If your friends threw themselves off a cliff…
by Amanda Follett
I stand transfixed, 6,500 feet above sea level on the upper slopes of Mount Seven.
Twenty metres below, the maple leaf windsock has me mesmerized. It flaps a little to the right, inches slowly toward me and then, stubbornly, shifts to the left. A feeling I’ve defined as “mildly terrified” makes it impossible to pull my gaze from that faded piece of nylon. At my feet, a steep shale slope descends a few paces before abruptly dropping out of sight. Suddenly, a breeze hits my face and the windsock points to me.
“Run!”
The command comes from behind and I take two hesitant steps forward before feeling myself abruptly tugged back. I keep pulling, straining against the harness as I manage one step and then another. The second lands in thin air and I feel weightlessness as the slope disappears beneath me.
The hardest part of paragliding is a few running steps off the mountain that launch them into the sky.
There is something about the moment of launch in a paraglider, that gentle transition from land to sky, from gravitationally bound to true freedom, as you literally begin to drift with the wind. While those who launched before me circle above, I am surrounded by the graceful beauty of multi-coloured sails as they inflate and take flight around me.
On this, my first-ever unmotorized flight above the earth’s surface, I am flying tandem with trained paragliding pilot Scott Watwood. We both face forward, with me in front, and a full-body harness attaches us to the canopy above and to each other. Scott orders me to ease back into my harness, a turtle-like contraption that cradles me like a porch swing — but with a much better view.
Paragliding offers a bird’s eye view of the Columbia Valley, located about an hour and a half drive west of Canmore.
Paragliders gain elevation by riding ‘thermals’ and as we coast away from the launch, Scott explains the dynamics of these rising air masses. An experienced paraglider knows to search out thermals above dark landscapes, like rock faces or clear cuts, preferably with a southern exposure. The sun heats the land until it released an air “bubble” that rises along the landscape until it reaches a peak, which sends it skyward. Eagles, hawks, paragliders and the like can be found coasting above mountain ridges, drifting on these air pockets.
Rising on a thermal, Scott explains, can make for a bumpy ride, accounting for the turbulence we are now experiencing. Then he realizes.
“Are you shaking?”
My response is somewhat of a wail. My fingers cling to the rig extending up either side of my head to the 30-foot span of nylon overhead — the only thing stopping me from plummeting to the Columbia River Valley floor 4,000 feet below.
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First-time paragliders are fully briefed by their guides, who fly along with you.
Seemingly amused by my fear, Scott tries to convince me to take control of the break toggles, two loops that hang at ear-level on either side of my head. I shake my head no, trying my best to ignore the feigned snoring sounds coming from behind. Finally, I grasp hold of the reins and, like a city-slicker learning to milk a cow, gently give them each a tug, slowly turning us right to see the valley to the north, then around to the south for the view toward Radium. By raising the handles up over my head I speed us up, by pulling down I slow us down.
Although paragliding’s early beginnings are hazy, the sport established itself in the European Alps during the late 1980s as an easy descent from difficult alpine routes. Not long after, it found its way to Canada and, in particular, Golden where an old 14-kilometre fire road up Mount Seven provides easy access to a launch site traditionally used by hang gliders.
According to Scott, paragliding’s relationship to hang gliding, which dates back to the 1970s, can be compared to that of snowboarding to skiing and he admits to some rivalry between the two genres.
Unlike hang gliders, which use long metals poles, paragliders will pack into a large backpack making them more transportable and lofty launches more accessible. The ‘wing’ is made of soft nylon and the entire rig weighs between 25 and 35 pounds, depending on your setup, Scott says. For himself, he prefers to carry a little extra weight in the form of first-aid supplies, water and snacks in the event of an unforeseen landing in a remote area.
Obviously not impressed with my pansy flying technique, Scott takes over again and puts some muscle under the toggles, sending us swooping first to one side, then the other until. At risk of losing my lunch, I beg him to stop. As we near the landing site, my fear begins to dissipate and I start to enjoy my surroundings. In either direction, the valley stretches as far as the eye can see and the winding Columbia River reflects the late-afternoon sun. Before I know it, we are coasting a few hundred metres above the field where we will soon land and, looking back at Mount Seven where I stood with my heart in my throat only a half hour before, I suddenly feel disappointed that our ride is almost over.
There is really only one thing you need to know on a tandem paragliding trip — “run!”— and as we coast into the landing site, my feet are already in motion ready to, if you will, hit the ground running. A few feet above the tall grass, Scott tugs down hard on the break toggles, bringing us to an abrupt halt, and touching down feels more like stepping off a chair than falling from the sky.
I help Scott pack his wing and offer to shuttle him back up Mount Seven for his next flight. Back at the launch site, I soak up the sun as it sinks behind the Columbia Mountains while others launch their paragliders around me. Partly with awe, partly with envy, I watch as they run, throwing themselves to the wind and the sky.
If You Go:
To book a tandem flight, call Scott Watwood, Altitude Adventures Tandem Paragliding, at (250) 344-3214.
Bring running shoes for launching and landing. Mountain terrain is not conducive to running in open-toed shoes.
The Mount Seven access road is located a few kilometres south of Golden, on Highway 95. It’s worth the 20-minute drive to the top, if only to check out the view and watch others launch.
The popular paragliding launch in Canmore is on Mount Lady MacDonald, but involves a steep two-hour hike to access. The site also has a wooden ramp for launching hang gliders.
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