A powerful easterly wind rips up the great sand dune. It takes with it the desert heat and animates the sand into a frenzy, blasting my face. I have travelled with my wife halfway around the world in search of flight and by chance have met up with our African friends.
Bones is eager to teach me how to soar using a speedfly wing. There are lots of similarities between a wing and my BASE parachute; it should make the theoretical side of things simpler. I play with the inputs, directing it into the wind. Only the smallest amount has an effect, though the inputs are slightly delayed. I lean forward trying to push my face into the sand, It seems counter productive, but this stance keeps the canopy pressurized. After a few steps on the shifting sand the wing is soaring and I’m now tip toeing on air. Those few steps before take off feels magical; like a Peter Pan moment where you believe enough to fly.
Our shared passion and interests revolve around human flight. One of its purest forms, one without mechanical devices, but instead just fabric and strings to help us soar and glide. It gives us the chance to appreciate these amazing landscapes from another perspective. It also gives a sense of community. It’s amazing to know I have friends anywhere in the world that I can share the air with. Our community is so small yet so wide and even in these unsettling times, In these remote locations we can distract ourselves from the chaos. Spiztkoppe was the perfect location to hide from the constant changing of policies, media updates and the national restrictions. The midday heat and the setting sun was our curfew.
Community often becomes more tight knit during times of struggle, a bond to help each other even more so. I couldn’t help but think of the local communities here, so dependent on tourism. Charity might start at home, but seeing the effect shows a deep reality of what real struggle is. One without any support from their government. Schools are closed and children line the dirt road to the entrance of the park. Peter Pan and the lost boys couldn’t exist here, adolescence doesn’t last long. Reality is a stark reminder that they have no option but to grow up. We offer them our food and water and spend some time with them before driving into the park.
The aim was to make one last flight before the sun sets across the desert plains. We followed a dry watercourse up the granite dome. Past water stained basins that once were used by the bushman, thousands of years ago. The rock is studded with crystals giving us uncompromising grip as we tread up the slabs to the summit. The glinting quartz demands commitment during take off, a failed launch would be a lot more undesirable than the sand dune. Thermals radiate off the rock face allowing us to step into the feeling of weightlessness as we take flight once again. Above my head the wings illuminate with the glow from the disappearing sun. I look out to the horizon from my new vantage point and feel so fortunate for these experiences. Though in these desperate times it’s a blunt reminder of the difference between necessity and frivolity.
