I don't actually think about flying far in my head, but rather about staying in the air for a long time. And if I manage to stay in the air for a long time, I'll automatically climb at some point because I'm turning for so long. And if I stay in the air for a long time, there's simply a much bigger chance that I'll fly far automatically. So, when I'm cross-country flying, I never think about the distance, but always about staying in the air.
Podz-Glidz, the Lu-Glidz podcast.
Stories from the cosmos of paragliding.
Today with Karli Eisenhut. And I'm Lucian Haas.
When it comes to cross-country flying, everyone looks at the kilometers. Whoever has collected the most will end up high in the XC rankings. But many people make a mistake on the way there. They fixate on the kilometers and then often stop too soon. Too early on the ground.
The Swiss Karli Eisenhut relies on a different strategy. The number of kilometers is only the result, he says. The journey, however, is the goal. And to go—or fly—long distances, you have to learn how to stay in the air for a long time. How to do that, Karli has written down in a book. Transalp. It's also opulently illustrated with photos by Andreas Buslinger. The texts are kept relatively brief. Karli, long-time development head at Advance, has essentially distilled his experiences with cross-country flight into simple rules, ways of thinking, and procedures, which he also teaches at cross-country flight camps at his flight school Chill-Out Paragliding.
In this episode 160 of Podz-Glidz, we're talking about some of the topics from Transalp. Karli explains, among other things, his weather check routine using the BelaVie method. It's about assessing flight conditions using traffic light colors, wind as the biggest risk factor, and why you should keep things as simple as possible, especially for successful paragliding.
Since you're listening to the podcast, why not become a supporter of Podz-Glidz? It's explained very simply on the Lu-Glidz Gleitschirm-Blog, specifically on the Support page.
Karli, you released a book about cross-country flying together with the photographer Andreas Buslinger. It's called Transalp. And in there, one sentence particularly caught my eye. It says, as soon as I no longer have ground under my feet, my ability to think drops by at least 50 percent. How did you come to this realization?
Yes, well, I'd noticed that about myself before. But I came to this realization when I had very intelligent, sharp people as participants in the courses I've been organizing and running for a long time. And they would do things in the air that I can hardly imagine. I started questioning myself: why do they do such stupid things in the air, yet manage incredible challenges in their daily lives? And that's when I concluded that it's actually exactly the same for me.
In the air, it's just that you're totally restricted.
What are some stupid things people do in the air, for you?
So, stupid things are, for example, decisions that are crystal clear when you're on the ground, but in the air, they just don't occur to you. For example? For example, I'm flying out of a valley. It keeps getting narrower and there's a point of no return somewhere. And I just don't think about it, I just keep flying. And it doesn't occur to me that I somehow have no way out anymore and I'm flying into a dead end. If that's not clear to me beforehand, it can just happen. And that can even happen even if you discussed it beforehand and actually had it in mind. But yeah, stupid things. When you're on the boat, you think, yeah, but that was really unclear now.
So there are these points where I have to turn around or keep flying. If I keep flying, I have to be sure that I can still make it. And I keep flying, but I don't make it. That's a stupid
thing. Do you have an explanation for why thinking cuts out halfway during flight? I
I think it's because when you're flying, you're simply being challenged from so many different directions at once. And then thinking just hits a limit, and that limit is just reached. You don't have enough processing capacity. What does that mean for you? For me, it means you have to plan well and have options prepared in advance. They have to have already found a place on your internal hard drive. Otherwise, those options won't come to your mind while you're in the air.
In the book, you write that you rely on the principle of "Keep it simple." But how can you keep something as complex as cross-country flying simple?
I think paragliding isn't actually that complex, because with a paraglider you just have to pull left or right and you have a foot speed bar. And that's something... I mean, there is hardly a simpler sport than paragliding. And that's also so fascinating. I think you just have to keep it as simple as possible, if you can manage to get things to the point and keep them very simple. That's the most demanding thing to describe and it would take tens of thousands of sentences. It's relatively simple. But getting it exactly to the point, that's what makes the difference. And when it comes to flying, it's very precise. It doesn't take many things, but a few things are essential.
What is essential for you when...
Flying?
Essential for flying? Well, what's essential for flying is that I always have a plan and that I never fly into a dead end. That's the most essential thing for me. But now, to summarize that in one sentence—I tried to do that in the book and it took me six chapters. And now, to summarize those six chapters in one sentence, I'm reaching my limits.
In your six chapters, one thing keeps coming up from what I read. You always try to summarize the individual chapters into very simple categories and also always say, okay, ideally—it seems to me—you prefer to divide everything into three parts somehow. For example, you have a so-called traffic light system. There's red, and then there's yellow and green, or instead of yellow, you say orange, I think. What do you judge with such a traffic light system?
I think it's just difficult. I have a hard time in the air focusing on more than three things—only three things come to mind, not more. I can write down seven points, and those seven points might be quite good, but in the air, only three things come to mind. I can think of a maximum of three things. And that's why you have to reduce it to three things. And three things is the maximum capacity I have.
Okay. But if you take this example of the traffic light system and say there's red, there's orange, there's green—what do these colors stand for, and how do you use something like that when flying?
These colors are simply, it's a simplification as much as possible. Now, using the traffic light system as an example, red, like in road traffic, is a no-go. That's simple, I have nothing to gain there. Orange is dangerous, demanding, I have to be ready. And green, well, green is just everything's fine, full safety. Those are the three most important ones, I'd say.
Survival criteria for being in the air. Or the three main ones. There are situations where I have to be tense and alert in the air. But there are also situations where I'm allowed and supposed to be totally relaxed in the air. And there are also situations in the air where I have no business being there. That's why for me—sure, there are overlaps between these colors, but basically, these colors exist. These three, and no more and no less.
If I'm in the air now and it turns red, what could that be, for example, where you'd say red means stop, that you have to, no go, you actually have to go down and land?
So red means I'm not allowed to be there at all. So if I'm in the red, like in road traffic, I already have—I just can't do that. So red is absolute, no go, I'm not allowed to be there at all. So red can, to put it in the simplest terms, in the end, it's only about the wind. The wind is the limiting factor in paragliding. If the wind exceeds a certain strength, I'm just like a leaf in the wind. I can't control my wing properly anymore. I'm just flying around like a leaf on a tree in an autumn storm. I'm just being blown away.
And that's when I talk about being out of control, because I have no business being there. And yes, that's the situation for me—to go back to your question about where the limits are or what "red" is. Red means I simply have no more control, I'm not allowed to be there. What would "orange" be then?
There is orange, and that also breaks down to the wind; if I'm in a certain wind strength, in turbulent air, I still have it under control because I have enough skills, I mean enough abilities, to keep my glider under control. That means I'm somehow in a lee situation and the wind is over 20 km/h, but not yet over 35 km/h. And I think, if I have the right gear, I've got it under control. I can fly in the lee through the sizes, as long as the wind strength isn't greater, I have good control and good characteristics from my inputs on the brakes,
I don't fall under that, but I'm fully
challenged. Right now, if you always relate it to the wind like that, do you actually think in those categories during the flight, like, okay, wind between 0 and 20 is green, 20 to over 30 is orange, and from 35 at the latest it's red? Are those the categories you think in, for example?
There are so many. You're flying, you're high up in the air, and you're extremely tense. And you're so tightly tense, maybe even cramped or scared at times. But actually, there's nothing to be afraid of anymore. But you're still in this phase because maybe it was just a moment ago, or you don't know exactly what it's like. And in flying, it's crucial to always know which color I'm in. And you often catch yourself over and over again being in the wrong color mentally. And that's of course very bad. So if it's orange and I feel green, then it's not good, because then I'm not ready.
Then it surprises me negatively somehow. Or the opposite: it should have been green a long time ago, but in my head, I'm still in the orange zone. I'm tense, but I don't have to be. I could be completely relaxed, just unwind and enjoy it. But I'm not in the enjoyment phase; instead, I'm always tense, thinking something is coming or something is expecting me, or that I have to be incredibly careful. But I don't have to be, I can fully enjoy it. And of course, that's crucial for my capacity over a long flight, because orange takes more battery power than green. That
means that as a pilot, you should actually always tend towards: if you've been in orange, how do I get back into the green quickly? That's a
That's a very important point, yes. This switching and assessing of the situation is, of course, very demanding, but also very exciting and challenging because you can't see the wind. You can't just read somewhere that the wind is this or that or that. There are a few measurement points you can check on the ground, but otherwise, it takes a lot of experience, a lot of experience, to figure it out. But theoretically, I have to know—there are limits, there are limits between green and orange, and there are limits between orange and red. And that's it.
When you're on a cross-country flight, or if you're on a cross-country flight, how often do you check things like, okay, is this still orange, is it green again, is it going into the red? So is that a constant cross-referencing of external factors with how I'm feeling right now, am I in the green zone or am I in the orange zone? How often do you do that?
So, if I'm taking a long flight now—let's say I'm in the air for 10 hours—then I have to do this constantly, because otherwise, I'd never last 10 hours. So I do it all the time. By "all the time," I mean every 15 minutes I ask myself, where am I? Right? So if I'm in the green, it automatically changes to orange. It happens,
because it's turbulent and it wobbles, it shakes. I'm immediately ready and tense. The difficult part is rather going from that tense mode back into the relaxed mode. So from orange to green, that's much harder. And I also think the third difficulty is recognizing when the limit has been reached? I'm not allowed to get into red at all. So seeing red, recognizing it in advance, that's also a very difficult thing.
How can you get back from orange to green in terms of mindset? Are there any techniques? What do you use for that?
Yes, the only technique, as I just said, is very simple. I just ask myself, what's the color right now? And the color is easy to recognize by trying to figure out how strong the wind is. And I look back—so even if it's super turbulent, if the wind doesn't exceed a certain strength, I simply have it under control. Then the glider can't collapse. And if it exceeds a certain wind strength, then I'm the leaf in the wind. And I'm not allowed to let that happen. Being a leaf in the wind is a no-go.
Now, orange as a color or as a state—let's say a state of mind—means you're in a higher state of excitement or just a bit more alert and stuff like that. That can also be beneficial for cross-country flying and things like that. Absolutely. So, how often should you put yourself into orange zones during cross-country flying? Just to say, it sharpens the mind in a certain way. Absolutely.
Orange is very important. Orange means I have to be ready, I have to be active, I have to react, and I have to be prepared. Because if I'm not ready, then my wing will collapse and it will undercut, and then I'll have a problem. I can't let that happen. Orange is a protection for yourself. Orange is very good, it's necessary. But not all the time. When I'm at the cloud base and starting the valley crossing, as soon as I've left the last lift and I'm gliding in the calm air, I have to switch to green. Then it's about enjoyment and relaxation. But often I catch myself being in orange the whole valley crossing,
I stay in orange. That's not ideal.
Do you think it works to do long-distance flights only in green?
Never. In my experience, long-distance flying is... the air is a vast wilderness. And the wilderness is wonderful, it's limitless, it's free, but it's very wild. And from my perspective, the air is the greatest wilderness. And wilderness is challenging. And as the name suggests, it's wild. So long-distance flying, if it's a day where I can fly far, there are always places where I find myself in limit situations if I want to keep going. And that's part of it. And I have to deal with that. And that's where the color orange is very helpful.
From your perspective or experience, what is the biggest difficulty or challenge when it comes to cross-country flying?
I think the biggest difficulty is recognizing what color I am. Why? Why is that so hard? Because you can't see it. I can only guess, but I don't see it. The air is invisible. And I'm moving in a dimension where I don't... I just don't see it. I can only feel it or imagine it. That's what makes the whole thing challenging. Fundamentally, humans always have a need for security. And security means knowing what's coming your way. But in flying, it's exactly the opposite. Flying is a full-on adventure. And in an adventure, the outcome is uncertain.
And I also don't see the matter I'm in. I can only guess at it. And that's what makes it difficult. To get back to your question: what is challenging about cross-country flying? My answer is knowing what color I'm in.
That intuition you get from the invisible weather, winches, and other things. How can you build that kind of intuition?
Well, I think it takes three things. First, it simply requires basic knowledge. You have to have some values. You just need to know a few fundamental things. If you don't know that, then you have... That's the basic reaction. It requires a certain amount of knowledge. Then it requires skills. So you have to have your glider under control. You have to be able to relieve pressure, master it, or know how much you need to pull in which situation. You have to be able to decenter, have a firm grip on the bank, the climb, and the acceleration. So that's the second point. You have to have skills. And then, once you have knowledge and skills, everything just happens in your head. In your head or in your gut?
In your attitude. Your personal attitude. That's the final thing. I always like to use the example of tennis players. Tennis players—as Switzerland, we obviously had the great idol Roger Federer. And Roger Federer simply dominated tennis for a very long time. And there are so many tennis players who have great technique, a great feel for the ball, a great strategy, but they don't always win. And I think a top athlete just has that difference in their head. And it's very similar with flying. You need knowledge, you need skills, and in the end, when you have all that, it all happens in your head. In your head or in your gut?
Head and gut are very close to each other. Are you more of a head pilot or a gut pilot? I think both are good. I mean, head is good, but you need gut too.
50-50. Something that is very crucial for safety and the conditions you're flying in is, ultimately, always the weather. Especially the wind is the safety factor. And regarding the weather, you've basically introduced three categories again in your book to simplify things. We've developed a three-level classification system, let's say. And you call it the B-Lavi system. What's the deal with that?
These are three very simple pillars again, reduced to the absolute minimum of what matters. Cloud cover, instability, and wind. Those are the three basic things that have to be right.
Preparing for flight weather is the basis of everything. If I'm not prepared, it won't even occur to me in the air. With the weather, I can sit in front of the computer all day and still not know exactly what's going on by evening. There are so many apps and things to look at. And a good structure for quickly identifying the essential points is the B-Lavi system. I look at the cloud cover, I look at the instability, and I look at the wind I expect to have. And these three factors are the main factors for successful cross-country flying.
Cloud cover, what are you looking for there?
Cloud cover—that's primarily the engine. The sun is the engine for all the lift. And cloud cover includes, of course, the solar radiation, but also thunderstorms—so what's the precipitation like, the visibility, the tendency for thunderstorms, convective developments, and as I said, the solar radiation.
What does instability stand for?
Instability is the entire layer of air. We've all experienced those bright blue sunny days where nothing happens. And then there are cloudy days where it's great. So it's the air layering—how the surrounding air is layered—
depends on that, whether the air can develop at all that day, or if there are thermals at all, what height the thermals are coming from, and what time the thermals start, and all that. So, stability is directly related to the layer and the ambient air where I am located.
And for you, is wind just the wind speed? Is it in the green-orange-red range, or what are you looking at there?
Wind, what should I expect? At what altitude? There are different winches; we're talking about three wind systems again, so the valley wind system, then the thermal wind, and the over-diagonal meteorological wind. These three winches can blow from completely different directions, and knowing which wind and what wind strength I'm in is crucial. That also has a direct connection to the stability, so with the layering of the ambient air, which wind I'm in. But knowing whether I'm in a stable or an unstable or an over-diagonal meteorological wind is absolutely crucial to feeling comfortable.
Is this the same order you follow for this triple jump Béla-Vi? So, you check the cloud cover first, then the instability, and finally the wind? That
doesn't really play that much of a role. They are three points that are all on the same level for me. I mean, with too much wind, nothing happens, but with bad air layering, nothing happens either, and I can have great instability and no wind, but if I don't have sun, nothing happens. The three points are equal.
Another point and a different topic where you also do a triple jump in your book is when it comes to flying, where you also say there are three modes.
Gliding, climbing, and landing.
How do you define that? I mean, in many other cross-country flight books, you often find "climb" as a mode, and then there's something they call a transition or simply the glide mode. But you don't have that, instead you call a mode "planning." What is that?
So people often do it completely wrong. You catch yourself thinking about climbing even though you've been heading for a landing for a long time, and you're not focusing on the landing.
It often ends very unfavorably. Or I'm at the top of the cloud base in the last few meters and I'm still focusing on climbing. You keep catching yourself thinking about the wrong thing in the completely wrong place. There are times when I just have to focus on climbing and nothing else really matters to me. Then there are places where I have the altitude, and I have to plan. I often do it like this: I imagine a cardboard box, and when I'm low, I put this cardboard box over my head and I can't see anything; I only hear my variometer and focus entirely on climbing.
And nothing else at all. And the higher I get, the more slowly I pull my
take the cardboard box off my head and start opening up the horizon, looking for the long view, seeing where I can fly to, and planning.
That means planning is a flight phase for you, one you always do at the top. Exactly. And in between, there's really only climbing, and if you get too low, there's only landing. Exactly, that's how I do it. And
It's a mix of those three things; I always come back to the same point: I have a limited resource of processing power and thinking capacity, and that's why it's important to focus on the essentials during the right phase. It's completely useless if I focus on planning while in landing mode, because landing and planning are two totally different things. When landing, I have to make sure I get on board well. I need all my skills and potential to ensure the landing goes smoothly. It's exactly the same during the climb. When climbing, I have to interpret my variation and center myself as efficiently as possible to get up.
And I can't waste my resources on other thoughts. And once I'm up there, I start the big job of checking if the conditions are what I thought they'd be. Is Bellavie correct? What are the expectations? Has anything changed? What are the possibilities?
I simply have very limited resources in the air and I have to manage them well, so in my opinion, it's important to focus on the essentials at the right time and at the right altitude.
Is the ascent itself so complex, or so demanding, that you can't plan during that phase when you're climbing?
I think so, yes.
There are pilots, top-tier pilots, who all climb incredibly well. And climbing is also the phase where I can gain the most. So if I climb well, if I climb fast, I fly fast too. Climbing is the core and the most important thing in all of cross-country flying. How do you learn to climb well?
So, climbing well requires a good skill set and you have to be able to master your glider very well. I practice this best by doing a lot of ground handling. That's where I feel my glider, I know my limits, I know the collapse point, I recognize collapses. So on the ground, I get to know my wing very well, and without good skills on the ground, I also have trouble translating and applying the climbing well in the air. Controlling and varying the bank angle is a very important thing, and the best training is a lot of ground handling.
Many people who start out with thermal flying always have the impression that they have to "feel" the lift and that's the special thing they have to learn or something. But if I understand you correctly, that's certainly part of it, but actually, you have to learn to grab the lift with the glider. So, really turning in at the right spot and staying there, and maybe turning tightly or widely, depending on what's required at the moment.
Exactly. That requires knowledge, basic knowledge. I know that it rises most strongly in the center of the thermals, that it's the safest. Now I also need the ability to execute that and stay in the center. And to grab or catch the center or stay inside it requires the skill of being able to turn my glider tightly, to vary my turning radius, and yes, this skill with the glider is the second point. And the third point in my head is that I can then imagine and interpret this variogram, where
in three-dimensional space, that's the center, and it shifts, so I have to constantly re-center it with the re-centering.
Now, there are modern Varios today that have centering aids with bubbles that appear, where you can see exactly how the circles are, and some even calculate beforehand how likely the thermal will be offset, where you'd have to place your curve, and things like that. What do you think of that?
I think that's okay. I do it in my head myself, and because I do it in my head myself, that's why I need so much
concentration energy, that I can visualize this centering aid in my head and store it. And I'm still faster that way than if I always have to check it against the vario and then back again. I lose too much time like that. If I'm always looking at this centering aid, I'm always one step behind. But if I visualize this centering aid—exactly what's shown on the vario—in my head, then I'm much faster and climb much more efficiently.
In your book, you've established a whole series of thermals flight rules, more than three. I think that's one of the few points where it doesn't just reduce to something like a three-jump. I especially liked thermals flight rule 6, and I wanted to ask something about that, because you write: thermals flight rule 6 means leave the thermal tube only when you are sure that it rises stronger in the next tube. That's nicely put, but how can you know if it rises better in the next tube or whether it rises better in the next tube? I mean, when do I really know I can leave now because the variometer said if the next tube rises better, then it can take off now?
Yeah, that's a challenge again. I try to remember the air layering—it has to do with the air layering—and that starts with the first thermal. So, when I'm turning into my starting thermal, I try to remember at what altitude it worked best, and usually, that altitude is similar in the next thermal. And then I can see, "Aha, between 1,500 and 2,000 meters, it's going really well, it's very stable," and below 1,500 meters I notice it gets a bit tight, it gets a bit thin, it doesn't really work anymore, so I just try never to go below those 1,500 meters.
And the same thing at the upper limit—if I see that the last 200 meters up to the cloud base were just tough and difficult, then once I'm sure that I'll reach the next 1500, over 1500 meters, I assume, yeah, I don't need to invest another 10 minutes just to get a few meters higher.
If you had to decide now, you know you can reach your next thermal, but you say it climbs great between 1500 and 2000. Above that it's weak and below that it's weak. But the next thermal is a bit further away; you can't manage to get there with those 500 meters of altitude where it climbs well. Would you rather climb higher for longer and then fly out with better altitude? Or would you say, no, I'd rather risk it; I'll arrive a bit lower, but it's a bit weaker at the beginning and then I'll climb up from there. So, circling longer at the top or taking longer at the bottom to get out again?
The answer is very clear: circling longer at the top. So, getting maximum altitude is always good. And when we talk about top-tier pilots doing record flights, or long-distance flights, or flying in uncertain situations, they always go for maximum altitude. Maximum altitude, yeah, that's always good, yeah. Always a
top investment. And if someone is starting out with cross-country flying, would that also be a tip you'd give them? Always aim for maximum altitude at the beginning so you have the safety to keep moving forward, and to slowly gain experience and have those successes so you can keep going? Absolutely.
There is no long flight that doesn't take a long time. In my head, it's not actually about flying far, but above all about staying in the air for a long time. And if I manage to stay up for a long time, I'll automatically climb because I'm circling for so long, and if I stay up for a long time, the chance is simply much greater that I'll automatically fly far. So I think, when it comes to cross-country flying, never think about flying far, but always about staying in the air for a long time.
Are we perhaps using the wrong metric? I mean, cross-country flights are always calculated in XT kilometers. But if you say that the actual important thing in cross-country flying is staying up for a long time, shouldn't there also be a competition where you say, it's cross-country flying, but who stayed in the air the longest that day? Those are usually also the ones who have the really long distances. So, just last week, it was late April, early May, there were these incredible days in the Alps where I think so many hundreds were flown in one day like never before and stuff like that, and where new launch site records were flown from so many different launch sites. But if you look at that again, the people who really flew far, they all had at least nine and a half hours, if not ten or even partly eleven hours on the clock.
And you always have to say, okay, the people who actually dare to start early and land late, that's the real achievement. And whether it turned out to be 180 or 320 kilometers is relatively irrelevant.
Yes, I think, funnily enough, both rankings turn out similarly. So the long-term ranking and the kilometer ranking, I'd say, are almost identical, yes.
Yes, but if you were to compare a B-pilot and a C-pilot, or an E-N-D-pilot, who says, okay, I can usually fly with an E-N-B glider not quite as fast on certain sections as with an E-N-D glider. Where you'd say, but then they could become comparable if you say, look, we're not comparing the fact that you only did 250 kilometers and the other did 300 kilometers, but we're not comparing the number of kilometers at all, but rather saying, hey, as an E-N-B-pilot, you were on the route and even flew for a quarter of an hour longer than the other. Isn't that actually the greater achievement?
Yes, maybe you could put it another way. The kilometers are the result, and the hours in the air are the path to that result.
In your book, it also says very nicely that the journey is the goal. Is that also the motivation for you when it comes to long-distance flying? To cover as much distance as possible?
Yes, and I also think it's a state of mind; if I look at it from a distance, you don't actually achieve everything you absolutely want to. But when you do it, it happens automatically. You don't "win," you win.
That means,
you can do it
not to plan to win, you say? One
you can't plan to win, you say? Well, you can't do that, it happens automatically, it's just the result. But you can't buy the result, you can't force it, it's just a... how can I put it, the result just happens automatically. But you just have to not focus on the kilometers, but on the time, being in the air as long as possible. And if I manage to stay in the air for a long time, then the kilometers come automatically. I really have to have the ability to be in the air for 10 hours first. If I can't be in the air for 10 hours, I'll never manage 300 kilometers. That's just not possible.
What are the actual
limiting factors, that you manage to go a long way?
I think it's the battery life in your head. Being able to maintain your concentration for so long. Those are the biggest challenges. And I need concentration for climbing, for planning, and for landing. How can you train that?
Training so that I have a lot of knowledge, good skills, so that the whole process happens as automatically as possible and doesn't require any effort. When I'm centering or climbing, I don't have to think at all; it just flows automatically because I've done it so much and know my glider so well that it just works. And when planning, the thoughts I made during the good preparation in the morning come back to mind, so I simply need less capacity. That requires knowledge, that requires skills, and knowledge and skills require training.
Now there's something else that comes into play, which you describe in the book with a very, very beautiful, original Swiss term, the Knorz. What is that? What does it have to do with it?
Knorz, that's a very
funny expression. The Knorz,
You have this instinct, this survival instinct, and it's quite good. You get protected, you get scared, you react, you pay attention—the traffic light changes and that's a warning signal that makes you react automatically. But the big problem is that often it stays that way, and the great skill is to switch again, in other words, to know that you have these thoughts in your head, to lean on the good thoughts and not let yourself drift into the bad ones. And the "Knorz" is often a friend, but sometimes also a blockage, or sometimes it's not a friend.
from myself, and it's always good to know, is he holding me back now or
Is he helping me now? So Knorz is the inner voice that's still commenting on everything you're doing right now. Is it always present? It's always present,
he comes on really fast and gets really loud and sometimes stays dominant for a long time, and sometimes you have to say again, okay, that's good, thanks, but now you can go again.
How do you deal with your Knorz? Exactly like that, by telling him, hey thanks, but now you can go again? Exactly.
I try to personify it and give it very clear instructions.
I do that very simply, very straightforwardly, and I tell him, I look at him as a person and treat him with respect, but I tell him very clearly who's the boss. That means,
Can you also override your Knorz?
That's the art of it; he's a friend and a helper, but yes, he points things out, but you always have to judge well, and the colors—I've already talked a lot about this—they help me. The colors help me and they tell me what's really going on, and what's really going on, the situation, is the answer for my Knorz.
That means, for example, your Knorz tells you, "Oh, that's way too demanding today, maybe you'd better land or something," and then you have to mentally switch the exam off and say, "Okay, but what's happening outside right now? What are the conditions like?" And then you might realize, "Well, right now, where I'm flying, in this valley I've just flown into, the wind conditions are much calmer, I can actually glide there quite smoothly, I don't have to do much at all. Knorz, Hals, Malz, Maul, everything is fine here now."
I do it exactly like that. Just as you described it in your own words, I say it with my Knorz.
Have you ever had negative experiences where you overruled your Knorz and then realized, crap, he was right with his concerns?
Yeah, I've had that. I've had that. But I had
many more situations where the "Knorz" forced me to land, but acted completely unjustly. I was on the ground, and three seconds later I got upset about why I was on the ground.
Well, Knorz is a part of yourself. How do you deal with that annoyance then? Because, in a way, you're split in two. On one hand, your own ego protects you—so like you said, it's a warning, and it's sometimes useful to be warned accordingly—but it can also overreact, and then a potentially beautiful experience is ruined or taken away entirely because you then go into landing mode and so on.
Yes, that's exactly it, and I think the solution to that is simply being aware that this "Knorz" exists and that it keeps coming up, in every flight and not just once, but very often. It's always there, and yes, I just deal with it, and the awareness that it's there and that it's good, but also sometimes bad, that's just something I have to deal with, and when I'm aware of it, then I go...
I deal with it.
Dealing with a jerk like this and actually putting him in his place also has something to do with mindset—a positive mindset, I'd say. How do you build a positive mindset in yourself so that you can resist or stand up to a jerk like that?
That's a very good question.
Self-confidence, it comes very slowly and it goes very quickly. And trust, it's very important to have trust in yourself, in your material, in your abilities, and to be able to build that trust and fly successfully, you always need positive experiences. Negative experiences rob you of that investment incredibly fast.
So, in my biggest goals, it's always about having good experiences. And when I have good experiences, that strengthens my confidence. And that trust in myself and in my equipment, that is essential.
Have you ever had negative experiences yourself that really weighed on you while flying, where you realized, "I'm restricted now"?
I see that much more with pilots who come to us, where we talk about it and where you can just see it, or in my former role as
I see this much more with pilots who come to us, where we talk about it and where you can just see it, or in my former role as a competition team leader, I had many young talents who were incredibly good but were somewhat overmotivated; they had some bad experience, and it doesn't happen immediately—a year later, two years later, they were gone and had done something else. You don't even have to suffer damage, physical damage, it just takes an extreme experience that shakes you up or pushes you down, and that's enough. It doesn't even have to be a crash or any other broken bone, it can just be an extreme experience and
it simply always has to be positive.
Is paragliding more extreme than other sports where you might have a fall that tells you, "Maybe I should hold back for now" or something like that? I mean, because you're in the air and can imagine you might crash, is that a different medium where, as a human, you normally know you don't belong there, and where you then have more respect for it and develop more respect?
I think paragliding is like the ultimate discipline of life, because you're in the invisible air, high above the ground, and could fall, but actually, it's like that everywhere—self-confidence and good experiences are also crucial in normal, everyday life.
How did you get into flying?
I didn't actually want to fly at all. I have two older brothers, and one of them flew, and he was always bored going alone, so he didn't exactly force me, but he talked me into coming along. He was a bit impatient and there were no practice runs. I got the glider and had to fly. Directly from the top of the mountain? Directly from the top of the mountain, exactly. We wanted to set up the glider in the morning, but the wind was so bad, and then the day looked good and my brother decided to go straight up, and then we had to decide, yeah, watch the takeoff or the landing, and I could then decide what I wanted, and then I flew first and he jumped in behind me and yeah, it was all out there, it was a completely different time.
Then we did a second flight, and we went up with a flight school, and then the instructor came up to me and asked how many flights I'd already done. Not that many, right? And he caught me that I didn't have a license at all and encouraged me to go get it now. With him, of course, yeah. What you did then. Yeah, yeah, I did that too, but I was still a bit too young, I wasn't allowed yet. Besides, you could only fly from the age of 16 and I was only 15. I had to wait a bit, yeah.
But did that first flight grab you so much that you said, "Okay, I want to do this now"?
Yes, it already fascinated me—this little paraglider bag and the possibility you have with your little bag and your little package; that fascinated me during the first flight and it still fascinates me to this day. And I find that the simplicity of this backpack and the potential of everything you can do with what's inside it, that is unique to me, yes.
In your career, you were also competitive for a while and celebrated real successes, you even won the PWC, in 2000 you were European Champion, but then just a few years later you hung up competitive flying completely, why?
Sport has always fascinated me, even as a child, and also
especially skiing,
I've always watched skiing, and then there were athletes who were once super good, won everything, and then reached an age where they didn't stop and just kept finishing at the back. That always hit me so hard; I always felt it was brutal when someone is once absolute world-class and then a few years later just can't keep up anymore. And I told myself that if I ever reached a situation like that, I'd stop. It's always difficult to say where the peak is, but when I wanted the overall world peak, the PWC, and the European Championship title, I thought that was good.
I'd stop. Did you ever feel like flying again in the meantime, or was it really like you just decided, "That's it"?
Yes, I didn't do anything for a long time, and then I wrote the book. While I was writing the book, of course, I put a lot of thought into it and I wanted to test those thoughts, so I did test them. During the time I was writing the book, I participated in the Swiss Championship again in the sports class and did the cross-country flight competition in Switzerland again to see if it really worked out that way. So I didn't do anything else but simply apply what I had written down myself.
You just stayed up in the air for a long time, in the end.
I stayed in the air for a long time, and during that time I always did my best flights and it was great. I also won the cross-country flight competition and the Swiss championship, and I did nothing other than try to evaluate what I tried to write.
You also worked for years as the head of the development team at NETVANCE. I believe you were also a co-owner of the company. But you gave that up too. Why?
It's actually something similar. I think that's just my basic philosophy. There are good times, you do something, and then there are times when you move on again. It's always about catching the right moment, moving on again, and focusing on something else, taking what you've experienced with you and building on it. That keeps opening new doors.
That's a challenge. It's similar to top athletes who move on after a great moment. Those moments happen again and again. One was just with ADVANCE. It probably would have been easier to just keep going and stay. But I had a great time. It was very successful. It was very beautiful.
I remember that very well. And now there are new challenges again. Maybe you also just wanted to fly other gliders than ADVANCE. Of course, we always did that. During the development phase, you had to be aware of what competitors are flying, how they fly, and what the pros and cons are. A good paraglider company knows exactly how other gliders fly with gliders.
How did your approach to flying manifest at ADVANCE?
A company is always like the people leading it. The company, the culture, the products are a reflection of the leadership.
at the company. Is there a character of ADVANCE gliders where you would say, that's me?
Yes, that's definitely there. I was only a part of it, but I helped shape the company. You automatically shape it when you're in a position like that. I think,
the reliability, that it works, that it has a certain quality—I certainly played my part in that as well.
What kind of glider are you flying with today?
What do you pack in your backpack when you say, I want to go on a cross-country flight? I'm always looking for this...
product that, in my eyes, has the highest performance and the greatest simplicity. The ease-performance balance—that's the deciding factor for me. A top product is an incredible performance and is insanely easy. That balance and performance is the best product. I think that also applies across classes. There are classes that are very safe but have limited performance, and there are classes that have great performance but aren't that easy.
That changes all the time, depending on how the development is going. But there are certain types of routes and ways of building a glider that work particularly well and are especially easy. What would be
for example? Which paragliding category do you consider safe, easy, and high-performing?
I think at the moment
Grade 6.5 for my level. Grade 6.5 is very manageable, and grade 6.5 with this span and a large enough number of cells delivers an absolutely impressive performance. It's such a
golden number at the moment. With what we know, with the lines that have been reduced, and with this two-liner system. That is an incredible simplicity-performance balance.
Are you also already CCC?
-flown gliders? I fly them every now and then. I used to fly a lot back in the day. Sure, I know what I'm doing. But for me, to fly for a long time, they're too exhausting. It takes as much effort as what I'm flying today. I still fly a lot, but for my level, for my age, for my reaction time, it's too risky for me. To reach the full potential.
Besides flying, you have another big sports hobby. You do foilkiting or wingfoiling and stuff like that. Which do you do more often? Flying or going out on the water?
One of the two. Either I'm in the air or on the water. It alternates a bit depending on the season and the weather conditions.
Do you enjoy one more than the other? If you were to say that I could always decide, and the weather was always better for one than the other, would you say then that you'd prefer paragliding, or would you rather go out on the water?
In the end, I'd definitely prefer to go into the air because the air is just more interesting. It's more variable, it's a third dimension, it's more challenging, it's more exciting. Clearly. If I had to choose and could only do one, I'd choose the air.
What is it about wingfoiling that's so fascinating for you?
Wingfoiling is pretty simple and accessible. You can do it in a very short amount of time with very little investment. The fascinating thing about the air and the water is the lack of resistance, the weightlessness, the acceleration, the centrifugal force, and the feeling of moving without resistance. That is absolutely fascinating. It's fascinating in the air, but also in the water.
If I've seen it correctly, you've already achieved some success in wingfoiling as well. You won the Wingfoil World Series in 2021, and in 2022 you also won that course foil competition, the Defi Wind for Corsica. What appeals to you about such competitions? Yes,
It's actually always about pushing the limits. Like, what is possible with yourself? What are you capable of? And there's also a motivation to train and to live that with full passion. The competitions are just a good incentive to do something and to keep going, instead of just flying or riding around aimlessly.
That's fascinating. And that's...
I like doing that. What advantage do you have as a wingfoiler by also flying a paraglider?
You naturally understand all the aerodynamics because it's exactly the same in the water as it is in the air. Finding those parallels is very nice. It's exciting and very cool that you find essentially the same principles, and that helps you with your understanding in the air, but also in your understanding on the water. And when you can observe and recognize things like that from different perspectives, it's very
fruitful. Are you also only using 50% of your brain power when you're wingfoiling?
Yeah, wingfoiling just isn't that demanding in that sense, because it's simply two-dimensional.
Yeah, probably, but it's much more accessible and a lot less
comprehensive. You could just say it's simpler, yeah.
Are there things where you would say, I learned or experienced those while wingfoiling, which then helped you with paragliding?
Absolutely,
Yeah. Fast riding is like wingfoiling, where you directly influence the angle of attack of the wing you have in your hand, and you have the angle of attack under the water of your foil, which you do directly. That's nothing different from accelerating while flying straight and the bar control with your hands behind, where you do all that. You do it exactly the same way in wingfoiling. In wingfoiling, you just can't do anything. If you fall, you fall a meter into the water. That gives you a lot of confidence and a lot of boost and many possibilities where you just push much more in the air, give it much more gas.
I definitely learned that with wingfoiling, and the
Pushing your limits. That means basically going much further toward the limits of the angle of attack, so that you get a feel for how much more you can push. Exactly.
Wingfoiling is like ground handling in paragliding. That's where you learn everything and feel everything, and wingfoiling is very similar. You can't fall down and push and explode, but it's not dangerous. It's not life-threatening.
Now, with wingfoiling, you have the wing directly in your hand, you see it in front of you, and you can notice immediately what's happening. But with a paraglider, you're sitting or hanging 7 to 8 meters under the canopy, and some of what the canopy does isn't transmitted to you as automatically, also because your harness is only attached by one carabiner and you don't perform all the pitching movements directly or anything like that. How can you still transfer that?
The aerodynamics are exactly the same. The functions of accelerating, turning, and stalling are identical for both wings. That's why it's so exciting. You discover the exact same types of movements as in wingfoiling, as in paragliding. A good wingfoil must be able to handle a high angle of attack change, and you feel that much more directly in your hands while surfing. A good paraglider also has to handle a high angle of attack change, stall late, and collapse late, and that is identical.
Now, there are some paraglider manufacturers who also build kites, and sometimes wingfoils and things like that. Would you say those are the better ones?
They certainly have a broader horizon because they...
approach from completely different criteria. But most of them don't have the time to make top paragliders and top surf products. But if these teams communicate well with each other and are well-connected, then that is definitely a huge advantage. But doing everything alone, that's a bit difficult at the moment, because it simply takes a lot of
Time.
Is there something that already exists in wingfoiling that you'd like to see transferred over to paragliding?
So with the foils underwater, yeah, there are of course incredible designs. With the wing, I think it's more the opposite. The wing is still somewhat underdeveloped. There's still huge potential for development because the wing, with these things at the moment...
inflation tubes and a lot of lift, but also very high drag, there's still huge potential there, where a lot more will be brought to the water from paragliding and delta flying in the future. I'm firmly convinced of that. So I see huge development potential in the wing, where things can be brought to the water from the air in terms of aerodynamics.
How many developments do you still see in paragliding? How much potential? Or is the paraglider largely fully developed?
The paraglider is certainly already... well, considering how long people have been developing paragliders, how long people have been developing wings, it's certainly a long way along. Even 20 years ago, we thought the model we released couldn't get any better. But it still gets better. It's still very clear that there are improvements and improvements. It's becoming easier, more accessible, and the performance is higher.
Wonderful, Kari. With that, we've reached the end of our conversation. Great view for paragliding. It's going to get even easier and the performance will continue to increase. So we'll have even more fun then, perhaps also with cross-country flying. Thank you for your remarks.
Thanks, Lucian.
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