Racon Tepe, Ankara - Saturday 23rd Dec

Dad was up on a Christmas visit from Kalkan and we were thinking on the Friday afternoon that we would skip our weekly trip to Golbasi the next day. The semester was over, it was going to be very cold, and the last couple of weeks had been boring with no lift - thermic or dynamic. But then I got a text from Ozgun - 'Hi Mark. We are going to fly tomorrow. Weather seems good for soaring.' If he hadn't texted we'd have spent the Saturday down in Ankara, but the text made all the difference and we committed to another early rise and paragliding day in Golbasi.

Just as well. For the first few hours nothing happened. We all hiked to the top of the hill and waited around for an hour or so. Yigit turned up with a couple of students. I introduced him to dad, and we all chatted about engines and engineering software for a while. The cumulus that were popping up everywhere at the beginning of this very cold, dry day had now all but vanished, and there was barely any wind to speak of. I decided to fly down, telling Yigit I'd see him another day since neither me nor Annie were prepared to hike back up to the top. As I was preparing to take off, I snagged one of my A lines on a rock and it broke in two. How serious is this? I wondered. It would be like flying with one big ears wouldn't it, so I concluded it couldn't be that bad. I tied the line together with an overhand knot which shortened it by a few centimetres and then flew away with Annie close behind - more or less a bee-line down to the bus at the bottom. The wing flew OK. Something new learned: don't worry about the leading edge A lines.


We sat at the bottom of the hill biding our time for the next hour or more, watching little vole-like creatures digging tunnels and popping their heads up out of their holes, while the temperature dropped from 3 degrees to -1 degrees as the sun dropped. 'Ozgun can't be instructing for much longer now' Annie would say now and again.

But then just as we were hoping to go, the wind picked up and I spotted someone soaring at the top. Up to the top again we went, and the next half an hour or more was some of the best flying we've had at Racon. It was like flying in good conditions at Carbis Bay, in sub-zero temperatures - like one time I remember last year when my fingers lost all sensation. All the more experienced pilots there that day came out of the woodwork, and there were 6-8 of us all enjoying perfect soaring conditions, with some decent height gains - and noone getting in each other's way. Ozgun and I were the last soaring up there as the light was fading. I left Ozgun there with a couple of students and after a nice glide had enough height to spiral down to the bus for a spot landing next to dad and Annie, feeling very satisfied. Annie had had a good flight too. And dad had warmed himself up a bit walking up and down the hill. My mouth and cheeks were numb, but everything else was warm, thanks to my flying suit. Ozgun wasn't so well equipped, and said on the bus 'We've waited all semester for conditions like this, and when they come it's too cold to enjoy it!' He needs to go to Dag Dash and get himself a flying suit and gloves. I need a balaclava.

Tomorrow I'm meeting up with Yigit at METU to discuss vol bivouac plans for next summer.

Imagination and New Ideas in Adventure

Messner says in his book 'All 14 Eight-Thousanders':

'Climbing arises out of ideas and big mountains'. For Messner, climbing the 14 eight-thousanders alpine style, without oxygen, had always been 'to work through an idea' - one needing both skill and imagination and a rethinking of the 'accepted pattern of expeditioning'.

New ideas. Imagination. These are fundamentals in adventure. How the project is done, not just that it is done, or how fast you do it. How innovative it is. What style you do it in. How pioneering you are. What kind of mind you have. It's about how you can open possibilities and push human limits, not just in terms of mechanical performance and obvious measurable goals but in terms of the imagination and pioneering spirit.

The Japanese mountaineer Ozaki says: 'The fourteen eight-thousanders, the 'record' itself, which Messner has gained, is important. But what he has done that is more important is that he has awakened dreams and hopes and the spirit of adventure in people throughout the world.'

In paragliding where are we seeing this kind of spirit of adventure now? In lots of places I think. Here is an example: John Silvester's idea of 'para-alpinism' (Cross Country - May/June 2004):
"I have become interested in using a paraglider to fly up to these highest summits. But in order to reach the top of these Himalyan giants, we need to exploit lift above the deep convective layer and access the primeval world of swirling spindrift...high altitude ridge lift'. John was struck by this idea looking at the spindrift streaming off a photo of the summit of Rakaposhi - a photo he 'almost binned' thinking it was insignificant.

The expedition that was the upshot of Silvester's inspired idea can be read in Dave Snowdon's report here: http://www.fly-k2.com/files/skywings.pdf

Mountaineers have used paragliding as a means ofdescent from several of the major Himalayan peaks,after spending an expedition period andmountaineering effort ascending them. Howeverfew have free-flown upwards to above 7,000m. Thisrelatively new game of ascending mountains purelyby air will never replace the essences ofmountaineering; merely complement it with a newform of ascent. The high-altitude flying game has itsown nuances, far removed from the flying we hadpreviously experienced. The challenge goes on.We will no doubt begin to debate the merits andethics of using oxygen on high-altitude flights. Wewill no doubt develop gliders and equipmentbespoke to our needs, and go on exploring thesegreat ranges of the earth. The experience is unique,and every flight is a privilege.