It's about 12 hours, now, since it happened. I wanted to post something, last night, but didn't have the energy to write all that needed saying, to fairly present what I know, so far. I decided that no good would come from alarming others at such a late hour. There was nothing anyone could do, anyway, and impairing others from getting a good nights rest didn't make sense. So I had a large glass of wine, tried to put it out of my mind, and went to bed. I woke up three hours before I had intended. I tried to go back to sleep. Once my mind was awake, however, and started replaying the events of yesterday, I knew my effort would be futile. Now, I'm sitting in the dark in my reclining chair, typing on a notebook computer, and trying to decide what is the best way to tell what happened and why. In short, one of our own got hurt. Badly hurt. We had been playing on Chapel Hill since about 2pm. Conditions had been strong, but reasonably consistent and manageable, with winds wagging slightly between SSE and SE at what I'd estimate to be 8-12 mph, for most of the day. Occasionally, we'd get a strong cycle that would top at what I'd guess to be 14 or 15 mph. Several of us had some really good sled rides, and some of us soared the hill quite well. I had about a 60-70 foot height gain, on one of my flights, and I saw Maury have a flight of a couple minutes duration, with not less than 5 good passes, between turns. Helen had a minor mishap, which resulted in her going down in the pricker patch, with her glider draped neatly, line-side down, on the windward side of a 9 foot high bush, which was infused with pricker vines. After she spent 3 tedious hours, carefully snipping thorny branches to free it, we were finally able to get the wing out. Her bare legs were pretty torn up with scratches and scrapes, but she kept playing, following some minor first aid. It all brought back unpleasant memories of last summer, when it was me in that patch, and the resulting three week bout with poison oak that I suffered, as a consequence. Several non-flying people had come up on the hill to watch the activities, where they enjoyed the amazing views that make Chapel Hill so special. Among them, some close friends of mine, who had never seen this type of flight, in person (although they've followed with interest my tales of excitement since I began my journey into this incredible sport). They were still there when Ryan first motored into the air just before 3:30 pm, joined shortly thereafter by Marty, who seemed not to run into the sky-- so much as he simply levitated off the ground into the wind, as he applied throttle. My friends watched in amazement at the spectacle they'd never seen, then after several minutes of observation, said they could not stay longer, and headed down the hill, with smiles still on their faces. I love sharing our form of flight with others. I could not imagine then, that I would later be glad my friends could not stay. Ryan boated around the sky for what I'd guess was more than an hour, while Marty, I believe, made several flights of shorter duration. After they both landed, we all stood together visiting, and sharing stories. Ryan spoke of his recent experience at an SIV manuevers clinic out in California, run by Enleau and Ann O' Connor. He said he thought the experience was worthwhile, and it gave him more confidence in the wings we fly. Marty and I joked with Ryan about revoking his "wind dummy license" and making him surrender his "wind dummy ID card," since his presence in the sky no longer carries any meaning for us other mere mortals. (For those who don't know, Ryan is a very skilled pilot with many hundreds of hours of experience flying in conditions much stronger than any of us would consider being up in, during our first year(s) of flying. On his Action GT wing, he routinely logs cross country flights in excess of 50 miles). The wind waxed and waned, as the afternoon wore on. A bit before 6 pm, it began a slow strengthening trend which didn't seem so cyclic, but just subtly and consistently stronger, as time went on. Dimitri asked if I would teach his brother some kiting, so I took Peter out a few hundred yards farther southwest, along the ridge beyond the other activities, and we decended almost 2/3 of the way toward the valley below, to gain shelter from the higher winds. Conditions near the top were not suitable for a novice. Down in the hollow below, the winds appeared much calmer, indicating a pretty dramatic wind gradient. Somewhere between 6:15 and 6:40, I believe, Ryan had just launched from near the top of the ridge, with trims on his Action GT set at about 1-1/4 inch from the slowest setting. (This is still very much normal paraglider mode on a wing that has a full reflex profile when its very long trims are fully out.) This setting is Ryan's usual launch configuration. I did not see the launch or most of what came next. What I present here is gathered from detailed conversations I had with at least four first-hand eyewitnesses who saw everything (from different angles) as events unfolded. I have asked each eyewitness to write an account of what they saw with as much detail as they can remember, so we may better understand what happened, and why. After launching and climbing to about 75 feet, Ryan's glider took a substantial collapse. One person said it 'rolled under,' another said it happened following a worsening oscillation, another said the wing simply stopped flying. Many of us had dinner together afterward, and the consensus was that it was a left side assymetric collapse greater than 50%. Whatever is was, it was dynamic and severe, resulting in the apparently complete loss of lift. Ryan simply fell from the sky from about 75 feet, with only the drag of a streamer above him, which one described as 'not more than 5-10% inflated' No one who saw the collapse and fall has indicated to me that the glider was even beginning to recover. Ryan came down on the sloped face of the ridge, and came to rest between a quarter and a third of the way up from the bottom of the slope. I would learn later that his point of impact was much higher, and he tumbled several times (about 4, according to one), before the momentum of the impact and the effects of the slope ran out. Being quite far removed and upwind of all this, I did not hear the commotion, and was not aware that there had been a serious incident, until I was summoned several minutes later by those who were first on the scene at Ryan's location. Someone had already called 911. When I got to Ryan, he was not in his harness, but perhaps 8 feet north east, positioned face down with his right side facing downhill, his head toward the church. His right leg was straight, his left raised up the hill with the knee slightly bent. I think his right arm was tucked under his chest, while his left was outstretched uphill over his head. His helmet was already off. He was alert and able to speak, and was aware of what had just transpired. He knew where he was and how he got there. He made it very clear that he wanted us to document the event and inform others of what had happened. He complained of pain in his lower back and said he knew his left foot was injured because he could feel the swelling, as his boot was getting tighter. He could definitely feel and move his feet and legs, which we took as a good sign. We loosened his laces, and carefully unfastened and removed his radio harness, which wrapped around his chest and shoulder. Our goal was to make him as comfortable as possible while keeping him immobile and stable until help arrived. At one point, Ryan said he was uncomfortable laying face down, and that he wanted to roll over. He actually started to raise himself up to get repositioned, whereupon he was instantly (and loudly) scolded by all present, and told to remain perfectly still, until paramedics got there. With a potential back injury and limited vehicle access at that location on the slope, it didn't make sense to me to have an ambulance. What we needed was a helicopter. So I called 911 and explained the situation further. The operator said the bus was already dispatched from a nearby location and would be on scene, soon. He said if a helicopter is necessary, the first crew on scene would call for it. As I was finishing that call, Marty handed me his cell, with Maria (Ryan's wife) on the line. I explained all I knew about Ryan's condition, and assured her that we would keep her updated, as we learned more. I wasn't on the phone with her for more than a minute or two, when I could hear the approaching sirens, and almost simultaneously, saw the emegency vehicles driving up the hill from the gate. I let Maria know they had arrived, and we'd know more soon. It didn't take long for the paramedics to determine a chopper was a better tool for the job. They summoned one, and continued to evaluate Ryan while securing him on a backboard so he could be moved. I'm not certain of the time elapsed, but it seemed the helicopter arrived in less than ten minutes. As paramedics readied him for transport, Nick and I set about packing up Ryan's gear, and getting it off the hill. His paramotor cage definitely showed the results of having gone through a severe and violent event. Some welds were broken, the aluminum actually broke in a couple places, and it was now anything but round. The bottom was deformed to the point it would not stand up. Remarkably, the propeller, though scuffed and scraped, was not broken. We tried to carry the unit with one of us on each side, but struggled to remain balanced, and kept tangling our legs on the mangled cage, which finally came apart under the stress of movement. I finally decided to just put the harness on my shoulders and wear it, down the hill. Though uncomfortable because of the new shape caused by the damage, this method worked. By the time I got back up the hill, the chopper had whisked Ryan off to Christiana Hospital, in Delaware, Marty had alread notified Maria, and also Mike MacPherson, and others were packing up. We all pitched in to help each other get packed and off the hill before dark. By about 7:20pm, almost everyone had left. Maury left his car at the church parking lot, so he and Marty could take Ryan's car and gear home. They came back later, to retrieve Maury's vehicle. Several of us had dinner at CrackerBarrel in Downingtown. We ate, talked about what we saw, thought and felt, then parted company. I checked in with Mike later to see if there was any news. There wasn't. I called Nick and Marty, to make sure each got home OK. We were all a bit shaken up. Marty almost looked like he was in shock when he left the field. He not only saw a good friend get hurt, but came close to catastrophe himself, when he landed to help. I don't know the details, personally. I hope he'll post on this. As I understand it, had two people nearby not acted to help immediately, Marty would have had his own helicopter ride. A little after 11pm, I got a call from Mike. He had just spoken with Maria, and had already informed Marty of the same news he was now sharing with me. There was no news of the foot injury, but according to Mike, in Maria's words, Ryan's "lumbar region is in pieces." I take this to mean his back is broken. Maria had told Mike that Ryan will be home for at least 3-6 months. No word on the official prognosis. I phoned Nick and Jeff with the news just given me. I remain hopeful that, though it may be a long and painful recovery-- it should be a fairly complete one. This is my opinion, not a report from the doctors. What we saw on the hill, with Ryan's sensation and motor function of his legs, suggests strongly that he may have avoided injury to his spinal cord. We'll know more in the coming days. But, if true, it would be very good news, indeed. Here are the facts: Bones heal. Nerves don't. If the worst of this is bones that need mending, then Ryan will be very lucky, and we'll all breathe a bit easier, knowing that by next year, his life can resume, normally. I have such strong emotions about all of this. I like and respect so many of the pilots I fly with, and consider many to be not just acquaintances, but friends. I HATE seeing my friends get hurt! I HATE how often some of us have barely escaped serious injury, and others have actually had to endure it. It's happened too often. To too many. I want it to stop. It HAS to stop.