Arrived late because of work stuff, so I assumed the day was over. Lots of cars, no people (Dave H, Sean, Fred, Alex et. al.). The sky looked great, so I assumed everyone had buggered of XC. The wind was very light northerly so I walked up the Hill a bit to try and find a decent face and when I crossed over to rough knowe I saw all the gliders on the ground.

 

In a moment of insanity at the end of our springtime SIV adventure, with the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, and in the sure and certain knowledge that my life was safe for a few more months at least, I said we really have to do that again. What I meant was, I never want to do that again. Fred however had other ideas and set about organising another trip. Shit. Fuck. Bugger. Bugger. Bugger. That's that fucked. Me and my big mouth. So with the well worn phrase "I expect it will be OK" running through my head I dully paid my deposit. Left the flights and accommodation to the last minute in the hope that Trump would have started WW3 by the time it came round to fly, but no such luck. Briefly toyed with the idea of claiming to have had a stroke or that the boss was turning up unexpectedly, but eventually girded my loins, kissed the children and booked the flights.

I am sure all paraglider pilots spend their life with one eye on the weather and one on everything else and Wingbeat members are no different.  Early messaging on Saturday suggested that Tommy intended to go to Witchie Knowe  and I have to admit I secretly questioned why since Witchie is a SW to SE site and the forecast was definitely for westerlies!!