USH PA PILOT 37
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ello, my fellow USHPA folks! I started flying paragliders about two and a half years ago and, like many, I’ve fallen deeply for this quirky little sport. I am a professional whitewater kayaker and a distributor for a brand of boats in the U.S., giving me time to chase weather, stack hours, and basically be a complete and utter “skycrack-head.” I could thank an easy-going lifestyle for my rapid progression into free flight; however, I must attribute the skill I have to my mentors Matt Henzi and the many talented pilots in the Pacific Northwest that I call home. I live in the Columbia River Gorge, which is famous for being a powerful venturi and a mecca for kiteboarding. Flying here is actually really fun and
OPPOSITE The most consistent site in the Pucon area is a lakeside hill in the neighboring town of Lican Ray. We were launching around 6 p.m. and flying until dark in smooth, lifty air. TOP An evening glass-off flight with my brother Ian Garcia near Lago Caburga in the Pucon valley. These sites would start working later in the day when the valley winds calmed down. BOTTOM Julian Tisato dropping one of the Blanco’s most scenic and must-run waterfalls. You get a good idea of the contrast between the blue water and forested canyon walls. Photos by Evan Garcia.
super instructive when it’s working, but sometimes that’s only a few days a month. This leaves me, as a wild dreamer, with time to explore outrageous and sometimes far-fetched ideas. I’ve traveled to Patagonia at least once a year for almost half of my life, because my brothers and I traditionally wintered in the small town of Pucon, Chile. With a band of like-minded gypsy kayakers, we paddled to our hearts’ content, while all the rivers in North America froze. Fast forward to the summer of 2016 in California’s High Sierras. A tomahawk-like crash down a 100-foot-tall cascade left me with a dislocated and
broken shoulder. The type of kayaking I do comes at a price, leaving me healing, time off the water wondering what else is out there. Like most adventurous humans, the dream of flight has always intrigued me. During this particular “dry spell,” I decided to see what flying parachutes were about. I didn’t know if I wanted to speed-fly, base-jump, or parasail. Thanks to my good friend, Isaac Levinson, one experience led to another, and before I could even paddle again, I had my P2. From the moment I left the ground, I started to understand these magic pieces of fabric and knew that one day, when my skills caught my aspirations, I would return to my second home of Patagonia to fly. The next few years were a roller coaster ride of literal ups and downs. Learning a new sport is humbling. After one of those, “You’re not sure you’re ever coming down” flights, I learned to greatly respect the power of the sky. Perhaps the coolest thing paragliding has done for me is open my eyes to the amazing and totally invisible world swirling around us. It’s changed the way I look at and connect with our planet. I now love stopping to feel the wind and looking up for clouds, and I pay more attention to the weather forecast than the news. I’ve also learned to appreciate many places that I couldn’t fathom liking before this journey. Take any flatlands, for instance: I used to cringe thinking of their sheer nothingness. Now I thrive in the desert; my favorite site is Oregon’s Pine Mountain. Many have already recognized that paragliding is similar to whitewater kayaking, but for me they feel more like opposites. I’ve spent my whole life following rivers, the literal veins of our planet, on a one-way path to a set destination. Flying is borderless and, as a newer pilot, also feels limitless. The scale and freedom of flying is different from anything I’ve ever experienced. In strong thermals, one can climb a mile much faster than