Watching people jump off a cliff in a homemade airplane that wasn't meant to fly

I might be writing this too early. I'm still processing the events of this weekend, but I wanted to write before I forgot all the details.

I think I've put myself in kind of a weird headspace lately spending so much of my time pondering about this homestead venture. Every waking moment that I'm not working or talking to someone, my brain is cycling through endless questions and ideas, like...how many strawberries can I get from 45 plants...where should I place my bee hive...which bee breed should I get - Carniolan, Italian, Southern Italian, Russian...some breeds produce more and some are more docile...how worried am I about getting stung...how many pumpkins can I grow in my front yard as a groundcover and will anyone notice...how much chicken manure I can add to a 180-gallon vermicompost stock tank...does my backyard get more chill hours than my front yard...can I freeze peanuts? I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've been spending a lot of time lately in my own head. Next thing I know I'm in a boat surrounded by tens of thousands of screaming, sun-scorched, semi-sober revelers, watching people jump off a cliff in a homemade airplane that wasn't meant to fly.

What I'm talking about is an event held by Red Bull called Flugtag (it's German for "flight day"). Because it's a Red Bull event you know people are going to be rolling the dice with their own health and well-being, which always draws a crowd. My family and I were spectating from boats, which was it's own adventure, but many more lined every street, sidewalk, and balcony within view. They estimated around 80,000 attendees!

So, basically, each team redneck-engineers a contraption that is meant to soar after being shoved off the end of a 30-foot high platform and see how far from the platform they can get before landing in the water below. Contestants and spectators alike both seemed to get more joy from overall absurdity than innovation. The first "aircraft" consisted of a giant guitar with tiny wings stuck on top. I'm guessing the wings were just for show. Others consisted of a more substantial wing with a little car or bicycle underneath for momentum. None of them made it very far, but no one seemed bothered by that fact.

Our original plan was to camp on our boat (it's a little pilothouse boat with overnight accommodations--Jeanneau NC 795) Friday night so we would already be on the water for Flugtag Saturday morning. We should have been getting packed days ago, but it was just a crazy work week, so we thought we could pack in a few hours Friday morning and then leave midday - ha! We weren't ready to go until around 3pm! At that point we decided life is too short to drive from Orlando to Tampa on a Friday at rush hour. Also, that would have meant launching, boating in a new (to us) place, and finding a place to anchor for the night in the pitch dark. I am sure we made the right choice to NOT do that, especially in hindsight.

Plan B became living out one of the longest days of my life. We decided that if we left by 3am (getting up at 2am!) on Saturday we could get to Tampa to launch the boat before the crowd hit. We chose to use what looked like the closest boat ramp to the event. Looked good on Google Maps with plenty of room for parking.

At 5am we arrived at Davis Island, a neighborhood that you have to drive through to get to the boat ramp. We had noticed some damaged buildings and piles of tree debris in the area, which wasn't alarming since Hurricane Milton was just one month earlier, but when we got to this neighborhood it was like a war zone. Houses still stood, but their "guts" were piled high in what looked like miniature landfills in front of their yards. Some of the homes still had lights on making it a bit less apocalyptic, but as we departed the neighborhood and continued driving toward the boat ramp it was just us and a sliver of moonlight.

As we turned a dark corner on broken asphalt our headlights illuminated upside down boats flanking both sides of the road. Enter apocalyptic vibe. After a few more turns we finally arrived at the ramp to find the walkways leading out to the docks were completely gone. Maybe a small fishing boat or jet ski could use it, but it was a no-go for us. Back to Google Maps...

Plan C was a boat ramp 30 minutes away in Gibsonton. The one good thing about traveling at these god-forsaken hours is that the traffic is fantastic! Luckily, the next boat ramp was in good shape and we launched just before dawn with the fishermen.

The boat ride from the ramp to the event location was unlike any boating either of us had done before. We usually seek out quiet rivers, springs, or deserted islands when we go boating, but this was full-scale industrial. Our first sight after shoving off from the dock was a large fertilizer factory (per Google Maps) with smoke (steam?) billowing from a high stack and a gigantic dock for a gigantic boat that must have been out on a delivery that day.

Our 30-foot boat felt like a kayak next to all the boats we saw - from tug boats to container ships to giant fishing trawlers to cruise ships! All the while, our view of the distant horizon was skyscrapers, strange industrial complexes, and more giant boats that were "on break". It was both fascinating and mildly terrifying!

We finally got to our destination around 7:30am. There were a handful of boats that had beat us there, but plenty of room to drop anchor and get ourselves situated for the pre-show, which was watching other people try to anchor.

In this situation you have to set two anchors (bow and stern) to keep your boat from swinging around and hitting other boats. It's not as easy as just setting one anchor, and to do it right you need room to maneuver. We watched some boats struggle for over an hour and some gave up and left!

As more and more people showed up, the "room to maneuver" quickly disappeared, and the whole basin just became a game of bumper boats. We had to stick our feet out to keep several boats from colliding with ours. Eventually, boats just had to tie off to each other "redneck yacht club"-style. Our two anchors were holding two additional boats by the time the show started (one of them was family we were meeting out there).

I don't really know what to say about the event itself. It was...different. Don't get me wrong, I loved getting outside, being on the water (minus the scary mega-boats and the Flugtaggers trying to smash into us), and making memories with family (things to remember...flying cans of Celsius, bougie charcuterie, drone swimming, "The Solution", aka "The Problem", the roseate spoonbill, flag protests - our friend got boats to take down their flags that were blocking everyone's view spawning widespread applause - it was pretty funny, but maybe you had to be there).

As for the homemade "planes" careening into the water...it was somewhat entertaining at first, but overall I just found it kind of silly. And because of my recent elevated mental activity I couldn't stop myself for philosophizing the whole scene. First, where is all the debris going to end up from these contraptions that are literally falling apart mid-air? The Red Bull website says they "encourage" contestants to use biodegradable materials, but I saw Styrofoam, PVC pipe, and lots of plastic, so I guess that was just lip service. I'm sure they tried to scoop up the big pieces, but they couldn't possibly get everything, right?

My other thought was about time and how we choose to spend it. As someone who is trying to justify (mainly to myself) pursuing something like homesteading - including things like growing food and cooking from scratch - one of the main arguments I hear is that this kind of lifestyle is too time-consuming for the modern world. I often can't agree more. It would save me a lot of time to forget all of this homespun nonsense and just keep getting grocery and takeout food deliveries. But as I looked out at this bizarre spectacle I couldn't help but think - is this what we're "saving time" for? I sometimes think we have "convenienced" ourselves into having TOO much free time and are not better off for it. It sometimes feels like we're the The Capitol in The Hunger Games just making up weird hobbies to fill our time. I told you I might be writing this too early. My brain is still recovering from the jolt of it all.

After the event ended we thought we would camp at an anchorage we found online between two islands in the middle of Tampa Bay. We had already packed for an overnight, and we thought we could avoid the chaos at the boat ramp from all the Flugtaggers trying to leave.

The boat traffic going back south was an actual nightmare. We were stuck behind a boat that was having engine problems, but we couldn't pass because of all these other boats going full speed, so we just had to go slow for a while getting waked out and tossed around like a cork. When we were finally able to go fast a huge fishing boat passed close by our port side putting out what looked like an 8-foot wake that we barely had time to turn into. I don't think I blinked for several minutes. After that we got caught between a giant cruise ship that was heading out to sea and a huge fishing trawler boat. This after Ryan explained to me earlier in the day how if you fall in the water near a cruise ship you can get sucked into the propeller (need to fact check that). I started wondering why anyone in their right mind would ever go boating at all. It suddenly seemed like a highly overrated activity.

We finally, miraculously made it to the anchorage spot - me still not blinking or even wanting to move. Ryan deployed our main anchor so we could just relax for a minute and evaluate the situation. We were alive. The boat was somehow still intact. The anchorage spot, however, was not great, and there were really no other options nearby, and the sun was beginning to set. We just decompressed for a few minutes observing our situation. The wind was whipping, and the tiny excuse for an island was not doing much of anything to block it. There was no way we would be able to sleep. Then the generator started having issues (Ryan would say..."salt"!). That was that. Camping nixed again.

Plan D was to just head home in the dark, which it almost was by the time we made up our minds. For some reason Tampa doesn't feel the need to have beacons on their channel markers, so that made navigating back to the ramp "interesting". We were relying heavily on the chart plotter to see where the markers should be - much like flying "IFR". Nerves shot.

The situation we were hoping to avoid at the boat ramp played out as anticipated. Ramp was chock full of Flugtaggers, most of them drunk or just, like us, exhausted - hard to tell the difference. We finally were able to load up and make the journey home. When we got home and were on solid ground again we both experienced "sea legs" - feeling like you're still moving up and down in a boat even though you're literally not moving. It's the weirdest feeling, and I haven't had it that strong in a long time!

So, that's what happened. We're alive, if slightly traumatized. I gained some new experiences that I won't soon forget. Flugtag is...weird, but I love my family, and I'm happy to be back on the homestead to resume overthinking everything.