Ang Baoquan: The Bamboo Glider

Yang Baoquan (楊寶全) was 22 when he built his first glider with little more than bamboo sticks， plastic wrappers and some DIY know-how. Though it didn’t go exactly as planned， his first flight wasn’t to be his last. The heady rush of sailing through the skies was enough to get Yang hooked， and the Dongbei native would spend the next 23 years devoting every free moment and every last kuai to perfecting his self-flight machines—finding a way even when losing his job in the 90s left him with a meager RMB23 a month in income. Taking a hands-on approach fitting of a true adventurer， he’s continued take to the skies in his own gliders， parachutes and airplanes.

In 1985， I stumbled across an article on how to make a glider in Aviation Knowledge， a magazine about national defense and popular aviation science. Following the instructions， I spent months working on a DIY glider made out of bamboo sticks and the plastic wrappers used to cover greenhouses， exhausting my RMB23-a-month salary buying the materials. A group of friends and I carried the prototype to the top of a hill and set about trying to take off. It started well: I was airborne， and the glider rose up as the hill slope raced by under my feet—once you’ve flown like this， you’ll never forget it. Then the glider crashed into a big tree.

The glider was wrecked， but I was fine， though I came to the conclusion that bamboo wasn’t quite right for gliders， and later built another two versions using home decoration materials and aluminum alloy pipes.

In 1989， I underwent several rounds of surgery and was hospitalized. Even this had an upside， as I was able to make use of my long period of convalescence to buy a gliding parachute and learn how to use it. I found parachuting more interesting than gliding， and I dumped my third glider while it was just a skeleton frame. Unashamed of my awkward handwriting， I put up handwritten posters everywhere calling for people who wanted to learn to parachute. Very soon I had a group of more than 20 people. We gathered in our local park and shared my one and only parachute to practice. The membership fee for this unofficial club was RMB10， and people were tremendously interested， but nobody had much money and we couldn’t even pool enough cash to buy a second chute.

Ever since then I’ve traveled around China’s cities teaching people how to use gliding parachutes. Over the years I’ve

always struggled financially， but as I said， flying is instantly addictive. Now I’m growing old—I’m almost 50—so I returned to my hometown and started an aviation club. I call myself a “romantic workaholic” on my website， and I think the club attracts like-minded people. Our oldest club member is a 65-year-old lady， Li Jiaxin. She’s retired and lives on a pension of only RMB1，000 a month， but spent RMB30，000 on a powered parachute—one with an engine that helps you take off.

In 2008， I bought a small two-seater airplane， which my friends and I flew from a suburban road that was still under construction. Though it was just a dirt path， through my eyes it looked just like an airport runway. However， very soon the road opened to transportation， and our plane has been gathering dust in a friend’s garage ever since.

It’s almost impossible for people like us to create a runway in the countryside—while there’s no specific policy that bans it， the government does not allow farmland to be used for construction purposes， and we can’t just dynamite part of the hill flat because the woods on it are protected. When we’re working out the logistics of flying our own planes， we’re often given the runaround by different government departments and trapped in endless bureaucracy. But I’ve learned a lot from all the frustration I’ve been through， and come a long way since building a glider out of bamboo as a young man. I now run a QQ group for people interested in building planes， and I’m worried most people are just like I was as a young man. Everyone’s doing their own thing for their own sake， but we’re not really trying to get together， form a society and push through some real changes that would make things easier for everyone.

However， I’m still hopeful we can work something out. I’ve been interested in seaplanes for about 25 years， as they’re much more convenient: they don’t need an airport and can even land in mountainous areas as long as there’s a lake， river or reservoir. In Jilin， the city where I live， no one seems to have realized we have a spacious airport right in front of us—the Songhua River.