Why paragliding is the ultimate adventure sport – more adrenaline than rock climbing or white-water rafting, but zero the effort
It sounds like a stunt from a James Bond film, but a tandem glide will have you feeling as free as a bird – as STYLE found out soaring over the glorious Lake Bled region of Slovenia
We soar high above a forested mountain peak sprinkled with snow. Beams of sunlight illuminate the surrounding milky-pink sky. No, it’s not a surreal dream or a daredevil scene from the up-and-coming James Bond film. I’m actually real-life flying; tandem paragliding in the glorious Lake Bled region, and it’s truly the ultimate kick.
My journey began in Begunje na Gorenjskem, a historic village in the Central European nation of Slovenia, around 50 kilometres from the capital, Ljubljana. During a 25-minute four-wheel drive through picturesque countryside on the way up Mount Dobrca, our jeep’s engine rattled, hissed and roared as we negotiated uprooted trees and rocks the size of baby rhinos.
I have enjoyed numerous activities at high elevation: being lowered into a dormant volcano in Iceland, zip lining and the Edgewalk on the CN Tower in Toronto. However, a rumbling in the pit of my stomach revealed slight misgivings in this instance. Not because paragliding is a reckless pursuit (there is minimal risk, with the odds of dying less than one in 100,000), but due to the fact that on this occasion, I’d be reaching a much higher altitude. Also, for some unknown reason, as I’ve got older I’ve become a little more fearful of heights.
Before the launch, to ensure everything was in perfect working order, my pilot, Klemen, did a comprehensive check of all the equipment – the wing and the harness, the radio, a GPS, the variometer (climb and descent gauge), and the reserve parachute. Dressed in warm clothing, sports footwear and helmet as advised, all that was left was a short but important safety briefing: how we’d take off and land; and what to do and not do while we were in the air. And relief: if I fel t like it, luckily it was OK to scream.
And so, I’m standing on a grassy slope on Mount Dobrca – at a height of around 1,200 metres – that quickly falls away to a steeper drop littered with charcoal-grey boulders. I have to walk slowly at a sharpish angle for a few steps towards the precipice and run (on flatter ground it is possible to launch by tow) on Klemen’s direction. Carrying out this feat with the strange pull of the pilot strapped in behind me, and with frayed nerves, the initial two attempts are unsuccessful. The only result is an awkward, farcical stride that makes it look like I’m impersonating Charlie Chaplin.
Surveying the rocky abyss below and with time to think, I become hesitant: “Am I sure I really want to do this?” But suspecting my growing reservations, Klemen offers encouragement, “Come on, you can do it, try again.” The next time the wind gets up – you need speeds above 25km/h to take off – the sail of the paraglider, which had been laid flat, bursts into life, assuming a billowing crescent shape. We are airborne. It’s an indescribable moment, as if I’d been encased in a block of cement from the neck down for my whole existence, then finally set free.
For a spell, we remain at a lowish altitude, following the contour of a lush gorge several hundred metres below. As the freshest air imaginable whooshes against my face and a pallid horizon and pulsating moon become my concrete reality, any doubts about being up here have already subsided. Sitting in the harness – with the reassurance that my accomplished pilot is behind me – is as chilled as being curled up on my favourite sofa. And in contrast to other adrenaline-junkie activities such as rock climbing or white-water rafting, no effort is needed on my part – I can just relax and soak up the view. Wunderbar!