Are you mad?” I gasped.

Next morning I found myself in a cable car next to Derek and two young Austrian paragliders, Michael and Karl. They reminded me of Bill and Ted because they laughed in an excitable way as we made the steady ascent to the top of the mountain. In their bright orange jumpsuits, I tried to imagine they were taking us on an excellent adventure.

“So, have you done this before?” Michael asked in his thick Austrian accent.

I shook my head and gulped, wondering whether I still had time to back out. Somewhere along the line, in a moment of foolish competitiveness, I’d talked myself into doing a tandem jump. If Derek could do it, why couldn’t I?

At the top of the mountain Karl harnessed me up, and we found a suitable slope from which to launch ourselves.

“When I say run,” he said, “I mean run. Don’t stop and don’t go slow, it could be very dangerous.”

Great, more pressure. It was bad enough the harness straps were sticking into places that would make walking difficult.

Derek and Michael took the leap first. As a synchronised team, they made it look effortless.

 Karl then tapped me on the shoulder. “Ok, now us. Are you ready?”

I nodded, clenching my teeth. My mouth was dry, my tongue felt too big and the square fields below looked too small.

“Run!”

I ran as fast as I physically could, hoping it was fast enough – and it must have been because soon my legs were scrabbling in the air. I sucked in deep and was astounded by the instantaneous peacefulness all around us. We billowed softly at first, until Karl yanked on the guide ropes making us spiral and plummet like airborne acrobats. He laughed as I squealed with delight. Slowing down once again, we drifted. Legs dangling, suspended in the air. I could smell the medicinal aroma of pine trees as we passed overhead, and I looked across the rich valleys to mountain peaks in the hazy distance.

When the field below us grew larger at a quickening pace my feeling of serenity was suddenly smashed. Was I to lift my legs in the air or land standing?

Tapping Karl’s hand, I yelled into the gushing wind, “What do I do with my legs?”

He shouted something unintelligible back at me, but it was too late, I stuck my legs out. We bounced to a stop and I lay back in the grass.

“Did you enjoy it?” Karl asked.

I nodded, with a grin, feeling triumphant and euphoric – and fortunate that my jarred legs weren’t broken.