In the end, we look for happiness in flying. I used to feel that way too with cross-country flights; when I had a low safe, I had to fight my way back up, yeah, you manage it, you get back to the cloud base, that triumphant feeling, I'm back at the top, I'm back in it, I'm making progress again. And that motivation is what drives you to endure unpleasant things in the air, even when every thermal is nice and cozy. And then at some point you ask yourself, do I even like this anymore, or do I prefer a different kind of flying now? And when I look back, at least over the last few years, I've actually always enjoyed my happiest days more by the sea.
Podz-Glidz, the Lu-Glidz podcast.
Stories from the cosmos of paragliding.
Today with Ralf
Piotrowiak and
Lucian Haas at the microphone.
Paragliding has many different styles. For example, hunting for large FAI triangles in the mountains. Or the one-way flights pushed by a tailwind from a winch launch in the lowlands. The most relaxed form of flying, at least if you can manage to get off the ground in stronger winds, is of course dune and cliff soaring. There's no performance requirement in the form of GPS-tracked kilometers there. Taking off playfully, just cruising around, hanging out in the air, flying out towards the sea and the sunset, landing perfectly in between, and finally winding down the day with a few flying friends, chilling with a beer on the beach. That is the heaven on earth for a coastal pilot.
63-year-old Ralf Piotrowiak from Bad Oeynhausen in northern North Rhine-Westphalia is one of those types. For many years, he has spent countless hours in the air, and lately, almost exclusively in the sea air. He has increasingly felt that thermal flying in the mountains, which made him fall in love with flying at the start of his career, is too risky and stressful. In this episode, number 62 of Podz-Glidz, Ralf Piotrowiak talks about what he likes about the certain boredom of dune soaring, among other things. He explains which parameters, especially regarding wind, waves, and currents at sea, one should pay attention to. He gives tips on the right equipment and good soaring spots, and he tells us what led him to even write a book about coastal flying.
Before we take off with the conversation, I'd like to draw a few lines and sort things out in a figurative sense. This podcast, Podz-Glidz, and the associated blog Looglides are completely free for you to use. However, both projects are not free of cost. I put a lot of my working time as a freelance journalist into this, and that needs to be financed somehow, because I do live off it. However, I don't want to sell my independence in reporting on the paragliding scene via advertising deals or sponsored podcasts. As an alternative, I rely on the willingness of my listeners and readers to support my work at their own discretion—as patrons. Are you already on board? Then I say thank you. Do you want to become a patron too?
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Ralf, did you like playing in the sandbox as a kid?
Yes, I loved playing with friends.
And what did you guys do there?
Well, I don't remember exactly. But I think all sorts of things. Probably starting with something like baking cakes and walking barefoot through the sand. And somehow, the love for the sand has obviously remained over all these years.
So you still like playing in the sand today?
Yes, along the coast. I love being barefoot too, if the terrain allows for it. And then you have the sea. It's a really beautiful way to fly.
Do you actually love the sand in principle, or is getting sand in the glider really annoying?
Well, in the glider, of course, you try to avoid it. And you're also happy when you finally get the sand out in the evening. But during the day, I actually find it quite nice. And you experience it particularly strongly in places like Namibia, where the sand is really everywhere. And after a vacation in Namibia, you find it again in places where you actually didn't expect it.
Is there actually something like the ultimate trick for getting sand out of the glider quickly again?
Yes, if you're very skilled, you can try to shake it out in the air with an inverted glider. That usually only works with a very agile glider. Otherwise, once sand is in there at the beach and the wind is blowing, it gets difficult to get it out again. You then put one wingtip over the other open one and try to somehow, at least roughly, remove it again. The best thing is prevention, so preventing it from happening in the first place.
How do you do that? Is there a trick?
Well, you get more practiced over time.
You pay closer attention because you know what the consequences are if you do end up catching sand again.
And well, through practice, you manage to avoid that most of the time. But of course, there are always days where, with a crosswind, a gust comes and the glider ends up landing on the ground again, and then it's a bit tangled and somehow it flips over. And somehow the glider seems to like the sand and it immediately pulls itself back into the scoop. And you really have to be very careful that there isn't too much of it, otherwise it becomes dangerous to fly.
That means if you're on the coast, you have to watch out so there isn't too much of it, otherwise it becomes dangerous to fly. And if you're flying on the coast, you definitely have to make peace with the sand. You shouldn't get annoyed about it.
No, I mean, there's no point. It's like the weather. You have to learn to deal with it and just make the best of it. And well, it's just part of the deal.
Now, you mainly fly along the coast. What is it about coastal flying that fascinates you personally?
So, I like it so relaxed in the air now. I like to just surrender to that feeling of flight in peace. I don't want to fight it anymore.
I just like it like this: you stand at the campsite, take a few steps forward, pull up the glider. In most cases, you don't have to go anywhere. You fly. On a good day, you land somewhere alone on the beach. Then you go into the water.
Then you sit back down. You walk up the dune, fly for a bit again. Some people say it's boring. I always say it doesn't bore me any more than the people who sit by the sea bathing and looking out at the water. And I'm doing it from the air. So I find it beautiful, relaxed, and maybe pleasantly boring.
Pleasantly boring. There's that term "boring soaring." Do you use that too?
I'm hearing that for the first time now. It's pretty accurate, yeah. I actually like it now when it's a bit boring and I don't always have to fight against the collapse, like with cross-country flights in the Alps.
Fighting against a stall is good. Where do you see the biggest advantage of coastal flying compared to the other types of paragliding that we know?
Well, as I said, everyone feels it differently. My goal isn't to proselytize or to convince people that they absolutely have to do it. For me personally, I've tried all kinds of flying or types of flights. And by now, I just like the combination of the sea and relaxation. And yeah, it's just a nice time for me. I'm looking for happiness, if you will. And I find that when I look back over the year, I find it more often with coastal flying than with thermals in the Alps or similar.
What is the coastal pilot's happiness?
Yes, a beautiful day, a bit of flying, being with friends, being by the sea, watching the seagulls. And for many, it might not be spectacular or exciting, but for me personally, I just find it nice.
And what are the disadvantages of coastal flying?
Well, the downsides are that you just can't fly all the time. And people will tell you, "Go to this or that area, you can fly there all the time, there's something every day, you'll be in the air." I've traveled around a lot and ended up not finding an area like that. So you have the days when it's stormy, when there's bad weather, the wind is coming from the wrong direction, is too weak, there's coastal fog, and so on, where you just can't fly. And okay, that's the same for other types of aviation, yeah, or thermals flying in the Alps too, you can't fly all the time there either. And you just have to find a way to do something else nice. And I usually find that by the sea too. I mean, there are so many ways to spend a nice day, even when it's not possible to fly.
And that's the only downside for me. And maybe the sand, yeah, I'll admit. Sometimes.
You've spent quite a while using your non-flying days to write a book about coastal flying. It's simply called Küstenflieger and basically covers all the basics one should know. What was your motivation for writing all of this down, for putting your experience into text form?
It wasn't really a plan. So, during the pandemic, I spent about five weeks as a permanent camping guest alone in Löcken at a campsite. And I have friends in the Alps with whom I've enjoyed flying on the coast for years. I've told them about it again and again, and they'd like to do it too. Then I thought, well, I'll write something down. The first idea was maybe it would be an article, perhaps for DHV Info or Thermik Magazin or something similar. Then I started writing and it just kept getting longer. The next thought was, well, an article series. And from there, the idea that it should be a book after all became more feasible. And with Books on Demand, you have the options today to publish something like that in a self-publishing way quite affordably.
And of course, you write a book like that because it's supposed to be read in the end, not just sit on a shelf somewhere.
To be able to write down and explain something like that, you first have to fundamentally understand what you're doing yourself, so that you can pass it on. How many "aha" moments...
moments did you have while writing it yourself, where you were like, oh, now I actually understand what I'm reasonably doing?
-Did you have moments while writing where you'd go, "Ah, now I finally understand what I'm actually doing here?"
And some, and I want to say this too, it was a lot of fun writing the book and then thinking through everything we do there all over again. And then repeatedly looking at it in practice—little things like, you're pulling a wing, and at a 20 km/h wind on the beach below, you open the glider and think, well, the glider flies at 35, 38 km/h. And then you open the glider and think, well, the glider flies at 35, 38 km/h. And then you open the glider and think, well, the glider flies at 35, 38 km/h. At a 20 km/h wind measured at two meters high, you pull the glider up and then suddenly it goes backwards. You put weight in and then, of course, you wonder why that is, what's the reason? And yes, and then you think about it. And yes, and then you think about it, you have plenty of time when it's raining and stormy. You have plenty of time when it's raining and stormy. You do a bit of research, you look. And then, bit by bit, the picture emerges.
And then, bit by bit, the picture starts to form. The goal was primarily to write a book based on practice, but in some cases, you have to include the theory as well to get a complete picture of things if you want to fly, whether it's regarding flow conditions at dunes or the topic of...
And the wind speed gradient—what that means or could mean for us in practice—and to answer that question, there have been quite a few "aha" moments where I suddenly also thought about the topic of whitecaps. That's also a topic that coastal pilots always keep an eye on, and then at some point you realize the wind is picking up very quickly, but you don't see any whitecaps at all. Why is that?
And why is that?
Well, the formation of whitecaps takes time. If the wind picks up very quickly, you often only see the sea getting rougher and darker, and then about fifteen minutes later, the whitecaps suddenly appear everywhere and spread out sideways, which is always a sign that the wind is very strong. But the process of the wind sweeping over the waves—the whitecaps are nothing more than a mixture between air and the water's surface and the spray that's created—and that only happens after a certain period. That's why coastal pilots are advised to use whitecaps, but they aren't the be-all and end-all.
There are also whitecaps without foam crests. Or if there's a heavy rain squall out at sea, the same thing happens. You suddenly see a dark area approaching, a gust front, with no foam crests in it, and you should know that if you're flying there, rather than just orienting yourself by foam crests like sailors do.
Do you need a certain wave height for whitecaps to form at all? I have no idea. I could imagine that if a wave reaches a certain height, there's like a compression zone at the top where the wind gets accelerated again, and that's when maybe this mixing of air and water happens, and that's when you'd say the whitecap finally appears. But if it still happens over a relatively flat water surface, where the wind can't foam anything up yet, even if it's foaming over it at a decent speed. So...
If that's the case, you sometimes observe that the sea is absolutely smooth in the morning. And then the wind strength increases over the course of the day. And then you see very slowly that the sea gets a bit darker. The small waves get a bit higher due to the increasing wind, always a bit more. And at some point, you reach the point where the forces at the water's surface interact in such a way that a small wave breaks and smaller foam crowns can form. But of course, there are also days when we have swell because there was a big storm somewhere out at sea, two or three hundred kilometers away. And then we already have high waves anyway. And the wind might still be weak. And every now and then you see a foam crown, but that's actually only caused by the rough sea.
You have to be aware that different forces interact at the water's surface, and wave directions are often different from wind directions. The issue of whitecaps isn't a fixed measurement. There are days when you get whitecaps with relatively little wind. And then there are days—we also described the wind situation—where the wind is increasing rapidly, the surface is smooth, and there are no whitecaps yet.
Well, in your book, you've described the various—how should I put it—the various aspects of coastal flying in individual chapters. There's stuff about takeoff techniques, landing techniques, how to pack your glider in high winds, how to best do a winch assessment, things like that. If you had to pick one chapter or a small topic area from this book that says, "If someone should read something about coastal flying, or should definitely know something, then it's definitely this," which chapter would that be? Or which topic would that be?
Well, the most important thing for us, because it can potentially cause accidents, is ultimately the rotors we deal with and how they can develop. Yes, that, and the topic of how the wind sets in. How it affects a dune—so the topic of air pressure, turbulence zones, rotors; that's actually what you need to know because it affects us directly and can potentially be dangerous for us.
Explain briefly, what is wind backup?
Well, when the wind hits an obstacle—it could be a mountain, a house, an elevated coast, or a dune—the air masses basically have to be lifted at that point, and that costs energy. This energy is taken from the speed of the incoming air mass, and a smaller effect might also be that the wind simply hits it directly and is reflected a bit. So, an area with less wind is created in front of an obstacle where the air builds up, where the wind speed is lower, and where we sometimes also deal with slightly changing wind directions.
And we find that out pretty quickly when we handle the glider up the dune from the beach. Suddenly, just before the dune, it gets difficult, harder; sometimes at the beginning, the glider even falls down because there's suddenly too little wind there. Then you take one or two steps higher, the wind directions change, sometimes a bit more from the right, a bit from the left. Then the wind suddenly gets faster and it becomes turbulent because two air masses—the rising air mass and the accelerated air flowing over it via the Venturi effect because it's much faster—swirl together at the boundary layer between the two. Yes, and then sometimes we take one step and are amazed that we just had a decent pull on the glider, and 20 centimeters further we're suddenly in the air when we hit the compression zone.
So then it becomes...
Sometimes, 20 centimeters can already make the difference.
out? Yes,
sometimes that's the case, exactly.
One meter, 20 centimeters is already really... Yes,
that's right
very noticeable. It's a very narrow area that catches you off guard every now and then, because when you're handling the aircraft, you notice the force is there. But then just a little bit more and suddenly it lifts you away. And it even happens that you get levered backwards because you're still constantly surprised by the forces.
Then you have—now we've talked about air stagnation, that was the turbulence zone—then you also mentioned rotors. Explain that again. Where do they occur and what's dangerous about them? Yes,
The dangerous thing about rotors is actually that we can't see them. If we could see them, we wouldn't need to talk about them so much. A rotor basically occurs when a mass of moving air hits an obstacle and has to flow around it, either over the top or along the sides. Compression is created on top and at the sides, and behind the obstacle or behind the edge of the obstacle... a lee or a low-pressure zone is created, and it's always only pushed up from the sides and from above in a localized way. This means the air masses flow over an edge, over the top of it, and then fall back down after the edge.
You even have an area behind the dune edge where the wind comes from the other direction, and in most cases, you have a calm area right at the dune edge where you can sit comfortably or grab the glider. And if you move further away from the dune edge, you get back into the area where the wind comes down again and hugs the ground, where you can also see from the grass growth that there's movement and the wind is suitable there again to launch the glider. So, the rotor is significant for us at the point where we start at the dune, but much more serious regarding where we are no longer allowed to fly during the top landing. And that's actually one of the main causes of accidents in coastal flying—that people underestimate it, fly too far from the dune edge, and then suddenly fall out of a rotor from five or ten meters up.
And it happens without any warning. Has that ever happened to you?
has that ever happened to you?
Yeah, at one point in Castel Sardo on Sardinia. I didn't hurt myself, though. But it's like this: I flew back a bit too much. There was a power line or a telephone cable in front of me. And I thought I could make it over it. But then I felt like I wasn't going to make it anymore and had to land behind that telephone cable. And then, all of a sudden, it wasn't very high. It was maybe two or three meters. But suddenly, I was lying on the protector. Like I said, nothing happened. But the rotor is actually always there. Unless the meadow or the edge you're landing on is tilted more sharply towards the sea.
Then it's often less pronounced. And there are places like Norma, for example, where you can actually land beautifully almost anywhere. It's a gently sloping hill. You barely notice the rotor. There will still be a rotor, but it's no longer that relevant for us.
From what you've worked out for your book and all that—which of these skills should a coastal pilot, coming from a normal flying background, focus on? I'm a mountain pilot and have my experience there. Which skills do I need to particularly develop further, or even build from scratch, for this?
So flying on the coast itself, once you're up in the air, is very easy compared to cross-country flying or thermals in the Alps. At most, there are just some smaller tricks for when flying is weak, like how to stay up there even better. But otherwise, the landing isn't the problem either. So, top landing is of course a bit more demanding. But if you don't want to, you can always land on the beach. But the issue is actually the start. So, how do I get up the dune if I'm approaching from the beach and want to take off? Where, at which spots, can I possibly take off from the top of the dune? So that's what coastal flying in high wind is about. We're sometimes seeing 30 km/h. 33 km/h measured in the compression at the edge.
And we have a piece of fabric with 30 square meters. So those are real forces you have to deal with there. And you can describe that to some extent. And of course, there are many techniques, also nice videos on YouTube, on how you can improve your skills there. But in the end, you have to practice it. You have to automate it. And then you manage to handle the dune in the air pocket with such a large glider, in high wind, and then also take off cleanly and in a controlled manner.
If people who aren't that experienced yet say, "Oh, I want to go to the dunes or somewhere on the coast," what do you think they underestimate the most?
Yeah, I feel like coastal flying in general is underestimated a bit. Like, "oh, it's a boring story." You just wobble back and forth at the dune a bit. Anyone can do it, you don't need any special skills. But what I just described—this hiking up. At a dune, and then also in a lee, where you can't just step anywhere. You have to find the spots on a vegetated dune, like in Löcken, where there's no brush. That means I can't just hike up freely; I have to coordinate all of that. And the glider must not fall down. And yeah, that's actually the difficult moment where skill is required. And as a beginner, I mean, that's how it went for me too.
You head out there, you see the others flying and they get into the air so easily. But you always have sand in the glider. Then you walk up a little bit, and it falls down again. Yeah, then you shake the sand out again. So you work for an hour, you sweat. And somehow, you eventually get into the air too. And then you fly happily. But of course, you notice pretty quickly that it actually needs to go a bit better. And well, practice helps in the end.
When you fly in the mountains, there are many pilots who, well, who are really good at it. Also regarding cross-country flying and stuff like that. There, you can take some kind of big names as role models and say, I want to emulate them. And you can analyze the routes they fly exactly and say, where did they do the valley jumps, at what altitude, and all that. Is there actually anything like that in this small scene of coastal flyers, something like stars or role models or anything else that other people orient themselves by? Or is it actually something completely different?
So I've never really felt that there are any competitions. And it doesn't really make sense either. In the end, when it comes to coastal flying—maybe flying in general, but especially coastal flying—it's about the experience you can have. Having a nice day, being relaxed with friends by the sea, flying a bit. That's what it's about. And in the end, it's not a competition or anything. But of course, you can see pretty quickly that there are some people there who skillfully run up the dune quickly, land nicely at the top, or stand on the dune for a while and then take off again and fly, just like the gulls. So, they might not necessarily be the stars, but you can tell who's good at it, who's practiced, and who does it a lot.
And you can distinguish them pretty quickly from the person who comes to the sea every now and then, who somehow gets into the air with a lot of sweat and effort and then, of course, wants to fly for a few hours and just hang out in the air in peace. So you can see the experts playing. That's just a different kind of flying. You land, then take off again. When I was there last April, I talked to a local pilot who was flying a Boomerang. He kept flying around me, about a meter behind me. And we talked while I filmed him a bit. Yeah, you could say it's just a playful way of flying, like the seagulls, which is also fun.
Is this playful approach also what ultimately makes someone a "good" coastal pilot, so to speak?
Oh, I don't know. I never started categorizing coastal pilots as good or bad or anything like that. In the end, we're all looking for a bit of luck and fun. And we're all winners, winners at the end of the day, when we're sitting there with our beer, having had a great day and everyone got to fly. But of course, you always see a few who master it a bit better and enjoy the game more.
Do you ever get jealous when you see them? Or are you one of those types who says, after many years of coastal flying, I'm pretty light on my feet too?
I don't think of envy as a very nice feeling. But I do admire, for example, that Danish pilot who masters a large glider, the Boomerang, so perfectly even in very strong winds. The way he flies, just doing whatever comes to mind, just like the seagulls do everywhere. I enjoy watching that and I like it. But I wouldn't call it envy.
Let's briefly go over some practical things for coastal soaring. Also, things regarding flying itself, and equipment and stuff like that. I'll just give you a few sentence starters for that, and then you can add whatever fits based on your knowledge and experience. Okay?
The best glider for coastal soaring is one that...
Yes, you have to be able to handle it well. It should have performance. And it should also have great speed potential when accelerated.
You say it should have power. Are A-gliders not suitable for coastal flying?
They are. And you can do everything you want on the coast with an A-glider. But there are those phases, those days when the wind is a bit weaker. And where the A-glider just doesn't provide enough performance, and you can still fly with a different glider.
And then you mentioned the point about speed or the speed window. In that case, higher-rated sports gliders are also at an advantage because you're saying, okay, if the wind picks up, I simply have a bit more reserve with them.
Yes, well in that case, on the coast, the maximum speed the glider flies is a safety factor. And many experienced pilots have a D-glider. For example, like I mentioned about that Danish pilot, he flies Boomerang. And of course, it goes full acceleration, well over 60 km/h. And if the wind picks up quickly, you're down on the beach in 30 seconds or a minute. But the wind can increase so fast that you're glad you still have that speed potential. I've even landed while accelerating before.
Well, there is also the option of increasing a glider's speed by, for example, simply taking a smaller glider and thus having a higher wing loading. Exactly. If you had to decide now, would I go for a smaller glider to have speed? Or would I rather take the sportier high-performance glider to have a larger speed window and thus have the corresponding speed at the top end? What would you recommend there? Which way is better?
Well, for me, I've chosen both. I have a high-performance wing that I fly in the lower weight range for normal, weak conditions. But I can also use it with some extra ballast from the wing. And from, let's say, 10 kilograms, I can also make it a bit faster again. And then I have an XS glider that's overloaded by about 20 to 30 kilograms, which is suitable for stronger winds. So, personally, I can cover wide areas of what's possible or the flyable days. What's still missing are maybe about 10 percent of the days where the wind is so strong. Then I would somehow need a 16 or 17 square meter wing or a speedglider.
Some coastal flyers also have three, or some even have four gliders for those kinds of cases. And yeah, there's also its own appeal to flying in such strong winds.
So the trend for coastal flyers is similar to that of kiters with second, third, and fourth gliders?
Exactly, yes. At least for those who do it very intensively. Exactly. Because the window we can use with a paraglider is very narrow. So in most cases, five knots is too little. And with normal gliders, often eleven or twelve knots measured at the shoreline at a height of two meters is already too much. And if you can then expand that equipment by a few knots upwards and sometimes also a bit downwards, then of course the possibility or the frequency of the tags you can use then increases significantly. That's why most of those who do it often and a lot buy used gliders somewhere for little money on the DRV used market, for example.
and with that, we actually cover a pretty good range.
Is it also common, the way you do it, to add extra weight to your glider by saying, for example, I'll take ten liters of water as ballast, or I'll pack a sandbag into the back of my harness, or whatever? So I...
I don't know if everyone does that or not. For me personally, I like doing it because the ballast doesn't really interfere with coastal flying, because unlike a mountain start—if I start in the Alps with ballast and have eight kilos with me and there's little wind, then the start is a real struggle. But with coastal flying, it's like, I just drag the stuff along. That's the work I have to do. But the moment the glider goes up, it carries the ballast and I don't feel at all whether I have an extra ten kilos of weight with me. And once I'm flying, I don't feel it anyway. And at landing, well, I'm packing up anyway. I can let the water out then too and don't have to carry it back home. So I think it's a good way,
to expand the flight window slightly. I mean, Michael Nessler told me once that for every ten kilos of overload, a glider becomes about four and a half km/h schneller. You can't just keep extending that indefinitely. So, I'd say if you're overloaded by 30 kilos, the glider doesn't necessarily fly 15 km/h schneller, but maybe only twelve or so. But it is a significant increase in speed that you can actually feel.
Let's continue with this little story about adding extra sentences. Even when coastal flying, my harness should have a protector. Why?
Oh yeah, I think the protector is a good idea. Because it keeps happening that it just kicks out somewhere.
That you might still have contact with the ground when flying low, and at a speed of 20, 30 km/h. So a protector is definitely recommended. I mean, if someone chooses to do without it, they have to know what they're doing. But for myself personally, I wouldn't want to do without it.
What about the parachute?
Yeah, a rescue kite—I don't think people of other opinions think that. I mean, you don't need a rescue kite on the coast, and it quickly becomes dangerous. You don't need it because you're at most 20, 30 meters off the ground in the air. If you needed a rescue kite at that point, it wouldn't open. But maybe the much more important argument is that if it actually opens at a speed of 30 km/h at the edge of the dunes, anyone can imagine what happens when I also have 40 or 50 square meters of rescue kite open, dragging me around there. And it also just happens too fast for a rescue kite to be triggered by mistake, because a line somehow got wrapped around the Brauntandling and suddenly it pulls you out of there.
So, the reserve parachute really needs to be removed or at least safely blocked.
Speaking of safety, do you ever wear a life jacket on any of the coasts?
No. I mean, if it's that dangerous, I wouldn't fly there. If there's no decent beach to land on down there where I can get out in an emergency,
then I wouldn't want to take off either. I wouldn't be able to relax in those kinds of conditions anyway. But some people do. And I never wear a life jacket.
I always have a wind gauge in my bag. Why?
Because I absolutely need it for coastal flying to assess the conditions. Especially when people do it who don't spend their whole lives or most of their time flying at the sea. Then you have a feeling somewhere. I come from the Alps, I flew nicely there. Now I'm taking a coastal vacation again. Now I'm standing at the dune in 30, 32 km/h wind. So, based on feeling, you'd say, I'm not launching a glider there now. That's really way too much. But they are effectively really great conditions for flying. You always measure slightly stronger wind in the compression. So 30, 32 km/h at a dune like in Lökken are optimal. They are really great for flying. If you don't pack up then, you won't get into the air at all. The wind gauge helps with that in the end, too.
Because I can make a really rational decision with the wind gauge. I can measure the wind down at the shoreline. If I see it's 18 km/h, wonderful, those are good conditions. If I have 32 up at the edge, does that still work? That still fits perfectly into the picture. I can even sometimes still launch from the dune from above with a smaller glider. That's sometimes still possible in those conditions. And then you can fly great. If I only go by feeling and I don't trust the wind gauge,
then you just can't gauge that. I mean, no one can tell me that they can feel the difference between 32 km/h wind in the compression and 26—I don't think you can feel that. Or you'd have to have an extreme amount of experience.
How do you do that on the coast? In some places, you can just say, I'll go down to the beach, then run up the dune really quickly and compare, so I have both wind readings. But there are some coasts, like steep cliffs, where you can't just get from the bottom to the top so easily or something. You're down at the beach, but it's really hard to estimate how strong the wind actually is up there at height. What do you do then?
Yeah, that's a good question. I like to have both wind values. And I'm happy to invest those 10 minutes to say, I'll go down to the water's edge to measure and then measure up top. Of course, things could have changed again in that time. I like to get the full picture. But there really are flight areas where that's just not possible.
And well, then I just have to take the values available to me. Personally, I always think it's good if you can start from the top, if it's somehow possible. From a terrain perspective, and from the wind values, I prefer starting from above, also to improve the dune vegetation a bit, to preserve it. Because if we as coastal flyers are always running up and down, especially on dunes that erode like in Denmark. And then there's the issue of coastal protection, not just in Denmark, but especially in Holland. There, you want to avoid trampling over a lot of ground. But I'd say, if I only have the value from the top and it works for me—if I were to measure 30 knots at the edge, then I'd say, okay, I can risk it and I'll try it now.
However, that's only if I know I can also put the glider down again behind me if I realize it might be too much. Because we always measure the wind at two meters high. So we have the issue of the wind speed gradient. At the height where our glider ends up, the wind is significantly stronger. And we know that this increase in speed follows a logarithmic curve, but there are days, or gusty days, where the wind speed gradient is more pronounced. And then I measure down at the launch point, maybe 30 meters behind the dune edge. I measure about 23, 25 km/h there. It should be okay, and usually it is. But there are days when it's just too much. And then I want to be able to put the glider down again and say, okay, there's no point. I have to go down to the beach and start from there instead.
So, if I've understood you correctly just to pin this down, just as a few key figures that one might remember. You said earlier that 20 km/h at the water's edge is already a lot, quite sporty. At the top, the dunes, the upper edge, 30 km/h or 33 or something like that is also sporty. Exactly, in the compression. And in this range—so these are the key figures anyway, where you can say, hm, at least with normal equipment and such, it shouldn't be more than 30 at the top and no more than 20 down at the water's edge. That you can just keep those in mind as, as rules of thumb. Exactly.
It's good in most cases. There are very different areas, dune slopes and so on. But in most areas, or let's take the specific case of a dune like in Løkken in Denmark, which is about six, seven meters high, or maybe ten meters, and rises at about 70, 80 degrees with a decent beach in front of it. Those are the conditions where you can still just barely fly. Of course, if you're in the air or have started from the beach, it might be 42 km/h at the dune edge if you're using a smaller glider. But I'm turning to people with this book—or I am—who haven't done this very often yet. They usually don't have the small, overloaded glider with them. They fly with normal equipment, and for them, these values are actually already quite rough...
...sort of like the orientation aids.
These are the measured wind values. Now, you're faced with the decision: should I even go to the coast? For example, I live in Bonn. I could say, I'd drive three and a half hours and I'd be on the coast in Holland. I could say, for this weekend—is it worth it or not? What's your favorite weather site, or the one you use most often, to get what I consider the best wind information regarding forecasts?
Well, there are,
Windguru certainly isn't bad, but it's not always right either, and these models derived from Windguru or Windy or Windfinder,
Sometimes one is right, sometimes the other. And for us, our options are pretty limited because of our relatively slow and low-powered aircraft. On top of that, we also want to have the wind direction exactly right. And that can vary by another 20 or 30 degrees. The wind speeds can vary by 20 or 30 percent up or down. So many variables come together that you can never know for sure if it's going to work. And there isn't one single weather provider where you can say, "they're always right." So I always look at them all and then I'm faced with the dilemma of which one to believe. And if I then notice, well, about two of them tend to suggest that it might work in Hanstholm or in Dockedal or in Waikanssee, then I think, well, okay, it's worth it.
The trip, the effort to get there for you now, a three-and-a-half-hour drive, yeah, that can happen. You drive to Holland and then you're standing there and the wind is 6, 7 km/h less and the wind direction doesn't really fit either. And then you have the other option, which is to wait a bit longer. Especially in the summer, the days, maybe the wind comes a bit later, maybe it comes again in the evening. Yeah, but otherwise, of course, you need the right conditions.
Based on your experience with the coasts, where do the weather forecasts tend to be off—with the wind speed or the wind direction, the respective predictions?
Well, I can't really judge that from a feeling just yet. It's both that varies.
Weather providers generally don't take into account the formation of thermals in the hinterland or what happens there. They look at supra-regional wind developments and then project them onto the coast, onto the specific points that interest us. Those are the points where we fly, and also on a very local scale. And if there's a decent stretch of land behind it that develops thermals, and then around 1 or 2 p.m. the cumulus clouds are really bulging, that's not included in the forecasts anymore. But for us, that means a significant increase in wind on the coast, and on a low-value day, it means that we can fly.
We were just talking about the threshold values, the measured wind speeds. Are there specific thresholds you have in mind when you check a meteo forecast, where you say, if I see that the wind is already over 15 knots or something like that, I'm not even going out into that kind of terrain? Or do you say, no, the weather is made on-site? Ultimately, as long as I see the wind is somewhat okay. Even if I see it's maybe 10 km/h too much. At some point during the day, I'll find my wind—and flight—window accordingly.
Yeah, it's a balancing act between a lot of things. You weigh it up. If, of course, 30 knots of wind are forecast, they're usually not wrong. I don't need to drive there for that. I won't try it. But if the wind direction is right, if I see there's no rain getting in the way, and if it's maybe a bit stronger than I'd actually like, sometimes I say, okay, I'll give it a try. I've still got the small glider. And maybe I'll find an hour or two where I can still fly in not-so-strong wind. And maybe it's generally a bit weaker too. So it's always a balancing act between many things. If you haven't flown for a long time, you're more motivated. Then you say, yeah, now I want to get back into the air. Now I'll drive for an hour and a half too. And if it doesn't work out, oh well, I'll take the risk today.
If I flew yesterday, I'll say, well, I was already up in the air yesterday. And the effort today to pack the motorhome again, to drive again... like, ugh, I just don't feel like it anymore. So it's always different from day to day.
On Windy, I think they have it on Windguru too, I'm not sure right now, but on Windy I know they do—they have waves and swell forecasts where you can also see, okay, how strong it is approximately and from which direction it's coming? Do you also factor something like that into your assessment of a day beforehand? Because you also say, okay, if I see that high waves are forecast from a different direction than the wind is coming from, or something like that, then I know the air might be a bit more turbulent or whatever?
Yeah, well, I don't let that stop me in the moment. If all the other factors are right, I'll try it. If I notice that it's really rough and turbulent in the air, maybe coming from the side and moving very, very strongly, I'll usually do that for at least half an hour, because I'll say, okay, I've flown for half an hour, it was quite nice, or it's not a really beautiful day today anyway, then I just go land. And that's the great thing about flying on the coast: if I don't like it in the air, I'm down on the beach in 30 seconds, that's good. I don't have to fight my way through four or five meters of altitude toward the landing field like I would in the Central Alps.
Let's take a look back at your flying career. Can you go back to the beginning—how did it all start for you? How did you get into flying?
I actually wanted to try kitesurfing. Like this combination between—I used to do windsurfing, so between water sports and then being in the air a bit. I tried that and the attempt failed miserably; I just couldn't manage it, like taking that step onto the board and having the right power to get pulled away. Then I came back from vacation a bit frustrated, talked to a friend about it, and he said, well, I've always wanted to fly properly, and so the idea came up, and then we started with paragliding, that was around 2003, 2003 or 2004, I don't remember exactly, and then the usual flying career, starting with very little knowledge,
highly motivated, a bit brave, and then it developed like that over time. Then cross-country flying came along, and for us in Northern Germany, that also meant a bit of lowland flying. A bit later, then cross-country flying in the Alps, the Central Alps, and back then also with a lot of motivation and a lot of courage. Then over the years, I saw what was all happening around me, even with experienced pilots. I had my own experiences too, where people crashed next to me in a lever, fell into a canopy, and after crossing the valley in Sterzing—that was it—and that takes away the illusion a bit that paragliding, even cross-country flying in the Alps,
...that you can do that, I mean, it has its pitfalls and its risks, and then you have to consider whether you're willing to take them or not. And like I said, over the years, I find it more relaxed now when I'm by the sea, having a bit of fun. It's less risky, I have to be a bit careful during takeoff, and I can really enjoy aviation for myself.
Is thermals flying in the mountains or cross-country flying, in your personal assessment, too big of a risk nowadays?
Well, you never know exactly where your own limits are. I mean, you get older, and of course, your reaction time eventually starts to decline. You don't necessarily feel it or notice it right now, but you know it's happening, and the conditions over the last few years—at least that's how I've felt it—have perhaps become significantly more demanding than they were 15 or 20 years ago when I first started flying. I can at least remember more relaxed days. Everyone has to find their own way, but in the end, we're looking for that happiness, that joy in flying. And I used to feel that with cross-country flights; if I was low and safe, I had to fight my way back up—yeah, you make it, you get back to the cloud base, that triumphant feeling: I'm back up there, I'm still in it, I'm making progress again.
And well, over time, I've lost a bit of that motivation. And that motivation is what drives you to push through the unpleasant things in the air; not every thermal is nice and cozy. When you fly in the Alps and eventually fly a leg into the Dolomites, it naturally becomes quite demanding.
And then at some point you ask yourself, do I even like this anymore? Or do I prefer a different kind of flying now? And when I look back, at least over the last few years, the days I liked or were the happiest were actually always more by the sea—more relaxed, a bit boring, yeah,
but I'd say, yeah, just happy days.
You could say it in a bit of a provocative way, yeah, did you become a coastal pilot mainly out of fear?
No, you can't say that. Well, over time, my respect for it has grown. So, I'd say—in quotation marks, of course—fear, because I know what can happen there, even if you're an experienced pilot. But I've been doing coastal flying from the very beginning. So, I started flying. When
Was were the beginnings of your flying? I don't think we've mentioned that yet.
That was 2003, 2004. And shortly after my training, I was already being quite brave in Sardinia. I had no plan, neither for coastal flying nor really for flying in general. And Sardinia, as far as the launch sites go, is all a bit tricky. Very small, narrow launch sites. Lots of thickets, lots of brush. We didn't have an instructor with us. I was out there with a fellow pilot, and we picked out the launch sites ourselves. We got into the air, met locals, everything went well. But from today's perspective, I'd say it was pretty brave, just heading out like that without any experience or any plan. And especially in an area like Sardinia, where there are simpler areas where you can learn it better and actually learn it properly for the first time.
So, coastal flying was always a lot of fun right from the start. But cross-country flying in the lowlands was also always a highlight; those are some of my best memories. But coastal flying, too, was always great from the very beginning.
You've traveled around quite a bit with coastal flying. Where have you been all those places?
Yes, South Africa, like most people who probably really enjoy coastal flying. Namibia. Namibia is certainly ideal if you want to learn. In hindsight, I would make that one of the first holidays because you can really properly learn ground handling, high-kiting, and so on. And yeah, a lot of Denmark, a bit of Holland, because it's so close and you can get there relatively quickly. Well, there's still a lot to do. There are so many great areas that I don't know yet, that I want to check out. But for someone who's starting, I'd say if you have the opportunity, Namibia would be an ideal entry point,
...to learn it properly from the start and then be able to go into all the areas that interest you in a controlled way.
Do you have something like a favorite spot?
Yes, I really enjoy being in Denmark because I have so many options there, especially in North Jutland. That's where Denmark gets relatively narrow, and you can quickly drive from one side to the other. It only takes 50 minutes. So, via Ostwind, I can get to the other side quickly. I know it very well by now. I love that wide landscape. I like it when there aren't so many people. If Løkken gets very crowded with pilots, I know areas where I can divert, where it's a bit less busy. And then I can have my peace and quiet. And it's really beautiful there. I like it up there.
North Jutland is also where Løkken is located. Is that really the Eldorado of coastal flying?
Yes, I think Löcken is certainly well-known and a household name for many people.
I wouldn't even consider it the ideal area for beginners, because it's still very demanding to climb up that steep and mostly overgrown slope. So, for practicing and just getting started, other areas are actually better suited for this type of flying. But of course, Löcken is well-known. The lighthouse is a highlight you can fly to. The landscape near the lighthouse is like the Sahara, a huge sand dune. It's got something to it. So, it is beautiful. It's also quite nice if you have a few fellow pilots with you, where you can chat while paragliding or meet up in the evening for a barbecue. However, Löcken also gets crowded very quickly.
When cohorts show up there in the summer and flight schools hold their courses there, and then if there are 100 paragliders out there along that long dune, it eventually gets a bit annoying. And yeah, as I said, there are ways to avoid that. You can actually fly all along the coast in Denmark. There are many spots. They don't even have names yet. Sometimes I drive there in the car and see if the wind is right; then I'm there all alone, unpack my gear, and fly a bit for myself. And you can do that wonderfully in Denmark. In other countries, like Holland or something, it's already much more critical. So in Holland, it's tolerated in some places, like at Wijk aan Zee or in Zandvoort. But the Dutch are very particular, and that's also completely justified with the coastal protection.
And coastal flying isn't particularly pleasant there if you have to constantly trudge through the dunes.
Have you been there too, probably to the Pilar dune?
No. From what I've heard, it's always been too crowded for me. I mean, I've been there, but I haven't flown there yet. I looked into it once. Families used to spend a lot of time in the Médoc back in the day. So of course, you'd make a detour there sometimes. But the idea of seeing videos of how many people are there, actually throughout the whole year... And during July and August, the French have their own holidays too. So everyone heads there. It's just too crowded for me. There are many smaller flying areas further north in Rotaun and along the coast where there's less going on. I'd have more fun there.
And coastal soaring in Normandy, for example? Yeah. Have you done that yet?
No, I haven't done that yet. But it's a plan. I've already looked up the launch sites. I actually would have been there last year, too. But then the pandemic hit. France with bad numbers. So now it's more for this autumn. I'm thinking about flying along the whole French coast. And depending on the time, maybe even further, like a bit through the Basque Country, all the way to Portugal, then towards winter. So that's something I'd really like to do. Traveling through the country and not just being fixed on the flying, but also looking left and right to see what else beautiful there is to see and experience. And yeah, it's generally a nice way to travel the world with a paraglider. Getting to know countries, constantly finding new friends you can fly with.
And yeah, it's a good life. So you can't complain.
You really can't complain. But that sounds like you have a lot of free time now. How much of your life do you invest? How much of your time do you spend today on flying or centering your life around flying?
Yes, a lot lately. I sold my company in 2010, then kept working, but not full-time anymore, as a management consultant, freelancer, and I was often able to combine those. I took my paraglider with me on my business trips when I went to Mexico or the USA, and I kept finding opportunities where I could fly as well. And in recent years, I also had an opportunity where I worked for Bayer Animal Health as, let's say, a consultant. I could do that job from anywhere. I basically just had the internet and could do my analyses and research there and then send them to Bayer.
I spent three days in Denmark with Sturm, having good Wi-Fi, and worked from morning till night, and then when the weather was good again, I flew from morning till night. So that was the absolute best part. But unfortunately, this job wasn't extended last December after Bayer was taken over by a competitor. So I have even more time at the moment. And because of that, I even have time to write a book. And yeah, I have to keep myself busy somehow.
Keeping busy is good. Many people will probably be jealous in a positive way now, saying, oh, I wish I had the time to just travel through Europe and check out all the different coastal soaring spots and try them all out and stuff like that. Ralf, I wish you the health to keep it and the opportunities to actually be able to carry out such things now with the Corona restrictions and really continue your coastal trip. I can only recommend your book to everyone. At least if you don't have much experience with coastal flying yet, I think you'll find a lot of basics where you'll say, okay, I'm getting some kind of guardrails I can work with, regarding what I should maybe learn or what I should pay attention to.
I thank you for that too. I think you're doing the scene a favor by doing that. And all the best to you.
I wish you the same, Lucian. Thanks so much for the well wishes. And I've been following your work for years. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Keep it up. And I think it's important that we have such a truly independent source of information in the paraglider scene that also reports critically on all sorts of things. And yeah, in that regard, you're doing a great job. So I can return the compliment in full. Stay healthy too. Ciao.
Thank you.
That was episode number 62 of Podz-Glidz with coastal flyer Ralf Piotrowiak. The book written by Ralf and mentioned in the interview is called Küstenflieger. It was published by Books on Demand and can be ordered on the website www.bod.de. The price is 18 euros. By the way, I have already published a nuanced review of the book. You can find the link to it in the show notes for this podcast episode on Google+. As well as some links to further information regarding the topic of coastal soaring.
If you want to hear even more stories from the world of paragliding, you can find many more episodes of Podz-Glidz on Looglights and Soundcloud. They are also available on well-known audio platforms like Spotify, iTunes, Google Podcasts, etc. You can simply subscribe to Podz-Glidz in your podcatcher of choice. And if you want Podz-Glidz and Looglights to continue in the future, please consider becoming a supporter. You can give as much as you like. Just for those who can't decide, I'll make a non-binding suggestion. How about 1 Euro per podcast episode and 2 Euro per reading month on Looglights? Of course, you can listen to a few episodes first and read Looglights over several months and then make a lump-sum contribution.
Payments can be made easily via PayPal or bank transfer. You can find all the necessary details on my blog Looglights, specifically on the page www.looglights.com. Lucian Haas was at the microphone. Until next time. Ciao.