The No Bull X-Alps Gavin McClurg crosses the Alps without the Red Bull pain
I took one look at the Passion Wagon, the retrieve vehicle operated by Toby Colombe of Passion Paragliding, and realised my next seven days were not going to be what I had envisioned. The driver, who we would only know as Mad Paul, was covered head to toe in tattoos, looked like he’d participated in a fair share of recreational substances He was wearing a T-shirt that said, “I don’t have Turrets, you’re just a F****** C***.”
My girlfriend Jody, who had taught me how to fly some four years previously, and I had purchased this trip with the hope we’d get to fly XC over much of the Alps, beginning at Annecy and ending at Nice. Toby had come highly recommended as a guide and we’d heard great things about his ability and his safety record. But in those first minutes all I could think about was how to find a way out. An hour later we’d found a small bar, done the introductions, and with the aid of a cold pint things were looking up. Our flying group consisted of five guys… and Jody. The experience level ranged from a Scottish pilot (Kevin) who’d flown well over 1,000 hours, to a Brit (Steve) who had only 50 flights. Jody and I sat somewhere in the middle. Toby seemed pleased that we’d both done a few SIV courses but our XC hours were minimal. In fact my longest XC flight to date had been 40km just a few days previously at Interlaken. Toby informed us he’d never had anyone in his group suffer an injury; he’d just done remarkably well in a comp in Spain; and while the weather didn’t look stellar our chances for some solid air time looked good. He’d said the magic words: air time… XC… X-Alps! My fears assuaged, the Passion Wagon suddenly seemed rather luxurious! We did a checkout flight next morning from Forclaz at the south end of Lake Annecy. It was at best horrifying and certainly humbling. The early-day thermals were zinging but not well formed and the edges felt like samurai swords, making mincemeat of my wing. My Gin Rebel, which I’d grown to love in the previous weeks in some powerful conditions, suddenly made me feel I’d jumped up to a DHV2 way too fast. I’m all for
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rodeo flying when there’s enough height to deal with the consequences, but as I was scratching right over the tree tops the frequent collapses got the better of me and I was the first on the ground, shaking from the adrenaline. Toby liked my launch and landing so I guess I’d made the checkout, but I wondered if I was in over my head. Toby thought we had a good chance of getting some distance that afternoon so we headed west to the Semnoz launch, where he gave us a 70km task down to Chambery, back to launch, then over the back to Roc des Boeufs and down to the standard LZ for Annecy at Doussard. Strong lift plucked Kevin and our good friend Bruce, an Australian, up to low cloudbase right off launch. I followed with jittery nerves left-over from the morning’s flight, but by the time we were 5km down the ridge I was all