Having read everything from Shakespeare to Steinbeck and written millions of
words, one might imagine my first whoosh skyward on a parasail would have
inspired a few eloquent phrases.
Alas, all I could manage was "Wow! That was cool."
Early one crisp morning, as spring breakers still slept off the damage of the
night before, I arrived at the Silver Beach ramp where Daytona Beach Parasail
had set up shop. I watched the surf roll in. The waves broke close to the sand,
suggesting calm offshore waters.
On the beach sat a pair of big inflatable boats. They looked tough and
practical, like something Jacques Cousteau might have kept handy. As the sun
warmed the sand, the crew launched the inflatables. Offshore, colorful
parachutes blossomed from the sterns of three "winch boats" that cruised slowly
along the horizon.
A small crowd began to gather, signing up for the chance to dangle from a
parachute at the end of a 2,000-foot rope.
"Some states won't let you go that high," he says. "And no one anywhere goes
any higher."
Dvorak has run a parasailing operation in Daytona Beach for eight years. When
he started, he ran it with help from his wife and one captain. Now he has
between 30 and 40 employees and launches from four different spots up and down
the beach between Mason Ave. and the Hawaiian Inn.
Getting from the beach to the winch boat is part of the adventure. Once we get
the high sign, the photographer and I wade into the surf, trying to keep
cameras and notepads dry. The inflatable's engine is running, keeping it
lurching forward against the surf as I flop like a hooked mackerel over the
side.
I manage to right myself for the trip offshore, where we rendezvous with the
winch boat. The boat can't stop, or the 'chute will drop into the water. So
Indiana Jones-like, we would climb from one moving boat into another.
A few days earlier, another writer in my department did me the favor of showing
me old AP stories about parasailing tragedies. As I stumbled onto the winch
boat, I thought about the more gruesome accidents - a man dangling by his foot
from a runaway parasail while he crashed through construction sites and slammed
into cars, for instance. I noticed the faint metallic taste of adrenaline and
cursed my coworker under my breath.
Then I reminded myself: It's not an adventure if you can't die doing it.
However, Dvorak
assures me, he and his captains go to great lengths to insure safety. The captains make the call when not to fly. "I don't second-guess them,"
Dvorak says. "If they say weather's bad and they're not flying, then they're
not flying."
Once we were all settled, first mate Luke Gillies strapped Cathi Hoefler and
her children, 13-year-old Annie and 15-year-old Joey, into harnesses. Captain
John Toney watched and gave some helpful advice, cautioning one rider to adjust
his harness, which was wrapped strangely around one leg.
"You want to be careful about that," Toney says. "Or you'll get a 2,000-foot
wedgie. That's a whole other ride."
They sat on the stern as Toney throttled forward then let the line feed out. I
watched as the line hit the 800-foot mark, 1,000 feet, and finally 2,000 feet.
Depending on the wind, the line goes out at a 35 to 55 degree angle, meaning
the parasail actually goes about half as high as the line is long. At 1,000
feet in the air, the Hoeflers looked pretty comfortable.
They were positively glowing as they returned to the boat. They agree the ride
was exciting.
"But it's amazing how calm it is," adds Cathi Hoefler. "I felt more adrenaline
on the boat getting out here."
A few more groups of two and three people flew, and finally it was our turn.
Gillies helped me into my harness and had me sit down while he hooked me onto
the parachute. The boat picked up speed, Toney released the line, and I felt
myself gently but firmly lifted off the boat's stern.
The boat got smaller and smaller as I rose above the condos, then higher and
higher. Soon, I could see the Speedway in the distance far beyond the line of
cars and sunbathers on the beach.
I knew what Hoefler had meant. Once in the air, there was no adrenaline rush at
all. I sat comfortably in the sky while the world turned below. I felt
positively seraphic.
Back on the boat, I sat down across from Jill and Joey Monk, a couple from Las
Vegas who had flown right before I did. They were still radiant from their
ride. I wondered if I looked the same.
"How'd you like it?" Jill Monk asks.
I had a hard time finding the words.
"Wow," I finally manage. "It was cool."
She smiled knowingly in reply. "That's exactly what we said."
For
more information, contact Daytona Parasailing at daytonaparasailing.com or
phone (386) 547-6067.
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