Hang Gliding and Paragliding Volume 44 / Issue 1: January 2014 | Page 41
“...the learning is
now on a bell curve
that has no bell. It’s
straight up. Vertical.
I want MORE. MORE,
dammit, more!”
tions are challenging and strong and our little valley,
which on a good day might have two pilots on launch,
suddenly has 130 of the finest in the world. Show me
the way!
I fly just well enough to qualify for the Superfinal
in Colombia, where I get slaughtered, but the learning
is now on a bell curve that has no bell. It’s straight up.
Vertical. I want MORE. MORE, dammit, more!
Another spring in Europe, chasing distance possibly harder than any reasonable person ever has, or
should. And I’m not being arrogant. This spring was
like Armageddon in the Alps; the only way to get in
the air was to move around endlessly. The moving
often ends in frustration, but I manage to pull off a
few memorable flights between downpours. And my
flying partner, Bruce Marks, will log nearly 500 hours
in the air by the end of July.
But I have my eyes on Sun Valley. Europe is the
training ground, the place to tune up for what may be
the most radical and committing flying on the planet.
We don’t have trains or buses, and we have very few roads with
even fewer people traveling on them. The conditions are strong,
and the mountains are huge.
On July 9, Nate Scales and I launch off Bald Mountain, Sun
Valley, and head east. The flying is magnificent and, as the day
winds down, we find ourselves linking onto the Continental
Divide, the north-south mountain highway that begins at the
southern tip of South America and ends at the top of Alaska. I
fly 256 km that day (159 miles), 50 kilometers farther than my
previous best. I land near Yellowstone in a literal no man’s land
and would have likely spent two days walking out, if not for a
friend chasing us from the ground all day.
Five days later, on July 14, the weather looks good and Nate
and I head east again, but this time on a more northerly course,
crossing into Montana after soaring over ranges that rise sharply
off the desert floor—the Big Lost, the Lemhis, the Pioneers, the
Beaverheads, the Divide. Each one requires glides of 20 miles
and more. Distances and vistas are indescribably grand. We frequently reach heights of 17,999 feet and, even with supplemental
oxygen, I experience my first foul brush with hypoxia. Near the
HANG GLIDING & PARAGLIDING MAGAZINE
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