Austria – Switzerland – Italy in 4 Hours

“…..Fly High, Fly Far and Believe Anything is Possible.” ^{Bob Drury}

Like most fellow free flyers, I have so often read with envy those epic XC flights where pilots have studied the weather for days, prepped their kit to the nth degree, arrived at the hill in good time and then gone on to cover huge distances. Me? Well, I'm probably not that calibre of pilot to fly big distances and I usually act more on impulse than according to any well structured plan. But on a recent sunny day, the unusual happened; read on!

I awoke on a glorious Saturday morning at the end of May and, with my wife back in England , decided to go flying in the Algaü area of Bavaria . Setting off from my home in Munich , I rang up my flying buddy and asked:

“Hi Alistair, where do you think the best place to take off from today is and what time do you think you'll get there? Hey, and wouldn't it be good if we could actually try and fly to Italy today like we always threaten to! Due birre ghiacciate e due pizza grandi, per favore, Signore !”

Alistair, a long-time XC hound and fellow instructor at the Joint Services Hang Gliding & Paragliding Centre in Wertach replied for me to get serious for once and that the Hahnenkamm (near Reutte on the German / Austrian border) looked fairly promising for the day's conditions and the early morning start!

My inspiration for the impromptu Italian outburst plus whatever the day had in store, came about from Bob Drury's editorial in Cross Country 99 which I had read the night before. His editorial ended with a poignant tribute to Chris Muller saying that “………… it is our given duty as pilots to embrace life with love and laughter, fly high, fly far and believe anything is possible.”

I re-read those last words again and let them sink in …… “ believe anything is possible” . It suddenly dawned o n m e that Bob had unwittingly found the key to my “barrier”. Maybe other pilots can relate to my situation where I had flown a great many XC's in the 50, 60 & 70 kms region but had always landed because of a wrong decision or a wrong turn and encountered either terrible sink, an impenetrable headwind or simply conditions that had switched off. I never seemed to be able to fly and fly until I ran out of sky or daylight or off the end of the map like the top dogs seemed to do. I didn't really know how to overcome my “barrier” and had even considered attending a cross-country clinic with a top XC guru as a possible answer. In the end, it turned out that I simply needed to adjust my mindset!

I purchased my lift pass and landing platz card (only one of each – I was feeling confident after all!) and proceeded up to the Hahnenkamm take-off. The day was already looking very promising with lots of cu's already scattered over the sky and the geostrophic wind predominately from the North. Alistair hadn't arrived yet so I set out my trusty gold Firebird Hornet SP and prepared for launch. My plan was to get airborne before the take-off area became too crowded and stooge about until Alistair could come up and joi n m e.

My rather impatient take-off was, errr, shall we say not quite of the demonstration standard that my CFI would expect from one of his instructors!! Having narrowly escaped scooping up two pilots innocently unpacking their gear, sending someone else's helmet careering down the hill and unearthing the wind sock, I proceeded to get out of everyone's sight hoping they would soon forget my misdemeanours! Once in the air, I radioed Alistair who was actually walking up to the take-off area and had seen everything!

“Nice tidy launch, Paul,” he said, dryly!

“I'll be up to join you as soon as I've placated everyone here on take-off”

I found the initial climbs quite energetic and mooched about for nearly an hour at cloudbase, waiting for my friend. Meanwhile, unbeknown to me, he had already launched, climbed out and had set off to the South for the Lielachspitze….without telling me! By the time we had sorted out this misunderstanding on the radio, he was about 5 kms ahead and climbing well in company with a sailplane. I eventually headed away from the Hahnenkamm at about 1300hrs and set off on full bar to try and catch Alistair. On reaching the bottom of his thermal, Alistair was already at cloudbase and setting off on his next glide SE across the Lechtal valley. After that, it all got a bit hazy because I lost sight of Alistair (whilst trying to keep my wing open in the strong air) and didn't see him struggling to find lift after his long valley crossing. By the time I had crossed the same valley and found a climb marked out by a very convenient lone paraglider pilot over the Schwarzhanskarspitze, poor Alistair had sunk out and was setting up to land in the valley floor near Stanzach. He radioed that he was OK and, with a touch of disappointment in his voice, wished me luck in whatever my plans were.

And that was the first big problem! I didn't have any plans as my ‘guide' for the day had just landed! I had taken no food or water with me i n m y flight cockpit and to my considerable regret, I hadn't taken the customary pre-flight pee due to a mixed sex crowded take-off and a suffering of stage fright!! I had no map of the area and hadn't even studied any flights on the internet by other pilots to see where to go and where not to. However, I had my GPS, a vario, a mobile ‘phone and some money. With Bob's words echoing i n m y ears and the wind o n m y back, I set off in a Southerly direction!

My next problem was that I had entered a blind valley and the paraglider which had marked my climb was now scratching about below me trying to find lift but to no avail; I saw him land beside the desolate but picturesque little Alpine village of Namlos . My drift was easing me towards a lovely grassy ridge at the head of the valley which ascended quite steeply towards the peak of the Namloser Wetterspitze. With a reassuring tug o n m y risers and a chirpy little song on the vario, I had temporarily escaped the clutches of Mother Earth for the time being. A herd of small reindeer-like animals were going ballistic on the ridge below me as they tried to fathom out whether the rustling golden bird soaring overhead was about to attack and which was the best direction to run!!

As my thermal consolidated into to smooth but powerful climb, I noticed another paraglider slide by underneath me on a glide to the next ridge. I remembered the old adage “when in lift, stay in it” and watched with interest hoping that this paraglider would be my next en-route thermal marker. However, he (or she) must have reconsidered their plan as I saw the wing turning back to joi n m e for a top up. I noticed that it was a red / grey Independence glider and had the number 48 on its underside. Yes, that's right, on its underside which I was able to observe as he out-climbed me. Bugger! Don't you just hate it when that happens, in MY thermal too!

Eventually, we both topped out at 3200 mtrs and headed off South. The distance between us soon increased as his comp wing had obviously much more speed and a superior glide angle to mine – or am I making excuses! By the time we had reached the next top-up point over the Gabelspitze, he was already well established in a climb leaving me to scratch around at ridge height looking for his thermal and hoping it wasn't just a bubble. Sure enough, I soon found the core and rocketed up like a homesick angel. Before long, I had overhauled Independence man and it was his turn to see the underside of my wing! Our next glide took us to the Muttekopf on the North side of the Inst valley which again, my flying partner had reached a few minutes previously. I checked with my Garmin Pilot III that I was well away from the Innsbruck CTR and tried to find the thermal that was feeding the huge great cu sat over the peak.

Independence man had managed to lock into it and was rapidly disappearing upwards at a most respectable rate! Unfortunately, once I had found it, I wished I hadn't!! My wing was suddenly thrown back to a most alarming degree. You know when you experience this sensation that you have about three nano-seconds in which to pray before the forces of nature wrench your risers upwards leaving you to wonder whether your mortal coil will stand the strain! Despite my well timed damping efforts, the Hornet SP shot forward with such force that it totally collapsed and tried to turn itself inside out. I felt myself tumble forwards and become weightless. Remembering a similar incident two years ago which resulted in a low level reserve deployment, I knew that the main priority was to stop the risers from twisting. My hands grabbed each riser-set up by the maillons and forced them apart to prevent them from twisting - which they had actually started to do. However, my vice-like grip prevented full twists from occurring. The canopy re-opened with a loud bang at about 80° to the horizon and once the wing was flying again, I used just enough input to swing out from the ensuing spiral dive – well actually, I think it was only about one 360° turn. Time to RUN AWAY and to do it very quickly!

But the Gods hadn't finished playing with me yet! Back surged my wing for another dose of the same and with enough of a snatch on the risers that I thought my seat-board would snap! But this time I managed to haul on some brake and turn into whatever was doing its best to upset my day. I was working on a crazy theory of mine which says that all my major collapses have usually happened with my wing flying relatively straight and not when I have been banked up hard! I also reasoned that if I was on the “outside” of a tightly banked and highly loaded wing (centrifugal force and all that malarkey), if the wing did collapse, I wouldn't fall into it! Somehow, I feel my theory may be fundamentally flawed and probably won't make the next edition of Mark Dale 's Pilot's Handbook but psychologically, it certainly helped me i n m y moment of need! By complete fluke, it transpired that this action had placed me right into the smooth, almost eerily silent, core of the thermal and I decided to stay with this elevator and take it to the top – more in the interests of self preservation and fear of getting near the outside edge again, than anything else!

When I reached the wispy stuff, cloudbase had now risen to about 3700 metres and I just caught sight of Independence man racing off to the South West down the Northern side of the Inst valley. My thoughts turned to my anticipated date with a cold beer and a quatrre formaggi pizza so it was directly South for me! I made the transition across the wide Innst valley in one glide wondering whether anyone underneath me in the town of Landeck straddling the River Inn had witnessed my aerial antics; probably not!

The next climbs were up the sides of the Thialkopf and Seekopf which, at over 2,900 metres, was the highest mountain I had crossed on this adventure so far. As if from nowhere, I was suddenly surrounded by a fleet of expensive bits of fibreglass but, as every paraglider pilot knows, it is immensely satisfying to severely embarrass those ASH 25's, Duo-Discus's and Ventus's in the climb-rate stakes! There was this little yellow piece of cloth spiralling tightly inside them all with its pilot waving smugly as they were picked off one by one. Of course, payback time came when it was time to leave and my paltry 38 kph and 8:1 glide ratio suddenly looked very feeble against their 160 kph and 55+:1.

During the next glide towards the Hexenkopf, thoughts of my overly full bladder returned, not helped at all by the very cold temperatures at cloudbase! Now, if only I could stand on the stirrup, unzip and do the business, everything would be right in the world! I managed the first two but the glassy smooth air I was in decided to deteriorate into a cauldron of turbulence and ……well, shall I just say that my flying suit got a bit wet as all directional assistance disappeared as I reached for the brakes to calm things down! Having only discharged about a quarter of what was required, I decided to try and put mind over matter. I now know the true meaning of the phrase, “I feel like I'm pi**ing in the wind”. Hmmmm, must have been coined by an incontinent paraglider pilot!

The sky ahead was starting to look dark and threatening whilst far below me were snow covered peaks and valleys. This area was very much in the boonies and a landing here would have entailed a lengthy and difficult walk out. But no worries, I was high, my ground speed was good and my sink rate was nominal. There was no going back now so it was onwards towards the big black line showing o n m y Garmin Pilot III. Big black line! Whatever was that then, I wondered? Surely it wasn't an airspace boundary as I would have had a warning message pop-up. After zooming out the display, I discovered that I was heading for the Swiss border! Blimey, I may actually cross the Alps yet! Flying low over the chocolate-box village of Spiss nestled deep in a blind valley and sat right on the Austrian / Swiss border, I must admit, I gave a slightly restrained “Yee Hah”!!

I had still to find some lift o n m y current glide and I was getting seriously low. The wind was pushing me past Spiss on towards the base of the 3300 metre peak of Muttler which I hoped would produce a climb back to base. My luck was in this day as I searched a rocky gulley at the base of the Muttler and found the rising air I so desperately needed.

By now, the sun was beginning to get shut off by the presence of a large cu-nim to the SW so it was time to start thinking of a Plan B – not that there had ever been a Plan A! The only sensible option available was to ease SE across the valley containing a very much younger River Inn than the one I had crossed earlier that day towards another black line on the GPS indicating the Italian border! The next part of my flight was spent anxiously watching the growing cu-nim out to the West and trying to time my glides to coincide with reaching the likely thermal triggers that were still receiving the patchy sunlight.

With my altitude gradually being eroded, I looked down to see what the land-out options were. It seemed that I was flying over an area that had never seen a living soul; it could have been the surface of the moon for all the comfort it gave a lone paraglider pilot. I was desperately hoping that the Elferspitze ahead was going to work and was trying to believe my mantra that “anything is possible” but this looked very doubtful. The inhospitable looking mountain was in shade when I arrived as I flew as efficiently as possible searching for every scrap of lift. Gradually, I began to gai n m eter upo n m eter in some very weak lift. With the patience of a saint, I slowly worked the rising air until it eventually consolidated and took me to cloudbase once more.

Worryingly, another cu-nim was now building ahead o n m y track and there seemed no way around this monster. My last good climb of the day took me over the Vernungspitzen after which the sunlight all but disappeared. Maybe if I skirted down the side of the Melzbach river valley, there may be something to pick off. Unfortunately, I was just prolonging the inevitable and with an angry looking sky ahead, it was time to think of my landing options and the long trek home! The timing of my landing couldn't have been better because I was now getting rained on and I swear my bladder would never have survived another climb into sub-zero temperatures!

The GPS display showed that the town of Mals was on a railway line which seemed an essential prerequisite for my trip home. I flew towards this quaint Alpine town and circled overhead to assess my drift and best landing options. To my immense satisfaction, I landed beside a main road on the outskirts of Mals at 1709 after a flight that I shall remember forever. Eve n m ore satisfying was that my landing was infinitely better tha n m y take-off!

My first thoughts were to relieve the agonizing strain i n m y nether regions! Two cyclists approaching from Mals temporarily halted my impending watering of the Italian shrubbery and yelled something in German at me (which is actually the main language in this region). After my customary apology and explanation that I didn't speak German, one repeated in perfect English that it wasn't allowed to practice ground handling in the field I was standing in!! Bloody cheek! He wouldn't have believed me if I'd told him!

It is often said that the true adventure of XC flying often begins on the journey back home and so it was for me but that truly is another story!!! Suffice to say that I caught the last train that evening out of Mals to Meran where I stopped for the night. With impeccable timing, I had arrived on an evening which had live bands playing for free in the town square! These, I thoroughly enjoyed together with being able to practice my schoolboy Italian for real: “ due birre ghiacciate e una pizza grande, per favore, Signore” – well, I had to toast absent friends, didn't I! The next morning, I caught another train to Bolzanno and then onto Innsbruck through the Brenner Pass. Two bus rides from Innsbruck to Nassereith and thence back to Reutte saw me eventually reunited with my car at about 8 PM .

Paul Mahony

GPS Trace of Flight

Superb Inflight Photos taken by Paul during his epic journey.
(Click on pics to see enlarged version)