Word: fermin
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...moonlight cruise over the entire six miles of cliffs at about 400 ft. above the terrain. There were just two of us flying around with flashlights illuminating our sails to avoid any midair mishaps. We then moved on to the L.A. area for four days of flying at Point Fermin, an old lighthouse on top of a 175 foot cliff that was soarable at 2 p.m. every afternoon. We finished our trip to California with a spectacular hour flight into the sunset, just the two of us flying around watching a sailboat regatta with all its color and pageantry...
...March 24, 1976, for spring break, planning to meet Bob in a few days and go climbing and backpacking in the Grand Canyon. But the next evening, Mary Lyn called Jim and told him Bob had had an accident on the 24th while flying his hang glider off Point Fermin, California...
...pilots who glide at Point Fermin launch themselves by running down the gentle slope that leads to the cliff edge, but long before they reach it, they are airborne. They head out over the water, lose altitude, and circle back to the beach, making long figure eights parallel to the cliffs, riding the natural updrafts that blow steadily from the sea. When they are ready to land they spiral up in the breeze to the cliff edge, turn towards it, and touch down...
...JOHN FERMIN, 32, a former Army PFC, lost a leg during his five months in Viet Nam. He is now recuperating from a liver operation in Manhattan's VA hospital: "I don't think we had any right over there. I don't mind helping the people, but they should have fought the war themselves. But I figured that if we were there to fight, we should fight to win. We got into it halfway and I came home with half a leg. America is a powerful country. She stands for human rights. She's ashamed...
...world where the normal barriers of propriety, temperance, and privacy are transcended in a communal frenzy, where people aren't afraid to let their pants down. So, a few summers back, finding myself in Spain in July, I headed for Pamplona to pay my respects to San Fermin and his Dionysian worshippers. After a sleepless all-night train ride, crushed into a stuffy corridor crammed with Spaniards on their way to Pamplona, I arrived on the first day of the fiesta. The city was jammed and the wine had already begun to flow in the streets. I promptly bought myself...