Field Note: Learning to Fly

I had assumed my first Field Note would be about the Brompton adventure to Brussels – a slightly mad 500km+ ride from home to Belgium on a small folding bike, beginning in just over a week.

And it probably still will be.

But then last Thursday happened.

A day with my son, Alex. A birthday present from last September that had finally found its way into the diary. A day of paragliding with Fly Sussex. A new experience for both of us. A small adventure. A shared challenge. And, as it turned out, one of those days that deserves to be recorded before it fades into the general busyness of life.

That is partly why I am starting these Field Notes.

TriHardTraining began with sport, endurance and adventure, but it is really about more than that. It is about noticing the moments that make us feel alive. It is about challenge, resilience, fresh air, family, friendship, health, and occasionally doing something that makes you feel like a complete beginner again.

Paragliding certainly ticked that box.

The evening before, we phoned the Fly Sussex weather line and heard the words we had been hoping for – flying conditions looked good. We were told to meet at midday, so Alex and I arranged to meet beforehand at a coffee shop in Lewes at 11am. A little fuel before flight school.

Over coffee, we talked about the weekend just gone – my daughter Emma’s wedding, Alex’s sister, and one of those rare family days that seemed to have a little magic dust sprinkled over it. Everyone together. Everyone smiling. One of those days you try to bottle up and carry with you.

Then the conversation turned to the day ahead.

I think both of us had similar expectations. A bit of technical chat. Quite a lot of standing around. Watching the experienced pilots do their thing. And, if we were lucky, perhaps a few short runs down a hill, a bit of a hop, and the brief sensation of being lifted by the wing.

What we got was something far better.

The conditions were, apparently, just about perfect – at least for two or three precious hours. The preparation was clear and sensible, focused on what we needed to know to stay safe, but there was very little unnecessary faff. Best of all, our instructor seemed much more interested in us doing than in us watching.

That suited us perfectly.

Normally, we were told, there might be six or seven students in a beginner group. On this occasion, it was just the two of us. A proper bonus. It meant more instruction, more flying, more feedback, and very little waiting around.

We started low down the hill, learning to handle the wing, feel the pull, run properly, and trust the process. Then, each time, we climbed a little higher.

And higher.

And higher again.

By the end of the session, we must have climbed that hill six to eight times. Each flight became longer and more confident. What started as tentative ground handling turned into proper flights – high enough to feel very real, perhaps 50 or 60 feet up, and long enough to take in the view, settle into the harness, and realise that you were actually flying.

The only catch was that every good flight down the hill meant a 15 to 20 minute hike back up again.

This is where being reasonably fit helped. Alex and I are both active, so the climb was part of the experience rather than a barrier. A little bit of effort, a little bit of sweat, then another chance to fly.

Within the first hour, we had apparently completed the first four stages of the beginner package – the part that would normally make up the half-day experience. Because the conditions were good, and because it was just the two of us, we were able to move on to more advanced techniques.

It was brilliant.

Not just because the flying was exciting, although it really was. Not just because the weather was kind, the views were beautiful, and the South Downs were doing their usual trick of making you wonder why you do not spend more time outside.

It was brilliant because I shared it with Alex.

Life gets busy. Work, family, commitments, admin, diaries, responsibilities – the usual stuff. Alex and I catch up regularly, often for coffee, and we see each other at family events. But spending a longer stretch of time together, doing something completely new, slightly challenging and genuinely memorable, felt very special.

There is something about shared adventure that changes the quality of time. You are not just talking about life. You are doing something together. Learning together. Laughing together. Comparing flights. Walking back up the hill together. Taking the mickey a little. Encouraging each other. Creating a story that belongs to both of you.

Eventually, after our final long flight across the valley, the conditions began to soften and our energy levels were dropping too. The hill had done its work. So had the wind.

So we did the only sensible thing.

We found a local pub and had a well-earned pint of the amber nectar before heading home.

A simple ending to a pretty extraordinary day.

A new challenge. A new skill. A beautiful setting. A bit of effort. A bit of courage. A lot of fresh air. And time with my son, who I respect, love and cherish enormously.

That feels like a Field Note to me.

Not because it was extreme. Not because it was perfectly planned. Not because it was some grand expedition.

But because it reminded me that adventure does not always have to be huge to matter.

Sometimes it is a Thursday afternoon on a hillside in Sussex, with a paraglider above your head, your son beside you, and just enough wind to make you fly.