When you're hang gliding, the sky's the limit. Unfortunately, the ground is less forgiving.

New to both Australia and hang gliding, I was ready for a day of firsts. For the past half hour I'd watched hang gliders circle overhead, then land like gulls on the Illawara  cliff top -- mere yards from their launch point. I'd memorized the drill. Step off the escarpment, glide effortlessly out over the ocean for 10 minutes and return.

I also knew the most difficult part would be getting fastened into the tandem gear. As I dangled over a complete stranger, his team tightened straps around my nether regions. After a few uncomfortable moments I thought the worst was over. Safely strapped in, we took a long walk off a short cliff.

But within minutes of our launch the wind died. After a brief romance with the Australian skies, I was flirting with danger.

On my right, the Pacific Ocean. On my left, a thicket of unfriendly shrubs. I thought the water would cushion our landing, but my pilot assured me that given the choice between dropping into the sea and plummeting into a forest, take the trees – even if they're on fire. Once in the water, the glider pulls you down, and you'll drown before you can free yourself.

I imagined being impaled on the vicious looking shrubbery and wondered if a watery grave wouldn't be a less painful exit. Luckily, a thin strip of beach lay between the thorny devils and the deep blue sea. And we had a full 30 seconds to prepare for it.

With eyes fixed on the horizon, we landed on the sand unharmed but with a new problem. We were a hundred feet below the launch site and had to haul the glider's orange carcass to the ute (Aussie slang for pick up truck). In the spirit of cooperation, I helped lug the lifeless glider up the slope. At the top, the hang gliding company offered me a second flight -- for free. I declined. As the saying goes, "When a boat goes aground, mother nature has spoken." And this time she was screaming at me.

Charmian Christie,
Outdoor Adventure Expert