Windjammer Journal
Day Four:
Wednesday, July 1 1998
Side Trip: Parasailing
The others in my party walked down the gangway and across the wide gravel field into town, to sight-see and probably do some souvenir shopping. I and three or four others followed Reg, a Canadian who now resides in St Kitt's, to his boat in the nearby marina. Kristine had told us he was a policeman, but he said he works with Navy SEALs. He'd been in an exercise already but had a few hours open. He didn't have a lot of time, but said he had agreed to take us out as a favor for Kristine.
We roared out into open waters while Reg's assistant wrestled with the pink and white parachute. Interestingly, as the first volunteer slipped his vest on, the chute stayed open and deployed behind him. A 600 ft length of cord began to unwind and as Reg accelerated the boat, the first volunteer was held back by the wind and slowly lifted into the air.
I think I was the third person to go up. I'd left my camcorder behind (although one couple had brought theirs), but I had one of my disposable cameras with me. (Another man offered to swap pictures with me, but unfortunately, although I have his pictures, I didn't get his address. But I can still be reached at ladi34t@aol.com.) I climbed into the harness vest, stood on the red platform at the back of the boat, and waited for the boat to accelerate under foot. I was reminded to hunch down in an almost sitting position. I could barely feel the pull of the wind as I began to rise. I swear it was a smoother ascent than in an elevator. Within seconds, I was gently lifted into the sky. My tether caught a couple times as it unspooled, causing it to spasm and me to jerk about; it did not feel unsafe, but it aggravated the headache with which I woke.
The first two people had looked like dots, but although I must be as high as they I felt exhiliration rather than worry. The ocean filled the expanse to my right, the hills of St Kitt's were on my left. Carried on the wind, kicking up my dangling feet, I couldn't resist breaking into a song off the last Jimmy Buffett album:
Palm treeees, and views I can't believe
Why wooould I ever want to leave?
Layers and layers of spices and flavors
Are making their way through my brain.
Layers and layers of costumes and players
That make my whole life look insane.
I truly had a touch of Island Fever.
Part of Reg's routine was to cut the boats power, causing the parachute to descend. Just as you dipped into the water, he would rev the boat up and yank you back into the air. There was also the option to get dipped head-first. Only one person in our party chose this, leaning back far enough in the harness to actually send himself hanging head over heels -- plunging down into the water, face first, arms outstretched. One woman had come with us only to accompany her husband, but she became so enamored with the sport that Reg gave her a chance at it. She was the final parasailer. As we roared back to the ship, circling it to get to the marina, Reg offered to sell us some souvenir shirts. Not for the first time, I marveled at how every t-shirt costs exactly twenty bucks -- this was hardly a complaint though, since twenties were all I had.
We'd had so much fun parasailing it was a shame to see how small the turnout was for the eleven:o'clock run. Kristine and Zelda were two of the participants. I wasn't sure this was because they couldn't pass up an opportunity or if they just felt sorry for Reg.
Created August 26 1998.
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