The world is a quiet place when you're drifting 800 feet above Lake Tahoe, tethered by a 1,200-foot rope connecting you and the parasail to a toy boat far below, its motor noise silenced at such altitude.

The view is a 360-degree panorama of the indigo lake and the mountains surrounding it. You are an eagle drifting at the whim of the wind. As the boat pulls you and the parasail through the air, the motion is smooth and soft until gusts push you to the right or left. The only sounds are the flapping of the parasail, the creak of the harness attaching you to it – and your own screams of terror.

Just kidding about that last part, though not a lot.

Earlier that morning, I'd talked with Luke Forvilly of H2O Sports at Round Hill Pines Beach, where I'd boarded the parasailing boat (775-588-4155). Luke and brother Ryan oversee the 20-year-old parasailing part of H2O, a beach-recreation concession founded by their dad, Frank.

"The wind is the main thing in parasailing," Luke Forvilly said. "It's so easy to fly in places like Miami and Mexico because there's one constant wind coming straight off the ocean. But the wind here can get really squirrelly. Right now it's coming from the northeast and the southeast, and even the west. The parasail boat captains really have to be on their game."

So, what could I expect from my upcoming adventure?

"Parasailing is really not much of a thrill ride, it's more like flying like a bird or hovering like Superman," he said.

What about the fear factor?

"Some people say, 'I'm kind of afraid of heights, so if I'm up there and start screaming, are you going to pull me in?' We say, 'Sorry, but if you're up there screaming, we're not gonna hear you. You're on your own.' When they come back, their fear of heights seems to have gone away a little bit."

As H2O staff member Colten Mellows had said at the rental kiosk when I told him I wanted the highest ride, "Cool. Go big or go home." Call that the Tahoe attitude.

On this day, the parasailing boat was captained by Ben Marshall, who was born and raised at Lake Tahoe and knows the water well. Helping him was deckhand Chris Makowski.

Anything I should know, captain?

"There are two things that can go wrong," Marshall said as we headed offshore, his go-fast boat riding high. "Either the boat breaks or the rope breaks. Either way, you're in a parachute and a life jacket, so the worst that can happen is you'll get wet. If the boat breaks, you'll be in the water longer because we've got to pull you in (by hand). We have marine radios and cell phones and we'll call for help and another boat will come out. If the rope breaks, you'll float to the water – not fall – and we'll be where you are by the time you get there."

Hundreds of parasailing excursions take place daily around the lake between Memorial Day and Labor Day. The day before my trip, Marshall took up 29 fliers out of Timber Cove Marina.

"That was a medium day," he said. "I've been on a parasail boat for five years and the most 'flys' I remember doing was 52 in one day. We have only three months to do the job, so we'll get as many people up there as possible."

On my parasail trip, I wore a T-shirt, cargo shorts and boat shoes ("Leave your hat here; it'll blow off"). The day was clear, with maybe 10 to 15 mph winds.

I put on a life vest, then Makowski helped me into a harness, which clips to the parasail. The harness has a "seat" that supports your weight.

Marshall brought the boat to an idle a few miles offshore. He and Makowski broke out the parasail, which was tied to a sturdy line, attached in turn to a motorized winch. I was instructed to come to the platform at the stern, face the bow and sit with my legs stretched out straight in front of me. Snap hooks were clicked into place ("Don't touch anything that's metal") and the winch was readied to let out line.

The parasail was launched – along with me.

It was surprising how quickly the parasail gained altitude. In two or three minutes the boat had shrunk to miniature and the lake was spread out from shore to shore – 22 miles of length, eight miles of width.

I knew I was safe, yet, admittedly, it was scary in an exciting way. I clutched the harness straps in a death grip because of the feeling that my butt was going to slip off the harness seat and I would fall out. Which was impossible, but still the reptilian brain jacked up my breathing and heart rate.

After what felt like a week suspended over the lake, I was winched back down and – at my request – dropped into the water for a brief splash of refreshing cold, taken back up 100 feet or so, then gently brought to the boat stern for a stand-up landing.

The flight slapped a grin on my face that lasted all day.

Call The Bee's Allen Pierleoni, (916) 321-1128.