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231-929-PARA (7272) 1773 US 31 
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Learning to FlyOur intrepid intern relaxes in the breeze 1,000 feet above the bay.By Matt Furst Photography by Keith King  I put my arms into the lifejacket and click together the black buckles. The waves on East Grand Traverse Bay are minimal, but still the boat rocks enough to make me wobble as I stand up and step into the nylon-braided harness. Captain Saburi Boyer—6-foot, mid-20s, spiky blond hair and owner of Traverse Bay Parasail—quickly fastens the straps on the bridle and shows me how I can adjust it with a few tugs and pulls. “All right. Are you ready?” he asks. He gives me a smile. I study his face. He doesn’t have a comforting smile like your mom would have when baking cookies, it’s more mischievous, like the smile your friend in third grade had when he talked you into jumping off a swing. I nod, take a deep breath and follow Capt. Boyer to the back of the boat where a large, brightly patterned parachute is floating in the breeze, waiting for me. The sun beams down, and white wisps of clouds decorate the western sky. I stand looking toward the bow of the boat as Capt. Boyer clips the metal carabiners of the harness onto D-rings fastened to the parachute. “Okay, just lean back and enjoy the ride,” he says. The boat begins slowly, and I let my weight fall back. The parachute holds me a few inches off the boat. I smile as Boyer begins to let line out and hollers one last set of instructions. “At 300 feet of line I’m going to flap my arms, and if you want to go higher, flap back. If not, kick your legs like a chicken.”  Wind catches slack in the line and I continue to rise. I look over at one of the two carabiners responsible for my life and read the writing stamped on it, “Italian patent.” To the best of my knowledge, Italy isn’t known for metallurgy craftsmanship, but the harness feels secure, like sitting in a chair, so I try to relax and let go of the fear. I take a deep breath and survey my surroundings. Beneath me, the water is a deep blue. I am eye level with the tops of the highest trees on the highest hills around the bay. The light breeze has stiffened and my hair flies straight back. I look down to the boat and see Capt. Boyer flapping his arms like a bird. The fear has left me, I forget about the Italian patent and flap back. I rise high above the treetops. At 600 feet I feel the parachute stop its ascent. The bay is now three distinct colors: earthy brown near shore, cool aqua green where it begins to drop off and dark blue at the core. I look at the boat. It is small, but I can make out the shape of Capt. Boyer flapping his arms. Next stop: 1,000 ft.  I turn my head from side to side trying to take in everything I can. Paved roads look like thin, gray snakes slithering through rolling, green hills. Old Mission Peninsula appears to be about 100 yards wide as I look past the west arm of the bay into Leelanau County. The boat is now a small dot, and I forget I am attached. The only sound I hear is wind, and I relax into the moment. It is peaceful; I wish I had a sandwich and a Coke. After a few minutes I realize the boat is coming closer, and I can no longer see as far. Buildings grow larger and soon I see Capt. Boyer standing with his hands on his hips, smiling. For more information or to book your own parasailing adventure call Traverse Bay Parasail at (888) 660-PARA, located on East Bay next to the State Park in Traverse City. Matt Furst is an intern for TRAVERSE CITY who recently graduated from Michigan State University. furstmat@hotmail.com |
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