We were soaring high, high enough that the cars on Highway 33 looked like mere toys, high enough to see as many as 20 lakes at once, scattered across the countryside like jewels that had been dropped from the heavens, high enough the billowing clouds looked close enough to touch. The air was sharp and cool, but the sun spread across the plastic window above our heads and lent us some warmth. The white, blade-thin wings of our little plane cut through the sky silently. We didn’t need to shout above the roar of a motor; the only sound was the whistling of the wind.

Sound like a dream? It’s not. This is what flying in a glider is like. The really cool part about it? You can try it, too -- even if you’ve never flown before.

My husband Paul and I usually rent a glider at Seminole Gliderport, located south of Groveland. You can take a lesson, or simply go on a “discovery ride,” where an experienced pilot shows you what being part-bird feels like.

The planes are two-seaters, one behind the other. You get aloft by being towed by an airplane, called a “tug.” The tow is the noisy part but it only lasts a couple of minutes. Once you are off tow, the cool part begins. The air is the smoothest in the mornings and evenings, but in the heat of the day is when you can stay up—often for hours, if you want – because of the thermal activity.

A thermal is a column of rising air. It gets too complex to explain all the science here, but if you see birds circling without flapping you can be sure they are in a thermal. There’s a good chance you’ll fly with some birds, because, after all, you’re playing the same game, finding lift to stay up in the air.

The air is a mysterious thing, an invisible force that flows like water over trees and mountains, that not only speeds and slows, but that also lifts and sinks. Vultures and ospreys and hawks all use thermals (to help them find dinner). The turkey vulture in particular is a master at finding and exploiting rising air. These birds can soar and glide with scarcely more effort than breathing, but flapping their wings is hard, so they avoid it.

Experienced soaring pilots looks for signs of lift (like birds circling). They look carefully at clouds, to measure how dark and flat the bottoms are, to see if they are building or fading, and to see where they form lines or streets in the sky that an ambitious pilot might fly down.

Although this seems like magic, it is only science, or so they say. It always seems to me like there’s a little magic mixed in with it. You’ll see what I mean when you try it!