Raiders of the Lost Chamois

Paragliding, hiking, mountain biking and roller blading. There can be few races in the world that combine all of these sports, but the annual Raid Chamois, now in its fourth year, manages it. Starting from the picturesque French alpine town of Thônes, halfway between Annecy and Grand Bornand, this unique race sees competitors using varied modes of transport to complete a challenging but beautiful 50km circuit around Lake Annecy before the final sprint back to base at Thônes.

Having discovered and done reasonably well in the event in 2007, I returned in 2008 with my non-flying but very fit friend Stephen March to have a crack at winning it. We collected together my old Gin Bongo tandem, a couple of lightweight harnesses, mountain bikes from here and there, and our roller blades to arrive in Thônes early on Saturday morning with a car full of toys. A mixed bunch of about seventy people, in teams of two or three, bustled about on the start line. Everyone from honed ultramarathon runners to father-and-daughter teams was there, and with a quick countdown from the starter we were off!

A short sprint to the bikes, and we leapt upon them. The first stage was a 12km mountain bike section from the centre of Thônes to the village of Alex. Instructions were simple: follow the Police car through the village, and when it stops, keep going on the track following green splotches of paint! The pace from the start was full-on: clearly Stephen and I weren't the only ones in it to win it! The wide forest track soon gave way to narrow, twisting trail and I struggled to maintain speed on the muddy ground. Dismayed to see others already zooming ahead, I focused on riding as hard as I could, albeit seeming a snail's pace compared to the other competitors, reassuring myself that the bike was my weakest discipline and that we'd make time back up on the hill.

We finally exited the forest and I welcomed the smoothness of cycle path and road to the church in Alex. Here we dumped the bikes (to be collected on our way back), hastily unpacked our walking poles and set off up the first climb of the day.

Pushing hard up the back of the Dents de Lanfon, the familiar limestone cliffs perched above us were our next destination. The lethargic sunshine was slowly burning off the low cloud to reveal a perfect autumn day. We knew that our first rest would be the flight across the lake. Game on!

Stephen, carrying the heavier pack, set a brisk pace up the hill; I scurried behind, cursing the vicious cold I'd been fighting that had left me unable to eat a proper meal all week. We were in fourth or fifth place, not where we wanted to be! The focused climbing started to have effect, and we quickly overhauled one team. The temperature in the autumnal woodland was perfect and the blue skies above beckoned us up the steep forest track to the first take off. Bantering with a fellow Raider, we broke through the tree line to be greeted by a secret hanging valley, well hidden from the distant clamour of real life below. A kilometre or so ahead we could just make out the lead team with their sacks and as we chased them we glanced over our shoulders to see who was chasing us. We had breathing space, but not much.

We crested the Col des Frêtes, now having hauled ourselves into fourth place, to see the first wings inflating and lobbing off on glide. There's an enforced ten minute wait at each take off to give you time to prepare safely. So, after about 35 minutes of biking and 1000m ascent in 1h20, we were ten minutes behind the leaders. The organisers on take off handed us a welcome chocolate bar each and Stephen and I quickly set about our pre-planned tasks, Steve unpacking the harnesses while I readied the wing. We were clipped in and ready to go on the dot of our ten minutes allotted time and launched immediately.

This was our first breather, our first real moment to admire the cadre of the natural amphitheatre hosting our sport. To our right the imposing vertical limestone precipices of the "teeth" rose out of the high alpage, slowly shedding its summer greenery. At our feet the forests were in full turn, a splendid mix of fall colours from green to brown to yellow to red. In front of us the still deep blue lake waited, and the familiar silhouettes of the Northern Alps marked the horizon in all directions. Steve handed me a chunk of chocolate bar and life was good.

Here was the first strategic decision of the race. We had to fly over the old château at Dunigt, but after that we had two options. Either land at Duingt and continue to the Doussard landing field on roller blades, or try to fly directly to Doussard. Stephen spotted a couple of wings scratching at Entrevernes, but the air looked stable so, rather than risk a long walk if we landed short, we headed to the declared landing field where our skates waited.

We arrived with loads of height, and with the leaders visibly packing up below us I threw the Bongo into a deep spiral to gain time and Steve leaned inwards to help. Idly I wondered whether the skinny lightweight mallions would take the increased G-force but they didn't budge. Squeezing the old bus into the landing field I missed the 4m radius target, but put us down briskly but comfortably inside the 8m radius, thus avoiding the four minute penalty but picking up the two minute.

As planned, we split tasks in packing up the wing and harnesses, and strapping on our blades. There were refreshments to be had here, but we didn't wait. We were still in fourth place, and other teams were now landing around us, no rest for the slow! One fellow, having spot landed on the target and thus avoided the time penalty, was now ahead of us, and we were delighted and amused to see that he was going to do the next 6km stage to Doussard on a mini scooter! After what seemed like an eternity our two minute time penalty expired and we shot off. The blades were a welcome way to cover ground quickly, even with the bulky paraglider kit on our backs, and we soon overtook first the mini scooter fellow and then another team to move up to third place. Working together really helped here, with Stephen taking the lighter bag and me slipstreaming behind him. Steve had been practising his blading, having only started this year, and it was a real morale boost to gain places on this section.

Doussard landing field and time to dump the skates. We shouldered the packs and readied the poles for a 1km run on the flat before the climb up to the Col de la Forclaz began in earnest. We were only just ahead of fourth place, and second was out of sight. We learned later that the top two teams had swapped places on the blading section, no doubt partly helped by the fact that the faster team was made up of professional skiers!

The 800m climb up to the Col de la Forclaz from Doussard is about as pleasant as an ascent can be. At just the right gradient, never too steep, you gain height quickly, brushing a million fallen leaves aside as you go. Every now and then a small clearing gives you a glimpse of the lake and height you've gained. Here, for the first time in the race, I finally found my rhythm, no doubt assisted by a few mouthfuls of Isostar energy bar and a squeeze of Steve's carbohydrate gel. I must have been tired because it actually tasted good.

From the solitude of the forest you arrive suddenly at civilisation at the Col itself. Only a hundred metres or so remain, amongst farms and cafés, to the take off but those last few metres are steep and brutal in the blazing sunshine. Thinking ahead, I note that no-one's soaring around take off and so the second flight will likely be a top-to-bottom.

The Forclaz take off has just been refurbished and is now a paraglider's dream of astroturf at the perfect gradient. No time for us to admire the landscaping though, we've just seen the second place team launch so we're still ten minutes behind them. We're unlikely to make this up on the ground, but a good flight could make all the difference. The next goal is the mountain bikes back in Alex. It's about 10km as the crow flies, a trivial flight in the summer but now, it's now autumn, the thermals are weak or non-existent, and there's a high plateau to cross. Will we be able to squeak out enough of a flight to gain back a place?

The flight preparations are smooth and efficient and you don't need to tell Steve twice to run on take off. We're flying again with a perfect launch, heading directly for the bikes and the penultimate leg of the Raid Chamois. Flying straight, once again we have a moment to relax and see huge smiles on each other's faces as we continue on this magical adventure, flying though the stunning mountain scenery.

Lady Luck, however, seemed to have temporarily forgotten us, perhaps overwhelmed by the autumnal splendor herself. There are only two pips on the vario, not enough to gain height with the lumbering tandem, so the only choice is to fly straight, maximising our glide and racing our shadow over the ground. Below us on the ground I see another Raider, seemingly alone and separated from his team. I wave and he waves back, then I turn my attention back to our flight. It's touch and go whether we'll make it over the edge of the plateau, and as we approach I see that the edge is a mix of trees and power lines. No question then, I put us down in a large field on the plateau. From here it'll be a downhill run to the bikes, but it'll be a long run.

Everything packed away, I stare at the map, trying to plot an efficient route. Direct and over the hill or longer and around it? We opt for the second and we're half running half walking again. I've never been here before and despite our haste we notice scattered details: a babbling brook, an decrepit barn crammed with rusting farm machinery, a lone summer leaf caught in a ray of sunshine, green and gold against the russet backdrop. Another time I'd stop to explore but there's no time now. Our route takes us below the cliffs in front of the Planfait take off. Gliders scratch above our heads, clinging tentatively to the rare slivers of lift, but I know that the conditions in the air are too weak for us and we've made the right choice. Later we learn that another Raider, having landed near we landed, walked up to the Planfait takeoff and flew from there, for a third flight of the day. We, however, have ground to cover.

Steve races ahead, almost dancing down the path despite the ten kilos of wing on his back. Normally I'm the quicker one on the descents, but this time it's all I can do to keep up with him. We walk each uphill and jog each downhill, sweeping under the rocks at Bluffy, one of the best thermal triggers in the area in Summer, but unfettered with gliders now. A missed turning brings us out on the road, not quite where we expect, but fortuitously closer to our destination and after a quick check of the map we push on. My energy levels are zero but somehow I keep going. Steve looks as fresh as a daisy.

We arrive in back in the village of Alex, unfamiliar from this new direction. A lone volunteer has spent the afternoon keeping an eye on the bikes and we thank her as we collect ours. Those doing the short route landed near here after flying from the Col des Frêtes hours ago. We, however, are doing the long course and are still in third place.

Swooping downhill on the bikes with the wind in our hair, our eyes water after the self-propelled effort of the run. The speedometer peaks at 40km/h, and it's great to be covering ground so fast. We swap leads, taking turns to slipstream each other. Approaching Thônes, the route turns off road and on to wide track again. It seems like a hundred years ago that we were frantically pedalling in the opposite direction, but it was only this morning. My legs are empty lead pipes and I cry in frustration as I will myself to go faster and my body responds with mute refusal. There's only one stage left.

We hang hard left at the roundabout, following signs for the Adventure Park. Plunging into the park we skid to a halt at the foot of a tall tree and we're handed a climbing harness and a via ferrata kit. We haul ourselves up the hanging rope ladder and clip into a huge aerial slide that whisks us across the river with whoops of joy. A second slide takes us back across and we hand back the harnesses and jump back on the bikes for the final sprint to the finish.

Riding as hard as we can, we retrace our earlier steps to base and cruise over the finish line to third place. Waiting for the prize giving we enjoy a massage from the on-site physios and share our experiences over a beer with our fellow Raiders. What a day!

All photos courtesy of Tristana Crespo, find out more about the Raid Chamois at http://raidchamois.free.fr, and maybe see you there in 2009?!

An Incredible Privilege

It was a good day. The forecast was slightly dubious: all week they had been saying that it would be more humid on Sunday and would storm. Secretly, I was quite looking forward to a day off. However, Laurence Stein was keeping a close eye on the weather and called us over for a 11am start from Chamonix when the forecast suddenly looked much, much better on Saturday night. The stated goal was out-and-return to Annecy.

Quentin King, Laurence and I arrived at take-off as the wind was deliberating between the two sides. A fast run eventually got me launched, straight into a 3m/s thermal marked by several pilots in the air. Leaving the Brevant at a shade under 3000m, the glide across and climb up to the Rochers de Fiz was straightforward. There was no visible inversion in the valley below which was a good sign, the only question was whether it would storm later in the day.

Flying across to the Aiguille de Varan, the lift always seemed to be where I wasn't. Finally I managed to climb up to 2700m, still a hundred metres from base and 400m below where I wanted to be. However, I decided that this was as good as I was going to get and so set off for the Quatre Tetes on the end of the Aravis. The slight sink was compensated for by a gentle tailwind and I arrived on the SE-facing slopes at about 1650m. It was a long slow, struggle to gain altitiude in the weak slope breeze, but finally I got enough height to soar around to the S side where a reasonable but rough thermal took me above the peak. Another couple of turns before Point Percée set me up to glide down the Aravis.

Or so I thought. The hanging valley below was still full of snow but the cliffs above were clear and I assumed they would be working. I was wrong. I flew along the cliffs, finding nothing, and I when I arrived at the snow line I knew it was all over and it was going to be a long walk out. Turning tail I flew low over the snow fields and just escaped the valley where I blundered into a solid 4m/s climb that took me back to the height of Point Percée. Laurence and Quentin, having taken off fifteen minutes after me, had now overtaken me and were gliding along the Aravis so I toped up until I lost the climb and chased after them, leaving 200m higher this time and detemined not to make the same mistake again.

But I got it wrong again. There was nothing, even above the cliffs. Quickly I had to decide whether to try to make it over the next col and around the corner or turn around again. It was touch-and-go but, figuring that the day was already over with the time I had wasted, decided to go for it. Flying through the col with literally three metres to spare I expected to be greeted by S-facing scree slopes and an easy climb. But no, it was another snow-filled bowl! Quentin and Laurence were climbing weakly on the cliffs ahead and above me, but for me all was lost. I glided around the bowl, just one metre off the snow, not expecting anything and not finding anything. Suddenly, I spotted a white glider climbing out from the bottom of the bowl and I headed over to be greated by a weak, broken, ratty thermal but it was my only ticket out of the back of beyond so I hung on.

Finally climbing above the tops I popped out a couple of k behind Laurence and Quentin and, despite the rough, lifty air above the Aravis I could finally breathe a sigh of relief and focus on the next stage.

From here on the flying got a lot easier. Good climbs on the Etale, Charvin and Sulens got the three of us to Tournette above Annecy at 2pm. We looked down onto the lake to see people starting to climb out Planfait and Forclaz, and yet we had already flown all the way from Chamonix! A bit of radio chatter revealed an uncertainty as to whether it was in fact too early for Roc de Boeufs. However, we were high, the day was looking classic, and there was already a good breeze on the lake so we went for it.

The Roc was working, but it wasn't easy. Taking one climb and thinking it was in the bag, I headed for the peak for what I expected to be a rocket launch to the forming cloud above. It wasn't working. I got stuck short of the second electricity line and got battered in the rough air. I couldn't find anything solid enough to turn in and so fled back North. Laurence had a similar experience and had to fly back the full length of the mountain to get back up again. Quentin had climbed out with ease, earlier.

Finally getting above the peak I was suddenly on my own. Laurence was now a long way behind, Quentin's radio was now dead and I didn't know where he was. It was time to start back to Chamonix but which way? Back across Annecy or south fo the Dent d'Arclusaz?

I'd flown the Dent d'Arclusaz a few times in the past week and there was a good (almost too good cloud above it). Looking to my left I saw Marlens, Charvin and the Aravis chain stretching towards Mont Blanc and Chamonix in the distance. I knew the long route home and I believed it possible.

Now on my own, 70km from home and seeing the now epic sky it was time to race. Full bar and a tailwind whisked me to the Dent d'Arclusaz with only a few turns in a stonking 6m/s climb at the Dent de Pleuven. There I was joined by a blue Sigma 6 who Laurence had told me was in fact Lucas Bernadin from Chamonix. We raced each other to base in 5m/s climbs at the Dent d'Arclusaz and then headed different ways back. Lucas crossed to a big cloud in the middle of the Bauges whereas I took my traditional line along the Albertville valley.

In the distance I saw a red and yellow Airwave glider scraping the clouds and thought it might be Quentin. I raced on, taking good climbs and gliding on the bar. I wasn't quite as high as I would have liked for the long transition to Marlens, but had always had a tailwind here and knew that Marlens worked from very low down. Arriving just a couple of hundred metres behind Quentin we were both delighted to see each other and whooped our way up in the slope breeze and thermals to base above Charvin. It was 40km to Chamonix and it still looked achievable. But it wasn't going to be easy. A storm had brewed and was dumping rain on the north end of the Aravis. Over our route home there was a large but not too tall cloud shading the entire Megeve valley. It was going to be close.

Lucas had set of first and I waited for Quentin at base before heading off together. Not sure where to aim for we saw that Lucas had a climb and we joined below him. However, it soon petered out after a few turns and we headed off to the last bit of sun on the Megeve airport, instincitively spreading out 100m apart to search for lift. Finally we found it, and we climbed together in a smooth but weak 1m/s. Suddenly I felt a few spots of water and realised that it was raining on us! We continued climbing together and as we rose the rain turned slowly to light hail. Immediately to our west a huge twisting funnel of rain was dumping on Megeve itself. The sun illuminated it from behind and it was truly stunning to behold.

Toping out just below cloudbase we set off on glide over the shaded valley, still in light rain, aiming for the sunny slopes of Mont Joly in the distance. We just made it, connecting with the slope breeze which released into a nice thermal. Chamonix was now in the bag and the three of us set off, Lucas leading the way.

We crossed the col into Chamonix valley into rough air over Les Houches. After a sinky couple of minutes over the broken mountainside above Les Houches I finally connected with a decent climb and Quentin came to join me. Together the climb took us from 2200m to cloudbase now at 3750m. This was simply beyond words. Incredible vistas across the slopes of Mont Blanc opened up as we climbed. Wisps of cloud and huge seracs clung to its flanks. The pure white snow, perfect red granite and deep blue sky made this simply one of the most amazing moments I have experienced in a paraglider.

We left the cloud at base and I looked over my should to see Quentin heading straight for the Aiguille du Midi! There was a small cloud near the peak so I headed over to join him. We soared amongst the stone pinnacles in the pink evening light, climbing above the Cosmiques hut and waving at the climbers relaxing on the balcony. Quentin climbed higher, working the lift to finally top out over the top the Aiguille du Midi itself. Seen from the air it is incredible: a modern fairytale castle built in the sky. Buildings clinging precariously to the impossible rock spires, between which arc soaring bridges. For a few moments we felt like birds, incredibly privileged to be here, now, at the one moment that it was possible.

I had now been flying for over seven hours, but wasn't quite finished yet. My final objective was the Drus and the Aiguille Verte so I headed along the Chamonix Aiguilles, almost overwhelmed by the mountain splendor. I looked down on the Vallee Blanche and to the imposing north face of the Grand Jorasses beyond, with the mighty Dent du Geant perched on its southern end. Behind me the clouds built around the Aiguille du Midi, finally closing the door on that magic moment.

Finding a climb on a spur below the Grand Montets I thermalled up, over the lift station under the watchful eye of the Aiguille Verte and the Drus next to me. Drifting over the cable car and still climbing, I decided that I and the flight were complete, and glided into the valley to land.

All photos taken by Quentin King, see the full set at http://qking.web.cern.ch/qking/2007/p_chamonix/. You can download my GPS tracklog from Leonardo.

Mountain Wave

Wave is fairly common in the Welsh Borders in the UK where I used to live, and I've flown gentle wave in my paraglider several times.

But this is a different story.

I met real mountain wave in my paraglider a few of weekends ago, in Saas-Fee in the Swiss Alps. It was the closest I have come to a fatal accident in a paraglider.

A friend and I had gone to do a bit of early season glacier skiing and had thrown our gliders in the back of the car on the off chance of flyable weather. On the Sunday the lift queues were interminable and the skies were blue so we decided to fly down from the top station (3500m) to the village (1900m). Jon was flying his Baby Boomer with his normal kit and I was flying my Aspen with my lightweight harness (no reserve). There was only one cloud in the sky, a distant cumulus over the Bernese Oberland which looked a little rounded and could have been a lenticular but in our valley everything looked fine so we disregarded it.

The take off on snow was uneventful, with a gentle cross wind but nothing too tricky. Jon lobbed off first and I followed a few moments later. There didn't seem to be enough wind to soar the upper ridges near the lift station, but secretly I hoped for a gentle thermal on the far, sunny slopes above the village. However, the atmosphere felt very stable so I resigned myself to a spectacular top-to-bottom flight over the dry glacier and scree slopes leading down to the resort.

Jon was a few hundred metres ahead of me, just flying over the headwall of the glacier when he hit lift. "Wa-hey," I thought, "we can soar!". But Jon kept accelerating upward while flying straight, climbing so quickly now relative to me that I looked down at my vario thinking that it must be me in driller sink but my sink rate was normal. Still without turning, I saw Jon fold in big ears, now climbing upwards and backwards. "Oh shit," I said, "this is going to be interesting." Anticipating the strong lift I struggled to push my speed bar, but I couldn't get it to grip against my slippery plastic ski boots. Ready on the brakes, I flew over the glacier headwall and prepared myself to be catapulted into orbit.

But I didn't hit lift. I hit rotor. Pure, evil, mountain wave rotor. The glider thrashed above me and I immediately knew I was in a very bad place. The left wing collapsed 30%, then, before it could recover, the right wing collapsed 40%, then the left wing collapsed further. I fought to control the wing, but this wasn't the localised turbulence that you find on the edge of a thermal. I was in a washing machine, about to be chewed up and spat out as a tangled mess of wing, line, and pilot. The wing surged, dived, re-opened, twisted and span. I looked from my harness to the wing and saw a full riser twist and the wing at the horizon, the glacier beyond. Over the deep crevasses and exposed broken rock, cliffs and scree slopes there was to be no survivable landing, not even under a reserve parachute, which I didn't have anyway. My single thought was quite clear: "This is serious."

With no recourse but to fix the wing before I ran out of altitude I focused on the task at hand. There was only a single twist in the risers and I found the brakes still worked. The increased airspeed and wing loading of the spin had re-opened the glider so I steered it out as if I was coming out of a spiral dive, against the twists so that they unwound as I exited the spiral. The final half turn flipped me round as the wing came overhead. Without hesitation I reached up for the big ears and somehow managed to push the speed bar despite my plastic ski boots.

The wing continued to thrash, roll and collapse with the ears in, but the increased wing loading of big ears and bar kept it above my head. With suddenly a moment to spare I looked around to see what had happened to Jon. He was below me, near the upper middle ski station. Finding himself going upwards, backwards and being blown into Italy in strong mountain winds he had rapidly assessed his options: he wasn't going to make progress against the wind, with big ears in he'd still end up behind the knife-edge alpine ridges, a reserve would have brought him down in the next valley in rotor. The only option was to escape the lift before he got blown back. So he spiraled for his life. A full-on, nose-down spiral that got him down and out. He didn't stop until he was close to the ground and well away from the awful wave.

Together we limped towards the resort and the beckoning safety of the golf course landing field. My wing, with ears and speed bar, continued to collapse but it seemed somehow trivial compared with what I had experienced in the twisted spin. Jon was doing a better job of managing his wing, and eventually we spiraled down to touch down within a few metres of each other on one of the greens in light, pleasant winds.

Somehow the world of the mountain wave seemed far away as we lay in the warm grass cursing our stupidity and feeling lucky to be alive. We stared back up towards the glacier: of course, you couldn't see the boiling pot of turbulence at the glacial headwall. It was strange to have such a close brush with death and yet emerge unscathed. Above us the wave bars were now clearly visible and rotor cloud foamed from the peaks around us.