And the ratio between packing up, setting out, somehow hiking or driving up, it just doesn't really fit in proportion to what the whole sport costs, both financially and in terms of time, and since then, the goal has ultimately been to stay in the air for as far and as long as possible.
Podz-Glidz, the Lu-Glidz podcast. Stories from the cosmos of paragliding. Today with David
Hermann. And
I'm Lucian Haas.
If you followed the DHV XC lowland rankings in 2025, one name should have stood out to you: David Herrmann. The 33-year-old from Nuremberg caused a stir throughout the entire flying season with a series of major cross-country flights over the German lowlands. Not only did he set a new launch site record with a 306-kilometer flight from Knobelsdorf in Thuringia, but he also set a new launch site record for five other flight areas, from the Black Forest to Sauerland, where he now holds the XC record. When you also find out that David has only been flying a paraglider for three years and has already progressed from a school glider to a Low-B ENC and then to an END glider, you're left with the impression that we're looking at a high-flyer with great passion at work.
But also somehow someone who handles the business of cross-country flying in the lowlands very well. In this episode 169 of Podz-Glidz, David Herrmann talks about, among other things, how he approaches flying, how he drives across the republic to be at the start in each respective region, what strategy he follows when choosing routes, and why he always has bivouac equipment with him in his harness.
Since you're listening to the podcast, why not become a supporter of Podz-Glidz? You can find out how on the Gleitschirm-Blog Lu-Glidz at www.Lu-Glidz.de. David,
how do you wreck a paraglider?
Yeah, that's a funny story.
When you're just really eager to fly, overestimate your own abilities, and drive eight hours from Nuremberg to the Baltic coast, only to be blown off course by strong winds and ultimately end up landing in the bushes.
Was that your very first flight on the Baltic Sea?
That was the very first flight I ever did on the Baltic Sea, and it was supposed to be the last one since then.
Why, I mean, if you land in a bush, why was there an immediate total loss? I mean, why did you wreck your paraglider?
Well, it just got away from me and I couldn't, I didn't manage to tame the glider, that is, to eventually kill it. And every time it would lever me out, and then it would lever me out a meter and move us two meters further back. It did that five or six times and eventually it just got caught in a thorn tree to the right and left. The center of the canopy was open. I think it was probably some kind of 35 km/h wind or even a bit more. And then the right ear was in the thorn tree, the left ear was in the thorn tree, the middle was open, and every time with every gust the glider tried—it tried to pull itself out of the thorn tree, to fly out, as is the natural tendency of a glider—and then it just got deeper into the thorn tree and tore huge holes in it, so that I eventually tried to cut the lines.
and ultimately suffered economic damage to the glider as well.
You cut the lines?
I cut the lines, yes.
So in the end, you had one less set of lines and the glider was completely torn. Exactly.
That's how it looked. A defining experience.
Starting in strong winds, I mean, you're saying 35 km/h and stuff like that. Did you have any experience with that at all, or were you just a relatively clueless beginner who thought, "I'll just try it out," and then had this stupid experience with it?
That describes it perfectly. A clumsy beginner, for sure. I had some experience with strong winds already, even in the regional mountains near us. I think it was even in the spring, sometime around March. And we fly a lot in the winter at the regional mountains too, over small hills. And I'd already had some problems with strong winds there. I just thought that laminar wind on the coast would be half as tragic and I totally underestimated it. And that was ultimately the first strong wind experience that ended up costing me equipment. And fortunately, nothing happened that would have caused me to, in any case, do more in that direction if I want to get out safely.
What kind of glider was that you wrecked?
That was my first Air Design Vivo Low -B classification.
And then? Did you have to buy a new glider? What did you end up buying?
The idea was to stay there for a whole weekend. After the glider turned out to be junk, it felt like an absolute bad dream, like a fever dream. I went back to the hotel first after all the shock, and went to sleep for a bit. And after sleeping, I pinched myself again and realized, damn, this isn't a dream, this is reality. You have one less glider. Then I tried calling all the regional flight schools to see if they still had a glider somewhere. Yeah.
Yeah, but unfortunately they didn't have a glider in my size that could be acquired on short notice for the coast at a reasonable price. And I will never forget this situation. I'd been given the opportunity by the local club's regional pilot to fly his glider. And when I asked what classification it was, the answer was, I don't know, it's been 20 years since I bought the glider. There was no classification back then.
And did you at least test-fly the glider at some point, or did you skip it? Like a...
old treasure? I tried to get the old treasure into the air at all first. The next day, after I'd trashed the glider, the wind conditions were more moderate. There were also many local pilots out flying.
Then it worked out pretty well that I could try out his glider. I took off nicely with it. I didn't dare, though, because the bag was so heavy that I couldn't even get it over me properly. And in the end, it was just watching and processing the little horror I had there.
So you ended up driving back from the Baltic Sea to Nuremberg with nothing to show for it. That's where you're coming from, right? Right.
How did your glider search go anyway?
I was lucky enough that my good friend was selling his glider at that time or wanted to sell it and wanted to get the same glider brand new again. And it just happened that I eventually said to him, hey, if you're selling your glider and you're so happy with it that you're basically getting it again, then I want to get it too, and then we can develop together so that I'll eventually be at your level. And then we can fly together on courses, go on courses, or fly on the slope with the same skills if we have the same glider. And that's how it happened that I switched from the Air Design Vivo relatively early—I think I did it about eight or ten months after I got my license, after I finished it—I switched to an ENC glider.
Oh wow.
Yeah. So you have your license
...done and ten months later you're on an ENC glider. Yeah,
Exactly. Pretty fast. Yeah, pretty fast. Now, it might sound like this is somehow normal. I've thought about it a lot myself, so it's not normal. I know that the jumps usually go from Low B with B to High B because the jumps between the gliders are also very large. And I've ultimately put a lot of thought into it. Am I even ready for that, especially since I just finished a glider? Obviously, I'm not ready for an ENC glider. The situation didn't show that. On the other hand, it was a situation where I ultimately thought, okay, if my buddy flies the glider and he—I've always seen him as a mentor, ultimately.
and I think everyone needs someone in their life who acts as a mentor, so I can eventually rectify the mistakes I've made, because I'm ultimately a person who analyzes and reflects a lot. I can definitely rectify the mistakes in the end. And if he flies the glider himself, then he can give me better information on it. That was the basic idea behind it.
That was, if I remember correctly, 2023, when you got that C-glider. Exactly.
In 2024, you already switched to an END glider. That's something you'd say, oh, that's pretty fast too. Are you a daredevil?
No, definitely not.
Daredevil would be the wrong word. I would describe a daredevil as someone who isn't aware of all the risks and just throws themselves into the unknown. Not what's ultimately waiting for them on the other side. I'm definitely not that.
Did you know what was waiting for you?
With the END -glider?
I knew it would be turbulent
...can handle, and that it definitely won't always be easy. But what is easy in life? I think there's a risk involved in every opportunity. I think if you're aware of what goal you have. For me, it was clear early on that I want to fly distance and that ultimately I want to stay up as far as possible, for as long as possible. I knew that the step would eventually come, that I'd want to switch to an ENC two-liner.
And the only question was, and I thought about this for a very long time, END or ENC? And I spent a lot of time researching the glider, reading through the test reports, looking at where the gliders actually are, how they're classified, to recognize the differences between the gliders. I eventually came to the conclusion: okay, if my goal is to make the most of the whole day for as long as possible, then sooner or later I'm going to ask myself the same question—does it make sense to jump up a class to squeeze out just a little bit more performance? And ultimately, the decision I made for myself was to switch straight to END, but to start slower, basically, yeah, slowly is,
That sounds way too long now. Maybe a bit off. But to dare to approach different flight windows. Because if you think about it, the flight window that we paraglider pilots enter is quite small. From 0 to, let's say, 25 km/h or 30 km/h flight window, which we fly somewhere, although at 30 km/h it gets slow, I'd say it goes into the orange zone, where it slowly becomes critical. And my goal was, when I fly the glider, I want to slowly work my way into all flight windows to see how the glider reacts in dynamic conditions, so that when it's time for cross-country in the spring, I'm ultimately familiar with the behavior, with the characteristics of the glider.
And so it was pretty good that I, yeah, switched to the END glider quite quickly and then, even in lowland conditions where there weren't those crisp spring conditions like in the Alps yet, I could first familiarize myself with the glider's behavior before I had my first larger flights in the lowlands later on.
You just said that you had this idea pretty soon that you wanted to do long-distance flights, that you wanted to stay in the air all day.
Where did that drive come from? I mean, I think you'd only had your license for a year. Or maybe a year and a half or something. So that's already very ambitious, I'd say, very early on.
I've talked to many pilots about how they perceived their very first flight.
And just to find out or understand why I didn't have that feeling myself. I remember my first flight, I was flying down from the mountain, sure, a bit of soaring and maybe a light thermal in the morning layer. Then the flight was still three-quarters of an hour over. And the ratio between packing up, laying it out, somehow hiking or driving up, just didn't sit right with me in relation to what the whole sport costs. So, both financially and in terms of the time frame. And that was my motivation, I want more of it. It's just so beautiful to have this privilege.
Birds manage to do it, after all. And since then, the motivation finally came to be in the air as far and as long as possible. And then sometimes I'd stick to the lee side for hours, soaring from A to B and doing small first valley crossings in various valleys, and realized, oh, that actually is quite a lot of fun, even if the scenery changes. And so, ultimately, it just grew out of that—the XC ambition grew along with the core flying skills.
So, does that mean that even today, when you're looking for your flight, it's always basically, I want to do cross-country and I want to fly as far and, above all, as long as possible?
Yes, I would sign off on that. The passion is definitely for XC flying. Soaring on the slope is also very nice and I love it too, especially in the evening—I think everyone knows that feeling—when the magic air, when the thermals start to get weaker, and the day stops working, then it's beautiful hours and experiences you can have in the air. But the passion, the ambition, and the fire that burns inside me, that is definitely for cross-country flying.
How important are the points you ultimately achieve with it? I mean, you accumulate kilometers, get your XC points, and then end up on some ranking lists, like 1st place, 2nd place, whatever. Is that significant to you too, or is it just a byproduct of you saying, I want to fly for a long time for myself?
It's more of a byproduct.
In the end, for me, it's the best feeling when I know I've completely exhausted myself flying from start to finish. And the kilometers, the points, they ultimately stand as a byproduct of the mission.
In 2024, you won the DHV Newcomer ranking. As a byproduct of what you have, what did that give you? Or was it actually not significant to you at all?
It was nice to see that with the skills, with what you've learned, what can ultimately be put into practice, that it's enough to get on the podium somewhere. And I think a little bit of healthy competitive spirit isn't anything wrong with it. Of course, it's nice when you can measure yourself against other like-minded people and it's ultimately enough to get a spot on the podium. But it wasn't really an incentive to get first place at all. So it was more of a coincidence. At some point, I was looking at the DHV rankings, seeing where some people were standing, and I just happened to see my name in a newcomer ranking in first place and just thought to myself, wow, cool.
I didn't really have it as a goal, but it's nice that it's finally happened.
When during the season did you notice that?
I think quite late. It was roughly a month or a month and a half before the end of the season.
Oh, so if you can't really fly that far anymore, it was already relatively clear that it's not that far. Now, basically, no one can catch up to you anymore.
Yeah, exactly, exactly.
Was was that a motivation for you to say, okay, in 2025 I want to keep going? Like, as a newcomer I can't compete there anymore, but now I want to be at the front in other rankings too? Or was that also something where you'd say, if that happens, it's just a byproduct? I want to fly for myself.
It was never my ambition to win any ranking at all. My friends and I, or I did, had the passing thought of, yeah, it would be nice if you could end up on the podium somewhere next season. But there are many top pilots in Germany, and internationally too, who fly some seriously good routes. And dreaming is nice and dreaming is important. Ultimately, what actually happens is a different matter. As you know yourself, flying isn't just limited to the weekends, but also during the week. And ultimately, it's a privilege to be able to fly at all. And looking back at my own days this year, the good routes were mostly on weekdays when you normally have to work.
This year things developed completely differently for me, so I just thought to myself, I'm up for flying if I actually have the chance to have more time for my private life. And to get that balance for myself, I want to make the most out of this season. And in the end, that somehow managed to result in me being competitive on various ranking levels.
I looked at the DRV rankings again beforehand. And then, okay, you're not currently in first place anywhere, but you're in second place in a few rankings. But above all, one thing stands out: I don't think there's much reason why a pilot who has flown so far, but also so consistently in the lowlands this year as you have. I also noticed that you've set at least six, I think, six new launch site records. However, these are launch sites where one would now say, you live in Nuremberg, and that's not directly around your region, but it's really driven across the Republic in some parts, where you probably travel there and then fly away from there, and then first give the locals the long nose and they wonder what kind of battered Nuremberg resident just took the launch site record away.
How do you do it? Like, how do you pick out the specific launch sites where you know you can really fly far today?
Phew, that's a long story.
In the end, we all have the same tools. And I ultimately just look at the forecasts to see where it works best thermally, and then I check which launch sites are nearby. I also take a look at where there might be any airspaces.
And yeah, ultimately the local club rules for launch sites, where you're allowed to fly as a guest or not, and I try to recall or visualize whether the line I want to fly is ultimately the right one for that day, in that month, in this season. Because ultimately, a lot of it is also decided by the topography—how and where you ultimately get. Because if I'm planning a long flight, for example, that's different from in the mountains, where you permanently have some trigger flanks, in the evening some southwest flanks, west flanks, that are perfectly positioned for thermals.
So you don't have that in the lowlands. And my flights this year, even if it wasn't intended, most of them—I think most of them, or almost all of them, I'm not sure, I think all of them—were in the lowlands. And there you really have to look at, okay, for what I'm planning, where do I end up at the end of the day? To widen my chances for the last 50, 60 kilometers as much as possible. And ultimately, it's a mix of airspace, so as not to cause any airspace violations, the right launch site where the wind is also right. Sometimes you have launch sites that are somehow a bit in the nozzle, like with the Black Forest, for example; there you have some where, when the thermals are going, the valley wind is also on.
And then you can also center the thermals properly with the thermals. These are all sorts of small microtopographical features that also have to be taken into account. It took me a long time to understand it; for example, the next low mountain range from Nuremberg is the Bayerischer Wald. These are ultimately just a few hills that, of course, stand out quite a bit from the flatlands, but in comparison to the Alps, they still appear very small. And yet, in the low mountains, we also have completely normal valley wind systems that influence the thermals just as much as in the alpine region, just not as extremely. And all these specificities in choosing a launch site—where to go, which ones you ultimately want to drive to—
ultimately affect the decision you make. And sometimes it's sites like Neugenreuth, for example, which is a really funny site. That day, we even ran into a local when we went up, who said to us, "You guys aren't planning on flying today, are you?" We said, "Yes, we are, look at the thermal forecast, it looks damn good." He just shook his head and kept walking, because from his perspective, it was completely unflyable. But it worked out perfectly because it formed such a convergence between 8-eighths coverage at altitude and perfect cumuliform technique further north.
You could fly along this convergence. And the launch site was just like I told you with the trigger pumps—it went up reliably at the edge of the Thuringian Forest, with strong basal thermals that could form on the flanks in the edge area of the Thuringian Forest. And those are exactly the kinds of conditions you sometimes have to take into account with the launch sites.
Something like that—I mean, you're always driving to different launch sites now, at least you've traveled around a lot. You don't know these local sites at all. So, in some cases, you've probably never flown there before. These are your first flights from there. How do you come to these assessments, where you can then say, "Oh, I'm in the lee of the Thuringian Forest" or something like that? How do you factor that in and say, "I think I can launch here. I think I can get away from here"? And the locals might just shake their heads, but what do you see that the others don't?
I think we're all seeing the same thing. I can't really tell you, that's ultimately what experience is. The experience that simply tells me: is it really possible here right now, or am I ultimately just not daring enough, or overestimating myself somewhere.
Let me jump in again. Where does that experience come from? Because if I look at it, you got your license in 2022, started cross-country flight in '23 or something like that. So ultimately, you have, let's say, two years of cross-country flight experience. Even if you fly a lot and in different things. How can you become so experienced so quickly?
Ultimately, it's the hours I spend in the air. I looked the other day at what happened this year—what the experience was so far and last year—and I think that after a certain amount of airtime and a bit of self-reflection, the experience just comes automatically. I think it was, for example, just under 200 hours of airtime this year, 186 in total now. That feeling comes on its own, which happens at a certain point; I remember, for example,
that many people often said, no, the thermals will be too shredded. It's too strong, too windy. You can't do a cross-country flight there. And I just flew the cross-country anyway. Those were days where we went as far as 200 kilometers, where people sometimes said beforehand, no, there's no way you're getting away. You'll be back on the ground in no time. And I thought, but it has to work. I have good flanks in the low mountains. The thermals will be strong enough. It has to work somehow. And ultimately, I just tried it. I drove there, tried it, and saw, okay, the thermals are really gradient-heavy, or the gradient is so strong that the thermals can be separated despite the high wind speed. And so the experience came, little by little, with experience.
What do you look for in weather situations like that when you say, "I want to fly far in the lowlands"? Do you just look for, okay, I need strong gradient thermals? And I need strong wind? Are those the two main things that drive you forward?
Then it's best to have no airspaces in between.
No airspaces in between where I ultimately have to fly strongly across the wind or at a 90-degree angle to the wind.
And some low mountain ranges at the end and at the beginning. I think those are the most important takeaways in order to ultimately be able to break records.
Do you also fly with a winch? Or do you launch from the winch? Yes, also. For that, you wouldn't need a low mountain range, at least to launch. That could work too, couldn't it?
Yes, yeah, that should work. I'm pretty well connected with all the local clubs around Nuremberg, and I've tried to build a good network there to have the best possible chances, depending on how the weather turns out. The core problem I personally have with it is that the winch setup usually starts an hour or two later. Those are ultimately two hours I'm missing if I want to do a big flight. That's more the core problem, which is why I'm thinking I'll try it more by hand instead,
...to get myself out of my comfort zone and I'm out there significantly earlier than some others. It doesn't always work out, though, because sometimes you have zero-wind conditions where I then have to try to get out there and catch the right window. Knowing when you have to take off is very difficult. And if you miscalculate, you don't really have a time advantage, you have a disadvantage.
Because you have to climb back up first if you have to run or something like that.
Yeah, exactly.
When you fly now, I think your longest flight this year was when you broke the 300-kilometer mark. You flew 306 kilometers from Knobelsdorf. Yes. And I think there was quite a bit of wind there, if I read that correctly from your flight description. Among other things, you wrote—I think that was the flight—that at times, I believe you flew over the Odenwald or something, and you fought your way through it or something like that. Isn't it too risky to fly in that much wind? I
I don't think flying in strong winds is the risky part, because ultimately, pilots in Brazil or Colombia also fly their 400, 500-kilometer routes in even stronger winds at times. I think it's riskier when the pilot's skills don't match the glider. And the glider then does some tricks that you can no longer control. But it can also have completely different reasons, like if you're somehow dehydrated or just having a bad day, and then your reaction doesn't match the glider's reaction. But ultimately, the glider wants to fly. And I think it's simply a vibe that you have to adapt to.
And I simply don't have to try to work against the glider, but work with the glider. And I think if you've developed that feeling, then you can handle strong, tricky situations too. Of course, it also always depends on the lee.
In the end, it was manageable at that moment, but it was already very borderline because at times that day—I remember it very well—
we were down in the Odenwald. We had to—well, we wanted, we were ultimately quite sure for the record flight, whether we wanted to fly north or south of Frankfurt. And the wind then pushed us more towards the south, so we ultimately headed towards the Odenwald, south of the Frankfurt airspace. And it became increasingly stronger there, but the area also became increasingly structured. We probably recognized thermals, like how they can form in the lee. And it was a good combination, but one that could quickly become dangerous if you get too low. Because in some places there was also inaccessible terrain, where you don't necessarily want to land somewhere in the valley because of many densely built houses, some high-voltage power lines.
And everywhere, you just look up, the glider is dancing around over you, constantly collapsing a bit with the ears and feeling very spongy. Because of all the lee thermals, it was already very borderline. I mean, it was, in some parts, actually fun because the whole thing was under control. At no point did I feel like it wasn't under control, but I felt it could also go south very quickly if you didn't handle the glider exactly on point at that moment.
Have you ever had any situations, other than the one you mentioned at the beginning where your Vivo crashed in too much wind for you back then? Have you experienced any "bad" situations since then?
The DAV once wrote that the first 100 flights are the most dangerous. And when I remember my early days, there were many stupid situations where I ultimately got away with just a black eye. Like in the situation where, for example, you shouldn't turn into the slope if you don't have much altitude to the slope—I turned into the slope and then ended up in a semicircle,
and I only ended up getting out because, by chance, there was a clearing in the forest at that point. Then I flew out of the clearing below the tree line because I felt like I was missing my sense of the glider somewhere. Knowing, okay, how sluggishly the glider reacts, how much I have to pull, how much body shift... and those were often such borderline situations where I could have partially gotten stuck in a tree. So, and after the 100 flights—let's just say more or less—those kinds of situations haven't happened since. That eventually faded away over time because, ultimately, every time I flew, I tried to look at this blind spot after every flight—I like to call it that, this blind spot, this gray area,
and then, then I just see nothing, you only see your little field and this blind spot, everything that surrounds you, what went well, what went poorly, always to look back and see, okay, what does it look like there, are there any potentials to optimize, would I have to react differently somewhere to achieve a better result. And I think that developed over time along with the flying skills.
Do you just do that mentally, or do you actually write it down too?
Mentally. I look at the flight line.
and I try to put myself back into that headspace mentally; depending on what kind of flight it was, it can sometimes take an hour or two. Now it's a mix where I'm not really highly concentrated on the leg, but I just let the thoughts pass by a bit, let them drift, and I look at the flight path to see what actually happened there—whether it really was the way I imagined it happened, or if the path was something completely different. Sometimes you just make stuff up in your head and then see it on the flight path later, like, "Oh no, that was completely different." And I think that brings a lot, this
reflecting on your own behavior.
Do you also do any other
...preparatory work—so not just right after the flight, but preparatory and post-flight work—but do you also do any other training for flying? Do you maybe do some form of mental training or something, to say that the head is also crucial somewhere?
Absolutely. In our sport, if you want to achieve your personal best, 50 percent of it is mental; lately, it's actually been about success or failure. And I like to take the time to just sit in silence for half an hour at the launch site before the flight, observing at what intervals and in what cycles the thermals start to form when you're out there. And also these mental exercises to create order—okay, what could ultimately surprise me today? Because most flight accidents don't happen because the pilots aren't capable, but most accidents always happen because you're surprised and have to act impulsively out of that surprise.
And ultimately, I try to keep this in mind before every flight, to really internalize it, that this and that could happen under today's conditions, and that I want to keep a cool head. And I think this mental visualization also helps a lot to maintain inner calm and not let yourself get stressed if you suddenly drop deep, because, for example, you don't want to end the flight. It shows for me that it works pretty well. Mental training is in our sport, or in any extreme sport,
and it's already a component that is very crucial.
Do you also sometimes lie awake at night and visualize some kind of wings?
Yeah, it happens there too, somehow.
Right,
Yeah. What's your favorite part of that?
Being at the launch site a day before, setting up camp somewhere, and then calmly taking off the next day. That's my favorite scenario. Because I don't see paragliding just as paragliding per se, but for me, it's a huge adventure. I like to travel, and with the paraglider, I've managed to use it as a means of transport in a way, with a certain consistency, a flying consistency. That's the paradox of the story, that ultimately with the power of nature
by flying for several kilometers. Ultimately, you're just as fast with a paraglider as you are on the German train to somewhere. And all the traveling, whether it's how do I get there now or how do I get back, depending on where you've landed, that is personally a huge adventure for me, which I really enjoy. I also find myself very happy to be in my own bed at the end every single time, which is significantly more comfortable than a sleeping mat.
Speaking of getting back. Do you plan something out in advance, or do you just say, I'm just going to fly, I know I want to go in that direction and I have to go as far as I can today and then come back? I have no idea what else will sort itself out then?
The
story, the end of the story is always open. I never know where I'll end up or where it'll take me next. A good example was when we flew west from our regional base in the Altmühltal with a good easterly wind. I ended up getting lost somewhere in the Swabian Alb, and then the next day in the Black Forest looked really good. And then the obvious thought came up: you just take a German train ticket to the Black Forest and check out the area there, just to understand how great the Black Forest is. And along the way, you always meet people, like other regional pilots in the Black Forest, and you network, you chat.
and they're just cool experiences, somehow. That's what I like—that ultimately, all the bivouac equipment I have with me gives me a sense of inner peace somewhere.
Not having to stress about things, yeah, like picking up a car or worrying about what happens if the last train leaves, but just stopping wherever you are when you can't go any further. And that's ultimately very stress-relieving if you can let yourself go along with those thoughts.
You keep saying bivouac equipment. Do you have your bivouac gear with you on every flight?
Yes, with
every flight. What's included, I mean, what do you take with you? Standard
The equipment is a tent, AG poles, trekking poles, a sleeping pad, and a sleeping bag.
That's included in every one of your big cross-country flights. So, if you're leaving from Nuremberg now—I gathered from what you said—you're taking the Deutschland-Ticket to the launch sites where you want to go. If it's possible in the morning, then in the morning. If it's a longer journey, you head out the day before, bivouac somewhere, and then go up to the launch site the next day and fly.
Yeah, exactly, that's how it is.
Sounds funny.
That's a very unusual approach, at least for flying in the lowlands. How did you come up with that? I had
...the situation where I missed the last train because the one before it was somehow delayed, and then I was stranded in some village in Germany where there wasn't even an Airbnb. And then I had to take a taxi for a lot of money just to get to some nearby town. That annoyed me so much that I thought, no, I really don't want to deal with that. The sport is already so expensive as it is, and having to stress out every time, having the thought during the flight of landing somewhere with infrastructure, where there's some kind of train connection, because if you first have to get back to the train and then have to get somewhere by hitchhiking or by bus—especially if it's a Sunday, for example—you really lose a lot of time, and how do I get back then?
I didn't want to let those thoughts get to me. And that's how the idea of bivouac equipment grew. Bivouac equipment—that's what I need. Ultimately, though, there was also the idea of being somewhere in the Alps; I wanted to do an Alpine crossing this year, and that's why I eventually got it, until I was finally confronted with the story I just told you in the lowlands. And since then, I've been carrying all that with me, and it fits within the weight limit of the glider, so it's not an extra burden now. I have enough space and it works out great.
What kind of gear do you fly that all of that stuff fits into?
The Bogdan Fly.
So a light harness without a seat board. Without a seat board, yeah. That's also unusual. So a light harness and then doing a distance flight with an END or something like that. Most people try to optimize it by saying they have a very stable harness, a seat board, and all that, so that it works. How did you come up with this combination? I
I wanted to switch the glider to an extra one. I already have the largest glider size available, and it doesn't get any bigger than that. And with what I wanted to do, I knew I needed some kind of light harness, also because it's kind of an all-rounder that you can use to hike up a mountain or go up the border without breaking into a heavy sweat. Of course, on the one hand, I could also
take off sportily. On the other hand, the packmaster is also pretty huge. I wanted to fit everything into a compact backpack that sits well on the back and has a good center of gravity. And that's how it quickly led to me deciding on the Bogdanfly, also because you had written a post or I think a blog about it. That already motivated me to give it a try.
Yeah, and so I'm flying around with a heavy wing in an END glider with a light harness.
Switching to a light harness was quite intense. But it works once you've gotten used to it. I don't notice any interference at all, and I have to say, I've learned to appreciate it by now.
the agility that the whole system ultimately brings with it. Such a heavy wing that gives me so much feedback and a light harness that doesn't dampen much was actually very interesting, because I pick up on so much even in weak thermals, like how the air is moving right now, and ultimately I also fly very well with it in flat country, for example. Yeah, that just reinforced for me that
there are many ways to reach the goal.
I saw that on your last flights you posted on the DAV, you've got a new glider with you. You're flying a CCC glider now, the Niviuk Icepeak. Yeah. Why the upgrade? Do you need it to go further, or what made you do it?
You don't need it. I think, in my personal opinion, for the flatlands, because sometimes the distances between clouds are already huge when you're doing XC, depending on how the day is, you do need a glider with good glide performance. So, a CCC is definitely not needed for the flatlands. You only need that, at most, for competition. That's very clear at this point. But I think if you want to break a record, and I have the desire to break the German record eventually—whether it'll pay off or not is another matter—I think every little bit of extra glide performance in the flatlands makes a big difference in ultimately getting far enough by the end of the day.
Because the kilometers in the flatlands are made at the end of the day. Because it doesn't matter if you're the fastest at the start. Of course, that's advantageous. But it matters that you simply make it to the end of the day, during the off-peak hours, when the brain's capacity decreases a bit, when you're dehydrated, maybe also hungry, maybe exhausted, you tend to make a lot of mistakes. And the kilometers are made at the end of the day. And my goal is to, with the wing—that's going to require a lot of preparation to stay fit over the long term—to eventually break the German record. I think the flights from the past have shown me personally that it is possible to do big flights with consistency.
It's just a matter of the length of the day. With enough day length and good gradients, it would be possible to do a proper flight to set a new standard in Germany after all these years.
What would this new benchmark be for you? 4 kilometers. The record needs to fall. Yes, exactly. Now, there are some people who also say, well, with a glider that isn't quite as high-classed, it's of course a bit more relaxed to fly, and especially when you say, yeah, towards the end, when you're tired and other things, that becomes decisive. How do you weigh it up, or how did you weigh it for yourself, to say, I'll still take the slightly more demanding glider because I still hope for advantages from it? So it's not the other way around—if you say you have the slightly more pleasant, easier-to-fly glider, wouldn't it offer you the advantages specifically towards the end of the flight?
Yes, it will offer me advantages towards the end of the flight, but I think the biggest disadvantage at this point would simply be that in long glide sections, I would come down significantly lower, where I then need much more time to ultimately turn back towards the base or, in the worst case, if I want to go like an XC at that moment, I arrive at the wrong time, in the wrong place, where the thermals might have already passed me by. I arrive lower than someone else and miss that cycle, and ultimately, with the combination of the glide performance being sufficient, I tend to always have to build up more altitude than I can still accelerate to during a straight flight.
And that's where the advantage of
two-liners in general, that they already have more power and the next level is now CCC. I wrestled with myself for a long time about whether it's really the right step, because there are different opinions ultimately. Some say yes, some say no, and I think in this area, when you're deciding whether to go for CCC or not, you ultimately have to listen to your own gut feeling. Will I be able to handle it or not, and even then, take a safety course just to be practiced for the worst-case scenario, to know how to react.
And I think that it is the right step for me.
At the beginning, you said flying a lot, flying far, and above all, flying for a long time. Now you've mentioned that you'd like to fly a record, 400 kilometers. And between those, there was once like, yeah, basically you just hit the number or something, it doesn't really matter, and now suddenly it does. So, what is your motivation in the end?
I think everyone has a goal in life, and goals are important. And I set goals for myself, of course, to break a German record. At first, I set a goal of 100 kilometers, which was achieved. Then I reached the 200-kilometer mark last year. The 300-kilometer mark this year, and the 400-kilometer mark sometime else, if the weather allows it. But ultimately, yeah, it's a bit of a contradiction. On one hand, for me, flying is independent of points or kilometers; I just want to try to push the day as far as possible. And on the other hand, I also want to break a record because only a few people have managed to break the 300-kilometer mark alone, and 400 kilometers would be such a nice milestone that would be really great to be able to fly eventually.
Ultimately, the days with good thermals, the days when you can really go that far, can be counted on one hand.
Ultimately, those are just a few days a year. On most days—I'd say 99 percent of the year—the opportunity just isn't there. And on those days, I really just fly by feel and simply with the will to squeeze the day as much as possible, from the beginning to the very edge of the day, and just give it my all. And on the days where there's actually a realistic chance of breaking the 400-kilometer mark, I really like to go into race mode and try to reach my goal. And that's how you constantly motivate yourself to work on yourself and also question the flighty stuff, just to achieve the best possible result.
That's the reason for me.
If you're saying now that you still want to fly those 400 kilometers as a record flight, that means you probably want to keep flying a lot, very intensively. How do you actually manage that? I mean, many people will wonder, okay, someone who flies so much and also flies a lot during the week, how does that work? So how do you do it, how do you balance flying and your job, how do you balance flying and your relationship?
Yeah, I think that's going to be one of the things that's very difficult with paragliding—balancing the hobby with other things that are also very important in life and take up time. I was in the fortunate situation this year of being laid off by my employer due to the economic situation, so I had the time.
I also used this situation very intensively to ultimately question myself: which direction do I want to go? Do I want to develop in a way where I'm flexible, able to work at times when others might be on vacation, and have flexible working hours, precisely so I can pursue the goal of the 400 kilometers? Because if you have a normal job, which might even be in shifts from Monday to Friday, like I had back then, it's just not possible to take short-notice time off, and I think if you have this goal and are at this crossroads in life anyway,
to make something new out of it, because a financial situation has driven you there, I think it's a great moment to set new course for your life, and that's where I ultimately am, and fortunately I also have a partner who stands behind me and accompanies me in this with total passion, and who also makes this possible for me without putting any obstacles in my way, for example. Do you want
...to somehow combine flying with a profession in the future?
Yeah, that would already be a dream. That would be the dream, I think, but in the end, it would be the absolute dream. But it's just as nice in the outdoor scene, the outdoor industry, to put a smile on people's faces, and if it then somehow connects, like showing people how certain things work in a flying context, that might be a nice middle ground that you could eventually take in the long run.
So, as an idea, maybe becoming a flight instructor and then building some other types of coaching on top of that?
Yeah, for example.
What sacrifices do you make for flying? That my stomach sometimes growls and I'm hungry when I can only eat a few bars in between.
What sacrifices? It takes a lot of time. It takes a lot of time, and ultimately it's like now, when the season is coming to an end. It's also a bit of a...
You also have to take a breath, because ultimately, with all the driving and the weather changing so dynamically at times. A rain front might come in overnight, then it's too damp somewhere, and then your thoughts start circling more or less. Maybe I should have driven the launch site 100 kilometers further, where it would be significantly better. You don't have all these thoughts, for example, when climbing. It doesn't rain, you agree on a spot somewhere, go for a round of climbing, and then the subject is settled. In flying, you have many more factors, and also just this one chance if you want to do something big. And if you crash, then you're on the ground doing something else that's also fun, and you have to build some kind of resilience yourself,
it takes time, as well as nerves and physical strain, and I think it's one of those things that is very annoying and draining in a sport when you're very ambitious. At least that's how I feel, and I think one or two of the gray hairs I've gotten during this time is certainly the toll for that.
Can you count how many times you've been stuck somewhere by your gray hairs? For sure. And how many gray...
How many gray hairs do you have by now? If I were to turn around, you'd definitely be able to see some on my head.
That means that what's visible in the DAV XC, what you can read from it and what's there, is someone constantly flying very far and so on; there are also many back-tracking days in there that don't show up at all.
All the off-days, I took the time the other day to upload every single flight, and they're all there. Ultimately, I do it for my own personal stats, just to see how many hours I fly with the gliders.
The last big flights were also from Konstanz. They had good consistency, which allowed them to fly good lines one after another. But if you look at the flights from Knobelsdorf, where one record flight or another happened, there were also several flights included that, for example, didn't get past Sorn. But I try to keep the whole thing very transparent. Ultimately, it's not an ego thing for me now if I don't upload certain flights. Flying, that's just part of it. Crashing, that's what ultimately makes up the whole sport. Yeah, reaching for the stars, figuratively. Sometimes you make it, sometimes you don't.
Have you ever driven really far and then not even gotten off the ground?
Yeah, I have.
What are you doing then?
Then I go grab something to eat first.
And the next moment, I'm looking for a train connection back and starting the return journey, thinking to myself, what's the point of all this shit? Why am I actually doing this, driving all the way across Germany? And then, it just doesn't work out.
Ultimately, you have to give it a try. And if you don't try it, you won't know. Either it works out or it doesn't. Fifty-fifty.
Do you think you'll be able to keep this passion for flying for longer? Or is it possible that if you do it as intensely as you do—with that level of commitment, the long drives, and everything else—that you might eventually burn out?
I don't think that with this level of intensity, it's something you can do long-term. I think I'll be mindful of that in the future.
Partly because I'll probably find some new professional role that will completely fixate and focus me for a while,
...just to take the particularly good days with you. There are, from time to time, days that happen where you're absolutely surprised that they actually turn out better than expected. But most good days on the track can be spotted from a distance. And I think, with that knowledge, you can definitely see the days coming and can then consciously take the time for them, without other things in life getting cut short.
If you ever decide to become a coach or something like that, and people came to you saying, David, tell me, how can I learn to really perform well on the course in the flatlands and succeed there? What would be the main tips you'd give them?
My two main tips would be—or three, even—not to pay too much attention to what others tell you, but to form your own opinion, regarding thermals as well. The example I mentioned earlier, that thermals can be shredded once they reach a certain strength. That, of course, depends on the gradient, and it depends on the topography.
As an example, another thing that's also very important is having mental composure. Having the mental composure to just take the flight as it is. Of course, I'm happy when I go flying and I have a certain amount of drive, but ultimately I think to myself, let's see what the day will be like. The weather happens at the launch site; nobody sits in the weather and can somehow proactively control it in the end. Try to make the best of it. And I think if you can bring some composure into that, without approaching the thing too rigidly, it makes a huge difference.
And reflecting during and after the flight—where were the mistakes? Why did I mess up last time? Why, for example, did I only manage 50 kilometers when everyone else, I don't know, did 100? Or just generally, regardless of the kilometers, why wasn't it enough for me when it was enough for my buddy, for example? Why did it work for him but not for me? And just trying to eliminate those blind spots by asking yourself, what went wrong and what would I have to do better if I wanted to fly with my buddy? Why didn't it work out for me?
And these three points would definitely be the basic framework; I'd already be asking where
...where the setbacks come from, for example, or the issues why someone is stagnating somewhere, as an example. So, of course, ground handling too. Ground handling is a topic that many people do, many also mock, and ground handling is a very, very useful tool. Also to have absolute control over the glider in the air during strong conditions. Because ultimately, the glider wants to fly. And you can practice this a lot with ground handling. Instead of just laying the glider down if it somehow has a collapse on the ground or something isn't as it should be, instead of laying the glider down, we try to somehow get the glider clean in the air so that it's back
is behaving correctly.
How do you train mental composure?
Hm, by listening to your feelings. I'd describe it like this: simply try to reflect a bit on the feelings that wash over you and do some root cause analysis. Where is this feeling coming from? I was with a psychologist for many years and explicitly questioned things like that. And I think flying also projects many things onto your private life, and vice versa. And I think that's ultimately how you win at that interface. If you understand yourself, why you think the way you do, and what makes you nervous, for example.
What makes you nervous, for example, and what exactly? Is it failure, or is it fear, or is it something else that stresses me out? I'd say, yeah, I think that's the right way. It's a difficult question.
But to question yourself and explore where the emotions come from—the ones you feel while flying, or when you're no longer flying, but have landed.
Yeah, exactly. Because ultimately, flying—I find flying to be a very impressive sport, which is why it might sound like it's everything. I gave it my all this year too. But I think flying is another very interesting facet of the whole thing, which is ultimately that there's also a lot going on in your head. It's not just taking off and flying away, but also a lot of reflecting and perceiving your surroundings. It's theory and practice. It's also your own mental attitude, as well as the foresight and the confidence you bring with you. And those are many levels that you also carry with you through life on a private level.
And I think if
when you want to reach your full potential, those are all the levels that need to be illuminated. And only then, once you've somehow found an inner calm and, of course, developed your skills—including your aviation skills, reading the terrain, and perceiving what's happening at any given moment—can you manage to grasp that overall potential and ultimately put it into practice.
Okay, David. I think you've already come a very, very long way in your short flying career of just three years. Thanks for your story. I'm curious to see. I'll definitely be watching for when you hit the 400. Probably, like you said, it's going to take a long time to fly. So it might be sometime in May or June, then maybe next year or the year after, when a full flatland-hammering day finally comes where we see David Herrmann has broken the 400 kilometers for the first time from Knobelsdorf or wherever. I'll keep my fingers crossed. Thanks a lot.
That was David Herrmann. If you enjoyed this episode and want to hear more inspiring stories from the world of paragliding, I would appreciate your support for my work. On my blog www.Lu-Glidz.blogspot.com, you can find all the fun info and links under the "Support" section on how you can keep this project alive with a freely chosen financial contribution, large or small. I want to say thank you to all my supporters. See you soon. Fly high, fly long, fly far. Ciao. Your Lucian.