SPEED FLYING EN LOS DOLOMITAS

Dinesh mumbles something, nods vigorously and disappears for a moment below the counter of his little store and re-emerges, smiling, holding two large fresh cheeses. “See?” says Tamara, rummaging in her pack for rupees “When you want to buy cheese, you can always make yourself understood one way or another”.

Aaron and Tamara sit outside, by the road. They sink their teeth into the paneer. It’s not fresh mozzarella, but at that moment it is the most delicious thing in the world. They’re on their way back home after a strange trip that has been neither a holiday, nor an expedition. It all started back in September. One week after the ‘Red Bull Dolomitenmann’ – the hardest relay race in the world, held in the mountains around Lienz, Austria. Aaron won with the best paragliding time, so he deserved some time off. The plan was a simple one. Pick a rough destination with no fixed agenda, stay out as long as possible, climb some mountains and fly a bit – have a real adventure... Tamara is the perfect partner. She’s a strong alpinist, happy at high altitude, and she has flying experience.

September 15: Aaron and Tamara arrive in New Delhi. They travel by jeep for two days to get to the Rohtang Pass. From here on in it’s time to let the adventures roll. They set out early in the morning, climbing with no definite summit or level of performance in mind. Aaron and Tamara go where they want, depending on how they feel and what they want to do. They arrange a rendezvous with the driver, and head off into the hills. The valleys lie at four thousand metres. They climb to six thousand, six thousand five hundred. Finding a patch free from rock and ice, they prepare the tandem paraglider, and take off. Things aren’t always straightforward, not least because it’s sometimes difficult to find a suitable launch site. They gain height quickly. During the first few days they feel the effects of the altitude. Bizarrely though, Aaron only feels it above five thousand metres, but as soon as he takes off he feels better. Tamara doesn’t feel it, until she starts flying...

Aaron and Tamara sit outside, by the road. They sink their teeth into the paneer. They’re on their way back home after a strange trip that has been neither a holiday, nor an expedition. It all started back in September. The plan was a simple one. Pick a rough destination with no fixed agenda, stay out as long as possible, climb some mountains and fly a bit – have a real adventure... Tamara is the perfect partner. She’s a strong alpinist, happy at high altitude, and she has flying experience. September 15: Aaron and Tamara arrive in New Delhi. They travel by jeep for two days to get to the Rohtang Pass. From here on in it’s time to let the adventures roll. Aaron and Tamara go where they want, depending on how they feel and what they want to do. Things aren’t always straightforward, not least because it’s sometimes difficult to find a suitable launch site. They gain height quickly. During the first few days they feel the effects of the altitude...

Gliding over these valleys, accompanied by large birds of prey, the flying is unpredictable. Aaron lives in the Dolomites, they are his playground. He knows them so well, he doesn’t even have to check the weather forecast. Here, well, everything is different. It feels like going back in time. There is no way to get a reliable forecast, and the weather develops differently. The sun sets on the long road leading down to Manali. Aaron and Tamara, their bellies full of paneer, have about an hour to go before they meet up with the jeep again. It’s not cold, at least it’s not as cold as up in the mountains. “It’s been a tough four weeks, Tamara. Though not bad for my first time at altitude. I think I will go back to flying over my local mountains, but it has been really worth it.” Aaron stops. He looks out over the remote landscape; scattered houses cling to the mountainside.
Tamara slows down, she turns around and stops. “Aaron, do you know what I liked best? Apart from flying over these mountains?” Tamara falls silent for a moment, as if to rearrange her ideas. She too looks back north, towards the valleys where they spent the last month, her gaze lost in nostalgia. “Not having an objective. We live such hectic lives, always in a rush, always with a project, a race, a peak, something in mind. Don’t get me wrong, I like it. It’s part of my life. I’m sure that you enjoy the challenges too. But being able to spend time like this, to follow the wind, this beautiful land, to choose our objectives depending on how we feel at that moment, and depending on how these places make us feel…That’s beyond comparison.” Aaron listens, he nods silently. Breathing in deeply, savouring that air for the last time, the feint scent of wood fires carried on the wind. He turns, and takes a couple steps to the south. “Si. Beyond comparison. You’re right Tamara. It’s been cool, but not just for this taste of freedom.” Aaron bends down and picks up a blade of grass, he watches it swaying in the wind for a moment. “I started flying very young. I know everything about what can be seen from my front door, and even the things you can’t see, for kilometres around. The trails, the names of the peaks, their elevation, the way the wind blows, the thermals. It’s beautiful, this is what is meant by “growth”: To be able to read what is in front of you for the perfect flight.” He pauses, the blade of grass changes direction. “There, all this knowledge makes me feel powerful, but also kind of old. It’s as if there’s no longer any room for astonishment. Here, the environment is so different, it’s a bit like going back to being a child. You have to learn to read what’s around you all over again, to know where you will end up. Where are the right conditions to take off? Will I have time to fly before it gets dark? It’s like going backwards to go forward… To remember that there is always something new out here, something unexplored, something wonderful. There will always be turns in the road, and you never know what might be waiting for you beyond them.” Everything is silent. Aaron and Tamara start walking again, one step at a time. There is still a way to go. In the distance, a bell rings and chanting can be heard. 

Gliding over these valleys, accompanied by large birds of prey, the flying is unpredictable. Aaron lives in the Dolomites, they are his playground. He knows them so well, he doesn’t even have to check the weather forecast. Here, well, everything is different. It feels like going back in time. There is no way to get a reliable forecast, and the weather develops differently. The sun sets on the long road leading down to Manali. Aaron and Tamara, their bellies full of paneer, have about an hour to go before they meet up with the jeep again. It’s not cold, at least it’s not as cold as up in the mountains. “It’s been a tough four weeks, Tamara. Though not bad for my first time at altitude. I think I will go back to flying over my local mountains, but it has been really worth it.” Aaron stops. He looks out over the remote landscape; scattered houses cling to the mountainside.
Tamara slows down, she turns around and stops. “Aaron, do you know what I liked best? Apart from flying over these mountains?” Tamara falls silent for a moment, as if to rearrange her ideas. She too looks back north, towards the valleys where they spent the last month, her gaze lost in nostalgia. “Not having an objective. We live such hectic lives, always in a rush, always with a project, a race, a peak, something in mind. Don’t get me wrong, I like it. It’s part of my life. I’m sure that you enjoy the challenges too. But being able to spend time like this, to follow the wind, this beautiful land, to choose our objectives depending on how we feel at that moment, and depending on how these places make us feel…That’s beyond comparison.” Aaron listens, he nods silently. Breathing in deeply, savouring that air for the last time, the feint scent of wood fires carried on the wind. He turns, and takes a couple steps to the south. “Si. Beyond comparison. You’re right Tamara. It’s been cool, but not just for this taste of freedom.” Aaron bends down and picks up a blade of grass, he watches it swaying in the wind for a moment. “I started flying very young. I know everything about what can be seen from my front door, and even the things you can’t see, for kilometres around. The trails, the names of the peaks, their elevation, the way the wind blows, the thermals. It’s beautiful, this is what is meant by “growth”: To be able to read what is in front of you for the perfect flight.” He pauses, the blade of grass changes direction. “There, all this knowledge makes me feel powerful, but also kind of old. It’s as if there’s no longer any room for astonishment. Here, the environment is so different, it’s a bit like going back to being a child. You have to learn to read what’s around you all over again, to know where you will end up. Where are the right conditions to take off? Will I have time to fly before it gets dark? It’s like going backwards to go forward… To remember that there is always something new out here, something unexplored, something wonderful. There will always be turns in the road, and you never know what might be waiting for you beyond them.” Everything is silent. Aaron and Tamara start walking again, one step at a time. There is still a way to go. In the distance, a bell rings and chanting can be heard. 

Autumn air is different too. It is colder, the rock faces don’t warm up as much; there are a lot less thermals ascending, and the winds caressing the burnished meadows and peaks dusted with the first snowfalls are not as strong, they are more relaxing. The general feeling is that of biding time, as if nature were holding its breath while preparing for winter. There’s hardly anyone about. Autumn in the Dolomites is for taciturn people, for those who grant their soul to the quiet breath of the world around, silently etching the undergrowth. In the silence that envelops Pale di San Martino the click clacking of ski poles can be heard, a quick rhythm, light and acute, accompanied by a lesser one of feet moving the fine scree underneath. It is early morning, very early, and the breathing which moves the otherwise still air of the Dolomites is that of Aaron Durogati. Aaron was born in 1986 and has already won the paragliding World Cup, he is a professional athlete, one of those who seems to have the physical need to be committed to a race, to compete for some form of excellence. Aaron, on his own, heads up towards rifugio Pedrotti with the first rays of sun. There are no races these days. Thermals are not pushing enough for distance flying. On his back Aaron carries a backpack weighing a dozen kilos. That’s not little, but not even enough to get exhausted. He steps on the Rosetta plateau, not too distant from the mountain hut, just before the sun rises. In the uncertain and terse morning light he opens his backpack and starts unfolding his wing. It is small, very small, nine square metres. Too small to be a “real” paraglider. In fact it isn’t; it is a speedflying wing, something that stands for paragliding like extreme skiing stands for ski touring. Aaron fixes his backpack, puts his harness on, checks his risers, and puts his helmet on. He clips his harness into the sail, then looks into the horizon, following the line he imagined with each step during the ascent, the line which will lead him down, to the valley: everything is still. Not even a puff of air, or the sign of a thermal. Perfect.

It seems absurd, but that’s exactly how it is: it is best if there is no wind for speedflying. It is to fly while skimming the ground, quickly and very close - you have to be incredibly precise. Aaron starts running, into a narrow couloir. A few steps, and his feet, increasingly lighter, lose contact with the ground. The air which earlier on caressed his face now lashes it. Free flying has nothing to do with aeroplanes, helicopters or other contraptions which at the end of the day are nothing but means of transport, boxes in which you enter a place and come out of another. To fly this way is creative, aesthetic, like imagining music, writing it and playing it. Throughout the entire Pale di San Martino there isn’t a sound, only the swishing of the air carved out by Aaron’s sail. Rock, scree, and trees skim by fast below his feet, instant and palpitating visions which run along with the short rhythm articulated by the beating of his heart, his breathing. A sharp turn, a shout of joy, landing on the meadows, below these incredible mountains. By now the sun has risen, caressing the warm colours of the trees, and as was expected it has started to warm the tall faces of dolomia rock. Perfect: a slight breeze starts to blow, caressing the larch trees just below, making them wave like flames. Aaron folds up the small sail, opens his back pack and gets the large one ready. This adventure would have been impossible just a few years ago. Such light weight and performing gear did not exist. Instead, nowadays it is possible to easily walk, not with one, but two sails. This is where the evolution of gear finds its meaning to be lighter, to be at the right temperature, to fly with the same shoes you have just walked hours in, not suffering the heat or the cold, not having to accept compromises between safety and comfort, going further.

Aaron has finished laying out his gear - it is equipment with which he tackled the latest Red Bull X-Alps with, the most difficult hike and fly race ever: from Salzburg to Monaco, trusting only one’s legs and the air. He places his speedflying sail and lastly goes through his preflight checklist while the thermal starts to pick up strength as the rock warms. Two elegant and precise steps, a half turn, and he is back in the air. Paragliding is not only a sport, it is strategy. No flight can be taken for granted: you have to imagine how the air moves, this fluidity which cannot be seen, which you can only sense by the effect it has on the landscape surrounding you. You need luck as well as experience; maybe you’re in the right point, but the ascending thermal which can lead you up high and far away has just gone without waiting for you. You need experience and imagination, creativity, and luck to fly well. You need to be always present, it is a continuous challenge for wind magicians who play endless chess games with the air. During autumn it is different: everything is more relaxed, more stable. Of course you don’t have the currents of rising air which allow you to travel hundreds of kilometres a day, but the ones that are present, are softer, less intense. Flying in autumn is like playing a game of chess with an old friend, a friend often met in the local pub. It doesn’t mean that it will be easy, but it is more meditative, more relaxing. Aaron spends his day sailing north, accompanied by these thoughts. On his right the pleasantness of Val di Fassa rolls by, then the magnificence of Catinaccio. He lands at Cima Bocche, near Moena, he fixes his gear, walks quickly towards the summit, takes off again, and lands near Pordoi pass. Nobody could have ever imagined how two disciplines which are so similar to each other but so different, paragliding and speedflying, could combine so well. After all, every invention is nothing other than a creative assembly of ideas which already existed. The genius is in imagining new combinations of things that already exist, creating the terrain for absolutely unprecedented experiences. And that is how, in four days, in the calm, autumnal air Aaron Durogati speeds down like lightning from Piz Boè and Schusterplatte, from Tofana di Rozes, and Monte Piana gliding until he skims over the rippling sky blue coloured Misurina lake. He soars from Passo Falzarego, landing at Cortina, then again from Falzarego all the way to Alleghe.

What is an adventure? A special experience, intimate and enjoyable. Achieving something innovative, and watching the world with a different eye. It’s not a race, not a competition, but the pleasure is by no means less, on the contrary. We are used to thinking that each peak has already been climbed, that each venture has been achieved, that there is no room anymore to live an adventure in the mountains. This is not true that space exists, and the key to reaching it is in being hybrid: in invention, in mixing things that already exist, conceiving new ways of experiencing familiar places. Adventure at the end of the day is like autumn; it throws marvel onto everyday landscapes, only changing the way you see them, its light and colours. That is what Aaron is thinking of, while he finally packs everything up, and heads back home.

Autumn air is different too. It is colder, the rock faces don’t warm up as much; there are a lot less thermals ascending, and the winds caressing the burnished meadows and peaks dusted with the first snowfalls are not as strong, they are more relaxing. The general feeling is that of biding time, as if nature were holding its breath while preparing for winter. There’s hardly anyone about. Autumn in the Dolomites is for taciturn people, for those who grant their soul to the quiet breath of the world around, silently etching the undergrowth. In the silence that envelops Pale di San Martino the click clacking of ski poles can be heard, a quick rhythm, light and acute, accompanied by a lesser one of feet moving the fine scree underneath. It is early morning, very early, and the breathing which moves the otherwise still air of the Dolomites is that of Aaron Durogati. Aaron was born in 1986 and has already won the paragliding World Cup, he is a professional athlete, one of those who seems to have the physical need to be committed to a race, to compete for some form of excellence. Aaron, on his own, heads up towards rifugio Pedrotti with the first rays of sun. There are no races these days. Thermals are not pushing enough for distance flying. On his back Aaron carries a backpack weighing a dozen kilos. That’s not little, but not even enough to get exhausted. He steps on the Rosetta plateau, not too distant from the mountain hut, just before the sun rises. In the uncertain and terse morning light he opens his backpack and starts unfolding his wing. It is small, very small, nine square metres. Too small to be a “real” paraglider. In fact it isn’t; it is a speedflying wing, something that stands for paragliding like extreme skiing stands for ski touring. Aaron fixes his backpack, puts his harness on, checks his risers, and puts his helmet on. He clips his harness into the sail, then looks into the horizon, following the line he imagined with each step during the ascent, the line which will lead him down, to the valley: everything is still. Not even a puff of air, or the sign of a thermal. Perfect.

It seems absurd, but that’s exactly how it is: it is best if there is no wind for speedflying. It is to fly while skimming the ground, quickly and very close - you have to be incredibly precise. Aaron starts running, into a narrow couloir. A few steps, and his feet, increasingly lighter, lose contact with the ground. The air which earlier on caressed his face now lashes it. Free flying has nothing to do with aeroplanes, helicopters or other contraptions which at the end of the day are nothing but means of transport, boxes in which you enter a place and come out of another. To fly this way is creative, aesthetic, like imagining music, writing it and playing it. Throughout the entire Pale di San Martino there isn’t a sound, only the swishing of the air carved out by Aaron’s sail. Rock, scree, and trees skim by fast below his feet, instant and palpitating visions which run along with the short rhythm articulated by the beating of his heart, his breathing. A sharp turn, a shout of joy, landing on the meadows, below these incredible mountains. By now the sun has risen, caressing the warm colours of the trees, and as was expected it has started to warm the tall faces of dolomia rock. Perfect: a slight breeze starts to blow, caressing the larch trees just below, making them wave like flames. Aaron folds up the small sail, opens his back pack and gets the large one ready. This adventure would have been impossible just a few years ago. Such light weight and performing gear did not exist. Instead, nowadays it is possible to easily walk, not with one, but two sails. This is where the evolution of gear finds its meaning to be lighter, to be at the right temperature, to fly with the same shoes you have just walked hours in, not suffering the heat or the cold, not having to accept compromises between safety and comfort, going further.