Powered Parachuting over Ras Al Khaimah

Aerial view of a semi-feral donkey in Ras Al Khaimah

“When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.” - Leonardo Da Vinci

(A version of this blog was published in outdoor uae magazine. )

A warm breeze swirled the dust of the runway as Captain Kevin Donaldson and I walked across the concrete slab and past the microlight aeroplanes shimmering in the sun. From the shady depths of the hangar an assistant wheeled a large three-wheeled cage with a propeller at the rear. The trike, looking like something from the Mad Max movies, was constructed of lightweight aircraft aluminium and stainless steel. Behind the tandem seats a two cylinder, two stroke engine was mounted which powered the triple bladed propeller.

PPGs are simply an engine in a cage and a fabric wing.

The Captain started the engine and let it run for a few minutes to warm up, then killed it again. Lying on the rear seat was a large black bundle which he picked up, carried to the rear of the trike and opened to reveal a mass of brightly coloured rip-stop fabric and kevlar lines. The engine was the power and this was the parachute. Clipping the ends of the lines to the cage he spread the fabric out in an arc behind the trike and folded the leading edges over to make sure it didn’t catch the propeller wash prematurely.

Headphones are essential for communication over the engine noise.

A two seater PPG has the pilot up front.

“Ok, in you go!” he said and I clambered into the rear seat and clipped into the four point harness which held me firmly in place. Two headsets hung over the top bar, one for each of us. The Captain took up position in the front seat and started the engine, the headsets muting the engine noise and allowing us to chat over the in-built microphones.

“Are you ready?” came over the headphones and I gave the affirmative. He pushed the hand-held throttle lever and the trike lurched forward gaining speed and then, the lines pulling suddenly taught, the parachute inflated and rose up behind us. Gunning the engine we trundled down the runway as the parachute rose higher and then, crabbing slightly in the wind, we broke free from gravity’s hold and were airborne.

The captain guns the engine and as we lurch forward the tension on the lines pulls the wing up. Photo: Maria Reynolds

I have always loved flying and the best flying is done in a small open craft where you can feel the wind in your hair and see the far-off earth below your feet. Not to be confused with powered paragliding, where the motor can be on the pilot’s back, a powered parachute has pilot (and passengers) sitting in a vehicle with an engine and wheels. The wing of a Powered Parachute is similar to the square wings used by skydivers while a paraglider has a higher performance airfoil allowing foot launched flight. Called PPCs for short, they come in single and tandem styles so that a pilot can fly solo or take a passenger. They are one of the least expensive forms of powered aviation and are used by private pilots, farmers, search & rescue and law-enforcement agencies around the world. The low centre of gravity in relation to the ‘wing’ and resistance to stalling means that PPCs are also a very safe form of flying. Currently only Jazirah Aviation Club in Ras Al Khaimah provides both flights and training for PPCs and according to Captain Donaldson it can take as little as 15 hours to become a PPC pilot. My half-hour flight was a birthday present, courtesy of my wife (bless her.)

The wing shows the typical aspect ratio of a parachute.

Far below us the sun sparkled on the waters of the Gulf and the long white beaches stretched out from Ras Al Khamaih down to Umm Al Quwain. The sea was dotted with blue jellyfish, visible even from this height, and every now and then I’d get a bird’s eye-view of a big turtle coming up for air. I must’ve seen ten in as many minutes. The water was clear enough that you could see the turtles descend onto the sea-grass beds. We flew over the ghost town of Jazirat Al Hamra, abandoned buildings built in traditional Arabic style where Jinns are still rumoured to wander, and I felt like an explorer flying over an ancient lost city for the first time.

Aerial view of a semi-feral donkey in Ras Al Khaimah

As we reached the northern limits of our flight the Captain pointed out a huge sunken and rusting barge: “In this area, when it’s cooler, we sometimes see big Manta Rays,” he said to my surprise “and you can often see sharks cruising along the reef back there.”

We turned back towards the flying club and cruised over lush green lawns standing out against the desert, water skiers carved lazy curves in the marinas and kids splashed off the beaches, waving at us as we passed overhead.

4WDs leave tracks on the beaches.

Waterskiers on the lagoon of a residential development.

Labourers play cricket on an industrial lot.

A golfer searches for a lost ball amongst date palms.

Crossing back over the coastal highway we slowly descended and he cut back the engine. “See, she doesn’t fall. We control climb and descent with the throttle speeding up makes you climb and slowing down lets you descend. Turning is done through footpedals that are linked to lines fixed to the trailing edges of the canopy.” We cruised low over the desert scrub, our shadow jittering back and forth as dunes raced below us. He pointed out some burrows in the dunes and said that in the cool of the evening desert foxes would come out, popping back to into their earths if they saw you flying over. We approached the landing strip from the desert as the wind was onshore, all flying craft land and take-off into the wind.

Coming in to land.

Photo: Maria Reynolds

We drifted ever lower until, with a gentle bump, we touched down and rolled to a stop. Slowly the wing deflated and collapsed gently behind us. For a few moments I just sat and reflected on how much fun it had been, it was a great way to spend an afternoon and I’ll be back again for another flight, maybe I’ll even do my PPC license.

sunburnt ... and in need of a shave