By David Phillips

When I bought my Millennium, I had hoped to enjoy flying it at all the Northern Beaches (NSW) sites that I used to frequent, but alas, I encountered an unexpected difficulty. Most of the takeoffs are quite small, and the Millennium, with a wingspan around two metres greater than a regular hang glider, simply doesn't fit. So I have been absent from the area for five long years, and it has been sorely missed. It's unlikely that the takeoffs will be expanded to become Millennium friendly any time soon, so when the opportunity came up recently to pick up a relatively new Airborne Fun for a reasonable price, I snapped it up. I wondered how it would feel to fly a flexwing again.

Last Sunday, as I returned from a very pleasant weekend away, I observed that the clear sunny conditions were accompanied by a very fine south-easterly wind. My mind turned to thoughts of flying. It was too late to contemplate a trip to Stanwell, but looked just right for a return visit to an old Northern Beaches stamping ground of mine - Newport Beach. Newport is nestled amid multimillion dollar houses at the affluent end of the Barrenjoey Peninsula. At the northern end of the beach is a tiny piece of parkland which forms a very nice little takeoff, with just enough soarable ridge to allow a carefully flown hang glider to stay aloft when the wind is more than about 10kt. If conditions are stronger, it is possible to get high enough to slip back over the busy Pittwater Road that surrounds the takeoff and soar the much larger Bilgola ridge that rises behind. Here, heights of over 1,000ft are possible and the view is absolutely stunning. Far better than from even the most outrageously priced mansions. A challenging, fun, and spectacular site.

It was refreshing to find that the site looked the same as I remembered it, although it seemed smaller, and the surrounding bushes taller and, well, bushier. Conditions were perfect; there was only one glider in the air, cruising around above the water tanks and enjoying the view. There was no-one at launch, but I resolved to rig the glider anyway, and then review conditions to see if I was prepared to launch unassisted. I was not completely alone, as my airborne companion watched my every move from his eye in the sky. Glider rigged in quick time, I stood on launch, conditions still very good, albeit a knot or two lighter. This was good, as it made the task of self launching just that little bit easier.

As I picked up the glider and moved to launch, I was struck by how familiar it all felt - as if my muscles remembered what to do, even though my mind was a little rusty. I waited for a while, holding the glider as the wind ebbed and gently surged. All felt balanced and smooth. Lean forward, a few firm steps, and I was off. I love the feeling of foot launching off a hill. One minute you stand, feet awkwardly planted on the ground, then push forward, and you are lifted away in a seemingly effortless transition. No time for idle contemplation, though, as the wind was light and I had to remember quick-smart how to scratch on the small ridge, with the sea just below, and powerlines and people just behind.

The Fun kindly flattered my atrophied scratching skills, and carried us quickly to around 100ft above takeoff. The air was smooth; I could smell the sea and hear the sound of the surf below. I began to contemplate flying over the powerlines to the back ridge - how high did you have to be? Was it level with the water tanks? Yes, I think so... The Fun was so easy to fly on this tight little ridge, just think to turn and push-out gently, gently, to slow the glider and climb in the little patches of lift. Much easier than I remember in the higher performance wings I last flew here.

Pretty soon a surge came through and carried us up to nearly 400ft, and just about level with the water tanks. I nosed the glider back over the powerlines and onto the little ridge that runs up to the tanks. A comforting surge of lift. Turn back into wind, climb a little, and push forward. The Fun, bless its little heart, sure ain't no Millennium, as nudging up the speed just a little to move forward took a big toll in altitude and the landscape on the far side of the powerlines began to rise uncomfortably. Time to move back to safer ground.

I'd been in the air for a while and neck and shoulder muscles were beginning to complain at this unaccustomed activity. A review of landing options was in order. The old familiar landing site at the base of the hill looked a little less inviting, as the pathway to that nice little grassy patch seemed to be completely overgrown. Plenty of empty beach space, but packing up on the sand really didn't appeal. Next option was flying the length of the beach to the Surf Club and the nice grass field behind. Somehow, I didn't think the Fun would make it - and it didn't, dropping me gently onto the sand about halfway. I managed to manhandle the glider up to the carpark with the help of some rather bemused bystanders.

It has been a long time away, and it feels very good to be back.