Euro 2002 ­ A "Low Hours" Participant's View
by Pierre Dogan

A low hours P2 pilot from Colorado, I have desired for a long time to discover European paragliding in an efficient manner. Bruce Tracy whose Paragliding Magazine article I read, put me in contact with Steve Roti, who later made a judgment call to accept me in his planned Euro 2002 group in spite of my modest cumulative flight time of 25 hours and my zero experience in XC flying, which greatly contrasted with the multi-hundred hours and the passion for XC of the other participants. The rest is history. A great trip. New friends. Thank you Steve for having agreed to let me in, and thank you to all Euro 2002 participants for the help and friendship you have extended to me. The following notes describe the fourteen flights I had, interspersed with personal observations.

Daily pilots briefings -- Dennis Trott, our local contact in Chamonix. The pilots briefings held by Steve each morning, initially with the help of Dennis Trott, our local contact, brought in local experience, meteorological realities, and laid out practical XC possibilities. These meetings "anchored" each day. Listening to the debates were great learning opportunities for me -- I got to know how alpine flying veterans think. I greatly appreciate Dennis, a competent pilot and instructor, now also a friend.

Flight # 1: Mieussy, the cradle of paragliding. This historical site where our sport began turned out to also be where I experienced my first paragliding flight in Europe. I was ready. The launch area is a high ridge with several directions of launch possible. Big air. Large vertical drop (1,050 meters/3,500 feet AGL). Wide friendly sun-drenched vistas. Wrap-around 12 mph breeze at launch made visible by a tall windsock. I have the usual uneasy P2 feeling associated with not being able to see from launch the exiguous LZ that we just visited on the ground. The sunny landscape of Haute Savoie beckons. Some in our American group plan to fly XC towards the village of Samoens, about 12 km. As I will every time this trip, I decide to fly locally. I reverse-launch under the watchful eyes of Steve. I am pleasantly surprised by the 300 fpm lift I immediately find, and the medium strength thermals during my 20 minutes flight. I am experimenting with a new flight deck arrangement, juxtaposing my vario and GPS. I read speeds of 31 mph and 9 mph flying in opposite directions. I savor the feeling of my first European flight. The locals had warned me about strong afternoon LZ wind, the necessity of avoiding landing upwind of the LZ (a soccer field) and downwind (a farm building), and the danger of mechanical turbulence caused by a line of trees at the edge of the LZ. They also told me to mind the one lonely tree that separates the higher level from the lower level area of the generally down-sloping LZ. Laurent Van Hille, manager of the local club "Les Choucas", advised a diagonal approach over the roughly rectangular LZ. Using the discipline learned at my own 'contrarian' home LZ at Lookout Mountain in Golden, Colorado, I identify and approach the Mieussy LZ, killing altitude by S maneuvers, then resolutely turn into the significant wind at the corner of the LZ, with a fairly steep descent angle. I encounter lift and turbulence as expected, and land exhilarated. Within minutes, as I was folding my wing, I hear a yell, and turning around see a wing wrapped in the one lonely tree mentioned above! Brian Stipak who had also landed, witnessed the whole incident. He later related in animated language that he thought at first seeing aggressive near-ground maneuvering by a "hotshot" pilot, before realizing that it was the attempt of an out-of-control inexperienced pilot to deal with near-ground turbulence and wind. Originally too high and maneuvering too close to the ground, the hapless pilot ended up swinging into the lonely tree, suffering trauma at impact, then falling to the ground, with more trauma, motionless. We run to help. Chaffee, one of the three MDs in our American pilots group, identifies a compound foot fracture with an open leg wound. The municipal rescue squad arrives in a red colored truck. Through the pilots' grapevine we learned later that the victim, a German pilot, was transported to the nearby hospital of Annemasse, then transferred to a hospital in Geneva, Switzerland, with the prognosis that he will recover.

Annecy, the romantic escape. Our two flying days at Annecy were enlivened by the presence of a French local pilot, Hervé Garcia, known to our American pilots for having lived one year in Portland, Oregon. Gracious and talkative, Hervé briefed us on conditions and potential flights. The more experienced and ambitious American pilots could launch from Planfait, and attempt the so called "grand" tour (24 km), or the "petit" tour (12 km) of the famous lake. I listen to his explanations, fascinated and envious, registering new local names to dream about: "Les Dents de Lanfon", "Le Lanfonnet". Hervé's love for flying this great site is contagious. Bruce managed to fly both the "grand" and the "petit" tour of the lake in a single flight! For obvious lack of experience I follow Hervé's recommendation for less experienced pilots: take off at the Montmin launch (700 meters AGL) located over cliffs at the Southeastern end of the lake, fly thermals, and land at a narrow strip between the road and the steep mountain, itself divided between two parallel LZ's, one for hang gliders, the other for paragliders. The view from the Montmin launch is magnificent, revealing the entire length of the lake and beyond, about 20 km. Romantic! A postcard picture!

Flight # 2: The launch area, padded with a large rectangular plastic mat installed and maintained by the locals, is crowded with pilots from all over Europe speaking different languages, melding into a tower-of-Babel hubbub. I am initially having difficulty reverse-launching because my wing annoyingly keeps sliding on the inclined slippery plastic mat and fails to "build a wall" when I gently tug at the A risers as I am accustomed to. As soon as I understand the nature of the problem -- it is rare to encounter a lack of friction in nature -- I aggressively pull my wing up, skipping the usual separate preliminary step of building a wall, walking backwards, centering myself, bringing the wing overhead, crouching and pivoting at the same time, launching into the postcard picture and blending into it. The beauty and serenity of this first launch do not last, because the weather front predicted in the morning is about to hit, as darkening clouds suggest. I waste no time in identifying the LZ, with significant wind (12 mph) which I calibrate using my new fangled flight deck mounted GPS. I feel great landing after about 15 minutes. Barely minutes later, a rain shower hits us! I fortunately had secured my wing in time, and shared quiet wet moments with Chaffee and Steve who had also landed.

Flight # 3: On my second flight at the Montmin site, I flew half an hour and gained 665 feet above launch. This time I had the impression of having launched into a travel agency poster picture. As Hervé predicted, "turn right and you'll find lift". I enjoy the consistent lift up the ridge flying in a Northeasterly direction. I resolutely threesixty keeping a distance from the cliff comfortable to me. I exult in realizing that "everything is going right": I climb consistently threesixtying along the ridge; the million dollar view; the hubbub of the launch area shrinking as I gain altitude. The good life! Predictably, at some point I loose lift. I admit that I did not dare to keep the course with the goal of finding new lift sooner or later. "The doggedness to continue seeking lift will come to me with more experience" I am telling myself. Enjoying my altitude, and an occasional thermal, I see SIV clinic students performing maneuvers over the southern end of the lake. I live these moments of beauty with intensity. What a beautiful planet I am privileged to live on! I have the strong conviction that I should be able some time in the not too distant future, to perform at least the "petit" tour of Lake Annecy. I successfully locate the LZ and land in glorious sunshine. With my twelve American companions and Hervé we finish this perfect day taking a swim in the lake at Talloire, a small lakeside village, followed by a Haute Savoie dinner.

"Plaine Joux", the gate to Chamonix. On days when the weather is not flyable in the Chamonix valley proper, the closest flyable venue is "Plaine Joux", a site favored by many flight schools and local pilots. The view of the Mont Blanc from the launch area there is stunning. Venerable local hotels used to be hospitals for patients suffering of consumption at the turn of the 19th century through the 1920's. The launch area is a gravel covered parking lot, graded horizontally, at the edge of a steep pine trees covered slope plunging to the valley floor in the town of "Chedde" near the Autoroute exit "Le Fayet-Passy" 700 meters below. Looking down in the distance, one sees an impressive elevated highway supported by tall vertical concrete pillars, snaking upwards towards the valley of Chamonix proper, an impressive piece of French engineering work named "Viaduc des Egraz". I had taken this intimidating road hundreds of times when I used to live here, and now I would swoop from the sky over it!

Flight # 4: I soon found out the challenges in launching from Plaine Joux. The innocent looking horizontally graded parking lot with streamers indicating friendly uphill wind, had two problems: a) strong 90 degrees crosswinds, b) the "lip" of the horizontal launch area shadows the wrap-around uphill wind that otherwise would aid any foot launch, and the fact that the launch area is horizontal (not sloping) over a significant running distance makes necessary a strenuous acceleration effort unaided by gravity, -- something my legs and lungs were not able to deliver that evening! To the experienced pilot, this launch problem is elementary and evident, but I had to learn the hard way, in spite of Dave Verbois's kind coaching words! As time was of the essence, my first successful launch resulted from Steve and Peter kindly giving me the "Eric Escoffier assist" -- simultaneous and vigorous finger pulling on my harness carabiners in a forward launch. It worked, but I felt embarrassed of having had to use this assist. Eric Escoffier was a famous Chamonix mountain climber who suffered a catastrophic automobile accident that severely limited the use of his legs. Steve tells how he witnessed, seven years ago, Eric's friends giving him the above mentioned assist in forward launching a paraglider from the Grand Montet, a famous high altitude Chamonix launching site. Subsequently Eric died, disappearing mysteriously in the Himalayas. My first flight here at Plaine Joux lasted 25 minutes, with thermals triggering as soon as I reached the sunny portion of the terrain I was flying over in the late afternoon. I felt extremely happy and empowered. Bruce, among six other American pilots who launched before me, gives me a friendly feedback after landing.

Flight # 5: My second launch at Plaine Joux resulted from effective coaching by Dennis Trott: (1) layout my wing for forward launch very close to the horizontal parking lot "lip", (2) with an orientation half way towards the crosswind, (3) steadily pull forward with eyes on the horizon and hands high to force inflation of the wing, (4) which arrives overhead just in time for me to (5) control surge and (6) step down over the "lip" accelerating forward with the use of gravity -- "Piece of cake!" Thank you Dennis! I have an 18 minutes flight hugging at first the terrain shelf to the right of launch, taking advantage of "restitution" lift, overflying the hotel area, feeling airy, dominating the familiar "Viaduc des Egraz" below. I measure GPS speeds of 12 mph and 27 mph respectively against and in the direction of LZ wind.

Chamonix, mountaineering capital of the world. Arriving in this fabled city on June 24, I found it as breathtaking as in my remembrances: the gleaming Mont Blanc, roof of Europe, with its retinue of lesser but still formidable and quite lethal peaks with evocative names such as "Mont Maudit", "Dôme du Goûter", "Mont Blanc du Tacul". The Chamonix valley is deep and narrow, with forbiddingly steep slopes, cascading glaciers and waterfalls, and rocky peaks that crown the crest of the slopes visible from the streets, named "Aiguilles de Chamonix". The highest and most famous is the "Aiguille du Midi" (3840 m MSL) now a legitimate paragliding departure point. Chamonix is not a manmade Disneyland creation. It is real. It is stark. It is unforgiving. But it is also enchanting and strangely attractive, and for some, compelling. The "in-your-face" combination of high altitude wilderness with modern city living exists nowhere else that I know of.

Paragliding is now an integral part of mountaineering in the Chamonix valley where several paragliding schools operate. The efficient and affordable "téléphériques" (cable cars) that dot the landscape are impressive and efficient resources to paraglider pilots. The "Compagnie des Guides" of Chamonix, a professional association of highly qualified mountain guides, has a significant number of paragliders in its ranks. The Club Alpin Français (CAF) recognizes paragliding as one of its mountaineering activities -- membership in CAF (you do not have to be a French citizen to be a member) entitles one to free-of-charge helicopter rescue and medical attention in case of accident anywhere in France -- an insurance option is also offered to cover cost of rescue and repatriation anywhere in the world. I purchased myself a CAF membership for Euro 69.00 at the CAF office downtown, and a "foreign insurance" option.

As it turned out, a combination of bad weather and local government decisions made it difficult for members of our Euro 2002 group to fly in the valley on the particular days we had planned to devote to Chamonix. Flights from the Aiguille du Midi, and even from Plan de l'Aiguille (the first cable car stop before the Aiguille du Midi) were not possible for security reasons. Other potentially fabulous paraglider flights such as from the Mont-Blanc du Tacul, along the magnificent "Vallée Blanche" (a fourteen km long glacier) were not possible because of the level of mountaineering commitment required, uncertain weather, and lack of time. These constraints left only one possibility for flying in the valley: launching from Planpraz, the first cable car stop on the way to the Brévent peak. All of us in Euro 2002 launched from Planpraz on the last day of our stay in the valley.

Flight # 6: Launching from "Planpraz", Chamonix. First we visit and walk the designated LZ of "Bois du Bouchet", relatively exiguous, located downtown, where an inherently turbulent upvalley breeze is already significant, and is predicted to increase in intensity throughout the day. I study the lines of obstacles, upwind and downwind, and take notice of landmarks that I could identify from the air. I am told that thermals arising from the valley floor will eventually punch through the valley wind, but only near the steep slopes on either sides of the valley (e.g. Planpraz). It is clear that "crossing the valley" from one slope to the other will only cost altitude and not garner any lift benefit during the crossing. At 11:00 AM our American group reaches the Planpraz cable car terminal located 1,050 meters AGL. We are humbled and inspired by the extraordinary panorama of the Mont Blanc side of the Chamonix valley, against a perfect blue sky, with its parade of "aiguilles", and the almost blinding lines of the Mont-Blanc, the Mont Maudit, and the Mont-Blanc du Tacul. I am again getting the "in-your-face" impression I mentioned above. The desired direction of launch at Planpraz is unambiguous: against uphill thermic wind, in the downvalley direction. A cliff on the right. A large mechanical obstruction overhead: the téléphérique cable leading to the Brévent. One is supposed to launch passing below the Brévent cable. No danger at this time of day, today, of being blown back behind the Planpraz ridge. As this is my first launch here, Steve, Dave, Mike, Bruce, and Leslie pamper me with attention. I reverse-launch with a good thermic cycle, with friendly verbal tips from Dave. I thus accomplish my long held desire to launch at Planpraz. I resolutely fly straight ahead aiming at the first spur, a prolongation of the cliffs on my right side, counting on being well above any mechanical turbulence that the spur may have from rising thermal wind or upvalley wind. I find lift, but weak and sporadic. I maintain altitude, with several threesixties at a distance from the cliff that I still find comfortable. I think that it is the closest that I ever came to unfamiliar vertical terrain based solely on my observations and decisions. The reward is in the high pitch singing of my variometer! Chamonix is deep down below, I have no desire to shorten my free flight near the cliff. I scan the horizon for other wings, see tandem paragliders in the process of crossing the valley. I doggedly pursue my search for, and my flirting with lift. Suddenly a celestial voice joins me in the sky, unsolicited. It is the radio voice of Bruce, with the soothing message "Pierre, lift is right there on your right, keep going, you are doing well". A welcome celestial voice. I think how wonderful it is for me to enjoy this intensity. Thermals are not powerful, and I have not experienced any collapse. I notice that recent threesixties have only revealed sink. I could go on, but end up making a pilot's choice: I peel off from the cliff, and resolutely aim at mid valley, viewing the exciting city below. I feel airy and windy. I make no effort to join the Plan de l'Aiguille side of the valley. I identify the LZ way below for peace of mind. I think of the happiness that entered my life since I discovered this magic Chamonix. Attentive to the warnings about LZ wind, I approach the area surrounded by trees, two roads. The wind is shifty and lifty, a landing scenario that reminds me of my 'contrarian' home-LZ in Golden, Colorado. I shift into my "patience" landing mode, loose altitude until I reach just below the first line of mechanical obstacles, crabbing-in diagonally along the longest longitudinal landing axis available, landing exhilarated and happy. I clear the field and immediately begin folding my wing. I strike a conversation with the pilot who landed before me, a German, who complains about "this French wind". I smile. I feel intensely alive. The same day several of my Euro 2002 companions have a successful XC flight from Planpraz to the Plaine Joux valley, accompanied by our French friend Hervé from Annecy, for whom this turns out to be his first flight in Chamonix.

Nomadic move to Switzerland. On July 1 under a bright sunshine we move caravan style to nearby Switzerland: two VW vans and one rental car, with good radio communication between the vehicles. We pass the "Grand Montets" in Argentière, arguably the most exciting and rewarding of the high altitude flights site in Chamonix in the opinion of Steve, Peter, David, and John. But the weather is marginal, and a consensus decision is made that a Grand Montet adventure will be part of another paragliding expedition, maybe Euro 2004.

Insinuating ourselves through narrow valleys packed between steep walls, we reach the deep wide Swiss valley of Martigny through a vertiginous switchback road plunging to the valley floor. a very different terrain from Haute Savoie. Soon we arrive in Verbier, the famous high altitude ski resort, with neatly cultivated vineyards covering the lower slopes. Tina and Steve still remember how to drive to launch. Our American expedition drives up to the launch site of "Croix de Coeur" (an actual wooden cross) from which one views a very large bowl-shaped cirque of ridges that dominate the city of Verbier. The background of snowy and icy peaks at the horizon is breathtaking, some of them are from the Chamonix area that we just left the same morning. Unexpectedly we witness the top landing of two small Swiss airplanes -- maneuvers that challenge the laws of physics and common sense. From our vantage point at "Croix de Coeur" we look with awe and fear at this preposterous attempt to top-land. The small planes aim straight at the rocky wall below us, in an apparently suicidal trajectory, they disappear below the rim. We await the fatal crash and balls of fire, but within seconds the nose of the first spunky airplane appears above the rim, wheels on the ground, under full engine power, the fuselage at an impossible angle, leveling off above the rim, revealing the Swiss national markings on its tail, an acrobatic feat that we Americans applaud as it is happening. The tiny airplane quietly taxies on the exiguous horizontal shelf just below the ridge, leaving space for the second airplane who soon performs the same surprising maneuver! Later, both planes take off by gunning down the infernal slope they just used to top-land on, in a launch maneuver not different from forward launching a paraglider, but with a lot more noise!

Midday thermal flying in Verbier. Flight # 7. Peter Regan takes off first, hugging the rim, maintaining altitude, patiently building altitude flying back and forth in the thermal lift that creeps up the sides of the bowl. His demonstration inspires me. What a magnificent paragliding site! I set up on the steep grassy slope below the ridge just above the switchback road, and promptly reverse-launch into this paradise. I feel alive, my variometer utters high pitch acoustic tones. I have a thankful thought for my paraglider instructor Bill Laurence who first learned how to fly here in Verbier more than ten years ago. I focus on the essence of my challenge: to reconcile my proximity to the rugged bowl wall with the amount of lift I want to capture. Peter, Steve, Tina, and Bruce had commented on this. The closer to the wall, the stronger and more sustainable the lift! For me, a performance/comfort tradeoff, or a performance/ safety choice. I surprise myself quietly pursuing this, gaining about 1,000 feet altitude above launch. Flying, I remember Peter's description of the stunning panorama: Southwest we see the gleaming ice and snow of the Chamonix valley, and Southeast, the sparkling peaks of the rugged Valais, whose names we do not yet know. Below, the city of Verbier has too many construction sites and too many airy cranes for my comfort. Not my idea of a landing place. I also know that landing 4,000 feet below on the valley floor is not a safe option at this time of the day because of the turbulent and increasing valley wind and the constrained landing areas. At some point in my reverie I distance myself too much for too long from the bowl wall. My variometer begins emitting growls of descent. I do not feel comfortable approaching the vertical wall again. Soon I realize that I cannot regain my lost altitude. The day is still young. I decide to land in what looks like slightly angled wide open fields lower in the bowl. A 23 minutes flight! I am immediately retrieved by Mike Steed driving the chase van, thanks Mike!

Flight # 8. Another reverse-launch, and I am back to working myself up the bowl walls, admittedly without having given too much thought to the increasing level of midday turbulence. I feel my adrenaline flowing. The terrain is now more familiar, and I find the proximity/safety tradeoff less intimidating. The wind, however, is now a mixture of turbulent upvalley wind from Verbier, and stronger thermals. I cross several rocky spurs that line up the bowl's walls, aware that a spur can be a source of mechanical turbulence. Am I "pushing the envelope" too far? I do find lift, but also feel more turbulence than in my previous flight, and occasionally find stronger sink. My wing behaves beautifully and I keep it pressurized. After 20 minutes of this work I decide to land for a civilized Swiss luncheon at an improvised LZ near a roadside restaurant named "La Marmotte" in the middle of the "bowl". I experience then what I consider to be my most turbulent landing ever, through shifty, lifty air, getting the worst shaking I recall, but without collapse. I enjoy a most pleasant luncheon with my companions, postponing flying to later in the evening when turbulence has abated. I reflect pensively on my encounter with midday turbulence, and on the wisdom of my decision to launch again for my second flight. As my friend Ross says, for a paraglider pilot taking off is optional, but landing is mandatory.

Flight # 9. Sledride forever. At 6:00 in the evening we launch as a group against a 12 mph wind from "Croix de Coeur" with the intent of landing on the lower valley floor near Le Chable, my third flight of the day. No thermals, but I can still feel occasional turbulence. It is the longest sled ride I ever had, longer than at Big Sur, California, lasting 18 minutes. I fly over Verbier, then approach the steep walls that define the merging valleys below. The sky is big and I do not feel crowded by other wings during this flight. At lower altitude I scan attentively the encumbered ground of this French speaking part of Switzerland: railroad tracks, power lines, roads and buildings, vineyards, well tended fields. I land in a field following a wing that turns out to be a local resident landing on his property. Peter Regan retrieves me, thanks Peter! We leave Verbier for Fiesch, our second planned Euro 2002 headquarter, located further up in the Rhone Valley.

Fiesch -- a great XC departure point. The organizers of Euro 2002 selected this stopover point with the explicit intent of repeating and possibly improving on the magnificent XC flying achieved from here during Euro 2000. Besides, flying a paraglider above the ridge of the Eggishorn is a "Holy Grail" flight, allowing the admirable view of the 23 km long glacier, the Aletschgletscher, all the way to its origin at the Jungfraujoch near Grindelwald. No wonder UNESCO declared this area a world cultural asset.

Bad weather on the first day prevented most of us from flying. We walk the LZ on the valley floor, identifying the usual obstacles: cables of the cable car system, railroad tracks and their power and telecommunications lines, trees, an access road. A very educational exercise for me. Again the LZ is reputed for strong valley wind. In spite of the poor weather I join four "diehards" in our group taking the cable car to the Kühboden terminal (2,214 m MSL, 1,154 m AGL), halfway to the Eggishorn terminal at the edge of the Aletschgletscher glacier. We find Kühboden at cloud base. No grand panorama here, but as the cloud base gradually rises, we see bright sun rays piercing the blocked sky and illuminating faraway peaks, couloirs and gullies, revealing patches of blue sky. A beautiful, not-every-day spectacle! Meanwhile we experience drizzle, and I think that we must be crazy to expect to fly under these wet conditions. But the three Oregonians (John, Reed, Mike) and the one Washingtonian (Bruce) diehards are accustomed to wet conditions. Taking advantage of thermal cycles for which they were prepared, they take off! I am not so lucky, or should I say not so prepared as they were to exploit a favorable launch window. I truly miss it by seconds. The wind then shifts to blowing downhill! Bruce witnesses my discomfiture from the air and commiserates by radio. Soon it is raining hard on my spread wing. Coming from Colorado, it is strange to hear the noise of rain drops hammering on my wing. Yielding to reality, but not disheartened, I pack and return to the valley floor paying an extra SF 6.00 for the cable car ride. I spend the rest of the day resting and drying my wing in the sunny parking lot of the Park Hotel, writing this note.

Flight # 10. Gone with the wind. The following day, weather conditions (gathered from Internet) are better. All pilots except me take off for XC attempts towards Grimsel pass and Furka pass, although the morning pilots meeting emphasizes that conditions may not be appropriate to fly through the passes. I of course make a pilot's decision not to join them and to fly locally. The experience I gained from my exploration of the Kühboden launch the previous day was very useful. Alone at launch I reverse-start, and immediately find thermal lift (500 fpm), climbing 350 feet above launch. I am thinking "It would be nice if I could elevate myself to the Eggishorn top." But it was not to happen. The thermals were narrow and I could not spiral tightly enough in them. I also encounter 700 fpm sink. I feel turbulence from punchy thermals, then later from valley wind, during my entire 21 minutes flight to the valley floor where an LZ wind of 15 mph is blowing upvalley. I use my usual "patience" landing mode, maintaining my wing well pressurized until touch-landing, rapid reversing, and deflation using my D risers. Then comes the surprise: within barely a minute or two after my landing, the valley wind reverses, blowing with equal intensity in the opposite direction! That would explain why I did not see locals landing! I bless my luck that the LZ wind reversal did not happen during my landing. Later, I find out that most if not all my flying companions had rough difficult flights. Peter had to backtrack from the Rhone glacier, was trashed and had a terrifying (his word) but ultimately safe landing in Gletsch. Tina chose to spiral dive (1,700 fpm) out of strong lift over the upper Rhone Valley. Mike experienced a large deflation and riser twist, with five lines that melted together under the resultant friction when the glider reinflated. Brian "had his worst landing ever". Bruce passed the Furka pass through violent turbulence "that strained his limit", but eventually found quieter conditions flying east to Andermatt and then north along the Reusstal to Intschi. They all came back safely! By train! What a great day for all, and what a learning experience for me!

Resting and moving on. The following day we have good "tourist" weather, but very marginal conditions for flying. We suspend all flights, an opportunity for rest and sightseeing. When no local paragliders are visible in the sky under an apparently blue sky with good "tourist" weather, watch out -- there is a reason. We linked up with a valuable local pilot, Hansi Zeiter, owner of a paraglider shop in town, who gave us detailed information on micrometeorology and conditions in general in the Fieschertal valley. His reaction to our American pilots' flights towards Grimsel and Furka passes the day before was: ""Ungewöhnlinch!" [German for "unusual"], because Swiss pilots rarely fly north along the Reusstal. Clouds are rioting in the sky, moving in different directions at different altitudes. For the rest of the day I joined Reed in a most pleasant mountain bike ride around and through the Eggishorn (1.25 km long tunnel) to view the famous Aletschgletscher glacier, encountering a herd of 'Oberhasli" goats. On July 5, we leave Fiesch caravan style again, for Grindelwald, our last planned Euro 2002 headquarter.

As we drive, Steve extolls the upvalley stretch from Fiesch as an ideal area for XC: good thermal lift against the left ridge, numerous safe landings, and the efficient Swiss railroad system with a station and frequently scheduled trains in every valley village to return to Fiesch. But then comes the nightmarish upper valley area, revealing the dramatic Rhone glacier, and the two terrain openings, one towards Grimsel pass, the other towards Furka pass. My companions make vivid comments. Our caravan climbs a switchback road towards Grimsel pass above Gletsch, the eagle nest where Peter landed after a harrowing turbulent descent. We take pictures. "Ungewöhnlich" becomes our mantra. This is striking and intimidating terrain, a mixture of nature's outrageous geology with jaw-dropping beauty and of man-made obstructions: dammed lakes, power generating stations, power lines, switchback roads with hair pin turns, road ramps and bridges. We emerge from this distressing density, arriving in the Meiringen valley, then in Brienzer lake, finally the city of Interlaken. From there we slowly climb towards Grindelwald, as the famed trio of mountain peaks, the Jungfrau, the Monch, and the Eiger make their first majestic appearance far up in the mountains.

Grindelwald, quintessentially Swiss. Nothing quite prepares a first time visitor for the magnificent panoramic view at Grindelwald on a good weather day. Three gigantic mountains dominate the town's view on the South side: The Eiger (its infamous North face), the Schreckhorn, and the Wetterhorn, separated respectively by two cascading glaciers aptly named by the interminable German names of "Untergrindelwaldgletscher" and "Obergrindelwaldgletscher". The view is majestic and strangely serene, with gleaming ice and snow. The town is teeming with tourists, many Japanese. Flying fever grips us as soon as we see paragliders in the blue sky. We immediately take the "FIRST" (pronounced "fee'rst") cable car with our wings to the stunning view of the launch area of the same name (2,100 m MSL, 1,150 m AGL). Only two LZ possibilities: the "Grund" LZ in a hayfield towntown, or the intermediate "Bodmi" LZ along the cable car route, between the downtown terminal and the first cable car stop. I decide to use the Grund LZ, which we do not visit ahead of time, but is featured in good color photographs in a municipal brochure advertising paragliding.

Flight # 11. My first flight at Grindelwald. I spend some time identifying the Grund LZ from launch and studying the photographs. As evidenced by a tall windsock there is a 90 degree crosswind (West) from the desirable launch direction (South), coming from a deep, tree covered depression/couloir on the right, edged by cliffs. But wrap-around uphill wind is indicated by streamers coming from South and West. I have enough experience to understand the treachery of crosswind. Dave and Steve assisting me, I succeed in reverse-launching at my second attempt. Immediately yanked up by lift, I control surge and go for safe altitude above ground aiming directly at a terrain shelf located some distance straight ahead. I literally and figuratively feel in heaven, aware of living a high point of this vacation. I have the impression of having taken a time machine: eighteen years ago my wife and I were hiking the exposed "Glecksteinhütte" trail visible below on the flank of the Wetterhorn. I find good thermals at the edge of the terrain shelf I was aiming at, and enjoy for half-an-hour threesixtying over the teeming city. I deduce a 15 mph upvalley wind using my GPS. I see a blue wing maneuvering below me, it's Chaffee. I land in the sunny LZ feeling like a king. Packing my wing I hear an unfolding drama on our radio frequency: a paraglider has just crashed at the FIRST launch, into the cliffs on the right side of launch. Rescue is on its way. Helicopter rescue is not possible because of the high wind and proximate terrain. Steve radios from the air that the victim has not moved from impact position for 20 minutes, maybe because of the danger of falling off the cliff. Later we find out that Ellen Chaffee witnessed helplessly the entire event. The forward launching pilot had a tangle in his wing on take off. The pilot failed to steer away from the hill, and attempting to shake the tangle suffered a collapse, spiraled down and crashed into the cliff, the area from which the strong crosswind was coming. The well trained municipal rescue team rappels down the cliff, retrieves the victim. A broken leg.

We have a wonderful outdoor dinner at Berghaus Bort hotel, with a striking view of mountains and glaciers. Thank you Steve for having selected this great spot. We drink Yugoslav "slivovitz" and local "poire Williamine" into the evening, respectively supplied by myself and Bruce. It rains hard the following day, the usual curse of the Bernese Oberland.

Flight # 12: My second flight at Grindelwald. The humidity of the previous day translates into fog and low cloud base the following day. Positioning ourselves early at the FIRST launch, it is hard to believe that we are at the same sunny spot where we flew two days earlier. Fog and clouds! The magnificent view totally veiled. On top of that, we have a 90 degree crosswind, but this time coming from the East! Aside from the absence of visibility, it is impossible to launch East because of a ski lift obstruction in that direction. The sun works hard burning through the clouds. While we are completely "socked-in" at launch, Swiss tandem pilots set up, stoically waiting for their clients to show up. Business is business. Local instructors also show up, insisting that this opaque mess is flyable! Indeed, they launch students (yes, students!) into narrow windows of visibility that occur through the clouds! You have got to see it to believe it! I happen to dread "whiteout" skiing conditions, of which this is a close cousin. The Easterly wind abates, and soon turns into South. Mike has the guts of launching into the phantasmagoric void, counting I suppose on a narrow line of sight of visibility to the other side of the valley. Right after launch I see him swallowed by swirling fog and clouds. Mercifully we hear him radioing shortly thereafter that there is good visibility over most of Grindelwald. Soon Tina launches forward, as well as others in our group. The fog eventually lifts as the cloud base climbs, revealing most of the postcard picture landscape that we know, but the Southerly wind is weak, insufficient for me to deliver a reverse launch running backward. It is at this junction that I make the wrong judgment, partly influenced by the paraglider crash incident of two days earlier. I stubbornly insist on executing a zero wind running backwards reverse launch and fail three times. At noon time I understand how futile and unnecessary that exercise is, wasting my vacation time! I then safely launch forward for what will be a 22 minutes flight, immediately catching a thermal and threesixtying above launch, gaining 303 feet of altitude, alternatively eyeing the Eiger, the Schreckhorn, and the Wetterhorn in this outrageously beautiful landscape. Aiming West in search of lift, I only find weak thermals and not so weak sink. I decide to land at the Grund LZ where I find a turbulent upvalley wind. The initially downvalley wind reported on the radio had reversed into upvalley wind during my flight.

Flight # 13: My last flight at Grindelwald. For my second flight of the day, uphill wind is weak, but now comes 90 degrees (West) with the desired main launch direction (South) as it was two days ago. This time I immediately make the correct decision to forward launch, overcoming my obsession with the exaggerated notion that only reverse launches are safe. Immediately finding lift (200 fpm) I threesixty above launch as in my previous flight (175 feet), but I am more successful at finding and exploiting lift, which gives me a longer flight. Steve Roti radios on our American frequency that he has cleared the Rötihorn ridge West of launch, and is looking for companions to fly XC to Interlaken some 18 km away. I identify Chaffee and John on the West, and decide to follow them. As I approach Chaffee's blue wing from a higher altitude, I do not find the lift I thought he was exploiting. Having decided to hang around a bit, I witness an extraordinary "low save" by Chaffee. I would have sworn that he was landing on the roof of that isolated restaurant on the slope leading to Rötihorn. I take the safe route towards downtown Grindelwald, where I find my usual redeeming lift, and also decide not to try the exiguous and problematic Bodmi LZ. Going to the Grund, I am aware that this is my last flight at his fabulous venue this vacation. I find out later that Bruce, Tina and Mike joined Steve in his foray to Interlaken, where they landed in a large public park in the middle of a high population density city and high rise hotels.

That evening we are invited for a drink by a simpatico German couple in their nearby sixteenth century Swiss farm residence at the foot of the "Glecksteinhütte" trail, after the tandem flight of their teenage daughter and daughter's friend as passengers, graciously offered by Steve and Bruce the same afternoon. Delightful company with free flowing wine and beer, including German singing songs, as usual animated by Brian.

Flight # 14: Amisbuehl launch at Beatenberg ridge. Driving to Zurich to return to the US, we decide to have one last flight at one of the paragliding venues along the road. Steve selects Beatenberg, a high ridge launch (890 m AGL) at the edge of Thuner See (Lake Thune) East of Interlaken. We visit a very large LZ alongside a road in the wide flat plain bordering the lake. No wings yet in the sky. A storm is predicted for the afternoon. We drive the usual narrow unrelenting switchback road to the ridge, which actually is just the beginning of a gently sloping plateau with pastures, trees, the typical Swiss alpine scene. Looking far to the North we see the profile of the Grindelwald mountains we just left, the Jungfrau, the Eiger. At first confused by driving and parking restrictions along the high ridge, considered a "protected agricultural area", we finally find a discrete road sign ("Gleitschirmstart", or paragliding launch in German). We proceed single file, still unsure, carrying our packs to the most inclined launch area that I have ever seen: tucked-in in a farm property, a 45 to 50 degrees slope, with a line of tall and leafy trees blocking the view and aerial access, except for a narrow opening between two trees barely sufficient to let a paraglider pass, assuming one does not stumble taking off. Three local pilots are setting up for take off, confirming that we are not dreaming, this ridiculously steep slope with the impossible opening between two trees is indeed a launch area, or at least a Swiss idea of a launch area. I do not doubt for a second that my American companions expect me to pass muster here. For me, forward launch of course! Steve helps me setting up. We witness the locals launching, one stumbling and retrying with our help. Launching here is indeed doable. Third among the American pilots to take off, I remember Dennis Trott's advice: eyes on the horizon, steady pull, hands high. Flashback to my first steep slope launch at Paradise site in Crested Butte, Colorado, where I learned from Bill Laurence the unforgettable lesson of surge control in such situations. A mere step forward and I am airborne, passing the narrow space between the trees. I clear the ridge, feeling lift, already encountering the American pilots who preceded me and who are returning to the lift band. Staying in the lift requires tight turns with the tree tops too close for my comfort. I follow the ridge maintaining altitude at a distance that I consider comfortable. The horizon scene is impressive. I remember the local pilot's advice to avoid being blown West towards Interlaken, which would make me miss the just visited LZ in the plain. Below the ridge but still quite high, I opt for flying directly to the plain. A 15 minutes sled ride for me! I notice that cumulus clouds have grown in height, that the sky is getting darker and is overdeveloping. All of us Euro 2002 pilots decide to land. We make friendly acquaintance with local pilots in the LZ, and enjoy the luncheon that Tina and Ellen have purchased for us. Thank you Tina and Ellen! Soon the predicted storm hits.