Paragliding Adventure Recap

Fast forward to 2022—my husband and I drove past Lookout Mountain Flight Park on our way to our rented Airbnb for the weekend. There was this small, unassuming building next to a concrete launch ramp where three hang gliders were lined up at the edge of a steep cliff.

“Someday…?” he asked, but I didn’t need him to finish. “Absolutely not,” I replied. “It won’t take a million years.”

Well, I guess “million years” actually meant four for him. Last weekend, we returned to that same flight park, and this time I had scheduled a tandem flight.

I went into the whole experience pretty clueless. What even is a hang glider? How does it work? Does it have a motor, or do you just jump off the mountain? Seriously, I had no idea.

Upon arriving, I was ushered into a back room with a group of seven others and handed a clipboard with waivers to sign. Even though safety is crucial, we essentially waived our right to acknowledge its risks. I thought, gliding 1,500 feet above ground in a big kite definitely has its dangers.

After signing, we got driving directions to the launch site. My husband and I jumped into the car, pulled up Google Maps, and found ourselves navigating down the mountain.

So that answered my question about a head start, I guess.

But honestly, I was just stunned. How do you get a hang glider up from far below? Questions quickly resolved when we arrived at a wide open field with three hang gliders and two towplanes.

And wow, my stomach started doing flips. This was happening.

We were greeted by a friendly crew wearing heart-shaped sunglasses. I was a bit suspicious about their uniform choice, but they seemed to be having a blast. Plus, there was a cute dog named Honey Bear that became my unofficial emotional support animal while waiting to board.

Unfortunately, the weather didn’t cooperate. That Sunday, Georgia’s “Cloudland” lived up to its name, and thick clouds rolled in, limiting visibility to hardly anything. Not the best conditions for flying.

After a quick safety briefing, we had to wait for the clouds to dissipate. They finally cleared—three long hours later—but I appreciated the frequent updates about the weather. I wasn’t keen on flying before it was safe.

Eventually, we donned almost full-body harnesses, glasses (not the heart-shaped kind), and helmets. I felt a bit like a jockey getting ready for a dentist’s x-ray.

My tandem flight partner, Dalton, introduced himself. He assured me that he’d done this about 1,000 times, which eased my nerves a bit.

As we got into the hang glider, Dalton told me to grip the sides of the harness. “Don’t touch this bar,” he said, pointing to a horizontal metal bar in front. “That’s my handle.” I wasn’t about to argue; I had a tight hold on that harness.

At his command, the ultralight gained speed, towing us into the sky. If you’ve ever been pulled on an inner tube behind a boat, it felt similar—except we were being drawn up into the air. Suddenly, we were flying!

When we reached altitude, Dalton detached us from the plane, and I finally felt a bit more at ease. Flying was incredible. The scenery was breathtaking. I had hiked around Lookout Mountain before, but seeing it from above was a completely different experience. Dalton pointed out the flight park up on the mountain and even performed some maneuvers that created a feeling of weightlessness.

Honestly, it felt like my soul left my body for a moment.

At our highest point, we were about 1,700 feet up, but they also offer tandem flights up to 3,000 feet for beginners. I told Dalton I couldn’t fathom being that high on a hang glider.

He explained the science behind it, saying that strong thermals can lift gliders up to 10,000 feet. He had personally flown to around 9,000 feet.

Call me a coward if you want, but I’m okay with that.

After about 8 to 10 minutes of flight time, we turned around to descend. Dalton warned that it might feel like we were diving back to Earth too quickly. I appreciated the heads-up, but the landing was surprisingly smooth.

As we landed, I slipped out of the harness and knelt down—just kidding, I didn’t really kiss the ground—but man, the experience was exhilarating. Sure, I was way outside my comfort zone—about 1,700 feet above it—but I never felt unsafe. Dalton was definitely in control, communicating with me the whole time.

Everyone at Lookout Mountain Flight Park was impressively professional, even Honey Bear.

Oh, and the GoPro photos I snapped? They’re probably the worst I’ve ever taken. Totally worth it.

Would I do it again? Absolutely. In 2022, I’m sure I’ll be terrified all over again.