They Go Up Tiddly Up Up...

As its not so far to the comp I decide to leave the Skylark and just drive Lill Suzy over for the day and take a sleeping bag and bedroll in case. There will be no flying anyway as its a tow launch by boat over a lake for the comp pilots only and sleeping out can be fun so I decide not to take a tent. What kind of pilot dosent take his wing anyway just in case becomes apparent later on when people start talking about flying Ager, a mountain about 30k away after the comp tomorrow. Some lead and others follow so I decide I will drive back and get mine that evening and sleep in Organya after the fun is over. The day after qualifying is the first I attend which although the skill level is high sees easily 70% of the pilots hit the water after missing the tiny 5 meter raft in a wind that is strong even for the small accro wings. They are having fun when they realise they wont make it though, helicoptering into the lake. Only 5 pilots hit the raft with the fifth being Felix girlfriend Charlotte. You can guess the others. When I return the following day the succsess rate is inverted however when people get the measure of the lake . Touch and goes on the water with harness, wingtips or both and spot landings included. I spend the day with a mellow buzz orbiting the site, giving and receiving intoxicants of varying kinds, swimming in the lake and in broken conversation in assorted languages . I have spoken in these pages before about what a beautiful thing it is to be so readily accepted so warmly by so many people you’ve only known a week . Paragliding is such a beautiful thing for sooo many reasons. The sky has multicoloured acorn seeds rotating out of it all day some leaving smoke trails as they go.
Later that day when the kit has dried, which dosent take long, five of us get together and go to fly Ager. Francois leads the way ahead of a convoy of 3 cars on the 40 min drive, we leave a car in the landing field before heading up the mountain road to the 1400 odd meter take off. A long limestone ridge with forest on a plateau 300 meters below it which is where I find the thermal that takes me back up the 200 meters or so I had lost after launch over the ridge to be able to scratch in a 100 meter lift band for an hour. A very pleasant and smooth flight although a little concentrated effort was required to stay up 100 meters above take off mostly in a consistent but gradually fading evening surf . I was pleasantly surprised to bump into Mike, a club member from back home on launch and after top landing stop for a natter with him and Toby from Passion Paragliding who I met in Morocco last year. They are here with a small group of happy punters and have teamed up with another group and their instructors for a week or so. I leave it a little long however and as Toby drives off to pick up his group in the landing field Mike tells me before he launches there’s a bit of a backwind building if you’ll pardon the expression and I should go sooner rather than later if I’m gonna fly down. I know he’s right and get set straight up but break a line on a rock running in forward launch mode and have to make do with an easy fly down with a brake line knotted a couple of inches short. It doesnt seem to make any real difference to how it flies though so I just crack on. We eat and chat in the campsite restaurant next to the landing field and all are happy with reasonable flights. We then drive back to the comp.
That night I sleep out with Vincent and Jan, a couple of French guys who are, like me, just hanging out in Organya and learning accro. We build a fire a little way from the tents near the lakeshore which although not so big attracts people with fresh stocks of intoxicants like moths to its flames in a steady rotation till the wee small hours. There’s nothing like a fire for making new friends. When I go to sleep under the stars people are still sitting round and chatting softly in 3 or 4 different languages.

Those Mgnificent Men

The back fly and deep stall are the entry and exit to the helico or helicopter which is the most difficult of all the accro moves possible on a wing my size. They both require hours of practice as the wing must be flown in its most critical stages right on and past the stall point in full control while it is fighting ,as it was designed to do, to re-inflate and fly in violent if controllable surges. The brake pressure rises and falls very quickly requiring delicate and small control movements to maintain stable flight. You can fly backwards, straight down and in rotation and this balance and minute brake adjustment is the dance called helico.

Organya is filling up with ever more pilots for Spain’s first accro comp being held soon a couple of valleys over about 60k away . My flying, confidence and ambition are improving daily. The après vol sessions in the landing field are populated by Spanish, French, Argentinians, Austrians, Germans, Italians, Dutch all manner of Eastern Europeans and of course the odd(what did you call me?) Englishman. Everybody is predicting a fun comp with 26 pilots entering with all levels of skill but you must be able to do 3 revs in the helico to qualify. So there is no room for numpties like me. The favourites are of course the brothers with Raul in charge but Horatio Lorenze has been number 1 for 2 years now since Raul and Felix retired from full time comp to partner with Nova and develop their own brand of wing designed for accro. The Accro Canaries, another Spanish team are also extremely skillfull as their twin pilot spiral around sat shows when the wingtips touch. As well as these some of Frances top accro pilots have turned up and rookies and locals who live and work close to and in Organya have been training hard. This weekend they make their bones. I am nowhere near the standard required for comp flying but the last few days have seen me master the spin, deepstall and backfly which I can now control indefinitely so the helico is next. I can hardly wait.

They Followed A Star From The East

That next afternoon I go for lunch with Jose and his friend, another pilot who I had met a day or two previously, named Pache who were in the landing field when I arrived. They take me to Rosas place. Across the Organya valley up the same mountain road as the waterfall jumps it is just basically a nice finca owned by a lady of a certain age who has any and everybody who knows round for lunch at 10 euros for 3 courses. It is traditional, very homely and as far away from a tourist trap as you can get. Spanish and Catalan are the only languages spoken. She is a jovial host and an excellent cook, whos bottomless portions would put any of the local restaurants to shame. She should be referd to as Mama Rosa.

T he flying that day is excellent . My wingovers become consistent and as huge as loops although I still need to perfect the timing on the left side .The results leave me itching for the next stage, fullstalls, which I have only ever done a couple of times over water on an siv 3 or 4 years previously. Never have I stalled my wing without direct radio instruction but master Yoda has spoken and he must be obeyed. After all do you wanna be an accro pilot or not pussy? I give in to the dark side. I switch off my targeting computer and use the force. At about 5000ft I lock my arms straight under my seat. The horizontal airflow, my heart rate, resperation and time decrease then stop. The shockwave from this extreme brake position starts at the wingtips and spreads symetricly through the canopy, which folds and concertinas primarily along the trailing edge, then completely in half leaving you weightless for a second as it collapses behind you and falls away. All four sensations return the instant the weightlessness is replaced by freefall while you drop past the flapping horseshoeing canopy then jerk to a stop at the end of the lines. This locked arm position must be maintained and then released slowly and symetricly roughly less than half up way to allow the canopy to begin its re-inflation and flight process. This requires some concentrated effort but gradual even and controlled release is critical. At the less than halfway point it will become clear that the centre of the canopy is thrashing back and fourth in an even and rhythmic if sometimes quite frantic pace. It is at the most forward point that the remainder of both the brakes should be released. The canopy should be allowed to dive and flown away . To release earlier when the canopy is at its rearmost point will cause it t surge violently forward past the stable flight point, collapsing completely and cemetricly at around the 9 o’clock when it is more or less level with what would have been your flightpath. You will then just have enough time to realise what a cock up youve made and call for your mum to tighten your papmers before you freefall past it and it re-inflates when you hit the end of the lines. This in itself is not as dangerous as it is unnerving the real danger being if the flapping canopy re-inflates unevenly or worse with a cravat quickly locking it into a spiral dive. I have spoken to pilots who have had to use all their strength with both hands on one brake to stop these spirals such is their intensity and others who go into complete brown trouser mode and throw their reserve. Not ideal. Having done them before though and getting encouragement from Alex beforehand I find It is actually a piece of cake with a few repeats needed just to allow the brain to process the new sensations. I fly full stalls for the last 40 mins that day and report pleased with my results to my master for new instructions. Alex introduces me to his brothers Raul and Felix. “Now you will be safe my young apprentice...” I’m told “Tomorrow you must fly backwards...” ...” Do fuckin what master?” I ask.

The Ways Of The Force

The thermals are strong and unless you are training 4 or more hours a day for the comp most people don’t launch till after 4 in the afternoon when the air is calmer. Afternoons are turbulent with 12 ups (meters not feet!) not uncommon at this time of year so why struggle. The next few days are devoted to hanging out with the worlds best accro pilots and perfecting wingovers with the 80/20 weight shift /brake method given to me a few days previously by Alex. The trick is to swing as radically as is sensible out of the harness hands up on the dive maximising the lean at the bottom and following through, something like the timing you did on the swings when you were a kid. Hold this weight shifted position applying only enough brake at the 5 oclock still on the dive to keep the wing open plus a little more on the side of the turn. Too much brake especially on the dive kills the gliders energy. This method soon builds enough energy to send you looping upsidedown over the top of your wing with max g and lovely tight lines and of course is great fun. With the right timing the results compared to what I have been getting previously are spectacular. I go to bed happy as Larry the apprentice Jedi and get ready for full stalls which are next on the agenda with deep stalls for good measure.

And The Lord Taketh Away

Morning brings another clear blue sky so we once again breakfast and go to take a chill pill in the landing field. We have decided all we will practice here is our accro. As was foretold by the sky gods it is almost impossible without exceptional skill or conditions to get away from here so I mothball the new UP to save stretching the lines, decide to stick to the trusty freex, taking an oath to get it upside down or die trying. The l.z as usual by midday has a few pilots practicing sporta nationale and we join them for a spot of training. This is always time well spent with tips and tales changing hands continually until 3 oclock or so when the first vehicles begin the short winding drive up to launch. Wingovers as it has been said many times by those who know are the basis for almost every accro trick and it is where we must begin to sharpen our skills. We are both capable of the odd wobbly wingover to a little over 90 degrees or so but what we want is to really get high above the wing with no collapses as we have seen. Weight shift and timing are the critical, and having been coached by the word champ we set about our task. The mountain has other ideas today and is not lifting as well as it can thanks to a nearby storm cell spreading light cloud over its valley. We work our best with what we have heaving on the brakes with gusto but things just are not really working out for us. Better, but no trophy winners. When we land that evening Alex Rodreguez, of the Rodreguez and SAT dynasty no less, approaches to give us more ideas for tomorrow. This does us no harm atall. 80% weight shift early and only 20% brake at the 5 oclock on the dive is what he tells us and allow the glider to gain as much energy as possible on the dive hands up. He is very specific and helpful and we get to know him and a few others that evening. It also comes to light cops have been sniffing round the Skylark while we were flying so we decide for the sake of 5 euros a night we may as well go back to the luxuries in the campsite tomorrow to save any hassle and what can be hefty fine for illegal camping. Also Joe is leaving tomorrow and we are heading for Barcelona to meet our new friends who have promised to guide us round town so will have a secure place to leave the Skylark. He will, Im sure, continue his practice in the U.K. We eat curried chicken for dinner and make ready for the trip.

The Lord Giveth

The next day the weather Gods finally come to their senses and send us a moderate southerly wind perfect for flying here and after breakfast we head for the landing field. We meet Jose who is furniture in Organyas l.z. He lives in a camper there, speaks pretty good English, runs the school for a friend who owns it, organizes the tandems, sells the beers and on seeing us chomping at the bit gagging to launch educates us in the best time to take off (much later) and suggests at this time of the day we begin our training in la sporta nationale in which he is an grand master. Genuinely intrigued we prepare to pay close attention. He begins coaching us right away by mumbling something I could have sworn was “fuckin time do you call this?” under his breath, returning to his camper after serving us two beers with a smile and going to sleep. This is Spain at midday and the national sport is of course siesta. Ahh well... when in Rome...we grab a couple of chairs each for top and tail, crack our beers and the games begin. Other pilots begin showing up with deck chairs and hammocks but none even think about launching and seem to only have come to join the others in siesta. Around 4 in the afternoon seems to be the preferred time and we drive up to the launch which is probably only 200 meters up the 700 odd meter mountain. But this is Magic Mountain and 200 meters is more than enough height to begin to use the abundant lift to soar and thermal up over the top. We have a cool flight for a couple of hours exploring he ridge, jumping to the next valley which strangely just does not really work as far as lift goes but gives you enough to get back and we hit the l.z just before dark. The highlight of flying here though as I have said is the accro pilots that come here to train. They are amongst the best in the world and all the top stars come including the current world number one 1 Horatio Lorenze and the three Rodreguez brothers. They are all very down to earth guys even approaching us when they see our pathetic attempts at wingovers to give us some most welcome free coaching and tips for tomorrow. We drink a couple of beers with them listening intently in the l.z. and invite 3 Spaniards we met on launch, two of whom drive Lill Suzy back down the mountain for us round to the skylark for dinner. We are joined by an Austrian camped in the same spot who provides music, brings wine and more beer for the meal and the type of coffee strong enough to stop you thinking of an early night. The Spaniards provide excellent company, good quality hashish and a welcome invitation to stay with them in Barcelona in a day or two where Joe has to catch his plane home from. We party into the wee small hours and I go to bed wondering what I have done to deserve such a good life and hoping the good Lord dosent notice and put me in the shit I really deserve

Down By The Riverside

We breakfast early the next morning (I think...no clocks remember?) with scrambled eggs, fresh bread and leftovers. I decide tents are for wimps and rib Buffalo Joe mercilessly about sleeping in one after his living off the land episode the day before. To redeem his status as a woodsman he goes fishing but using scraps of raw meat as bait. Im not sure what size of fish hes expecting to catch, Im almost sure its not Marlin season but off he goes anyway with a determined look to make like a gnome and no doubt re-enforce his potential as a tribal leader when the global economy finally melts down. Nat and I just stare bewildered at him and his meaty bait (not that meaty bait pervert) and open some beer. We watch from some distance behind him and occasionally call out with extremely unhelpful and sarcastic advice. “maybe a little paprika mate!” “they probably want starters first mate!” “maybe a nice little marinade...”It takes him a good natured hour or so to admit defeat and we leave after a fishless but never the less very enjoyable spot of camping.
The wind is still blowing the wrong way though so we cant fly and Nat has to leave today so Joe takes her to find a hitch. She prefers hitching to catching the 20 euro bus to where she currently lives in Barcelona, I guess to feed her sense of adventure. We get a heads up on another place to explore and we invite an English speaking French couple we met at the campsite to come along. High up a mountain road on the other side of the Organya valley we stop by a small bridge as directed. Under the bridge a fairly steep but short climb down a limestone rock face peppered with holes of all sizes leads to a small pool formed by a natural spring. The crystalline water from this pool flows in a stream with a smooth limestone bed which has cut a fairly deep sided path way over head height in most places as it meanders its way along and down at a slow steady pace, forming more natural pools at regular intervals of assorted, but generally increasing sizes down the mountainside. These are sometimes inhabited by water snakes but the ones we saw soon scarpered when they hear us splashing along. Occasionally the bed of the stream drops away to reveal a waterfall which you can climb up or down around but have large pools at the bottom as so its much more fun to jump . This is the way Joe and I descend the waterfall we come across but it is a 5 meter jump into a pool with boulders at the bottom so its not everyones cup of tea. The sun is blazing as always in the Spanish summer and we spend the day here with sandwiches and beers. Hmm more beers...I feel a pattern is starting to develop. That evening Joe and I in magnanimous mood after the money we saved not paying for camping eat out in a local restaurant and crash with thoughts of tomorrows flights and his impending return to England.