You are right about who the St. Lawrence, have you never flown at night? No! No! Not in 747 or DC8 to ten thousand feet. We see nothing in these heights. Cessna not either, it's too noisy. Not even in ultra lightweight. It's far too dangerous to duff up in these small devices. And who might you go back at night in the middle of the river, eh?
No, I'm talking about a flight at very low altitude, quiet and safe.
How is this possible, you say?
is my secret. Let us be clear, however. I'm willing to reveal it but it is imperative that it stays between us. Do you swear on your mother's head? You were born to unknown parents, you say? Come, do not clown around. Swear ... Okay, okay.
The world is so wicked, you know. My secret is so simple that we could be accused of witchcraft or have sold my soul to the devil or, even worse, being a member of the Raelian sect.
That's because you're really a being beyond the common determined as one sees more and, above all, having a faith move mountains, I will reveal this secret.
The flight in question here is done without using any device. This is just to have proper apparel. A simple tunic, wide enough to facilitate the lift when you open arms. Nothing else, I assure you. All in the head.
must obviously be a perch for the start, as did hang gliding. I highly recommend a church steeple. First, because you will find several conveniently located along the river, but mostly because you'll find at the top of these holy places an atmosphere conducive to meditation, essential ingredient in free flight that I propose here. As you know, most churches are locked day and night. Then you may need to slip into the bell for the morning mass. Bring yourself a little lunch, because you'll have to wait until the night in your perch. Small things. A heavy stomach is bad air.
Choose a moonlit night to fully enjoy the scenery. Gather yourself a good hour before takeoff. Imagine yourself flying through the starry night. Do not think of anything else. In due course, get the support of the bell that gives the river side being careful not to hit the door bell. This is not the time to alert the whole village. Therefore, concentrate well. I assure you that if at this moment, you are able to visualize yourself flying through the air and you think it will work. Then bend your knees, down the arm along the body and a strong relaxation of legs, do you plan up to an angle of 45o in arms throwing forward a vigorous movement to pull your body up (you've already seen Superman, is not it?). From that moment on, never let you hear me, NEVER doubt invade your mind.
At a height of two three hundred meters, lower the arm at an angle of about 30o of the body axis and turn the hands forward by rotating the forearm (you know like the fact statue of the Lord when He said "Let me come to the little children"). This simple movement will cause brake to get you to the horizontal. Once well established horizontally, turn away their hands. You then sail along the ground. At this time, open the arms to do the swan dive. This will ensure your stability. Hold for a few minutes to feel the lift of the air. Then slightly turn the palms forward and you'll instantly gain altitude. Turn them back and you go back down. Your hands are playing the role of the flaps on the wings of an airplane. Swing the body to the left or right and you'll instantly turn the side you have switched. From there, I'll let you discover for yourself the wonders of flight and all the spins and somersaults that you will soon learn.
But let me suggest an itinerary for the first flight over the River. Take the Champlain, the very pretty little village a few kilometers east of Cap-de-la-Madeleine on the north shore of St. Lawrence and off the current. If you follow the shore, watch for freighters that pass so close that they seem now to be a path in the grass behind the houses. I'll let you discover Batiscan Sainte-Anne-de-la-Perade and Grondines. Then it will Deschambault and its place in the church which is worth a look, then with Portland's deep water wharf nearly a mile long. Hey there, I suggest you start from the shore and back at low altitude along the dock suddenly lead over the black water river. Chills, shock and delight guaranteed. To finish off, you go back across the river to hover above the cliffs of Pointe du where Plato you will discover the beautiful area Joly-De Lotbinière ¬. When you come back over the river, although the switch body to the right to take the incredible fact that 90o bend of the river just east of Portland to flow to Cap-Santé and its picturesque Old Road that leads its imposing church in 1755. Then it will Donnacona and the tall chimneys of its paper mill spewing white smoke them in the dark night, Neuville with his small village perched on the hill, St. Augustine and the old King's Road which runs along the river, and Red Cap his extraordinary overhead railway, the two bridges of Quebec, Cape Diamond ... have you ever seen the Castle Frontenac at night from the air? It's a spectacle, I assure you, quite a show!
Listen, I speak, I speak, but it is unnecessary to describe in words the journey you take. It is simply a magical and exciting adventure to be lived himself. You will give me the news.
Do I myself have made this trip, you say?
No, unfortunately not. This is not the desire or lack of faith that, believe me. It's just that at my age I do not have enough spring in the legs for the initial momentum. And my health is somewhat fragile. In the cool night, you know, pneumonia is if caught quickly.
How then can I be so sure we can fly?
Listen, I read the recipe for autonomous flight in an old book everything that is most serious where it deals with subjects as mysterious as alchemy, Rosicrucian, Theosophy and stone philosopher, to mention but a few. This book is so old in fact that many characters are erased, probably worn by the fingers of the old sages who have laminated. I'm not even come to decipher the title of the chapter that deals with the autonomous flight. The only letters I could recognize are these:
_es _êv_s _o_s
Perhaps, on your side, can you decipher this mysterious title?
Anyway, I wish you bon voyage **
* From Epitaph for a wheelbarrow - Jean Marcoux Ed. The Fifteen
1994 ** If you ever, Armelle, decide to try their luck, get yourself a parachute in case you encounter an air pocket. I would hate to be deprived of your travelogues.
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