http://www.trikepilot.com/members/profile/243/blog-view/blog_1143.html

The paraglider... we could tether it to a tree or the back of the
car or something... maybe tie it on with twelve feet or so of climbing rope...
take turns at having a go in the harness, letting it fly kite-style... in this
wind it should easily lift someone of the ground - waddya reckon?

What about that corner fence post... that big one in the corner of the airstrip
that keeps the sheep out? Its pretty solid, and its braced by all that number 8
fencing wire running the length of the strip... should do the trick.

On the count of three, John and I fling the flapping canopy into the hurricane,
the wind catches it and it snaps into life. It rapidly plucks Deano off the
ground, and flies overhead. At this point several things occur to us: the wind
is CONSIDERABLY more forceful than we had really imagined and was putting a huge
strain on the glider, harness and rope; also that now that Deano was 3 metres up
in the air we had not really considered how we might bring him down (30 square
metres of sail in cyclone-force winds make quite a tow); it might not have been
as good an idea as it seemed in the pub; and the whole ensemble, instead of
flying "behind" the fencepost at an angle to the ground, is in fact nearly
vertically over the fencepost... for a few seconds anyway...

Then, the earth around us shuddered, a low moan joined the keening wind, 3
startled faces turned earthwards as, gently at first, but with increasing ease,
like a Ducati pulling away from a green light, the fencepost pulls free. Then
Twang!Twang!Twang!Twang!Twang! All the lighter fenceposts are uplifted by the
viagra-like force of the gale, acting via the paraglider, a rapidly
deteriorating harness and its now concerned human contents, the 11 mm climbing
rope (Hey! That's MY rope!!!) And a half-dozen strings of that famous number 8
fencing wire, until finally a mile of fence splits the Ohau skyline, anchored
finally by the distant corner post at one end and a bright orange sail at the
other, and OHNOWADDAWEGONNADONOW??????

Deano is hundreds of feet above the Earth, with a paraglider above him and a
fence between his knees and the planet he loves. The paraglider harness is not
coping with the strain; and if the final fencepost fails, he's going to be blown
downwind over those wires with zillions of volts on them that run between them
pylons there. Crap!

Thanks to Rodger Hoyt.