In the past, I had also spotted paraglider pilots soaring above the coast and mistaken them for parachutists.
The paraglider aircraft is not a parachute. It is a fabric wing - effectively a lightweight aircraft - that pilots can use to gain height and stay in the sky for hours, even travelling to altitudes of thousands of metres.
Barry himself once flew from Te Mata Peak to Woodville, a distance of about 100km. In 1999, this was a New Zealand record-breaking flight.
I had also assumed Barry and I would be flying in tandem during my lesson. I imagined he would handle the controls while I lazed in a harness, free to enjoy the vistas unfolding below us. Actually, Barry planned to have us flying solo by the day's end.
After a crash course in aerodynamics, we headed to a seaside paddock in Te Awanga to learn what is known as the "forward launch".
Starting with our wings laid out behind us, leaning forwards and charging toward the sea, we inflated our wings and tried to manipulate them with our brake lines while they hovered for a moment above our heads, before diving unceremoniously into the earth.
When a paraglider pilot is airborne, a pendulum effect keeps him beneath his wing's centre. Practising on the ground is a different beast; if the pilot's wing moves to one side, he must run to stay underneath.
But experimentation on the ground, or "groundplay", is essential and consumes hours of the would-be paraglider pilot's training. It feels like trying to tame a massive kite and it's a thrill to see it slice through the air. Barry says groundplay is the best way to practise the takeoff, which is the most dangerous part of any flight.
Don't be fooled by the serene, reclining postures of the paraglider pilots you see in the sky - they have worked hard to get there. Groundplay is physically demanding and pilots often hike to the peaks they use as launches.
We were soon dripping with sweat as we managed to keep our wings airborne in short bursts. Meanwhile, Barry inflated his wing effortlessly and stalked about the paddock with it hovering overhead. He looked like a giant peacock.
When we had grown comfortable with the forward launch, he raised the bar. The "reverse launch" is performed in higher winds. It involves standing with one's back to the launch site, "building a wall" by gradually inflating the wing in the wind, then pulling it into the air and, if it inflates correctly above one's head, spinning around and completing takeoff.
This manoeuvre is more complicated and we worked on it for a few hours. There is more at stake with this technique because, if the wing doesn't inflate correctly, the pilot must "abort" the launch by pulling hard on his brake lines and bringing his wing to the ground.
After lunch, we headed to a new spot on a farm behind the picturesque Te Awanga Estate, where we continued practising our reverse launches on a grassy slope.
We all started to get nervous as Barry had his eye on a towering hill behind us.
My mouth was dry as we lumbered up the hill in a 4WD, but Barry assured us we would simply be repeating what we had learned on the ground. The key, he said, was to try to relax. It was a tall order; the breeze was stronger at the top. We looked out across the vineyard to the sea.
The scariest feature of the hill was a wire fence at its base, which looked purpose-built to snag amateur paraglider pilots. As I buckled my harness and put on my helmet, I wondered if I was about to become a newspaper headline.
Barry attached a radio to my harness and we laid out my wing on the hill. I stood facing him and started "building a wall", letting the breeze from the sea flow into the wing's vents in preparation for a reverse launch. Then I pulled on the wing, it fired upwards and, as we had drilled, I was spinning around and running on grass and then running on - air.
The uplift from the hill sent me sailing out across the paddock, swinging at a lofty height, obeying Barry's instructions as they crackled through the radio. I pulled lightly on the brakes to turn, enjoying the view from the comfort of the padded harness.
The view of Te Awanga meeting an indigo sea, the wind on my face and the feeling of pure flight, of soaring, was magic.
Soon the ground was approaching at a disturbing rate and I was preparing to "flare" the wing as Barry had instructed, by pulling down hard on both brakes to minimise speed. The landing is one aspect that cannot be practised on the ground and I accidentally employed my buttocks as landing gear.
As I packed up the wing on the grass, I was ecstatic. I had flown. Barry said this was just the beginning. With enough practice, a pilot can ride the thermal currents at Te Mata Peak for hours. He can travel cross-country or soar to dizzying heights. But whether you want to put in the training to become a licensed pilot or just spend a day flying above the Bay, the first step in the journey is running off a hill - and it is worth it.
The paragliding experience
• It is possible year-round in Hawke's Bay but depends on favourable wind conditions. Summer brings consistent sea breezes that are ideal for flying.
• To book your paragliding experience, phone Airplay Paragliding's Barry Sayer on 027 451 2886.
