My son was in the tropical jungle somewhere in the middle of the Dominican Republic having flown his paraglider well off course. Being moderately sure he was going to die, he thought he should try to get somewhat closer to civilization to make recovery of the remains less difficult.
Gathering from knowledge gained on hunting trips, both in Iowa and Colorado, he decided to try some of his survival skills. When a person is lost, it is easier to walk downhill. If a person walks downhill long enough, eventually they will come to a stream. If one follows a stream far enough, it will lead to civilization.
He was hoping that rule applied on tropical islands. If not, it would come to the ocean where he could walk the beach. Somebody somewhere had to be on the beach.
He found a stream before long that stopped at a waterfall. Tumbling over the falls was rather refreshing, though the rocks at the bottom left a few nasty marks.
He walked along the stream for a few miles, eventually coming to a clearing. He was surprised to see a local boy of seven or eight years old, sitting on a moped. The boy was even more surprised to see a large, blond guy, bruised and bleeding, carrying a huge yellow back-pack.
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Walter was able to fake enough Spanish to convince the boy to give him a ride to a store. A few hair-raising miles later, they arrived at the local supermarket. The store was about the size of a bathroom, at the edge of nowhere, but had everything he needed; cold water. Between sign language, poor Spanish, and broken English, the message was conveyed that he was one of the crazy foreigners from the big paraglider competition. He needed a ride back to the launch sight, where people had probably given him up for dead. He bought a couple extra bottles of water, tipped the store owner liberally, and headed out with the boy on the moped.
Not knowing if he would survive the trip, seeing the other crazy foreigners at the launch sight was like a grand homecoming. The boy was tipped more money than he had probably ever seen before in his life. He sped off down the path back into the jungle with a smile on his face. The competition started the next day with people from all over the world gathered to jump off the mountains; to fly like a bird.
Flying weather was great. Thermals rose from the valley below and breezes blew up the side of the mountain, providing great ridge lift. It was not uncommon for competitors to have a flight of two hours or more. I am proud to say my son won his class, against some very stiff competition.
He has taken to the sport in a way I only hoped I could. I am more proud of the fact he has made his way well in the world. He can survive in the jungle and make friends with people anywhere. Many of the competitors could not find a common language, but they could have a good time together in competition and have an even better time in the evening at the local watering hole.
The opportunity to get outdoors and enjoy it is what life is all about. Whether we are hunting, fishing, or doing something as crazy as jumping off mountains with new-found friends, the great outdoors is the place to relax and revitalize.
Walter Scott is an outdoors enthusiast and freelance writer from Bloomfield, Iowa.
