That was even the crowning achievement, that at the end I thought, what do I do next, and nothing came to mind. So, for me, it's always been the dream from the very beginning to fly from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean once, without resorting to any means other than my legs and my glider. If I had finished that in four days because the weather is so perfect that you can fly 150 kilometers every day... I don't know if I would have liked that better.
Podz-Glidz, the Lu-Glidz podcast. Stories from the cosmos of paragliding. Today with Boris
Staehli and
I'm Lucian Haas.
Walking and flying through a mountain range for days on end with just a glider and a tent on your back. That is the idea behind Volbiv. Many paraglider pilots dream of this type of bivouac flying. It is considered a particularly powerful expression of aviation freedom. 53-year-old Boris Stähli from Bonn fulfilled this dream. One week after the participants of this year's Hike-and-Fly race X-Pure sped through the Pyrenees, he set off on the Atlantic coast with five like-minded pilots to reach the Mediterranean in a similar manner, only without the haste. They called their tour the Transpyrenees Rallye, or T-Pure for short.
For Boris, it was an adventure that gave him a great sense of happiness. But it also pushed him to the limits of his physical endurance. This 88th episode of Podz-Glidz isn't a retelling of the individual hiking and flying stages. Instead, Boris talks about things like the background of the project, his preparation, the equipment, and how two previous flight accidents led him to pay close attention to strict risk management even on this tour. If you like Podz-Glidz, if you like Podz-Glidz, then why not support my work as a patron? You can find out how that's possible very easily and without any obligation on the website of my blog Lu-Glidz, specifically on the "Support" page.
Boris, what's it like to hike through the rain for a day with 18 kilograms of paraglider equipment on your back?
It's not very nice. It's a very damp affair. It's very cold. Especially what you don't always keep in mind is that rain in the mountains also means the rain is very cold. It's icy, and it really brings down the mood. So, it's not very nice.
Was was your big Pyrenees adventure supposed to look like?
I was prepared for it. Yes, it wasn't my first time in the Pyrenees; this was my second attempt at making this trip. And I knew that I often have to expect days that aren't textbook-perfect, where you don't just sail through the sunshine all day and fly long distances. I knew that, first of all, it could be very difficult weather-wise with rain, wind, and thunderstorms. And I also knew that I'd have to hike very long distances because of that. So my morale was based on that. That one day. The day you're referring to. It wasn't very high in the cellar. It's not pretty, but you just have to push through. And that day got me 30 kilometers closer to my goal, towards the Mediterranean.
That's why it was okay.
Why didn't you just sit it out for a day? You could have just said, I'll stay in this spot, pitch my tent there, or go into a bar and just wait it out. And then I'll continue the next day, when it's maybe dry.
Yeah, there are two reasons for that. One reason is more of a psychological, emotional thing. I don't like just sitting still and waiting. The second reason is that this rainy day was in a spot where I'd already seen during my preparation that the probability of it clearing up is lower than further into the center of the Pyrenees, towards the Mediterranean. And I just wanted to create this zone of potential. I want to get through bad weather as quickly as possible. And that's why I don't sit down and wait for it to pass, but instead put kilometers on the ground.
Now we're actually right in the middle of that story. But tell me the beginning first. How did the idea of doing a Trans-Pyrenees rally come about? I think you called it the T-Pure. How did something like that come to be?
The idea is actually a two-part question. First, the idea of how I got interested in the T-Pure, or the Pyrenees in general. And the second part is how it came about that we were traveling in a group. The first point is when I got my paragliding license in 2016. 2006, slip of the tongue, 2006. I read a report relatively shortly after that. At the time, I think it was in the newspaper, about people doing a bivouac tour. They flew from one mountain to the next, pitched tents, and bivouacked. That really appealed to me because even back then, I already enjoyed being out in nature, in the mountains.
And I enjoy hiking. And that was the motivation for me to really learn paragliding. Because I had some pretty naive ideas at the time. That you could sleep in in the morning, then start from where you camped, soar around the area a bit, and land wherever you liked, and then continue the next day.
Exactly. The next point is, this idea never let me go. Especially the Pyrenees. Because they're relatively well-suited for a bivouac tour like that. They might be a bit wilder than the Alps. But that's exactly what makes them so appealing to me. And that's why I've always kept this topic in the back of my mind. And it was one of my big goals to actually pull it off in terms of paragliding. The second point is, because I'd always planned on it, I set a date at the beginning of last year and said I'd do it in July. Because weather-wise, July is the month with the fewest rainy days.
And I happened to get into a conversation about it with a friend I met. And he said there's a chat group that just formed on Telegram, where someone from Great Britain is organizing a tour there. And then I said, yeah, that's interesting. There are a lot of people doing that. It's become popular, especially because of the X-treme. But I looked into it anyway. I got in touch and realized that the idea actually does interest me after all. And the idea is to meet up with everyone who wants to participate at the Atlantic. To start off together. And then not to hold any races. So it's not about who is the fastest.
Instead, it's about starting out together. And then giving each other a bit of support and camaraderie. On the first day, of course, you're traveling completely together. But even on the first evening, it splits up. Because everyone chooses a different route. Everyone progresses at their own pace and so on. And we set up a live tracking page. We were in constant contact with each other via our Inreaches. So, there are also safety aspects that are guaranteed by that.
Because you're basically under observation by everyone else at all times. In a positive way.
Exactly. We actually had people watching us from home too. And they said they check in every day to see who is where. And they also expect you to send a life signal, so that nothing happens. Luckily, we didn't need any of that. There were no accidents or any incidents. Everything went super smoothly. But I think that was also because it was a group of 6 people from the start who have a relatively high level of paragliding skill. And they also approached the whole thing with a lot of safety awareness. That played a part in it too.
Did they all already have hike-and-fly experience? Right, yes. Everyone. That means they already knew what kind of gear to take and all that. Or everyone had their own equipment. They were already somewhat optimized. Yes, we have
of course... I told you, I came across this group almost a year before the actual date. And we've been in regular contact in the group since then. There are even 50 to 60 people in that Telegram chat who were interested in it. At the beginning, it gave the impression that we might even be 15 to 20 of us who would actually be there on site. But then that dropped off a bit. And in the end, there were six of us. And of course, we exchanged very specific details. Who's taking which glider? What's the advantage of pot A versus pot B? Or which stove? Are we taking spirit? Are we taking gas? And then everyone went their own way.
Did you all agree on the date together? Because everyone has to say, okay, then we're heading out. So you had...
did you all agree then? Exactly. The date originally came from Reece Fischer, who, I'd call it, organized the whole thing. He started the Telegram chat group and set up a small website where you can collect and access information. And he put July 1st on the table as the start date.
Now, this July 1st doesn't overlap with the X-Pure, which took place the week before. We wanted to avoid having herds of paragliders suddenly wandering through the mountains. But it's also in July. And interestingly, regardless of my reasoning for doing it in July, Reece took the exact same path and checked the weather data to see what the climate data is for July in the Pyrenees, or rather, if doing it then is an advantage. And we ended up at almost the same date, practically the same week.
What makes July so interesting right now—is it because of the high bases, because it can get so hot, or because it rains so little since it's summer? Or wouldn't August actually be better in terms of rain?
Actually, July is the month with the fewest rainy days. You have to look at which region, though. The French side of the west is a bit wetter, and it gets drier towards the Mediterranean anyway. And the further you go into August and September, it generally stays drier than in other months, but the risk of thunderstorms increases significantly. That means the whole atmosphere becomes more unstable and it gets harder to plan the days. And that's why July was the safest; we put all our eggs in one basket and said we'd do it in the first week of July.
You just mentioned the XP. The XP has, like, x turning points. I think there were nine this year. And
when we then in the first week of July over
Did you have a set route for your tour as well, where you'd say certain turning points everyone had to pass by? Like, to have a chance to say, maybe we'll meet up there again? Or was it that we're starting at the same place, aiming for roughly the same spot in the Mediterranean, but in between, the whole route was open?
We came up with a route, but we didn't fly it meticulously. We coordinated with each other for a long time beforehand, sometimes in Zoom meetings where we met and looked at the map to discuss how we wanted to do it. We basically drew from the collective knowledge of everyone who wanted to participate and decided on a route that seemed like the best path for us. We set eleven waypoints, so additional points between the start and the finish. But we didn't necessarily intend to hit every single one of those waypoints.
So, of course, the start was clear because we were meeting up there together. But even at the sea, when we arrived at the Mediterranean, different people chose different goals for various reasons, partly logistical reasons, etc. That means, in the end, we actually didn't meet up anymore, even though three of the six participants arrived at the Mediterranean simultaneously within a few hours, but unfortunately in different places because they had chosen different routes beforehand. We mostly determined the route choice based on weather and topography. We looked beforehand at what the most popular routes were for the X-Pyr, where the race tracks are—like you might know from the Alps, the Pinzgauer Spaziergang is a race track; if you look at all the paragliding there, you can see they all fly the same route.
We looked at that kind of data and figured out where the highest probability was to cover good distance, and then we set the waypoints based on that. And for the most part, that worked out well.
Are there even any race routes in the Pyrenees? From everything I hear, I'd say, okay, these long, these long valleys that exist in the Alps, where you can just basically glide along a ridge for 100 kilometers and in some parts really do it wonderfully in definition mode. At least from a topographical standpoint.
there. The
The topography I know from the Pyrenees consists of many small cross-valleys and other things where it actually doesn't really work that way. Or does it?
That's a fair question. So, the flight paths might not be like in the Alps, where a route is defined by the fact that 10,000 flights have already been made there. These might only be 50 or 100. And sometimes I get the impression they all came from XPEAR pilots who previously tried to somehow get through there. But there are actually some flight areas where flights in the magnitude of 50, 100, or 150 kilometers are made. And you can actually orient yourself by those. So if there's an area somewhere that no one has ever flown over, then you can really ask yourself, why is that? And do I have to be the first one to try it in an event where the goal is also to reach the destination? If you're going for fun, then you can do that.
But we all wanted to get to the Mediterranean, and ideally within 14 days.
That means we already looked at where the tracks are that can be shown on the maps and said, okay, a lot of flying happens lengthwise there. So we'll try to fly lengthwise there too, because it probably works well.
That's exactly right.
There was an interesting result from the fact that we were out there with several people.
If you visualize the Pyrenees, it's this long mountain range that stretches somewhat arcuately from west to east towards the north, so with a sort of arc over the north. Most of the flying areas that people know, like Berga or Organia or Castellón de Sous, are all on the southern flank and are practically still in the foothills. So it gets flatter and flatter there, and there are these ridges located in the south of the Pyrenees. That's where most of the flying activity is, of course. And if you draw a line from the Atlantic, where we started, to the Mediterranean, that line goes relatively straight across there. That means it's actually the shortest route.
That was also the route option I chose. And others chose the option with this slightly more extensive arc through the main massif of the Pyrenees. In the end, I have to say, I might have lost some time by not flying through the high mountains, because it's always a bit harder and takes longer to make progress in the flat areas. The other two, who did this arc, were technically in the air longer and did some longer flights at times. But they had to pause because there was sometimes bad weather in the high mountains and it was thunderstorms there. And then they just had to wait until it was over and could only continue then. So ultimately, as far as speed is concerned, the choice of route didn't really matter in the end.
Now, there are also some airspaces, or rather national parks, in the high mountains of the Pyrenees—at least from what I gathered from X-Pier—where you're supposedly, what does that mean, supposedly not allowed to fly and such. Did you guys stick to those as well? That is to say, the ones who took that arc over or along the main ridge, did they also have to fly around those things here?
They had to fly around these things. I can't really judge whether they managed to do it in detail everywhere or if they ended up clipping them at some point. I didn't really look at the wings that closely. But that's also one of the advantages of the route choice I made. There's only one single peak where you have to make sure you have enough altitude so you don't clip an airspace. And I managed that in the end, too. The airspaces do actually get more critical the further you get toward the Mediterranean. But since I personally didn't manage to fly close to the Mediterranean, I didn't end up in that predicament at all.
You said the XP took place a week before you were there. Was that also a kind of mental preparation for you? Like, did you really root for them during the XP and follow along constantly? Where are they heading now? Will I get there too, and stuff like that?
Yeah, that's a good question. Actually, I always root for the XP and the X-Alps and many other races too, and I always check out what's happening on my computer and via live tracking. But this time specifically, it wasn't that intense because I was much more busy with my own preparation and only clicked in every now and then. And the route with this big X went across the main ridge of the Pyrenees. We wouldn't have been able to or wanted to do it that way anyway. So I only followed it on the sidelines.
With this X, the route from the XP was over 600 kilometers long. How long was yours, if you say you actually took the shortest route and headed along the southern edge of the Pyrenees? What was it, roughly?
That was in the ballpark of 500 kilometers, slightly less. And regarding the distance I covered, I can say exactly: I covered exactly 650 kilometers, 300 of which were on foot and 350 by plane.
Oh, yeah, so about 50, 50 percent, you've already made it there. And the XP, I mean, they've done 650 kilometers, they smashed that in six days. How long did it take you?
I took exactly 14 days.
So you didn't have such good weather or you weren't flying that well? Or what was it because of? I mean...
First of all, I had between 19 and 22 kilos on my back. Unlike the XP pilots, who get water and pasta brought to them immediately even when they take a break. That's not how it is. I was completely self-sufficient. That's one point. The other point is that we actually had five days at the beginning that weren't flyable. Where we really just had to keep going on foot. That really adds up over time.
Isn't that already demoralizing, when you're just walking right at the beginning?
Isn't that also demoralizing, when you just have to run right at the beginning? No, on the contrary. We were super lucky at the beginning, right at the very start. We could—well, usually the start on the Atlantic is very disrupted by the moisture of the sea. If you're in Larun, at that first point where the XP was, when
had to? No, on the contrary. We were super lucky at the beginning, right at the very start. We could—well, usually the start on the Atlantic is very disrupted by the moisture of the sea. If you start there in Larun, at that first point where the XP was, when
started, heading up, personally I only expected to do a glide and then be able to run straight up the next mountain. And we could even fly 15 kilometers as the crow flies into the interior from there. And then we did another flight on the same day. So it couldn't have been better. The first three days, we flew each time. I didn't expect us to cover that much distance. And then the weather got worse. That was one day of rain, many days of wind. And I expected that. And since I also enjoy hiking, of course preferably with a lighter backpack, but if it's just a matter of fact that I have my plane with me, then it has to be that way. And I don't get grumpy about it. That was—I also had that, my goal was to try.
My goal wasn't the arrival. I said I wanted to try it. And if I only make it halfway in the 17 days I set for myself, then so be it. That's why I'm all the more early, all the more happy that it worked out. Even faster than I expected.
So you had to go back home after 17 days? Or did you have a flight booked that would take you back home? No,
I hadn't booked the flight yet. But I took two weeks plus a few days off, and then I had to go back to the office on that Monday to keep working. So that was the hard deadline. I finished a bit early and then flew home a day after I arrived.
Let's jump back to the very beginning. You said there, you six of you set off together.
Did you know anyone of them personally before, other than through the chat group?
Only very briefly. I knew Emanuel, whom I met before in Colombia while flying. And we exchanged a few words. Like, "Oh, you're in that Telegram chat group too? You're thinking about joining?" "Yeah, me too." But we didn't know each other any better than that. Of course, we've gotten to know each other well now. And the other five—four—companions, I only knew them through the Telegram chat group.
That means it's really just a shared idea, a common dream or something like that. And that's what it builds on, and then you meet up.
Yes, and the great thing was that we really got along well. I'd even go as far as to say that we became friends during that time. It worked out great. It was really lovely.
But now, if I understood correctly, you weren't actually out together that much. You started off together, but then, from what it sounds like, you split up relatively soon. Different route choices and all that. Yeah. Still, you say you got to know them well and became good friends. Did you still keep in touch in between? Did you call each other or chat again via Telegram, or how was that?
We were constantly, you could almost say, sending messages via the chat group. And even if it was just a message like, "You're sweating as much as I am. It's terribly hot today, it's 40 degrees. And we're currently climbing thousands of meters up the mountain." What was great, and was completely unexpected for me, is that we actually kept running into each other throughout the entire route in smaller groups. Not planned, but rather you
basically flew across our path or
walked. And the most unplanned thing that happened to me was really on the penultimate day, when it was just hiking towards the Mediterranean, I was already totally exhausted in the evening because I'd been at it for almost five hours. I
I'm 50
I'd walked for kilometers and then I look up and see something ahead that looks like a person with a paraglider backpack. But that couldn't be right, because it was really in the middle of nowhere. And I look again and see it's actually Minczek, and he was 200 meters ahead of me. We knew we were heading roughly in the same direction, but meeting on the road without an appointment was a total shock. In between, we kept having situations where I'd see, okay, they're one mountain further on the map. And I'd quickly text or they'd text me, wait a sec, then we'll meet up and set up a night camp together, and that's how we did it. And it worked out wonderfully.
When you mention the overnight camp, let's talk a bit about the gear you had with you. You said it was about 18, 19 kilos, probably a bit more with the water. What did you have all in that pack?
So, what's all in that bag? Of course, that's the flight gear. I'm flying my glider, the one I've had for two years now. I thought for a second, what is it? It's the Ozone LM7. I briefly considered whether it made sense to take a different glider, maybe one with slightly lower performance claims. But I decided against it because I get along great with this glider and everything fits well. As for the harness, I have the new BV1 from Ozone, which just hit the market.
That is specifically for the
designed for bivy flying. That's designed specifically for bivy flying.
I had
I was also lucky that I could get a tester from the flight school three months before the tour to take a look at it. Of course, it also has negative sides. There are some things I would personally change. But for a tour like this, the positive sides actually outweigh them. It's really well thought out. It has a huge cargo area where you can put a lot of stuff. It's also not unbalanced in the air. That's great. Then, regarding flight equipment, a light rescue, but in standard size. I don't make compromises there. Of course, helmet, gloves, etc. Plus what you need for overnight stays. Plus what you need for overnight stays. The tent, the mat, sleeping bag, a small set of cookware for eating.
A small set of cookware for eating. For me, coffee in the morning is a luxury item. I need it, otherwise I won't get going. Then you also have coffee filters.
Do you have a coffee filter too?
I thought about it for a long time whether I could bring that along. I really like coffee and have 7 different devices for making it. But I couldn't bring myself to take the Aeropress or the Moka pot. For short trips, I don't do that. But in that case, it was instant coffee.
And in terms of tech?
Regarding technology, I have the XC-Tracer Max as a Vario. Compared to solar devices that don't need recharging, it has the advantage that you can actually read the basic data—the climb rates, the altitude, the ground speed—permanently. Actually.
can also read permanently.
I also took my phone with me and paired it with the XC-Tracer. I had the Navita app running, but I only used it as a map display and kept switching it off during the flight to save some energy. I also hooked it up to a power bank to recharge it during longer flights. That's actually necessary. Plus, there's a 17-watt Anker solar panel. That's basically enough to recharge the power bank again while hiking, if you strap it onto the backpack, or while flying, on the front of the seat pocket. So after
after a day, this power bank is full again. How big is it, I mean the power bank itself?
That's a 10 watt-hour power bank, and it actually goes a bit faster. I think because the sunlight in the Pyrenees is so strong, the solar panel needs a good half day to charge it completely from empty to full. That's enough.
And for how many days did you have food with you? Way too
too much. My colleagues laughed at me too, because there are these adventure packs where you just have to pour water over them for the meal. I had 10 of those with me, and then I also had half a pound of cheese and two salamis and a whole loaf of bread and some snacks and nuts and chocolate and many things to nibble on. I did that because I didn't want to sacrifice my autonomy. I didn't want to say, okay, now I've been out for three days and have to go to the next town to buy provisions. I wanted to avoid that. In the end, I came across so many towns with small grocery stores that it wouldn't have been necessary.
But you just don't know that beforehand. And I actually enjoy carrying that extra weight.
That means if you were to do a T-Pure 2, you'd save a bit on that too, wouldn't you?
Yeah, I'd do those little things, I'd make myself an emergency ration that I'd say, I'm not touching this now. That's for just in case. And otherwise, I'd rely a bit more on being able to buy things. You can get bread, sausage, cheese, sandwiches, or similar things quite well in the smaller towns along the way. But that's also because I actually chose this slightly more southern route, where there are more villages. If you try to fly through the main ridge really following the Spanish-French border, there aren't as many villages. And then you have to land perfectly, and then you only have what you have with you right now.
If you look back now at those 13 days you were on the road, would you say that was a hard...
Adventure? It was hardcore, yeah. It pushed my physical limits. That's how it was. So, the longest day I hiked with luggage was 46 kilometers in the Spanish sun. Brutally hot, costs a lot of water. I think I drank 7 liters of water that day and sweated it all out again. I had days where it was only "30 kilometers" in quotation marks with 2,000 meters of elevation gain, and you have to manage that first. But I was prepared for it. I've basically had a relatively
consistent sports program for myself, which I also followed. And I did that not because I lacked basic fitness, but because I personally think a lot about safety in paragliding and I said to myself, the better I am physically prepared, the more performance resources I have available when I've reached the top of the mountain after a hard ascent and want to take off. I don't want to be sitting up there after 1,000 meters of altitude, being exhausted and out of breath for the first two hours not knowing what's going to happen to me; instead, I want to arrive at the top, have a drink, prepare my gear, and be able to start with enough physical reserve, and also be mentally fit for a 3, 4, 5, or 6-hour flight.
You just said you basically put together a training program for yourself. What does a training program like that involve for you?
Yes, unfortunately, we're in the flatlands now and I can't run up 1,000 meters of elevation every day, which would have been best. But I just took a running training program that marathon runners use and I also ran two marathons during the course of the training, but then I added one more on top. It's basically a training plan mapped out via an online program created by a sports scientist called Train as One, where you can enter your running goals and the program then calculates a plan for what you have to do every day. I followed that and tried to do the program as if I were at the start
the Pyrenees
running two ultramarathons of 50 kilometers each. That means it gave me the basic fitness and the fitness in my legs. What I noticed was that what I actually lacked were the vertical meters, and hiking is actually a different kind of strain. Hiking with weight is a completely different strain than running. But I was aware of that beforehand, and that's why in the weeks and months leading up to it, I tried to do long hikes on the weekends with a bit of extra weight as well, to somehow prepare my body for it. It's not all perfect. You also need some time to do other balancing sports, like cycling or swimming. But I can only work with the conditions we have here in Bonn, and unfortunately, we don't have any mountains.
Looking back, what would you say was your weak point, physically speaking?
Physically speaking, I'd say it was actually the lack of vertical meters, but only by a small amount. I knew that beforehand, and it was clear that would be the weak point. I mean, I know I can't do 5,000 meters of vertical gain every day like one of the XPUA athletes. For me, the limit was around 2,000 to 3,000. But I never had to push that to the limit. So in that sense, everything worked out well and I'd actually do the preparation exactly the same way again.
Did you feel anything in your back or with all that weight? No. What I...
what I felt was the strain on the shoulders. At some point, there were even red streaks and signs of abrasion. But that's because of the backpack I used. I've tried out different ones, and I don't think there's a paraglider backpack that's as well-suited as a hiking backpack. With those, you go into a store, they have 30 different ones in various sizes that you can adjust for back length, you can get advice, you can try them out with weight in a store, and even walk around a bit. I would really miss that in the paragliding scene. What I miss there is that we have good back equipment. Unfortunately, that's not the case. At least I haven't found anything yet. Although good
Hiking backpacks often still have some support struts in the back to really transfer the weight to the hip belt. But that probably affects the pack size, so you'll likely end up forgoing those kinds of bags because we just can't fit them in properly.
Actually, the pack I chose is the 80-liter Biwak pack from Cortell. It has an expansion compartment on top where I put all the food at the beginning. I was able to pack that up later and put it at the bottom. And it actually has a small metal brace in the back. That's why I got it. The downside of this pack, which I only noticed after being out for two or three days with very heavy weight, is that the slightly too-narrow shoulder straps dig into your shoulders. That's how it is for me. Maybe it's different for others, but it's a very individual thing with backpacks.
Especially with paraglider backpacks, which are so difficult to adjust for back length, you really have to see what fits you. We just talked about physical training. Have you done any kind of flight training as well?
Absolutely, yes.
I've made sure that during the time I had beforehand, I could primarily do alpine flying. Well, that's not alpine now. I was lucky enough to take a sabbatical during the first three months of the year. I was on vacation then and spent several weeks in Mexico flying. I spent several weeks in Colombia flying and was, roughly a week or two before the Pyrenees tour, at a competition in Slovenia in the USA. I was in the mountains to get a bit of mountain air again. That means I have this year
had about 120 flight hours before the tour. And it was also important to me, of course, that I wouldn't go into the mountains after a long winter or something similar, or just fly in the flatlands every now and then, and let myself get battered. In particular, what I noticed is that the Pyrenees are a bit wilder than the Alps. I mean that both in terms of the population and civilization. In the Alps, there's practically a hotel on every peak and a village in every valley where you can gear up. That's not the case in the Pyrenees. It's really wild. There's nothing there. There are foxes and bears that I've seen.
But the weather conditions are also wild. There are very strong winds that you still have to fly in, and there are very strong thermals. That's why I'm really glad I could do these two aspects of preparation so well. I think if I hadn't been able to fly intensively beforehand, I wouldn't have done the tour this year either; I would have postponed it. What about Top?
-Landing practice and stuff like that?
I haven't specifically done top-level landing training. I haven't done that; I've tried it.
But I also have to say, going back to what I said at the beginning, I used to imagine that with volbiflying, you'd fly so nicely from one mountain peak to the next, and wherever you liked, you could land and then start again from there the next day. That was my dream. It doesn't work like that at all, because if you...
if you don't reach it, you're always under pressure, thinking maybe I still have an hour of thermals that can take me another hour, so 20 to 30 kilometers further, I'm already looking for a spot that might be suitable, what do I do there? And if I decide on the former, to keep flying, then the risk increases that I'll still crash and land in the valley. But if I say I'm landing here already, then I have to land during the high-thermal period. And that's not exactly easy either. You can't just pick a spot and glide in nicely like on the valley floor; the take-offs are happening in quick succession there, and it calls for really active flying. That's why I would say, like
How many flights were there? Out of eight flights, I actually only made three top landings. The others were all on the valley floor, and then I climbed back up the next day or the same day. And was that mainly for safety reasons? Exactly. I mean, I believe I'm a relatively safety-conscious pilot. I take very small steps regarding my progression, for example, in terms of glider classes. It's also related to the fact that I've already had several incidents. Luckily, they all ended very minorly.
That's a good point, it's worth thinking about what we're actually doing there and how I do my risk assessment. How do I approach this situation? How do I behave in which situation? And I'm more on the cautious side. And if I have to weigh up whether to land at the top of a difficult spot or at the safe spot in the valley with the climb back up, then I tend to lean towards flying into the valley.
I don't have to rush.
Did you have a situation on this tour where you had to say afterwards, "Phew, I got lucky there"? Luckily, no. I...
I had a situation where the launch was critical, so to speak. But it was very simple. I chose a relatively easy spot on a meadow with a nice slope, pulled up the glider, and at that exact moment, a gust of wind came through from below. And you know how it is when you have a very heavy harness anyway and can't get onto the glider fast enough. Well, it just lifted me up and then set me back down on my butt. And the glider was flapping around. I had to somehow catch it again. So nothing wild happened. And a perfect landing was actually a bit tricky because a gust also went through right during the final approach, and I really had to demand the glider to come down and say, "down now."
And that was, I think, I didn't land on my feet, but I somehow went down onto my knees from the impact and fell over. But it's nothing dramatic. It wasn't a spot where you'd tumble down the mountain if things went wrong. You have to check that out beforehand, though.
You're never completely protected from that. There could always be a stupid hole or a rock you overlooked, and it doesn't even have to be a massive injury. But, for example, you might twist your ankle or something where you say, I can't keep walking right now. Did you guys have any agreements in the group? What happens if someone gets hurt somewhere? Do the others take care of them? Because they might be somewhere in the area. Do you try to set up some kind of rescue chain or something?
or something else? That was exactly the big advantage of this group. What also prompted me to...
what
always like that
addressed us, that we should do this as a team and not alone. If I had done it alone, I would have relied on people at home tracking my live location and calling me if I didn't move for 10 minutes to ask what was going on. And I did that additionally. So there were a few friends who tracked me here and also always sent encouraging text messages when it sounded good.
And we had—we insisted, and no one disagreed—that we all had one
...equipped with an InReach, which first allows you to track where the person is, but also lets you send messages. Because these aren't the Alps either. The Pyrenees have a very poor mobile network. There isn't a radio antenna on every mountain peak. And you have to stay active somehow. That means we had several safety nets in place. As I said, we didn't need them. Luckily, fingers crossed. But I think these things are best when you don't need them. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't have them. Many people say, I only fly in the Alps or I only fly locally, so I don't need an InReach or a Spot. I don't agree with that. Because if it happens once and you would need it,
then with the Spot, you just press the SOS button and the cavalry arrives until you've managed to fumble out your phone, dialed the right number, and then maybe have a bad connection or no connection at all. In an emergency, that's not enough for me. We spend so much money on paragliding, on the equipment, on traveling, etc. It really shouldn't come down to the few euros such a device costs and the monthly fees.
That's the most important thing when you're flying your local mountain.
Do you also take your InReach with you on your local flights? I mean, you live in Bonn and fly around the surrounding area in the Eifel and stuff. Do you always have the InReach with you and turned on?
No, I don't have it on here in the Eifel because I know that mobile coverage is simply there with my phone. I have a data plan that I can activate and deactivate as needed. That means if I say, for example, I'm going to the mountains this weekend,
then I can activate it for that day, for example from Friday to Sunday, and after that it doesn't cost anything again. That means it doesn't run permanently while it's sitting in a drawer at home. That's why I weigh it up; if I know I'm going to the Moselle and doing a cross-country flight, then I don't take it with me. I've never experienced the phone network being insufficient there. But if I'm going to the mountains, then it goes into the cockpit.
If you look at the whole tour like that,
and you're saying they took a certain level of risk, even though everything went well. What would you say a pilot needs to be able to do if they wanted to replicate or do something like that? What's the minimum level you have to have, if you can even describe that in any way? Especially the Pyrenees, which, as you say, are a bit wilder than the Alps. Maybe a 2-day wool beef in the Alps is quickly done.
That
The problem with this question is that those people,
the people who actually need to hear this answer are probably so convinced by their ego or their own attitude that they think, I don't need that. And everyone else who travels with safety in mind can probably already assess themselves quite well and think, what do I want to do there? That means if I say now that one should perhaps have 3 to 5 years of regular flying experience, should have done a handful of SIV training, at least two, should have a glider that they have, I'd say, done 150 to 200 hours with and really, really know well in every situation, then that is the minimum level for me.
There are many people who say after 2 years, I'll try a tour like that. Some are a bit more reckless and just go for it, and then it's just luck whether everything goes well or not. The great thing about bivouac flying is that you don't have to start with a 14-day trip in the Pyrenees; you can start small. You can organize your gear and take the mountain lift up in the evening, stay overnight somewhere where it's allowed, and come back down in the morning.
That's how I started too, and then I just kept building on those individual steps. At some point, I did several days in a row. Eventually, I stopped relying on transport and transport methods, and that's how you work your way up. Then you figure out for yourself where the limit is—where a situation was total rubbish and I shouldn't have done that, and where it worked out great.
Once you've finished, you reflect on it for yourself—where were the sticking points, what worked well, what didn't work well—and then you internalize that.
As I said, when it comes to your flying skills, you should especially know what to expect when flying in the Pyrenees.
If someone feels up to flying in the Alps in the spring, then they can do it. But if someone says, "Oh, the Dolomites in July, I'd rather wait until October," then the Pyrenees might not be the right choice either.
Well, you just said yourself that you took it slow—or rather, with the Volbifs and Hike and Flyers and stuff like that, you started small and then kept adding more to it. Looking back now, would you say this tour in the Pyrenees was the crowning achievement, or were there other tours where you'd say, actually, the shorter ones were much better in the end?
No, that was the pinnacle. It was even so much of a pinnacle that at the end I thought, what do I do next? And nothing came to mind. So for me, it was always the dream from the very beginning to fly from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean once,
without resorting to any other means than my legs and my glider.
That was also the wildest tour, the most adventurous. Everything went well, except for a few minor mishaps like lost USB cables or broken USB cables, etc. Nothing on the equipment was damaged. I didn't have any wild landings. Everything was excellent. Overall, I'm the kind of person who would also say, if I had ridden this in four days because the weather is so perfect that you can fly 250 kilometers, I don't know if I would have liked that better, because I don't have to fly a long distance and say, wow, that was 200 kilometers, that makes me super happy, but for me, it's more about the journey.
Even if it's just 10 kilometers of hiking with a backpack on my back, I enjoy the flowers by the roadside—as cheesy as that sounds—or the wild horses in the Pyrenees, and I'm just there. That's why it was already the highlight of my life as a flyer so far.
Then you arrive at the Mediterranean in the end and you're like, yeah, but looking back, it was also kind of like, yeah, now I have no more goal. Was that still a relief at that moment, or was it really like, oh shoot, I'm already here?
I was surprised that I was already there. Of course,
the further you move towards the Mediterranean, the worse the flight conditions get. Because the humid air pushes back in, the base goes lower and lower, that's one point, then you have the airspaces, that's the second point, and then the area becomes more and more unflyable. The mountains get lower, there's more forest, you can't find any launch sites anymore, and eventually no landing fields either. That means I was already prepared to do the last few days on foot, and in the end, it was 86 kilometers that I still had to walk from the last landing field to the Mediterranean, so about two days. And in those two days, I was still really in the mode, in the hike-and-fly mode, like, this just keeps going on here and I just have to keep walking, then maybe at some point the next launch site will come.
and suddenly you're standing there and there's the Mediterranean, and I didn't want to stop walking at all, but it had to be. Then I had a beer, sat down, focused on myself for a bit, and celebrated, and then that was it.
Was about this tour would you say was the absolute highlight for you?
Actually, it wasn't one single highlight where there was an "aha" moment, because it stretched over several stages. If you look at the topography, it's often the case that moist sea air is brought in from the north, from France, which then pushes against the mountains on the French side, while on the other side, the Spanish air mass is very dry and very hot, trying to block and hold it back a bit. And when you're up there, so to speak, on the ridge, on the main ridge of the Pyrenees, you see these effects where, from below, there's a real
pushes against the mountains like a thick, oily soup, then just barely washes over the peaks and pours into the Spanish plain, and that is absolutely wonderful. Those are moments when you're sitting above the clouds in a meadow, with the sheep in the background and the flowers and the bees and the birds—it sounds cheesy, but it's a wonderful experience of being alive. You feel so small in this magnificent world, and those were several moments because I also hiked along this ridge for a while. Unfortunately, it also made flying impossible. I wanted to
It's like two sides of the same coin, because you see the beauty of the overflowing cloud mass and at the same time you can think, "Yeah, cold, moist air is flowing into my valley right now, I have a tailwind, and there's nothing left to gain from a flight perspective."
Especially these days were insidious because I knew that in terms of the weather situation, it was relatively stable. In the higher air layers, so above 2,000, 2,500, the wind was relatively low. Maybe 5 km/h, 7 km/h, so definitely flyable. The further it went down, below the ridge level, that north wind would break into the valleys at 50, 60, 70 km/h. And that was a moment where I have to say, that safety thought comes out again: if I fly this, I can fly it as long as I stay above this level. But can I guarantee that I can land perfectly at these edges at any time?
And for myself, I said I can't do that, I don't trust myself to do it, or maybe I just don't want to risk it at all. And that's why I walked. That's why I much preferred this variant without the time pressure over, for example, doing a race like the X-Pure, where that competitive mindset kicks in and you think, "the others are flying now, I have to try too." That's a huge stress factor for me. That's why I didn't do it at that moment, and I've checked it off; I don't think "should I have" or "I should have" anymore, the decision is made for me and then I continue on foot, and that's clear. Would you...
Are you interested in something like an X-Pure in principle? I mean, doing something like that as a competition?
No, exactly for that reason, not. I'm the type who would put myself under a lot of pressure and I know myself—then I'd push through, the ambition would kick in, and then I might do stupid things, and that's why I don't want to. I've already taken part in several Hike & Fly competitions and I find the format admirable, and I have the utmost respect for the people who fly these huge distances after walking 70, 80 kilometers and back. So I think it's great, hats off, but for me, it's not the right format. For training and preparing for such bivouac tours, yes, but not that often; it's too dangerous for me.
But
if I remember correctly, you also fly classic competitions, you already do. So you're ambitious there too, and you say, I'm going all out now, and then I try to keep up with the whole group. But those are two different stories for you, right?
Those are two very different stories for me, because in the Hike & Fly competitions, I'm on my own and I decide whether I start here or keep walking, as they are usually organized. You have a common starting point, run off to the next mountain, and then see how you best handle it yourself. Because of the...
normal paragliding competitions, there's always this
Starting in the air, all 130 are together and you're traveling together. And by then, the decision of whether I'm starting or not has usually already been made. I haven't experienced it in the competitions I've been in yet, where I've said to myself, the others are flying, but I'm not starting. But I have had the case where I started and then justDNF'd because I didn't like it in the air. The task took place, it was flown, but for me it was a bit too wild. And then I go down to land and my ambition doesn't go any further than that. But I think that competition flying is a wonderful preparation for such tours. Because unlike normal "XC" flying, you don't choose the route yourself.
And when I fly XC and my goal is to cover as much as 100 kilometers as possible, I naturally choose the route that makes it easiest to hit that 100 kilometers. And to make sure I don't crash anywhere. But in competition, every task always includes spots where you'd say, I would normally never fly there. Not because it's dangerous, but because there's a risk of crashing. And that challenges you, and the learning effect is quite significant. So for me, competition flying is simply learning with others who have as much fun with it as I do. And what I can learn from that is being faster in the thermals, being faster at the next turn point, and flying good lines.
And that benefits me on those kinds of Volbif tours, because I simply know more—I know where I can push, where I have to hold back, and how I have to lay out my line, and you learn that very well in competition.
If you were faced with a choice right now—it's a bit hypothetical, but it could be—saying, okay, I can fly a great competition or I can do a great Volbif. Which would you prefer?
I can hardly answer that. I think it would depend on how many competitions I've done this year, or how many Volbifs I've done this year, or how many cross-country flights I've done this year, or how many low-level cross-country flights I've done. So for me, these are all variations of one big hobby and I can't really commit to which one I prefer. I like doing cross-country, I like doing competition, I like doing bivouacs, and I also like doing hike-and-fly competitions, and every time I've done one of those three or four times, I think, now you absolutely have to do the other one again. So they don't really conflict at all.
So it's really like you want to experience all the many facets of flying. Then let's talk about the darker facets of flying. You already hinted at that earlier, that you've had a few not-so-nice incidents. What were those, for example?
Not-so-nice incidents... well, I've had two accidents in my paragliding career so far. One of them is almost not worth mentioning because it was basically three or four flights after my basic training, after my license, after the A-license. I just misjudged the wind in one of our local spots and landed with a tailwind; I was going way too fast and broke my leg. So, that's a stupid beginner mistake. But that also meant no flying for at least half a year, right? At the time, it meant a whole year of no flying because I had a screw in my leg, and maybe I could have, but I was also being cautious and thought, well, is this really the right hobby? But after that, I got back into it.
Then I had to keep going. And for a long time, everything went well, but then I actually had a rescue deployment once while trying to fly the Möltal Triangle. The day before, it had worked out wonderfully. On that day, the weather was exactly the same again and I just wanted to make the turn points a bit larger, and then at one point, relatively close to the terrain, I flew into the thermals and couldn't handle my glider anymore and got a collapse that I couldn't parry. It twisted into a spiral dive within seconds, the usual program, and luckily I was still able to pull the rescue in time to land in the terrain. Nothing happened to me.
The equipment was totally destroyed, but that's replaceable. The main thing is that nothing happened to the pilot. What stuck with me back then, though, was actually taking a satellite tracker with me, because that was an incident where I had no cell service. And I was sitting there on a spot in the mountain, relatively high, maybe 2,500 meters, and I couldn't get down anywhere. So when I... I had somehow packed up my gear and wanted to... I looked at where I could descend from here? And it wasn't possible because there were sheer cliffs everywhere and no
...mountain climbing training or equipment, at least I never would have dared to think I could get down somehow. And then I thought, well, he has to call for rescue now. But the phone didn't work. And then I sat there and was sad. And what did you do then? What I did was... I thought, if I can't climb down, then I'll climb up and go up the mountain. Maybe I'll catch a spot somewhere with a bit of signal. And that was actually the case. Then I was able to make the emergency call. Then it took another half or three-quarters of an hour until the helicopter came and they pulled me out with a rope. And for me... that was one of those turning points where I said, this isn't happening to me again. I want, if I'm hanging in a tree, have a tree landing, or am just in a stupid situation...
It doesn't always have to be the worst-case scenario. It could also be that you have some kind of landing, like you just said, and sprain your foot. And then you can't get away on your own. Then I just want to be able to press the SOS and the cavalry comes or looks for me. That's important to me. What also led to this accident was that I basically thought about my flying and about safety and said I have to make it clear to myself: paragliding is not a hobby like
It doesn't always have to be the worst-case scenario. It could be that you have a landing, like you just said, and sprain your foot. And you can't get away on your own. Then I just want to be able to press the SOS and have the cavalry come or look for me. That's important to me. What also led to this accident was that I basically started thinking about my flying and about safety, and I said I have to make it clear to myself: paragliding isn't a hobby like cycling or hiking, even though accidents happen there too; it involves a certain level of risk. And that risk isn't like in football, with broken legs or a concussion, but it goes straight for the jugular. You're either dead or severely injured for life. And that's a thought that's always with me. I never let it go after the accident. I did SIV training and tried to somehow regain that lightness I had before, or let me put it bluntly, that recklessness, that daring. But I've still kept this safety aspect in the back of my mind. And the insidious thing about paragliding is that it's never the one mistake you make that takes you out of the sky, but it's always a chain
different
small mistake. The weather might be marginal. You might have had one beer too many the day before and don't feel quite as fit, or maybe you don't even notice it yet. Then, you might be out with a new glider or new equipment, and all of that adds up to a certain... it accumulates. That increases this risk. And these are things where I notice that many paragliders don't pay intensive attention to. Instead, it's more of a fun hobby. You go to the mountain, then you fly a bit, and then you have this social gathering. That's all good, I enjoy it a lot too. But I would wish that the paragliding community remembered more and more that what we do is aviation.
And that carries a risk. And in no other area of aviation do you do things without checklists and safety measures, for example. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to introduce them, but I want people to be aware of what they can do for that. And for me, it just looks like I intensively
prepare a flight day. I check the weather from all the possible sources I can find. I check the topography, the terrain. And when I get to the flight area, I also look at whether it matches what I saw. And if it doesn't, then why isn't it? Can I take off then or not? And then I make my takeoff decision. And I also fly, for example, the Pyrenees—that's a good example—a route or out of a thermal because it's too wild for me. Some people are happy when it goes up at eight meters per second. I'm not necessarily happy about that. I want to get away from there. For me, a "gentlemen's" thermal of two meters per second is exactly right. It takes a bit longer then, but in the end, I feel better about it.
It's actually more fun too. You can look around the area, you can think about where I want to fly next, or you can look down at the combine harvester, see how it's bringing in its wheat, and all that other stuff.
With that emergency landing you had, where you now have an InReach—that's a detail question—if you were to land again, would you say, "Oh, I'll just press the button on this InReach now"? I mean, you're fine, you were fine there. I'd just press my button on the InReach and set everything in motion, because they don't know how I'm doing or anything at all. They just know that someone just pressed the SOS button and we can't reach them. Or would you say, before I press this InReach button, I'll first take a look, maybe hike up there?
and I would do that depending on the situation. If I'm mobile, I have nothing, I'm just stuck somewhere in a dilemma and can't get out, then I would obviously look,
I'd open my map; on the phone, there's somehow a hiking trail on the other side of the mountain leading down. That would be the first thing I'd check. Then I'd check if I have cell service, obviously. But if that's not the case and I see that I can't...
with the SOS button, because you also have to deal with what actually happens then. So it's not like, I buy this, put it in my harness and then I have it, but you have to think a bit about what you're setting in motion with it. It's like this: when you press this SOS, an international emergency center belonging to this InReach corporation is contacted, and then comes the great thing about this SOS, about this InReach compared to other devices. It's not just an SOS beacon, so it doesn't just send out the emergency signal, but you are also contacted by them via this device and they then ask what's going on, what the emergency situation is, and then I can also describe it via the device,
It's not urgent right now, but I'm in a bind or I have an open fracture and you need to get here as fast as you can. If you do nothing, the statement from this emergency center is that they will set everything in motion that is possible, and they do it by locating where the accident is—they have the position—then they see which country it's in and call the local emergency services, whether that's the fire department or, in the Alps, the rescue helicopters or the police, depending on the situation. That's why you can and should also on the website belonging to this system,
is assigned personally, where you can leave your contact details. There's also a section where you can write freely in the text field: I'm currently traveling in the Pyrenees, I've planned this and that route, this and that is my plan, and here are the contact details of the people to call if something happens to me and I send out an SOS, please call them. It's not just a "press button and you're done" thing; it starts a communication process, and that's why I wouldn't hesitate to use it—after all, you're paying for it.
But that's also something you, as a pilot, have to actively maintain in a way. Correct. You say, okay, now I was in the Pyrenees, after that I have to remember to delete it, so that the next time I'm in the Himalayas, they don't still think I'm out in the Pyrenees. That
That's exactly right, but it's done with just two clicks of the mouse, and I actually always write in what I'm doing. If I say, for example, I'm going to the mountains in the Alps for three days and flying there, I don't write much. But for this Pyrenees tour, I've already entered several potential stops, I've entered contact details, etc., and then, whatever is stored there, are my emergency contacts. So, first, that's my personal data, but also that of my wife and one or two friends—flying friends—who know how the hobby works. My wife doesn't know that, she doesn't want to know at all; she's rather opposed to it because I'm away so often, but people who are familiar with it, you should also include them.
For example, for the Pyrenees trip, I specifically asked a friend if he could help out if I were out on the other side and needed someone who speaks Spanish. Something like that is, of course, very helpful.
Now, towards the end, I actually just want to bring up one very small topic, really just a question. You've been flying since 2006, I believe? Right.
And you've experienced your great Volbifs now, and you're saying these Pyrenees were the ultimate experience so far, let's put it that way. Is there anything else about flying in general where you'd say, wow, those are special moments, or a particular moment that has absolutely stuck with you?
Oh, there are so many moments. I think that's the beauty of flying—that every flight, I always say, the next flight is the most important flight of my life. For two reasons. On one hand, because I fly because it's fun for me, whether I'm hanging here over the local mountain or over the wildest landscape you can imagine. It all has beautiful aspects, and you can experience something new and great everywhere. The second thing is the safety aspect, because the next flight, if you really feel it's that safe, then your life is on the line, so you approach it with a different attitude and don't just jump onto the mountain because you want to get it over with quickly. But what I like about flying in general—I'm a very adventurous person, I love traveling the world...
and flying takes us to places and locations you'd never reach otherwise. And I love that. I don't just mean that you can go to Colombia or New Zealand or India to fly locally at landing fields. That's already great, because you should also try to take in a bit of the culture and the mentality of the people and look around a bit, instead of always just looking at the launch site and landing field. That's what most people do when they go on flight trips. But especially with cross-country flying, you end up somewhere you would never have gotten to otherwise. And that doesn't just happen in remote and exotic
flight field, but it can also happen here in the Moselle. You go out for a cross-country flight and see where it takes you today. And the real adventure begins when you're standing on the ground. Yes, how do I get back there now? The land is in some
remote Eiffel valley—well, remote in quotation marks, depending on which dimension you're looking from. But it's still remote by German standards, and you say, okay, this is where the foxes and hares somehow say goodnight or something. What would you recommend to other inexperienced pilots on how they can collect especially many beautiful flight moments? Is there a special, well, not a trick, but some kind of advice you could give?
Yes, maybe there actually is some advice I could give. I would tell them not to want everything all at once. I have this feeling that the young pilots, the new people in the club, and the people who are just joining think right away: I have my license, I have my B-license, now I can go on cross-country flights, I have to fly 200 kilometers next year immediately, I have to become one of the best.
...that's always there. That's actually not the point for me at all. I think about it in a very Taoist way: the journey is the goal. We fly to constantly improve ourselves, and when I hear legends like Kriegelmauer and the tops of our scene say that they want to learn something new in every flight—not just that they can, but that they want to—it shows me that this journey will never end. And if I set myself a lofty goal now,
then for the five years before, I might be frustrated because I'm not there yet. But if I say the next flight, regardless of whether it's short or long or beautiful, I'm going to enjoy it in its own way, then paragliding becomes just as much fun again. How long did it take you to get there? Ah, it took me a bit too, yeah. I can't say for sure right now. I think, that rescue jump, when was that? I think I'd have to lie, 2009? That already led me to think about the whole story and consider what I want to take away from it, why am I taking this risk of paragliding, how can I minimize it, and what do I get out of it? And I've sort of sorted that out for myself, and now I'm in a situation where I say,
I don't have to fly 200-kilometer triangles; the next flight, even if it's just a three-minute glide, is still beautiful. And if I go into it with the right attitude, I won't be disappointed at the end if it turns out the way it does. And anything that's on top of that—if I'm counting on a three-minute glide and it turns into an hour of soaring—well, that's even better. Then I can only be more excited.
I'll just leave that as it is. Boris, thanks a lot for the story and here's to many more great flights, whether they're three minutes or three hours, or 30 days of wolfeefing along the Andes sometime, or whatever else you plan to do eventually to maybe top that Pyrenees tour again.
Thanks for having me on your podcast. Very
You're welcome.
Podz-Glidz is the podcast of the paraglider blog Lu-Glidz. It can be found online at www.Lu-Glidz.blogspot.com. Lu-Glidz is written by Lu-Glidz. On Lu-Glidz, you can find all the necessary information on the "Support" page regarding how you can support my work. Since I deliberately keep Podz-Glidz and Lu-Glidz ad-free and without a paywall, I also rely on your help to produce many more podcast episodes.
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