So if he doesn't get anything more, he'll have to land somewhere in a riverbed or maybe on a coffee plantation on a steep slope, because down in the valley, there might be a river or just forest and trees. There are a lot of power lines in Colombia, so I don't take those kinds of risks; I have to know of at least one reasonably safe landing field, at least with one eye, that's reachable, and then you can try a little bit of something.
Podz-Glidz, the Lu-Glidz podcast. Stories from the cosmos of paragliding. Today with Matthias Wierle. And I am Lucian Haas.
In January 2024, there were very special weather conditions in Colombia. New records were being flown there almost daily, and the once-magical 200-kilometer limit for an FAI triangle around Roldanau in Sanio fell one after another. Matthias Wierle was a major part of that sequence. The 37-year-old from the Black Forest flew over the 200-kilometer mark seven times in just twelve days. However, in this episode, 129 of Podz-Glidz, I'm not just talking to him about cross-country flying in Colombia. Matthias is also a master at flying large closed tasks over the Black Forest. Plus, he's a family man.
And so, among other things, he talks about turning points in unflyable areas of the jungle, the parallels between flying in Colombia and the Black Forest, friendly battles with other XC pilots, flight days organized like workdays, the enjoyment of early starts, the challenge of having to leave the Black Forest for large triangles, and how to balance a passion for flying and big distance ambitions with family life. If
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Matthias, what did you do on January 31st of this year, 2024?
What a mean question.
I'll give you a hint: you were in Colombia.
Yeah, I had that suspicion too. And
it was the only day, I think, that you didn't fly. At least if you look at the XContest, there are so many flights from you on all the days before and after. But January 31st is flight-free. Why? Yes,
then it must have been that one day was a rest day for me. So
You could have kept flying, but you really consciously took a rest day.
Yeah, I arrived about ten days before. And I have to say, I was a bit starved for flying. I hadn't flown for four, almost five months. And then I flew for ten days straight and actually needed a rest day after those ten days.
What does a Matthias Werle do when he needs a rest day? On a rest day? Hang out in a hammock? Yeah, something like that.
to take things pretty seriously. First, I try to make the evening before a bit longer with my fellow pilots, because on flight days it can sometimes be a bit difficult. And then I actually try to sleep in, which is actually a bit difficult in Colombia because with the insulated walls and insulated windows, there's relatively little. That means you pick up a lot from the traffic or life in general in Colombia, even in the bedroom. But I do actually have a proper hammock day. I did have breakfast relatively early in the morning, then saw that the weather might not be all that great.
I thought, well, today works. I'm actually a bit exhausted now. And yeah, then I'll have a long phone call with my wife and family. I finally have time for that. And I like to watch Netflix too. You fly into a movie and I'm definitely going to take a nap. Then in the afternoon, I'll take a look at the city life in Roldanillo, buy a few souvenirs for the women and girls, earrings made of those pearls that are so nicely handmade in Colombia. Yeah, and just try to...
to wind down. But on the other days you were there, it was just all about flying.
Yeah, I actually... I set a really tight program for myself. I mean, I have to say, I'm now... it was already the fourth time I've been there. And it's a bit different every year. And this year, at least, it was announced that it would be an El Niño year. That means it's tends to be very dry and actually good conditions for flying long distances. Accordingly, I was a bit motivated and hoped that we might manage that famous 200... 200 kilometers in Roldanillo maybe this year. So I'm not being overambitious. I just have a certain plan. But the days on which I fly, they already have a very strong structure.
So I have a plan, and I'm very focused. I also try to step back a bit from the hustle and bustle and enjoy some peace and quiet whenever possible.
You have structure, you say. What... I mean, do you need that kind of structure to be able to fly 200s... 200s?
So basically, you need some ambition, a certain level of drive. I'd say that hitting the 200 kilometers on those days wasn't that difficult because the conditions were just very good. You also just need enough endurance. On one hand, of course, I already know where the turn points are beforehand. For the 200km, we had to expand those a bit this year compared to the years before when I always flew them. And then there's my new area, learning new things too. But otherwise, it was very important to me, for example, to go out and eat immediately after landing and to get back into bed early.
Because sleep is incredibly important to me, because a flight day isn't quite that physically exhausting for me, for example. I do an insane amount of sports, so from that perspective, it's not much of a difficulty for me. But mentally, it's still exhausting in some way. Maybe not so much in terms of glider control or line choice, but simply because of the incredibly many impressions you have. I'm someone who takes in a lot from nature. For example, I get excited when I fly over a jungle somewhere and see a few parrots flying. I perceive that while cross-country flying too. Processing all that stuff is actually what's harder for me. And that's why I sometimes, or often, sleep poorly.
So, especially after good cross-country flights, it's sometimes difficult for me to wind down because there's still a bit of a storm going on in my head.
You've accumulated almost 2,000 cross-country kilometers over eleven flights in eleven days in Colombia. That includes seven FAI triangles of more than 200 kilometers each. And I think you even found a 200-kilometer FAI triangle on four consecutive days. Is that the appeal of flying for you, just crushing those long distances? Mass
...class.
So when I look back at it, it does look a bit crazy, so many kilometers in such a short amount of time. I know very few paragliders who actually do it in such a compressed way. But for me, it was simply an expression of how incredibly hungry I was. For flying, and I just like the type of flying down there very, very much. What
is it the way of flying down there?
It
it has a certain similarity to flying. For example, in the Black Forest right now, it's a mix between hills and mountains, but also kind of lowland. And the way the thermals radiate. The structure, how it works, is incredibly tactile for me down there. I mean, I can recognize it well, I feel like I can see how the cloud forms. And for me, it's like a sort of cloud track. It comes very easily to me. It's such a natural feeling where I can just relax and race along this cloud. And then every now and then, I turn up again on small hills, catch some lift.
Yeah, I know that from here and it just suits me very well. That's why it wasn't really exhausting, but just having fun every day. Otherwise, I wouldn't fly 200 every day, because I know some people who say, especially in a two-liner, after eight or nine hours a day, I just need a day off to mentally recover a bit. But I have to say, somehow after the fourth day, hanging on the glider the next morning, and since the thermals are very, very calm in the morning, you turn up once, do a slightly larger cross-country, and you have a moment to lean back a bit and think, "What am I doing here again?"
But that just happens naturally over time. When you fly for two, three, or four hours, you get into the groove and start having real fun again. You start noticing details you might not have seen the day before. And yeah, what else is there to do in Colombia? I mean, there are so many possibilities. There aren't. There's great flying weather. Then you just have to fly.
With your triangles. I looked at them all and basically, you've flown over 200 seven times, but they were all relatively similar routes. So the choice of turning points was always pretty similar and so on. Doesn't that get boring at some point? Don't you say to yourself, "Today I'm going to try something completely different"? Instead of saying, "The weather looks good today, I'll probably manage the 200 again today—if I don't mess up"—then you just ride it out. So, isn't that boring?
Yeah, yeah, I ask myself the same question, of course. But for me, there are still certain appeals. For example, because there's a specific wind system—not a system directly, but it tends to have more wind from the south in the morning. That means it makes absolute sense to fly north first. And I'm generally someone who starts extremely early. I was often the one who started first and took off. And you have to know, at that launch site, on a given day, if you look at XContest, well over 200, 300, or even 400 people will start.
And I totally enjoy those first ones. Yeah, so normally you fly for two hours until the first turn point. And I often fly those completely alone, or maybe with one, two, or three people. Often with a more powerful glider, with Submarine as well. And I have so much fun with the different line choices, how you can still somehow hold your own. And that's not, I mean, nothing seriously competitive, but just... what works better, in a playful way? Yeah, then you hit the first turn point and the solitude kind of ends. Then you're flying towards the other pilots again, who are also setting their turn points somewhere similar.
And then there's a bit of a race feeling. And it's not about the same route you fly every day, but the choice of lines—that often turns out a bit differently every day.
Every day you fly with different pilots and you learn from each other. This year, for example, it was incredibly interesting for me to place this turning point as far south as possible. Because the area down there has really hardly any landing sites. I mean, there are emergency landing spots steep on the slope, but otherwise, high up in the mountains, it's really just jungle. Like, real untouched jungle. I mean, really untouched jungle. I've flown very close to it before, and if you look in, you can't see the ground at all. It's all completely overgrown. I imagine having to make an emergency landing there would be very adventurous. I guess the equipment would be lost if that were the case.
You can be glad if you manage to get out of there in one piece. But exploring these turning points as a group might sound a bit stupid now, if you think about it rationally. I mean, just because someone else... If
someone else
...flies ahead, the whole thing doesn't become any safer. But it's just a typical lemming effect. Someone flies ahead, then I'll go along behind them. It'll work out. And after once or twice, you've found your confidence. It's going to be totally exciting to play around with such unlandable terrain like that. I mean, I'm not someone who likes taking unnecessary risks. But yeah, it does make it...
appeal. What does that mean? What does "playing" mean to you there? When you say playing with unlandable terrain. I mean, you, the terrain doesn't play with you. So you're actually playing with yourself, right? So with your own risk, more or less. Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure.
So, when you try flying over jungle for the first time, you first really do the basics. Like, really up into the clouds. Of course, you try to do that every time. But as it often happens with flying, unfortunately, you don't always manage it. And then you try to push the limit as far as possible. But I still consider myself someone who plays it pretty safe. For example, I know Cedar Ride, an American, also a well-known climber. He has a completely different sense of risk than I do. He flies an Enzo 3 with a Submarine, which has a bit more power. He might come out of some jungle hole and be a bit more daring than I am.
But nonetheless, at times, I've seen him from way up there—about 300 to 400 meters up—flying into areas that make my hair stand on end. Where I think, wow, if he doesn't catch something there, he'll have to land somewhere in a riverbed or on a coffee plantation somewhere on a steep slope. Because down there, in the valley, there might be a river or just forest and trees. There are a lot of power lines in Colombia. So, I don't take that kind of risk. I have to know that there's at least one reasonably safe landing spot reachable, at least with one eye.
And then you can also try a little something.
You just said that you guys basically explored that together. This year, it's been noticeable—there was this real 200er rush in Colombia, where so many people flew the 200er, I think over 20,200 of them. And the actual Roldanio record was basically being broken every day, and then someone else would set it again, and stuff like that. Is there a bit of a battle involved in that too?
Yeah, definitely. It's a real game for the guys. Like, typically, who can fly further, yeah, of course.
I find it quite exciting when you push each other a bit on a casual level. But I have to say, once you know each other and know how everyone ticks, it's more of a playful competition. I know some who are very intense, but with them, I often know that, yeah, they aren't always that good. Because they see it as too tense. And I've met so many who are very open. You help each other out. You also help each other automatically when you're out there and someone hits a thermal. Yeah, then you turn around again before you maybe fly into something.
where you wouldn't expect any thermals at first. Then you turn around, and you head up together.
And that results in a sense of community rather than competition.
Is that also the case? Like, do you guys meet up somewhere after landing, or maybe you have the same landing field and do some kind of debriefing where you discuss strategies again, or things like, "I saw you fly in there, how was it?" and so on? I mean, the classic thing, when you go flying with your usual buddies you know from home, that happens all the time. But is that the case when you say, like, internationally, there's a Cedar Wright and then somehow a Swiss person and maybe a Colombian and something else, does some kind of international exchange happen there? Yes,
Yeah, sure. That's how it's usually known. So, on the day Cedar flew that record, for example, I landed with him at the same landing field at the same time, and of course, in his American style, he was absolutely exuberant and celebrated it. And that's also contagious, and I think it's really nice. But I tried—I once said in jest to my—well, we were with a few buddies, just happened to be with some buddies from around here. I said one evening, it was maybe understood a bit as a joke, but there's a certain seriousness to it. I said, "Tonight, I'd like us to talk about everything, just not about flying."
Because, look, don't get me wrong, debriefing is also very important—it's crucial to discuss what can be improved. But for me, it sometimes becomes too much when it's really only about flying from morning until night. I also enjoy it when we talk about other things. And there are so many possibilities, because Colombia offers so much quirkiness in terms of cars, events, and how things are handled there, which are great things to talk about. But the strategy, the turning points, how you set them—those are actually relatively clear. And everyone has their own method or strategy for that.
How he can make the triangle even bigger. But to make it significantly bigger than it is currently—I think Kevin Philipp did 237 kilometers—it's already getting quite difficult to make it much larger because you're actually entering an area where you might not be able to get back, or it could take a day to return because you're in the wrong spot.
Tell me a bit about what a day is like when you fly a 200er in Colombia? Do you, like, get up at seven in the morning, head up to the launch site at eight, and launch at nine? Or what does it look like there? And how long do you fly for and what do you do? Around what time do you usually land, like a typical landing time? And what happens next?
So typically, I get up shortly after six. The Colombians are known for that, being one of the earliest-rising South Americans. That means by six, it's really already "Toa Wabohu." The motorcycles are riding outside way longer, so you can't really sleep anymore. The
The sun is already up anyway, because it's tropical. And basically, the sun always rises at six in the morning and sets around six in the evening, right?
Exactly. So the day has a very, very clear structure. It happens relatively quickly and then life wakes up. Then I get up, then I get ready for a bit. Of course, freshen up in the morning. Brush my teeth. And then I always used the time until breakfast to have a quick call with my family and my two daughters. That was the only time that worked well because of the time difference. So at seven in the morning, it was 1:00 PM here in Central Europe, the kids come home from school and then I got to see them briefly, at least. Then I ordered breakfast. I'm always near the Plaza in Roldanillo. Where I then eat a typical Colombian breakfast with rice, meat, tomato and
this cooking banana.
And depending on how long breakfast took—you need a bit of luck in Colombia for it to actually be on time. Then I tried to get into a taxi or a shuttle around 7:30, so that I'd be at the city square by 8:00. And then... to start at the best time, around 8:20 or 8:30. Then 8 to 8.5 hours of flying. After landing, depending on the situation, I've gotten into the habit of going straight to eat somewhere in Roldanio. And after the meal, because of those heavy, large steaks they have there,
And depending on how long breakfast took—you need a bit of luck in Colombia for it to actually happen on time. Then I tried to get into a taxi or a shuttle around 7:30 so that I'd be at the city square by 8:00. And then... to start at the best time, around 8:20 or 8:30. Then an 8, 8.5-hour flight. After landing, depending on the situation, I've gotten into the habit of going to eat right away, somewhere in Roldanio. And after eating, so that the heavy stuff, the big steaks they have there, gets into the system as early as possible so you can still sleep well—basically moving the meal forward, chatting briefly with friends, and then actually, I've always tried to be in bed by 9:00 at the latest. And then it starts all over again. It sounds like a
real workday
Actually, yeah, that was it. So, it felt like that, really, with the big difference being that while I often have a lot of fun working, I have even more fun flying. But of course, it's also exhausting at times, it is. But you do it because you like it. I like flying, I enjoy flying. And that's why it was relatively easy for me.
What does this XC flying give you? In the sense that you plan your days so that you say, I'm flying to Colombia, but basically, I'm doing nothing there but flying.
Yeah, that's... well, I handle a lot of things in my life so that if I do something, I do it right. I'm not the kind of person who does 50 different things and does everything just a little bit,
So, for a vacation like Colombia, for example, I actually try to go there for paragliding and then try to go paragliding as much as possible. On the other hand, if I'm here now and could fly in the Black Forest—back in my early days, I always went flying regardless of the weather. But nowadays, I only go flying if I know it's really, in relation to the season and the other days, a really very good day. Then I focus on trying to only go flying on that day. And on days that only look halfway good, I consistently make it a family day.
Yeah, from that perspective, I'm a Colombian, I've approached it and said, okay, if I'm there, then I'm going flying.
What matters to you during flights like those?
The time in the air, being free, playing around, a bit of racing, the beauty of nature, and I also like taking photos. I always try to take lots of photos, sometimes make videos, and also try to have some sporting ambition somewhere. I can set the turning point here or there this time, and I flew this fast this time—that's all part of the appeal. But I just still love flying. And that is something very important to me. So whether I fly 180 today or maybe 216 sometime.
Sure, of course, you try to make the triangles bigger somehow. But for me, the big reward was always being able to ramp it up to 3,000 again in the evening, or in the afternoon, late afternoon—that final glide back when you know, okay, now you can land safely and nicely on a farm track or in a field on a green meadow. And you've spent the hour before moving through terrain where you'd never have wanted to land. So even if you'd had to land there now, coming back would have been very difficult. And then that final glide, knowing that nothing can go wrong now—that feels really good.
That's always the reward. I sometimes have to remind myself of that mid-flight, to say, okay, this is going to be really good. And then, late this afternoon, to push it again and just enjoy it.
When you look at your 200s there in Colombia, those were 203, 203, 200, 208, 216, 204, and 202 kilometers. So everything is always in such a tight range, actually. How do you manage, looking at it positively, how do you manage to fly so consistently?
Oh, that's
a lot. Because the days probably weren't always the same. But still, how do you manage to fly so consistently?
Yeah, actually, that's how it is. So some days were very similar. But, over time, it also changed. The instability, for example, became higher. But basically, it's all in your head. So you really have to tell yourself, there are days when, for example, I just flew 30 kilometers straight without a turn. So I hit some great lines, gave it gas at the right moment, and at the right moment just let off a bit, so to speak, on the brake and climbed. That went great. Then you do the first turning point with a 30 or 32 average. So, and the next day, you have a 23 average.
And you think, yeah, there's no way it can hit 200 today. How is that supposed to work?
And those days always balance out somewhere. Like, you then fly faster in another spot than before. You can maybe set the turning point easier, manage to get across the flatlands faster than before. Maybe you have a different pilot here and there who helps you out. And then that one difficulty works out much faster than before. But the mental side, always telling yourself and not letting it drive you crazy—that's actually something difficult for me, where I always have to tell myself that it just can't work optimally every day. There are always days where, where maybe a little bit, yeah, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. It just might not go quite as fast at the beginning, but it will still turn out well.
And on the other hand, of course, there are days that start off great and then you hit a construction site at the end. Yeah, and I just tell myself, I'm here to fly. I could be in Germany right now, where I can't fly at all. And I just enjoy the day as best as I can. I have beautiful clouds in the sky. Now we just have to see if we can turn back toward the next nice cloud. And then we keep going. It's a very, very, very mental thing.
You're also well-known, especially as, let's say, a Black Forest specialist. You've flown very large triangles and one-way routes there. I think you even hold the Black Forest records for both. How far did you get on each?
No, that one was last year—well, the triangle, the big triangle, was extended by Samuel Blocher on the same day, by a few kilometers even. In the months leading up to it, I continuously extended it from 220 and then a bit further each time. And I actually flew less on the one-way than on the triangle, 235. And that was also broken by last year. So I think it's 270 kilometers from Max-Habel, from my Tafelbühl. I'll have to correct that at some point. So, greetings to Max. I hope that won't last much longer.
That's where the trouble starts. Yes,
Exactly. But that's very friendly, I mean, absolutely without any ill intent.
How does flying in the Black Forest differ from flying in Colombia? Besides the temperatures, maybe. And the fact that you can't always just start turning the thermals right away at 8 a.m., something like that.
So the biggest difference is definitely,
that the turbulence has these many balancing forces, we don't have those here. I don't have some kind of thermal help everywhere, so to speak.
What else? Well, I think thermals work the same way here as they do in Colombia. It's not that different. But we just don't have these good days as often. For example, in 2022, when all those triangles were flown in the Black Forest—those were just very, very good flying days. And you don't get those every year in the Black Forest. In Colombia, the weather is just incredibly consistent. Because of the proximity to the equator, you just have more or less similarly good conditions every day. So when things are going really well, you might have top conditions in the Black Forest for maybe two days in a row. And then that was it. Normally, it's one good, really good day.
And then the next one is usually already a bit worse.
If you could choose right now, you know, two good days—Colombia and the Black Forest—and you could just teleport back and forth. So the travel doesn't matter, it doesn't weigh into the time or anything. Instead, you could just decide: tomorrow I'm starting Colombia, or tomorrow I'm starting the Black Forest. Both days look good. Which would you rather do?
Yes, definitely the Black Forest.
Clearly. Why?
Because the difficulty is higher. Definitely. In Colombia, the terrain already dictates how you should fly the triangles, at least roughly. And in the Black Forest, you have those great days where the triangles work—but that's really rare. I actually find the scenery in the Black Forest even more exciting. You have these deep valleys, the high mountains, then you have these mountain lakes, then there's the flatland. Then you fly over to the Swabian Alb, where there are mountains or hills again. And then, maybe in the evening or late afternoon, you fly into the Northern Black Forest, which is completely forested.
So I've already set the turning point where I said, okay, you're not allowed to look down anymore. Instead, look up at the clouds. Then you get your confidence back. Yes, I think the variety in the Black Forest is higher. You might set the turning points somewhat similarly sometimes, but the variance is higher somewhere. And I think the chance of catching days like these here is much rarer.
You just said that it's basically a bit harder to fly those long distances in the Black Forest. Does that appeal to you? Like, when it gets difficult, if you have to fly something more technical or whatever?
Yeah, what always really appealed to me, especially back in the day, was—well, I'm a Black Forest local, I guess. I also think outside the box. And in the past, people would often say, "Well, you don't need to start here at Tafelbühl before twelve." Like, it doesn't work properly before then.
Or yeah. Like, if you do, then you fly the route this way or that way. Or you don't fly there that early yet. And those are all the kinds of things where I liked to say, yeah, is that really true? So I'm just starting at 9:30 now. I've gradually increased it. At some point at 11, then at 10, then at some point I tried at 9:30, and then at some point I even stood on the ground shortly after 9. Sure. But what appeals to me more is some set-in-a-way thing that I like to break and say, no, that works. But it's not that I have some special ambition; what appeals to me more is when I know it's going to be a really great day, a great flying day, then I enjoy hiking up alone or with one or two friends.
And this, like how this day awakens, all of that. Soaking it all in, getting up early, then I have to be on the mountain early, hiking up for an hour or an hour and a half. Then I like to have some time up at the launch site, just enjoying how the thermals slowly develop and somehow savoring the day as a whole. Whether I fly 200 now or maybe only 150 or whatever. But soaking in this day as a whole has incredible value for me. It's like a good hike with my wife, when I head out early in the morning and then we really walk for six hours, or yeah, doing something nice on such a great day.
What do you have to understand about the Black Forest to make such big flights? There aren't that many people who actually do really big, big flights in the Black Forest.
So for me, that was also a huge learning process.
One of the big things, well, a game changer for me was definitely switching to a two-liner at some point. With a two-liner, you have more of a possibility to cover larger distances, I mean thermal distances. You have to imagine the Black Forest a bit like, yeah, you have to imagine it like, well, like a, well, like a mountain range, just. That it really pulls thermals over a large area. That means over the Rhine plain and on the Bar, so on the opposite side in the east, air is really being pulled in massively. And to fly these huge FAI triangles, you just have to leave the Black Forest.
That means as soon as I fly out of the Black Forest, I'm flying against the wind at first. And often, the best thermals are created right on the Black Forest, and it takes quite a while until I find a connection again once I leave that good area. And in the past, I'd end up on the ground with the three-liner relatively often when I tried something like that. And I have the feeling that with the two-liner, I can now just get a bit higher, which is decisive. Yes, what else does it need? It definitely needs some courage somewhere too. I've had many days where there are great clouds on the Black Forest, and to the left and right of them, so to speak. It's blue there, and nobody likes to fly there.
You expect that there probably won't be any thermals. But there are still thermals there. You might only see them in small wisps. Sometimes it's completely blue. And then you need a bit of madness to say, okay, I'm leaving this great cloud street now and heading into terrain where I don't know exactly—will it work? Or won't it work?
So it takes a bit of courage to say, "This is going to work."
Do you like this kind of experimenting?
Sometimes, sometimes. I mean, when it goes well, of course, you're really proud and you tell yourself, yeah, yeah, I knew it could be done. And if it doesn't work, sure, then you're standing on the ground and maybe looking up, looking back, and thinking, yeah, why didn't I just stay on your great cloud? That was actually obvious. But this mischievous side of it, yeah, I do like that. I can see myself in that somewhere. And so when it works, it's all the more beautiful. Do you want to prove yourself with it?
too?
Yeah, probably somewhere. I mean, if you pull something like that off, everyone talks about you. If you don't, it goes unnoticed. So if you crash somewhere, nobody says, "Oh, look at that." Yeah. "Matthias has drowned ten times again," but you're the hero, in any case, if you make it through. And all the failures aren't really discussed or noticed or anything like that. But that you'd already say, okay, for this heroism, which I might have from time to time, I'll take the risk of ending up on the ground early.
So, maybe not consciously right now. I remember, when I think back a bit—it was almost eight or ten years ago—there was a regional meeting. It was a Southwest regional meeting, and our club hosted it, and it was suggested as a presentation that I should give a short talk about flying in the Black Forest. And back then, I was already the kind of person who leaned out of the window eight or ten years ago and said, yeah, you can also fly 200 kilometers in the Black Forest with a paraglider. But you weren't doing that back then. I hadn't achieved that yet. So, at that time, Samuel Blocher was definitely the best pilot here.
And he had already flown into that region—not quite 200 FAI yet, but in that direction. Back then, I just analyzed the situation and said, well, on paper, it should be possible. And maybe that's what sets me apart a bit from others now: that I also think about what's possible, what could be possible. And I voice it, of course with the risk that I'll either come across as a blowhard or I'll eventually deliver. But for me, it's more like, I might need it a bit as that famous kick in the ass, where I say, okay, if I say it now, then I have to try it.
Shit, I have to fly into the blue now, otherwise the 200 will never happen. And I said it can be done.
Exactly, yeah. I have to validate at some point whether that's actually true.
How did you become a big XC pilot? Was it kind of planned? Like, did you constantly set new goals for yourself and say, "I want to do that," like how you eventually pulled off the 200, but there were so many steps before that. So, how do you become—or how did you become—an XC pilot who actually managed to tackle the big routes eventually?
Phew, that depends on how deep you want to go into this topic. Basically, I've always been into sports somehow. That means, for me, motivation and drive were never really difficult. I was already active in sports early on, even before I started paragliding; I used to run everything from marathons to ultramarathons with a good friend of mine. It was never difficult for me to stay motivated and try to improve somehow. When I started flying—before paragliding, I was into model aircraft—it was just the flying itself that was the main focus.
I just had fun with aerodynamics. In the end, I spent a lot of time slope soaring or thermal flying with the sailplane. For me, the flying itself was just great. And when I first saw paragliders—I have to say, my father started paragliding before me and I always thought it was totally boring. There were a few, so to speak, I was in my early 20s, there were a few old men in purple suits at the launch site up there
with these weird bags. They jumped out and messed up their first start with some somersaults. I thought to myself, no, that's just not for me. And when I actually flew for the first time on the practice slope with my father's glider, that flying fever really hit me. And that cross-country flying exists, I felt that right at the beginning within the club, that there's some kind of competition out there too. And as a young guy, I was already pretty hooked at the start. I think I was even very overambitious at the beginning. And I have to say, that has changed a lot towards ambitious enjoyment.
It's naturally difficult to find such a clear dividing line. I mean, if someone wants to fly 200 kilometers, that requires some ambition. You don't just do that because it's a nice day and you happened to fly a triangle. That would be nice talk. But it's very important to me that the lightness of flying remains. For example, I'm struggling with that at the moment. I could say that if I wanted to fly even further now, I'd obviously have to fly the best paraglider on the market and have the best harness on the market, etc. But then I wouldn't be able to do high and fly in my Black Forest anymore.
That gets difficult with 30 kilos of gear. Just putting on a submarine feels like it takes, like, ten minutes of preparation and a run-up, and so on and so forth. So, it's important to me that the simplicity of flying remains. And I see it the same way with my sporting ambition. I know there are days when I'm really motivated. Then I really want to try to fly 250. But it still has to stay within a framework where, during those 240 kilometers, I can see a glider and give it a thumbs up, showing I'm having fun, or when birds fly by and I'm banking with them,
that I still enjoy the beauty of the landscape, even when I'm at two-thirds throttle while standing right in it.
That's very important to me. I know from the past, from that running scene for example, overambitious people who only had running on their minds. And at some point, I started to find that unlikable. And it's very important to me that—I mean, paragliding isn't my main hobby, for example. I actually have to say, if I look at it purely in terms of hours, it's actually triathlon. I spend much more time on that than on paragliding. And having such a good balance so that you don't maybe get too carried away with one hobby. At least, that's how it is for me. I notice that it does me good, yeah.
Are you as good at triathlon as you are at paragliding?
Oh no, I'm definitely not going to be a German champion in triathlon anymore.
Yeah, but maybe Black Forest Champion or whatever they have there, I don't know. So if
if it actually goes well, like here in the region at a regional triathlon, and I actually win in my age group. Yeah, but even there, the fun is the main thing. And that you stand there together as a group in the starting block and everyone looks at each other and knows what the other is feeling. And then you go for, two or four, five hours, and it's really intense. And then you're at the finish line and you swap stories about the experiences again. It has its own special way. But just like with flying, I don't see it that way. I do see it as sporty in some way. I have a certain amount of ambition too. But I'm the typical type with 20 percent effort and 80 percent enjoyment.
And that has to be good.
I don't think you fly classic paraglider competitions at all, do you? Like those PWC-oriented ones, like the Deutsche Liga or something. Or have you flown along with them before? Did I miss something?
No, you haven't missed anything. I don't actually fly those. Funnily enough, I had a roommate in Colombia who took part in two competitions, the Colombian Open and the British Winter Open. He's an absolute competition flyer. And we'd always chat a bit in the evenings. I told him about cross-country flying and he told me about competition. And there were a few other league guys who were also in Roldanillo at the same time. And we sat down together one evening. And they were of the opinion that I should finally join in on a league competition too. And now I actually signed up in June or July
at least signed up. Of course, I don't know yet if I'll be accepted for the competition, the Pulse Elsass Open. It's just about an hour and a half away from me. And then I'll just join in for the fun of it and see if I can fly along with the league guys a bit.
Yeah, it's like flying over the Black Forest, just on the other side, more or less. If you circle over the Vosges.
Yeah, exactly. So I'm curious to see if I'll like it. To be honest, I don't know yet.
At least my roommate was very likable. And if the others are on the same wavelength, it could be a really good fit.
You don't fly much in the Alps either, at least not long distances. I know you sometimes do hike and fly and also bivouac flights in the Alps and stuff like that, so over longer distances too. But I haven't found any big triangles from you to the border or anything like that yet.
So I've actually been to the border two or three times. I've tried that before. Two years ago, I was more or less by chance nearby and took the paraglider along at my wife's request. I told her I actually wanted to go on vacation with the family, and the paraglider wasn't supposed to come along. And then I flew about 200 kilometers along the border. But it was never enough for this big triangle. The reason I don't fly in the Alps that much might also be a bit due to the distance to the Alps. I need seven hours by car to get to the border. And I'm actually someone who now mostly says, I just totally enjoy it,
I can sleep in well here, get a fresh start to the day by hiking up the mountain, and try to have a nice flight, rather than driving seven hours somewhere, sleeping in the car, or sleeping in a tent. All that stress just isn't really my thing. Of course, you could also go to Switzerland, which isn't that far from here,
But you also have to say that you really need to know the area. Because I've had experiences with Hike and Fly where I'd say, I now approach things in the Alps with a completely different level of respect.
During the preparation, I asked you about any negative experiences. And you wrote to me that, fortunately, I hadn't had any. But now that you're mentioning Hike and Fly, I've had a few moments that weren't exactly great—or that instilled some respect in me. That means, have you perhaps experienced something negative there too, or were you just lucky?
I think luck is always a factor somewhere, everywhere. It would be naive to say you always had everything under control. I mean, I've never had a rescue landing. I was also never in a situation where I thought, "Well, it could happen at any moment." I've never had major issues with my glider. And that's how it's supposed to stay. But I did have an experience once, for example, when we flew from Chamonix towards Valais during a hike and fly tour.
There was a clear north wind there.
And we were able to fly protected in the lee of the big mountains. So everything was flying there. We weren't the only ones flying there. It's just that nobody was flying towards Wallis like we were. And it shaded things a bit. It wasn't to be expected that you could gain even more altitude. And I was just the pilot flying out front. My two buddies behind me. And that famous Martigny, as people know it. It had some real wind. And we then flew backwards for a long stretch. And I actually had a very, very well-behaved C-glider. And I spiraled it out so much that I really started getting tunnel vision.
And meanwhile, my glider collapsed. At a point where you'd actually think that could never happen. It collapsed in the spiral. Yeah, well, I assumed it was going to collapse now. And luckily, it didn't. What surprises me.
And luckily, I managed to fly back into the lee enough to land safely. And that was one of those moments for me where I thought, okay, I never want to experience that again. But there was also some luck involved. It's a mix of, I have to stay cool. I can't overreact or get tunnel vision in the sense of freezing up. So, Alpe is quite something. Flying in the Black Forest is a bit like being on a pony farm.
Totally relaxed. I mean, it can also be dangerous in the Black Forest. Of course, no question. But there's also so much
forest and very narrow valleys.
And most of them are...
Alpine valleys are sometimes wider than what you get in the Black Forest. That
That's right. Yeah, that's true. But in the Black Forest, you generally fly over the mountains. And in the Alps, you often fly down there. And you really have to understand the wind systems in the Alps. They are relatively easy to manage in the Black Forest. And if we're not flying in very high winds here, then normally it's not that dangerous. But there are some spots, for example, the Villinger Wald. That's a huge forest area. So if you fly deep into it, there might be a small clearing somewhere. There's a great video of a guy from the Southern Black Forest who lands at a forest path intersection in such a huge forest area.
So the glider just barely fits between the fir trees. And then it lands in front of the trees. So you really should think about where you're flying to.
Let's change the subject a bit and talk about flying and family. You've mentioned it quite a few times now. You have a wife, you have two daughters. You talk to them every day from Colombia. And also, if you look at it, I saw a video where you land back in the Black Forest after a ten-day hike-and-flight tour. And then your daughters come running to the landing field and jump into your arms or something like that. Now you're married, you have these two daughters. How do you balance flying and family—especially such intensive flying with as much flying as you do at times—and how do you balance that with family? I know many pilots who always say, "Yeah, I have to prioritize my family today. I can't go flying now or do anything else." So for them, it's always stress, family and flying.
How do you manage to make that work? And apparently, it seems to be working quite well.
Well, I have to say, that's mainly because I have a very tolerant wife. Luckily, she already knew me like that. Let me think for a second. I believe we met almost exactly one year after I started flying. And back then, I was right in the "Sturm und Drang" phase of flying. So she knew right away what the priorities were. She was still actively riding a motorcycle back then. So she was the biker in good weather, and I was the flyer. And now with kids, yeah, that has naturally changed. As soon as the first child is on the way, you have to find some kind of balance. I had to find a way eventually, or make some compromises regarding flying, because otherwise, it won't work with the family in the long run.
Nevertheless, I'm still flying quite a lot. When I go flying, I'll take a day off from work, for example, and I'm out for the whole day. And like I said before, if it's a day where the conditions won't be that great, then I'm out with the family all day. And then, for example, my wife might ask me while we're hiking, she looks up—she flew a paraglider herself for a year—and she says, "Well, you could have gone flying today." Then I say, "Yeah, I could have, but today is family day." I think it's really important to say there has to be a good balance between when I do what, and then I do it properly.
So when I have a family day, I do a proper family day from morning until evening, not flying in the morning and family in the afternoon or vice versa, but a real one. And my wife is totally behind that too and says, okay, so we won't see Dad on Saturday because Saturday has good flying weather. We say we'll see him briefly in the morning, then maybe play a quick game with the girls, and then I'm off, and then we'll see each other again in the evening, and in return, we'll have a complete family day on Sunday.
But that assumes you can tell very well which days are actually the really good days and then say, okay, I'm going flying now. And I'm basically prioritizing that over my family, and that's the less-than-ideal day. You could fly then too, but I'm prioritizing family. How do you go about identifying those good days?
So, I have to admit, I hardly look at the weather at the moment. Otherwise, when it's like this... The weather is so bad right now. There
you don't have to look too closely. You can always just... You can already look at the paragliding conditions and see that the map is colored red again for ten days. You don't have to do anything; if we look further ahead, nothing's going to happen anyway. You can
you can just mentally check it off, exactly. From March at the latest, I start looking very roughly, not a week in advance, at what might be developing. But it doesn't get really concrete until about three or four days before. Then I like to check the Kachelmann weather for our area on Meteo Media.
Relatively reliable. Just to know, basically, if the wind and sunshine are right, that there's enough sunshine. And that the wind won't be too strong or coming from the right direction. Yeah, then I actually look a lot at the Meteo-Paraport. He always has about two, maximum three days in advance. And if he's good, I also get the green light from my wife—if it's going to be a real hammer of a day, even if we're invited somewhere for a birthday, that I'm off work that day. Because she knows exactly that if I miss the day, I'm invited to the birthday. But my mood is sometimes a bitcrabby because I know today you could fly really well.
You
you get in such a bad mood when there are such nice cumulus clouds in the sky and you're not up there. Yeah, I mean
My wife and I were actually talking about that before this podcast. There was this famous day a few years ago when Armin Harig flew 300 kilometers. And Armin actually invited me to come over. But for my wife's sake, I said, "Alright, we're going to her aunt's birthday." And it was awful. And then my wife always says, "You'd better go flying before you end up in a bad mood."
So you sat there at the birthday party watching the live tracking? No, it
Fortunately, that wasn't really a thing back then. But Armin called me afterwards. And he said, yeah, he's just at... I don't remember how many, so nearly 300 or 300. And I was totally desperate on the phone. Of course, I was happy for him, but I would have loved to have flown along with him.
I mean, Armin posts about it sometimes, or used to, back when he was flying more of the long hauls—he'd always post on Facebook or something. And you'd see pictures from the air and he'd say, "I'm just there and there and so on." So of course you could get jealous really quickly and see, "Oh man, he already took off at 9 o'clock and is already somewhere at kilometer 270 again." Yeah, there
...your heart just bleeds for flying. We'd love to be there too.
Why did your wife stop paragliding?
There was a simple reason for that: she got pregnant. And she said that once she has responsibility for children, flying is too risky for her. I mean, she flew quite solidly. But you have to be honest with yourself. Flying isn't necessarily suitable for everyone. As a nice Sunday afternoon hobby, I wouldn't count it. You should have a certain amount of ambition and maybe even a bit of talent.
And she also didn't fly enough to be truly safe. She said it's enough if one of us takes the risk that something could happen.
Could that also have something to do with competition? Possibly. Like, you were so good that they say, I can never keep up with him anyway. Then he flies off and I'm just left there. In the end, I land and I have to drive after him again to pick him up somewhere.
No, I don't think so.
She's well aware that I have some kind of talent that she just can't reach. It's probably like her riding a motorcycle; I'll probably never reach that level either. At best, I'll always be able to ride behind her.
No, I don't think she was just hungry enough for flying for that flame to burn for her like it does for me now. For her, it was more like, it's great to experience this once, to hang off a paraglider yourself. But that wasn't something that... that gave her as much back as it does for me now. She always says my eyes light up way differently when I come back from a good flight than when there's been three weeks of bad weather.
You said that as a pilot, you have to be ambitious in a way. What are your ambitions now? The 200 in the Black Forest that you announced—those have been broken. Okay, you say you can still fly a bit more, but don't you eventually reach a limit? So, what ambitions do you have left?
Actually, I should stop now. I should start a new hobby. No, of course not. I mean, that 200-kilometer mark, the next one will be 250; we set those for ourselves. They're just numbers. I think it's quite nice as a way to fuel the motivation or that sporting ambition a bit. But in Colombia, for example, I could have just as easily said after the first 200, "Now I'm putting my feet up." I also have a stressful job with family, sports—what I do at home is sometimes exhausting too. I could just lie in a hammock now.
No, I still have an incredible amount of fun flying. And what I love about our latitude are these changes from winter, spring, summer, and autumn. I find every season has something beautiful about it. In winter, I might do more sports. In autumn, I might go hiking more with the family. But spring and summer, this awakening of life and somehow experiencing the aviation side of spring when it's cold. The thermals too. But very strong and very defined until towards summer, when there are these large high-pressure systems with 30 degrees.
I just find it beautiful, and it doesn't matter whether you cover 100 or 200 kilometers on a given day. I just enjoy that one precious, beautiful summer or spring day. So for me, it doesn't lose its appeal whether you hit that 250 mark or not. We're just having a good time. We have an incredibly great flying area and I enjoy flying. I still have that childlike joy of turning up somewhere near a cloud or turning up sideways against a cloud. You can see your halo in there. Or turning up with birds. That is still incredibly fascinating to me.
Even when you describe experiences like these, are the long cross-country flights—where you're very focused and probably flying for speed and all that—still the best flights for you?
So they're definitely beautiful, but not necessarily the ones right now. Sure, you're happy about the distance, but you really only fly those kinds of distances on totally great days. So, it starts as early as 9:30 in the morning with small cumulus clouds. And you nibble on those first small cumulus clouds a bit, then they get bigger and you keep flying and eventually you have a cloud street. The day has to be good. So whether I'm flying 240 now or maybe only 180 the next day, it doesn't matter. The day is just incredibly beautiful. And of course, you always try to push the kilometers a little bit further.
But regardless, you're moving through the air and have the great privilege of moving so freely. And I think many other people will never have this experience. I'm still very much aware of that. And that gives back so much more to me than the distance itself. It might sound kind of weird or strange, but if I had to focus solely on the kilometers, I think I'd lose the joy of flying pretty quickly.
You hike a lot, you enjoy hike and fly, you fly long distances. Would things like the X-Alps be something for you too?
So sure, it's been a topic for me and my friends. My friends think I should give it a try. But I have to honestly admit, it fascinates me completely. I also follow the X-Alps. My productivity completely bottoms out during those two weeks or ten days. My employer forgives me. But I have to say that the conditions under which the last two or three editions were flown are absolutely irresponsible, I think. That's my personal opinion. So nothing against the participants, everyone has to decide for themselves. But I'm incredibly attached to my great life. I actually plan to keep paragliding for many years to come.
And I think with the X-Alps, you're taking the risk that at some point, things might go south. And it actually surprises me that no one has died during the X-Alps. For that reason alone, it probably will never be a thing for me. So, I might actually fly along, but I'll probably never be in the front row because I'd say, before I head out into that wind, I'll just hike another 50 kilometers today while others are flying. Yeah, I don't know if that would really do justice to my sporting ambition. Hard to say. But I'd fit in. I mean, I'd have the fitness, and I'd have the flying skills to a certain extent.
That would sort of fit. But the willingness to take risks that others have is definitely missing in me.
I heard it on Gavin McClurg's podcast the other day. It was also about the risks of the X-Alps and stuff like that. And he said that what you fly there—he's participated himself—you can actually only fly that at the X-Alps. And then you can do it. Then it's even safe to fly. But you'd only manage that if you're in that specific X-Alps mindset. He says if it were the day before or the day after the race or something, it wouldn't work. Yeah, so then it would be absolutely irresponsible and dangerous. So I found it interesting how much mindset is involved. And somehow also that you probably get into this tunnel where you can handle those conditions better, somehow, maybe even better, because you block out certain things and it's really just about flying.
Do you know that feeling of getting into a tunnel while flying?
Tunnels now, so maybe less out of sporting ambition. But what I've already experienced on our high-gain fly tour was, for example, for this tour from Nice back to the Black Forest, you have ten days. I only have a certain amount of vacation or overtime I can take, because my family also claims their four to five weeks of vacation every year. So that means you only have a specific amount of time. And you try to get as far as possible towards the Black Forest from Nice. And then sometimes you fly in conditions where, if you're honest with yourself, you'd say, if I had completely free choice, I'd say no, I'd rather not do it, just going off my gut feeling.
And then you realize, oh, wait, it is manageable somewhere. But the margin before it becomes unmanageable is sometimes very thin. You heard that in my story earlier, for example, when we flew from Chamonix into Valais. Everything was going well, we flew nicely for an hour, and then suddenly the switch flipped and you're a passenger. I suspect that's probably what will happen to me with the X-Alps as well. And I'd probably suffer a huge setback. That I'll never crash flying like this normally. And I'm just too attached to my life for that.
When I asked you about negative experiences during the preparation, we already went over that earlier, but something else just occurred to me. You also wrote down what you consider negative experiences in response to my question about the negatives. So, only the very high performance mindset of other XC pilots. What do you mean by that? What is the negative side of that for
you? Well, there are paraglider pilots, and everyone brings their own package to flying. In terms of talent, experience, sporting ambition, etc. And no matter what league someone flies in, what level they're at, there are pilots who are incredibly ambitious.
Some people think, "Well, Matthias flies 200 kilometers pretty often. He must be totally overambitious, and he probably is too." But I really don't like being influenced by that kind of over-ambition. As I mentioned at the beginning, because back in the running scene, it really turns me off when someone only focuses on numbers or is just out for the race. For me, the overall experience of flying is what matters most.
From this overambitious drive, depending on the case, a certain willingness to take risks also arises. And flying actually forgives risk relatively quickly. Relatively rarely—well, probably still quite often—some things still turn out okay somehow. But when something does go wrong, then your back is broken instantly. So, I've experienced this in Colombia too, with the competition participants of this British Winter Open and also in the competition before that, where there were two to three rescue descents every day and someone in the hospital every day. So, from broken arms, broken legs, broken hips, broken backs.
And that's something that... I mean, I'm not immortal, nobody is. I think you should fly in a way that you can still enjoy flying for many years to come. And I believe that a negative experience for me might have the consequence of me eventually giving up flying. And for me, flying is just... far too valuable for me to give it up, or to have to.
What is the value of flying for you?
The value of flying?
For me, the greatest value lies in this feeling of freedom.
So, the feeling of freedom combined with being in the flow. Flying isn't something you can just hit a pause button on and stop and get out and say, "Okay, now it's too much for me. I... I'm stopping here," but flying always continues until you're standing on the ground with both feet, for sure. That requires a certain level of coolness and composure that you have to bring with you. And that has taught me a lot, too—what I carry over into my job or my family—just bringing that composure even when it's a difficult situation. I can't just hit a pause button, so I try to handle it as rationally as possible.
and as level-headed and as well as possible to solve it in that moment. And of course, that doesn't always work. But being aware that sometimes a second or third-best solution can also be good—that's enough. And that's what makes flying so special for me. And it will never be, it will never be predictable, flying. I think that's great, something unpredictable. So, not that I'm sitting out unpredictably in a storm or something, but exposing something positive to the unpredictable somewhere.
I'd like to take that as a closing word. The three Fs—flying, freedom, flow—and unpredictability.
Thank you for the lovely story about triangle flying in Colombia, and then triangle flying in—or not just triangles, but the beautiful flying in the Black Forest, how you can manage to do it with the family, and how you can ultimately revel in the three Fs. Thank you, and I wish you many more beautiful flights, which I hope you'll have this year as well. And I'm curious to see when you'll fly that 250er triangle FAI from the Black Forest. That
will come eventually. I'm saying it now officially, that's the next goal. Now I'm feeling a bit of pressure to get back out there again this year. Thanks a lot, Lucian, for your time. Take care.
That was episode number 129 of Podz-Glidz with Matthias Werle. In the show notes on the Gleitschenblog Lu-Glidz, you can find some additional links. If you enjoyed the episode, please subscribe to Podz-Glidz. You can do that anywhere podcasts are available. If you also leave a positive rating there, you're helping to make Podz-Glidz even better known. Or tell your flying friends about it directly. Podz-Glidz and Lu-Glidz are free of paid advertising. I do this out of conviction and for the sake of independence. Nevertheless, a lot of professional work and, of course, costs are involved in these offerings. To finance them, I rely on the concept of voluntary support. If you've listened this far, the podcast should have provided some value for you.
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Hi.