Deep line part 2

The

DEEP LINE

T

he Red Bull X-Alps is billed as Race on Earth” which Gavin hopes to the “toughest adventure race on publish by the end of 2016.

Earth” and for good reason: 32 Editor’s note: This is part two of a twoathletes and their support teams race by foot and paraglider across the Alps, part series. from Salzburg to Monaco via a series of turnpoints. Through 2013 only 11% Day 8, The Deep Line (Turnpoint 6 to 8) of the field had completed the course.

“The man who has no imagination The 2015 edition was the longest and has no wings.” — Mohammad Ali hardest course yet, covering over 1100 straight-line kilometers. The following Other than the pain in my feet, the 10-kilometer walk into Bellinzona the are excerpts taken from a book he is working on about the race, “The Deep morning of Day 8 was bliss. I’d gotten the first proper night of sleep in over Line, Inside the Hardest Adventure

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by Gavin McClurg

a week and felt like a new person. My brain was working again and my body felt as fresh as the first day. Winds would once again be strong out of the west, which would make progress difficult, but cloudbase was high and the day looked promising. I needed to use a high launch, ideally above 2000 meters, to get above the inversion in Italy and the stable air. I made fast time of the first 1000-meter climb to the top of the gondola at Mornera where Ben met me and we set off for the remaining 1000 meters to

Cimetta peak. Ben informed me that it wasn’t just Tom Dorlodot who’d been hurt the day before. Race legend Toma Coconea had landed hard and was pretty broken up in hospital.

We got to launch at 10:30.

Thermals were already ripping up the mountain and Bruce texted that some of the pilots ahead of me were already in the air making progress. Time to go! The typical line from Bellinzona stayed on the south-facing mountains past the town of Locarno, north of Lago Maggiore to Domodossola. But the mountains on that line were low and would be below the inversion. I needed to stay in the big mountains all day, above the inversion. The only way to do so would be to fly initially northwest towards the Airolo pass, along the “Big C” valley that led to

the Nufenen, where all the pilots ahead of me had gone. But once I got established I would turn west and fly cross-grain over a series of peaks and north/south ridges directly towards the Simplon Pass, shaving 30 kilometers of distance off the route the others were taking. It was risky. If I wasn’t able to fly the route, getting out would take an eternity and my chance of reaching Monaco would be finished.

I launched, yelled goodbye to Ben, flew around to the southeast-facing slope of the mountain and found a gentle climb just as a text came in from Bruce. “You’re in 18th place, Skipper. Good luck!”

The next two hours were scary and hard work but glorious. To my northwest the always-impressive and dominating Eiger and Jungfrau; to

my southwest Monte Rosa and way off in the distance the Matterhorn, 80 kilometers and closing. Below me meandering and steep-walled canyons fell to fast-flowing rivers that led to the Mediterranean across the plains of Italy. More than once I found myself distracted from the task at hand by the sheer beauty and absurdity of what I was doing. What a gift it was to have nothing to do every day except figure out how to traverse one of the greatest mountain ranges in the world!

I found my first true ripper of the day above Baceno, north of Domodossola on a south-facing spine OPPOSITE Bruce Marks, Gavin McClurg, and

Ben Abruzzo stand proud in Monaco! BELOW A X-Alps pilot launches into a nice cycle. Photos courtesy of Redbull Photofiles.

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LEFT Paul Gushelbauer flying in Italy. RIGHT

An epic day in the Redbull X-Alps means a respite from ground-bound suffering stemming from feats of incredible lengths of walking. Photos courtesy of Redbull Photofiles. where I’d been beaten up on a flight at the very same spot only weeks before.

Without making a single turn I was yorked like a yo-yo on a string held by the hand of God over 500 meters in less than a minute to cloudbase, which had risen to 3200 meters. My original plan was to attempt to fly the Simplon Pass, which was to my southwest. The Simplon led to the Saas Valley, which I could hopefully cross and fly into the Zermatt Valley, which led to the Matterhorn. Even against the wind I felt like I was flying fast, making good time, but as I topped out the climb and analyzed the terrain ahead I got another idea. I could fly an even more direct line by flying north of the Simplon, right by Monte Leone (3552 meters). I’d need a lot of height to pull it off but if I could “back door” the Simplon I’d shave yet another 10 kilometers off the others, and avoid the strong headwind in the pass.

I went on glide, pointing due west for Monte Leone and checked my watch. 2 p.m. A lot of day left. All the pilots who had been 30-50 kilometers in front of me were now within a few kilometers. Bruce reported very strong valley winds in the Rhone to my north so I began thinking about the exit from the Matterhorn. I snuck over a col barely off the ground to the north of Monte Leone, surprised a few hikers and headed towards the Saas Valley. Predictably Bruce sent me a text a few minutes later. “Skipper that was awesome!!! Keep going!!!” Our risky plan had officially worked.

I entered the Zermatt Valley just after 3 p.m. and quickly ran down four other X-Alps pilots. It was windy, conditions were extremely strong and

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dicey but I was having the time of my life. It’s a heck of a lot more fun not losing! Just like on the first day, I looked up at my trusty Icepeak and had a little talk with her. “OK, baby, let’s pick these off!”

The turn point was a 5.5km circle around the Matterhorn. Most of the turnpoints in the X-Alps required us to land and sign a board but the Matterhorn could be tagged in the air.

When I’d launched that morning the Matterhorn was 102 kilometers out in a straight distance. Now it was less than 10. Guys that were nearly 100 kilometers ahead of me were now less than 30.

With strong climbs everywhere and valley wind coming up from the Rhone helping us along, tagging the turnpoint was not going to be hard.

What I was worried about was the next move. Most pilots had chosen to fly right back out of the Zermatt valley the way they had come. All of

them were battling very strong wind and making slow progress. Only one pilot, Ferdinand Van Shelven, had taken a nearly directly west line from the Matterhorn towards Mont Blanc, turnpoint 8. This was my preferred option as it avoided the Rhone valley winds, avoided the tricky airspace around Sion, and shaved a huge distance off the route but required traversing some seriously big, daunting terrain and could not be done without getting at least 4000 meters high, not an easy task.

By 4 p.m. all of us had moved over to the west side of the Zermatt valley and were within a stone’s throw of the turnpoint. I was still trying to figure out how to get over the huge walls to the west. The thermals were completely blown apart and the wind that was dumping into the valley was causing everyone a lot of problems. I needed a really strong climb to pull it off. Once we tagged the turnpoint the pilots

around me all reversed course but I kept driving deeper in towards the glacier to the west of the Matterhorn.

As I pushed into the abyss the air got worse and worse and I became hyperaware of my glider. She was speaking to me loud and clear. “Gavin, get us out of here!” But somewhere in the maelstrom I knew there would be a climb. I just needed to hang on.

I pushed deeper and deeper until I got to the north of Dent Blanche (4357 meters), which had a long blue tongue of glacier hanging off its flank, above my head. Then suddenly the sink alarm on my vario started screaming. I hate sink alarms—they are totally unnecessary as it’s easy to know when you’re going down and having a horrible noise to confirm it only adds stress, so I’d set mine at a level that a pilot rarely sees: eight meters per second. Losing that kind of height that fast is an emergency indeed. Steering a glider in strong sink

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is like trying to steer a raft down a waterfall. The glider doesn’t do what you want it to do. I leaned hard to the left and braked hard away from the terrain and turned back down the valley.

The sink continued and even got worse and I started thinking I would crash, but thankfully, after losing over 400 meters of height and getting out from under the glacier, I found some liftier air and avoided what would not be the last close call of the day.

I returned to a ridge where I’d seen another pilot get a good climb earlier, hoping I could still get high enough to take the direct line. A pilot who I recognized as Pawel Faron (Poland 1) joined me and we quickly climbed to 4200 meters. I wanted more height but went on glide to the west, pointing at some of the most treacherous

terrain the Alps have to offer. I looked back and saw Pawel following me, which made me feel a lot less crazy.

Our goal would be to stay high, out of the reach of the valley winds in the Rhone, and jump a series of north/south running ridges and eventually reach Verbier, or possibly even Orsierres, at the entrance to the Chamonix valley below Mont Blanc.

Thick cloud covered all the highest peaks and a strong west meteo wind continued to make any work to the west very challenging. At each of the ridges we’d have to glide into their lee, get worked in the rotor until a strong climb could be found, then hang on for the ratty climb before heading off on glide and do it all over again at the next ridge. This kind of flying is not for the faint of heart, and as I hadn’t

seen a single non-X-Alps pilot in one of the most popular flying areas in Europe meant that conditions were definitely tenuous.

It was closing on 7 p.m.; I’d been in the air for eight hours. I’d flown through some of the most magnificent terrain I’d ever seen, knocked off 165 kilometers of the course, and in a few minutes I’d fly over Ferdinand Van Shelven’s head to climb into 7th place.

Guys that were 50 kilometers in front of me that morning were now over 50 kilometers behind. Girard, Petiot, and Durogati (4th, 5th, and 6th place) had been over 100 kilometers in front of me at the day’s start and were now less than 20 kilometers ahead, well within reach.

I squeezed into a tight field above the town of Orsierres next to a wind-

ing road. My team pulled up a few fun, more difficult and more terrifyminutes later. Bruce and Ben’s faces ing than anything I’d ever done. For were a reflection of my own. All smiles. me, it was the perfect game, one that We were all animatedly talking at couldn’t just be muscled through. My once, reliving the day, hugging one an- job was easy: All I had to do was keep other and sharing in the joy of finally moving and participate in my greatest making a good move. Ben noticed I passion, which was flying a paraglider. was dizzy and unstable and handed My team was doing the hard work. me a giant protein shake. I downed All the logistics and strategy and it, packed my wing and began the being there for me whenever I needed short climb to Champex. Bruce found them, at any time of the day or night; a place to camp on the trail up the anticipating my every move; figuring Arpette valley, which I would take in out routes; keeping me fed; working the morning towards Chamonix, and out weather forecasts; keeping my we settled in for the night. instruments charged; and making sure The X-Alps was living up to its rep- I didn’t forget anything. That night I utation. It was more adventure, more should have dreamt of Monaco but instead I worried about the inevitable.

ABOVE XAlps pilots work together in times At some point the race would end. It of need with the hope of leaving the other pilots didn’t matter if we reached Monaco behind as soon as possible | photo courtesy of or not, at some point the magic that Redbull Photofiles. we were experiencing would come to

an abrupt halt. We had poured our lives into this race for the better part of a year, and in one moment it would be over. We had 330 kilometers to go, the most difficult and dangerous part of the course was still ahead, but that wasn’t what was on my mind that night. What was on my mind made me sad because I knew that when this craziness ended I would no longer have the precious gift that the race had given me: the gift of being right here, right now. Kung Fu Panda said it best: “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That’s why it is called a Present.”

The author would like to express deep appreciation to the Foundation for Free Flight, and all the donors of the US Team, for their generous support. Thank you!

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