Peter Pan has been my hero since I was nine years old and my sister took me to the cinema. When Peter flew around the Darlings’ bedroom, I was riveted. I went back to see the film 15 times in the next month – twice a day some days. I used to hide under the seat until everyone had gone out, then when people came in for the next show, I’d get out and watch it again. I never imagined that five decades later I would be able to fly myself, by running off a pier in a one-piece Lycra suit and flying as far as I can before plunging into the sea.
I developed my balance and coordination from an early age. My dad was a professional wire-walker in the circus for four years in his 20s, and when I was young he used to string up a wire in the yard and let me balance on it. At six years old, I was juggling balls. In 1974, when I was 18, I took up hang-gliding and paragliding. Today I’m a professional hang-glide instructor, but at the time I was one of only about a dozen in the country doing it. I was lucky to survive: the sport was so new and dangerous then.
In 1997 I heard about the Birdman competition, in which entrants compete to fly the furthest distance; I thought it sounded like fun. There are three categories: the kingfisher, for outlandish flying machines; the Leonardo, for serious but innovative designs; and my category, the condor, for modified hang-gliders. I felt that a hang-glider, which usually travels around 90 metres (295ft), could go as far as 100 metres (328ft) one day.
The first leap was frightening: a huge crosswind meant I had to take off at almost 90 degrees and it was difficult to manage. But I came back, and now participate in the various Birdman competitions that take place across the country, attracting serious and silly competitors alike.
I train at Druridge Bay in Northumberland, on the huge sand dunes by the North Sea coast. Those dunes are exactly 35ft (10.67 metres) high, which is the height of the platform at the Birdman events.
It’s taken 17 years to break the 100 metre barrier, and I was the first to do it. When I broke the world record in 2014, I took off from Worthing pier and didn’t touch down for 20 seconds. It was the longest ever flight from a pier, carrying me 159.8 metres (524ft) until I touched down and was recovered by the diving crew who help get you and your hang-glider out of the water. Twenty seconds is a long time when you’re doing 45 miles an hour, flying over the waves.
Though I still hold the distance record, I didn’t win the 2015 Birdman competition. This past year has been more difficult. I’m nearly 60 now. Competitors have always joked about how they’ll probably be throwing me off the pier in a Zimmer frame. I had operations on my knees, then three weeks before this year’s competition at Bognor Regis, I had a mild heart attack. I had stents fitted, and I competed, but I didn’t feel right.
My wife was – is – obviously very concerned, but I keep fit. As long as I don’t overwork myself, and prepare properly for the event, there’s no reason I can’t do it for the next 12, 13 years. Next year, I’m going to win it again.
You’ve got to think of Birdman like a 100 metre sprinter. You’ve got to get your takeoff right; you’ve got to get your flying speed correct on the glider; you’ve got to get your body in an aerodynamic position. Then you’ve got to learn to skim over the water. It’s very low and very fast. Landing on water is not like landing on a field or the beach: water moves, up and down, all over the place. There are a lot of things to get right in those few seconds.
When I’m training and doing the jumps, I try to think of myself as filled with helium. It’s funny to say, but if you get your balance right, and you get the takeoff speed when you’re running with the hang-glider right, your body feels weightless. When you’re lying on your belly, you can’t see the glider. The wings are up above you. All you’ve got is this bar in your hands to control. And if you’re me, when you’re flying, you’re thinking of Peter Pan.
• As told to Chris Stokel-Walker
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