In 1983, I was flying my hang glider over a 1000 metre mountain in the Snowy Mountains. I was hit by turbulence so strong that it broke the keel of my hang glider in two places. The wings went vertical and although still attached to the remnants, I was falling like a dart. I threw my emergency parachute, but as it opened, I smashed again…
In 1983, I was flying my hang glider over a 1000 metre mountain in the Snowy Mountains. I was hit by turbulence so strong that it broke the keel of my hang glider in two places. The wings went vertical and although still attached to the remnants, I was falling like a dart. I threw my emergency parachute, but as it opened, I smashed against a ledge, breaking my shoulder and then bounced down two ledges, taking out some ribs. I spent a week in hospital, but recovered completely and started flying again. My friends told me I had fallen the height of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, which is normally fatal. My very devout Catholic mother told me that God had saved me on his mountain. I wanted to say it, but didn’t: Then why did he break up my hang glider? Or at least if he wanted to break it up, to wait until I was far enough away from the mountain to allow me to float down safely in my emergency parachute. Malcolm Muggeridge, before his conversion to Catholicism, tells the story about being caught in a traffic jamb and so missed his plane to India. A standby passenger took his place when he did not turn up. The plane crashed and all were killed. Religious people said God had saved him, and while he liked the idea, the wrote: but what did the standby passenger think as the plane was going down?
In 1983, I was flying my hang glider over a 1000 metre mountain in the Snowy Mountains. I was hit by turbulence so strong that it broke the keel of my hang glider in two places. The wings went vertical and although still attached to the remnants, I was falling like a dart. I threw my emergency parachute, but as it opened, I smashed against a ledge, breaking my shoulder and then bounced down two ledges, taking out some ribs. I spent a week in hospital, but recovered completely and started flying again. My friends told me I had fallen the height of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, which is normally fatal. My very devout Catholic mother told me that God had saved me on his mountain. I wanted to say it, but didn’t: Then why did he break up my hang glider? Or at least if he wanted to break it up, to wait until I was far enough away from the mountain to allow me to float down safely in my emergency parachute. Malcolm Muggeridge, before his conversion to Catholicism, tells the story about being caught in a traffic jamb and so missed his plane to India. A standby passenger took his place when he did not turn up. The plane crashed and all were killed. Religious people said God had saved him, and while he liked the idea, the wrote: but what did the standby passenger think as the plane was going down?