He looks down at his feet, at the hard dirt, dry grass and clumps of cow patties strewn all about him. He kicks the ground, and small plumes of dust slowly rise a few inches into the air, then settle right back down again a few inches southwest from the site of the disturbance. It just confirms what the socks already showed him and what he already knew.

These aren't the right conditions to launch, he says. But the wind changes. It changes all the time.

It's already 11 a.m. Karami has been at the site since 9:30 a.m., waiting for the socks to tell him something different. If they indicated anything but an easterly it would be fine, he notes. Then he'd get into his truck and haul his hang glider up the hill to make his launch.

He'd come from Walnut Creek, almost an hour away, to get the chance to soar the skies above the Santa Clara Valley, but now, he says, he's starting to worry that he won't have that chance.

He's come from such a long way that he'd hate to have to go home without the chance to fly. So he says he's committed himself to wait in the shade of a giant eucalyptus tree until about 3 p.m. before he decides to call it a day.

"This stuff happens quite often," he says. "But hopefully I'll get at least one shot at it."

If Karami doesn't get what he wants, he says, it's yet another wasted Saturday he'll have to explain away to his wife.

Hang-gliding pilots are the first to observe that they choose to immerse themselves in an activity wholly determined by something as fickle and as mutable as the wind. But despite all the wasted trips, they would almost all agree that the hobby is worth it as long you can catch the headwind you need.

Willow Glen resident Armand Gutierrez, a self-described daredevil, says he was hooked on the notion of hang gliding the moment he took his first lesson. He's been hang gliding for five years now, and he says he has a typical hang-gliding pilot's fascination with flight.

"Why do scuba divers dive?" he asks. "They love to be in an environment not their own. They want to be by themselves, floating around among creatures that they don't see every day. It's the same with hang gliding, except we get to look at hawks and eagles."

Campbell resident Abhijeet Gole says the fact that hang-gliding pilots are exposed to all the sights and sounds that birds in the sky are exposed to is exactly why he took up the hobby.

When you're up there," Gole says, "it's almost like you're Superman."

There's nothing like it; even when flying in an airplane you don't get the same feeling, he says, because unlike airplane pilots, hang-gliding pilots have no walls, ceilings or floors surrounding them. They just hang in a prone position, suspended by a harness underneath a giant wing.

Now 36 years old, Gole says that even as a young child he always had a desire to fly with the birds. So as soon as he graduated from college and got a job that would help him pay for hang-gliding lessons, he jumped at the opportunity.

In the intervening 11 years, he's flown not only at Ed Levin Park in Milpitas, but all over California, including off the watery cliffs of San Francisco and Santa Barbara, and in Nevada. He says that even after more than a decade of soaring through Mother Nature's current, the sights he sees never cease to amaze him.

"Sometimes I'm flying out in the Sierra Nevada [up over] 2,000 to 15,000 feet," he says. "Up there, I'm in the clouds, and I can see the eagles fly past me."

He waxes lyrical about soaring near Mount Whitney and Owens Valley, where he can't help but think that he's seeing all the peaks and valleys from a perspective that no one has ever seen them from before.

"It's hard to convey the feeling," he says, "but that's exactly what keeps you flying."

Gole, Gutierrez and Karami are only three of hundreds of people around the Bay Area who call themselves hang-gliding enthusiasts. Although they've only been flying for just over a decade, they are part of a long tradition that has its imaginative roots in ancient times.

Humans dreamt of flying long before technology advanced to the point of making it possible. But by the end of the 19th century, the necessary technology became available that enabled men to take their first flights into the skies.

Some of the earliest successes came about in the late 1800s, when German Otto Lilienthal developed 18 different contraptions—many resembling bird wings—that allowed him to jump off of hills and glide safely to the ground below. Further development of Lilienthal's inventions, however, was all but halted when American bicycle mechanics Orville and Wilbur Wright achieved something much more exciting: powered flight.

Over the next 50 years, most of the world's aeronautic engineering efforts were focused on airplane technology. But a post-World War II invention would lead to an international revival in powerless flight. In 1948, American engineer Francis Rogallo developed what he called a parawing. Made primarily of a flexible, lightweight fabric and frame, the wing incorporated a V-shaped, delta configuration and was originally meant for use on low-speed aircraft.

Three years later, while working at the U.S. National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics—the precursor of NASA—Rogallo obtained a patent for his work. Then in 1958, NASA expressed interest in the parawing as a possible device to get spacecraft back to earth safely from orbit.

Rogallo's wing was dropped in favor of simple round parachutes, but his innovative plans were published in the magazines, journals and newspapers of the time. Because of its simple, lightweight and inexpensive nature, the design attracted hundreds of people around the world, who adopted it for use in a fledgling and rapidly growing recreational activity—hang gliding.

All around the globe, enthusiasts consider Rogallo the father of modern hang gliding.

A group of them in the mid-1970s, in fact, founded a club in his name, the Wings of Rogallo, to serve the interests of hang-gliding pilots in the San Francisco Bay Area. Since it was founded, the club has grown to be one of the largest of its kind in the country, with a typical roster of 500 to 600 hang-gliding and paragliding pilots.

On Sept. 19, the Wings of Rogallo will sponsor a silent airshow at Ed Levin Park, with thousands of people expected to attend from all over the Bay Area to watch hang-gliding and paragliding pilots put on an airshow of powerless speed, acrobatics and artistry.

"It's going to be great," Gutierrez says. "I wasn't around for the last one about 15 years ago, but I've seen pictures, and it's really impressive when you see 30 to 40 hang gliders all set up and ready to go."

The skies will also be filled at all times with hang gliders, paragliders and balloons of all shapes and sizes from throughout the Bay Area, he says.

Gutierrez, Karami and Gole say they may be among the pilots that day.

For anyone interested in learning more about powerless flight, going to the events can be an educational experience, Gutierrez says. There will be many different kinds of aircraft to observe—hang gliders, paragliders and balloons. He also suggests that individuals interested in the hobby should take courses to become certified hang-gliding pilots, with the U.S. Hang Gliding Association.

The licenses given by the association, which have five levels to them, indicate that a particular pilot has logged a certain number of flight hours and can skillfully execute a certain number of maneuvers. Depending how dedicated one is, Gutierrez says, someone can get a beginning pilot's license in only five days or in as long as five months.

"It all depends on how much time you're willing to put into it," he says, noting that he took much longer to get his first license than is typical.

Unfortunately, however, some people don't get licensed at all and don't learn how to fly safely. Training with a certified instructor will ensure that individuals understand the importance of pre-flight checkups and how and when to launch and use their gliders.

On any given weekend morning, in fact, Gutierrez says instructors can be seen at Ed Levin Park leading groups of students in checking equipment, hiking up small slopes and hills, and taking their first jumps safely.

Santa Clara County senior park ranger Jeff Cossins is one who knows the importance of safety.

Cossins says he sees the pilots at the park almost every day. And he sees a number of accidents, mostly minor, on a yearly basis.

"We have several accidents here a year, but nothing really bad," the ranger says. "The last substantial accident we had was a midair collision a few months back. But even then it wasn't so bad. The people involved in it are both flying again."

Nonetheless, this is a hazardous sport, Cossins adds.

"Things happen. That's why all of these guys stress safety when they're teaching," Cossins says. "They always say that you have to be a pilot of the aircraft; don't let the aircraft pilot you."

But the sport doesn't come cheap.

A hang glider can cost anywhere from a few hundred dollars used to a few thousand dollars new. Moreover, a harness, helmet and flight suit are necessary as well, which can easily run you a couple hundred dollars, Gutierrez says.

"And if you count transportation, you're looking at about $20,000 more," he says. "Almost all the pilots have four-wheel drives." This form of transportation is a must, due to the need to go over steep terrain, which is part of the process when hauling the hang glider and equipment to the launch sites.

But, he says, the equipment can last a number of years, so the investment goes a long way. But the hang-gliding pilots can only fly if the winds are favorable. That's where "Debbie" comes in.

The park operates a "wind talker" nicknamed "Debbie," which is an automated telephone service that provides the current and recent wind conditions for the park. People can call into the service to get an idea how the winds are blowing before they leave home.

This way, they won't have to drive from miles away, like Karami, just to see socks that aren't pointing in the right direction, Gutierrez says.

People should call all the time, Gutierrez says, "because she has such a lovely voice."

Karami, standing underneath the tree, is still unhappy. The socks are still indicating a northeasterly, which means he's still grounded.

"Sometimes Debbie lies," he says when asked if he called that morning. "Debbie lies."

The silent airshow will be held Sept. 19 at Ed Levin Park in Milpitas from 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. There will also be a speed-gliding competition from Sept. 17 through Sept. 19, between 8 and 9 a.m. The entrance fee to the show will be $10 per car and $2 per person. Part of the proceeds will go to the Muscular Dystrophy Association. For more information, visit www.wingsofrogallo.org.

Birds were the inspiration for the human dream of flight. But one local hang-gliding enthusiast will be teaching the teachers a thing or two about flying.

Campbell resident Abhijeet Gole is part of the International Crane Foundation's effort to save the Siberian crane. The bird, which migrates 3,700 miles across 11 nations from Eastern Siberia to India and Iran, is one of the rarest cranes on the endangered-species list.

The foundation is breeding the birds in captivity, but the birds do not migrate instinctively, Gole says, so the group has had to come up with a way to teach them to do so.

The idea is to get the birds to follow a form of motorized hang gliders—"mosquitoes" or ultralights—from their birthplace to their migratory destination. But convincing the newborn birds to do what should come naturally will require a bit of chicanery, Gole says.

From the moment Siberian cranes are hatched in captivity, the only people they will see will be wearing crane costumes. The birds will also be exposed to the constant hum of the 15-horsepower engine that will drive the ultralight along its journey.

The hope is that the hum of the engines and crane-suited saviors will imprint themselves on the chicks, which will follow them from Russia to Iran.

In 2005, Gole will be part of this effort. He will be among a small group of pilots who will travel to Russia, don bird outfits and strap themselves into ultralights, leading around a dozen cranes on a 3,700-mile journey to ensure the future of their species.

Hang gliding isn't just for recreation, Gole says.