Strapped to the back of a light weight bush plane, the hang glider, the instructor, and I were towed up to 1,500 feet. When the plane let us go I expected to slowly soar down to the ground, but when I looked at our altitude meter we were still climbing. “We’re going to catch a pocket of rising air called a thermal,” explained the instructor. “It will take us to 3,000 feet.” So up we went like a leaf in an autumn breeze. We rose at 600 feet per minute! When we hit 3,000 feet, we glided over mountains and valleys shooting through the air like a dart in a dart gun. Then it was time to begin our descent. When we were about half way down he asked me if I would like to fly the glider! I felt like an eagle. When I leaned, we turned. When I pulled, we sped up. Every wish on every birthday candle, every first star, and over every rail road track had finally come true . . . I was flying! But as we neared the ground the instructor took control for the landing. We swooped down and shot just inches above the ground. Then our wheels touched down and came to a stop. I will never look at a bird the same again because for 20 short minutes I was one of them!