Simon Eung never had a teacher, and has had to rely on his natural instincts. Yet he has managed to keep gliding for over a decade without any serious accidents, and has accumulated rich experience in international competition along the way. The time he remembers most occurred on the third day from he last in the trials at the 1994 World Cup.

Organizers of international competitions set aside four to seven days of preparatory time. This gives the competitors a chance to get to know the site and set out their game plans. Nevertheless, nothing is more important than the experience and judgment that comes into play during the event itself.

"A lot of the stuff that happened in that competition was new for me. For example, it was the first time I had worn an oxygen mask [because of the thin air at high altitudes], or had flown in such difficult conditions--low temperatures, very strong winds, and powerful sudden currents from all directions. Actually, I was pretty nervous. But I was able to rely on my accumulated experience, such as my understanding of topography and air currents or how to adjust flying speed. I used my judgment to overcome problems one by one. As soon as I got past a problem, I would immediately forget my fears, so that I had the courage to face new risks."

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Prayer in the dark

Perhaps it was these special characteristics that allowed him to overcome technical and climatic obstacles. By the second half of the competition, changing weather conditions meant that contestants had to fly straight into the wind, which is extremely difficult. Many of the 120 competitors, including many above Eung in world rankings, gave up. In the end there were only ten or so gliders still in the air, Eung being one of them. The only thing on his mind then was "I can do it, I can complete the course." He was even more determined to finish owing to the fact that the day before, because he was unfamiliar with the rules, the judges ruled that he had not completed the circuit.

With all of his attention focused on judging the conditions and flying, he hardly noticed that dusk was falling. By the time he neared the end of the course, the ground was just a patch of inky blackness below him. He had no idea where he should and. And even before he could land, he had to get over a swamp, and by this time he didn't have the altitude to make it.

Seemingly lost between earth and sky, "fear began to spread from my mind to my entire body. All I could do was pray, 'please give me another current so that I can get 200 meters more in altitude!'"

By then "the window was closed." That is to say, the competition had officially ended for the day, and the judges stopped recording times or scores. The judges assumed that there were no more competitors still in the air, and were about to leave the field. But they were prevented from doing so by Luo Chung-hao, head of the Kaohsiung County branch of the Eagle Team, who had been anxiously waiting at the landing field for a long time. So they turned on a light to wait for Simon Eung.

"The flashing light was like a beacon. It gave me strength, and my hunger and exhaustion disappeared. Suddenly, a current miraculously came up. After sailing over the swamp, maybe I got greedy, but I really wanted to reach the end of the course, because that after all is the goal of any glider."

In the end, he had to land a few hundred meters before the finish line. Because his muscles were so exhausted by more than six hours in the air, his legs turned to jelly as soon as he touched down. Luo rushed forward to catch him and hold him up; no one spoke for quite a while.

It was hard to take--having come so far only to fall short. But, "I knew that I had given everything I had and taken my best shot."

The arduous trial was not only not a blow to his confidence, it allowed him to realize his full potential to that point. He set all of his personal records at that competition: a top speed of 95 kilometers per hour, an altitude of 15,000 feet (he could have gone even higher, but that was not the point of the competition), and a total straight distance of 140 kilometers. His previous bests at Saichia--1600 meters in the air, a straight line flight of 50 kilometers--were not even in the same league.

（Jane Wang／tr. by Phil Newell）

Fighting alone vs. full support

But making personal breakthroughs is by no means Eung's only goal. He hopes that "everybody who wants to fly can find happiness doing so." The prerequisite for this, as he has learned from his experience in international competition, would be to have a well-structured system to support gliding.

He is most impressed by the whole atmosphere abroad--the gliding photos all over the field, the level of the technical terminology enthusiasts use in discussions. There is "electricity" in the air. "It feels like flying even before you take off." Behind foreign competitors are phalanxes of trainers and coaches, advanced technology, and subsidies from national organizations. "Our representatives have to pay for half of everything when they come to a competition. Other guys have specialists to give them massages, but all we've got is medicinal rub. In the end you're so tired you haven't even got the energy to talk about strategy for the next day, so you just have to improvise," says Eung with a wry laugh.

Therefore, "I always take advantage of every opportunity to ask questions, and to analyze techniques with other guys. I try to develop relations with gliding organizations from as many other countries as possible, and even submit stories to foreign sports magazines." It seems the meticulous Eung has every detail covered.

"The more competitions I entered, the more I became obsessed with understanding how they are run. The first year I just learned from photographs. The second year I collected rules and regulations, and the third year began to hoard as many competition handbooks as I could, even if these were not from gliding competitions. I began to participate in full-course events myself in the fourth year. These days I even collect advertisements and posters. My goal is to completely understand how other countries operate. If in the future Taiwan wants to hold an international competition, it will be valuable to have these materials for reference." Every day at competitions he writes down what he has learned. When he looks back, every event is there again before his eyes. He even records such details as whether there are fax facilities and how much everything costs.

Gliding is not yet recognized as an Olympic sport, and it gets little attention in Taiwan; therefore it has been hard to get development on track. Eung took a first step in 1991, when he became director of the Hang Gliding Committee of the ROC Skydiving Association, hoping to set up committees, training systems, and graded skill rankings. But he was unable to put his ideals into practice, and resigned.

Addicted to flight

"I really didn't feel like flying at that point," says Eung in an even tone. But maybe he had been too deeply "infected" by the "flying bug." After a year of "trial separation," Eung one day started sorting out his old gear and memorabilia, and his enthusiasm slowly returned.

In fact, even in his sabbatical Eung could not completely cut himself off from thoughts of flight. His library is crammed with material collected in this "time of healing"--old magazines, information on associations and exchanges, competition scorecards, records of corporate sponsorship, flight conditions, and accident reports.

Although international gliding enthusiasts recognize Saichia, in an aboriginal preserve area, as a top-notch site, its airspace is probably too restricted for international competitions. Moreover, it is not well-managed, allowing all kinds of individuals and groups to use the area for fame or profit, casting a shadow over future development. Thus Eung has been actively looking for a new, alternative site. He has found a mountain in northern Kaohsiung County and is currently laying plans to establish a club so that gliders can have a "home" of their own.

Simon Eung is confident that both he and the realm of flying that surrounds him have a bright future. As he has written in his journal, "In my heart, the golden sunlight that provides the backdrop to flying is unchanging...."

[Picture Caption]

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(photo by Lin Meng-san)

Road Map for Saichia-ParaglidingTravel Information

How to get there: (1) Fly to Hsiaokang Airport in Kaohsiung. Rent a car and head toward Pingtung City. Turn onto County Road 185, toward Yenpu. When you reach Nanhua Village there will be a road sign pointing to "Saichia Park." The drive takes about an hour. Or, (2) take a plane or train to Pingtung. Take the Pingtung Bus Company line to Santimen (the earliest bus leaves Pingtung at 6:45 am, the last return bus leaves Santimen at 7:50 pm). Take a taxi from Santimen to Saichia (it will cost about NT$150). For large groups, buses may be chartered from the Pingtung Bus Company for NT$5,500 per day. Tel: (08) 723-7131.

Food and lodging: There are no accommodations in Saichia Village. Paragliding enthusiasts recommend the Pingshan Villa in nearby Neipu Rural Township. Double rooms cost NT$800 per day. There is a discount for group reservations or for guests saying that they have come for paragliding. Address: #339 Shuimen Village, Neipu Rural Township, Pingtung County. Tel: (08) 799-1803.

Paragliding lessons: The best known paragliding clubs in southern Taiwan are the Firebird, Hunter, and Eagle teams. Each has a training course costing NT$8,000. Make sure your trainer is licensed and qualified before signing on, and that you ask for insurance. For information call: Simon Eung, Firebird Team, at (07) 626-4411; Chien Wan-chuan, Hunter Team, at (08) 755-6323; or Luo Chung-hao, Eagle Team, at (07) 783-8804.

Suggested itinerary: The best time for gliding at Saichia is from October to April or May (the end of spring). It is busiest on holidays. Novices are advised to set aside three or four days. After making arrangements with a trainer, report to the training site in Kaohsiung or Pingtung on Thursday or Friday. After getting the basic skills, show up at Saichia early Sunday morning, before 10:00 am. Because there is no restaurant at the takeoff field (there are only a few vendors), you may want to pick up food and drinks while passing through Pingtung City. If you still have time and energy after paragliding, you may want to visit Santimen, the Taiwan Aboriginal Culture Park in nearby Peiyeh Village (part of Machia Rural Township), or even continue on to Kenting for birdwatching.