ZIPLINING
Flying amid the treetops, attached to a cable: it may sound terrifying to some, but it’s the perfect way to make an adrenalin junkie out of even the biggest wimp.

Since it opened in June, the Air Grouse Aerial Adventure has drawn folks who yearn to zoom through the air at up to 15 m (50 ft) off the ground and at a speed of up to 50 km (30 mi) per hour. My day begins at the headquarters, where I’m greeted by guides Brent and Gabrielle. After giving a lesson in technique and safety, they hand me a harness, helmet and trolley. Along for the ride are a retired couple from Arizona who travel far and wide in search of the scariest roller coasters they can find. I’m in the company of some serious thrill seekers.

We walk to the first of the three ziplines, and Gabrielle zips down while Brent stays back. I stand behind the yellow line while he attaches my trolley to the cable and my harness to the trolley. Once my clips are secured and Gabrielle has communicated via radio that she’s ready, Brent unhooks me from the wooden platform—and I’m off, zipping over a group of awestruck visitors. As I near the end, Gabrielle motions for me to assume the brake position: I lean back, straighten my arms as they grip the trolley, and curl my legs up to my chest.

En route to the second zipline, Brent and Gabrielle explain that it’s much faster, and we’re instructed to assume a starfish position to increase the wind’s resistance and move more slowly. When it’s my turn, I fly through the trees over picturesque Blue Grouse Lake, a man-made lake used for creating snow when Mother Nature doesn’t cooperate. Near the end of the 205 m- (673 ft-) long line, I realize that they weren’t kidding—I’m moving quickly. I get into the brake position—perhaps a little too late—and arrive with a jolt. But I’m ready to do it again.

As I glide down the third line, I can’t help but wish it wasn’t over. Lucky for me, and other adrenalin junkies, I can return for more high-flying adventures once the fourth and fifth ziplines open next summer.

PARAGLIDING
When I’m given the assignment of paragliding off Grouse Mountain, my inner adrenalin junkie leaps with joy. Meanwhile, my inner fraidy-cat wants to hide under a rock—floating 1,800 m (6,000 ft) above Vancouver for 20 minutes seems a little out of my league. Not one to back down from a challenge, I agree to the task and prepare for a day in the sky.

My adventure begins on a perfect summer morning, the kind of day that Vancouverites dream of during the rainy winter months. As I take the Skyride tramway up the mountain, I can’t help but think that before too long, I’ll be heading down the mountain again—only with slightly different transportation. I meet Yaro Lahulek, the owner of First Flight Paragliding, and he promptly hands me a detailed liability waiver. Time to sign my life away. As we walk to the four-wheel-drive truck that will take us to the peak, I ask Yaro if he’s been doing this for long. “It’s my first day,” he replies in his thick Czech accent, a deadpan expression on his face. I muster a nervous laugh as butterflies take flight in my stomach.

Along with other guides and a guest from Alaska, we pile into the vehicle and climb up the rocky road. As I step outside at the top, I spy an eagle soaring above the treetops, effortlessly riding the thermal columns that will soon carry me into the sky. I peer at the land and sea in the distance, and the reality of what I’m about to do sets in. While Yaro prepares our equipment, I ask him what some might consider a silly question: “Is there a back-up safety measure—a parachute, perhaps—in case the wing fails?”

Yaro points to a large backpack. This is the best news so far today. Once my helmet, gloves and harness are on, Yaro attaches us to the parafoil wing. He points to Vancouver Island in the distance and asks, “What do you see?”

Originally from Vancouver Island, I say, “Home.”

“OK,” says Yaro, “don’t look down—run home.”

Careering down a mountain doesn’t exactly feel like second nature. It turns out I’m not running fast enough. When the wing doesn’t fill with air, Yaro stops us, explaining that I need to kick it up a notch. He gathers the wing and we hike back to where we’d started. On the second try, I run my heart out, imagining myself escaping from a ravenous lion in the Serengeti. In a few short moments, my feet leave the ground.

Before I know it, we’re gliding high above the peak. As Yaro unfolds a seat and footrest for me, he encourages me to sit back and take it all in. I breathe deeply, find my bearings and, unexpectedly, the butterflies in my stomach fly away and I’m in a state of pure adrenalin-junkie bliss. Steering with the brake lines attached to the trailing edge of the wing, Yaro takes us over Grouse, and I wave to diners on the patio below. We soar over the Skyride, the vast expanse of Douglas-fir trees and Capilano Lake, while the city, Georgia Strait, Mount Baker and the Gulf Islands sit serenely in the distance.

As we glide above sparkling Capilano Lake, Yaro asks me to lean to my right. We spiral down in what feels like a free-falling roller coaster—my ziplining friends would love this. It seems like a good time to ask Yaro if he’s ever been skydiving. “I’m kind of a chicken,” he says. “Go figure.”

Yaro guides us down toward North Vancouver’s Cleveland Park, and instructs me on the landing. Just like with the launch, I’m told to run as fast as I can. And, just as quickly as my feet left the ground, they’re back where they belong. It’s nothing short of smooth sailing.

While we pack up our gear, I wonder aloud why I was so scared in the first place. Yaro explains that it’s part of human nature to be afraid of the unknown, but that once we understand what lies before us, we can overcome our fears. In the end, I did just that—and I got to experience a bird’s-eye view of the world.

Next stop: skydiving.

Well, maybe.

Publication Date: 9/2008