Mike Glatiotis was cruising 500 metres above a British Columbia golf course in his ultralight airplane one drizzly morning in May when the oil pressure suddenly plummeted.
Moments later, he conducted the oddest approach to the 18th hole in course history when his two-seater skidded 225 yards along the rain-soaked fairway and collided with the ball washer in the tee box.
"There was a four-letter F-word, but it wasn't 'fore,' " said Mr. Glatiotis, 46, a geologist from Nelson, B.C., who walked away from the crash uninjured.
Ranging from what resemble go-karts with wings to stand-ins for military spy planes, ultralight aircraft represent the fastest-growing segment of aviation in Canada - despite a steady stream of high-profile accidents.
Enthusiasts, most of them male baby boomers whose socio-economic profiles run the gamut from moneyed professionals to struggling farmers, are flocking to the activity, drawn by relatively inexpensive licensing requirements as well as the spectrum of aircraft capabilities and price tags.
The number of ultralight aircraft registered with Transport Canada climbed 22 per cent between 2001 and 2006, doubling the growth of certified private planes, such as Cessnas, whose construction adheres to strict standards. Last year, 5,568 of aircraft fell into the ultralight category, meaning they weighed less than 544 kilograms at takeoff.
Devotees can spend as little as $1,500 on a flying machine that looks like something Wile E. Coyote would order from the Acme Corporation, or the equivalent of a down payment on a lightweight factory-built plane.
"It's that range of opportunities that appeals to so many people," said Mr. Glatiotis, who got his $100,000, Flight Design CT craft back in the air two months after his bogey. "There are those who want to fly low and slow and others who want to go fast and far."
Scores of ultralights and their pilots are expected to converge on an open field in southwestern Ontario this weekend for an annual gathering of the Ultralight Pilots Association of Canada, a national organization committed to "freedom of flight in a minimally controlled flying environment."
For all the unencumbered joy, however, reports of downed ultralights surface almost weekly in Canada and the United States.
Last month, two men were killed when their ultralight crashed in rugged terrain near Hope, B.C., and a couple were injured when theirs plunged into a lake near Belleville, Ont. A 72-year-old man was injured last week when his ultralight went down near Penetanguishene, Ont.
Pinning down the number of ultralight accidents is difficult because the federal government does not track them. While ultralights must be registered with the federal government, their construction is loosely regulated. Many fliers buy their planes over the Internet and assemble them at home, and government inspections are not required for certain types of ultralights.
"We do investigations to learn lessons that will apply to the federally regulated transportation system, and ultralight aircraft don't fall into that category," said John Cottreau, a spokesman for the Transportation Safety Board of Canada.
The loophole, and reports of crashes, have left champions of the ultralight struggling to defend the safety record of their pastime. Admirers insist that flying ultralights, which were introduced as an experimental aircraft in the 1980s, is no more dangerous than driving a motorcycle.
"Ultralights conjure up this image of a flying lawn chair, and I think things have changed," said Roger Gibson, a 45-year-old clothier from Elora, Ont., who acknowledged having made an emergency landing in his "trike" aircraft, which he describes as "a motorcycle with a wing."
T.J. Lilliman, an Ontario farmer and director of the Ultralight Pilots Association of Canada, conceded that flying ultralights was not without risk, but said the accidents that give the sport its reputation only get so much attention in the media because they are rare.
Many news accounts of downed ultralights describe pilots leaving the crash scene with minor injuries or none at all.
"I've seen an ultralight go down and it goes, 'Thud.' Most of them are so slow that the pilot just walks away," Mr. Lilliman said. "They make it sound like they're falling out of the skies every day and people are getting killed.
"Are you going to go to Canadian Tire, buy a handful of bolts to put this thing together and then put your ass 3,000 feet in the air? I don't think so."
Flying an ultralight does not require a pilot licence, but a permit that can be earned with 10 hours of in-air training and completion of a ground school course.
A private pilot's licence requires 45 hours of flight training, ground school and a flight test that, at roughly $10,000 is more than twice the cost of an ultralight permit.
The economics have prompted the conversion of basements around the country into workshops reminiscent of Leonardo da Vinci's, where enthusiasts tinker away on ultralight kits into the wee hours.
Markus Hertzer, 49, has spent four years building an ultralight in his barn near Peterborough, Ont., from a design he bought online for $160. The engine is a souped-up Geo Metro car motor and the frame is aluminum tubing. When it is completed it will weigh about 205 kilograms and he will have spent $8,000.
"The journey is what's important to me. I'm living the goal. When I get there is secondary," said Mr. Hertzer, a machinist. "The dream of flying has been mine for as long as I can remember."
While many general aviation pilots are focused on progressing to more advanced licences and larger aircraft, ultralights represent the ultimate in recreational flying.
"It's a different breed in terms of what they want to do with the aircraft," said Kevin Psutka, president of the Canadian Owners and Pilots Association. "Even people who traditionally flew certified aircraft are attracted to ultralights because all they want to do is fly."
While small certified planes fly at about 4,000 metres altitude at a speed of 360 kilometres per hour, ultralights tend to cruise at 1,000 metres at about 140 km/h.
Ultralights are also limited to flying during daylight hours and are discouraged from entering airspace around cities and major airports. Many ultralights are not equipped to carry passengers.
Those limits have spawned a tightly knit social network not found in other types of aviation. Most ultralight activity takes place in the countryside on grass airstrips carved out of farm fields. Some of the strips offer outhouses to weary fliers.
"There are fly-ins where we gather at someone's airstrip on a Saturday and have a barbecue," said Colin King, an Ontario pilot who turned to ultralights because of the rising costs of renting certified private planes. "If there's a farmer you know, you can land in their field and they'll invite you in for a cup of coffee."