Ancash Province and its biggest city, Huaraz, are unofficially known as Peruvian Swiss, since it’s not an ordinary thing in Latin America to see the eternally snowcapped peaks right from the streets of a big city. Nevertheless, be it because of still fresh memories concerning Shining Path guerrilla, or maybe the tragic earthquake killing 80.000 people in 1970, tourism industry is still not as flourishing as the city would like it to see.
Small wonder there was close to none paragliding there so far. Some good xc flights have been made by visiting pilots or foreigners living in Peru, some paragliding treks were led by “local foreigners” like Jeff Cristol, but lack of local schools leading to a lack of established flying schemes meant that only the most adventurous and daring PG pilots would came there on their own. In order to change that and bring some PR to Huaraz (a city which Peter saw for the first time lying in ruins, two years after the quake), he devised a competition. Since relatively undeveloped infrastructure rendered organisation of a classic xc-comp practically impossible, there was little choice: Peter’s dreamed competition would have to call for the best and most experienced pilots, well acquainted with high mountains, to fly or hike through them on their own. In one word, an X-Andes (with obvious inspiration by famous X-Alps).
Still one question remained: how could he persuade pilots to come to a non-proven area? Maybe flying there is not as good as they say? After all, even supermen prefer to fly than to run. That was when the idea dawned on him to bring along a pilot who can’t really creep on his own, not to mention running. If he can fly and survive there, no one should be afraid to come.
That was how in the winter I was presented with a one-in-a-lifetime offer. When any single visit to my home mountains requires a lot of organizing and looking for people to help me with transport and launch, it would be a sin to turn down such opportunity. Given cheap everyday life in Peru all I needed was the money for transoceanic travel. When I found it, there were no excuses anymore. They say it’s a barren country, they say you can’t breathe there? Don’t give that to me; if people are able to live a normal life there, so can I.
Thus I checked my hepatitis vaccination and carefully weighed all my gear. The regular medicine kit got topped up with diarrhea drugs (given my wheelchair and probable lack of accessible toilets it could be potentially disastrous). Choosing paraglider was not a problem: trusty Atak proved many times over to be a very safe wing despite its considerable aspect ratio. So, I gave my wife a hug, patted my dog (on its head) & my cat (on its belly) and off I went.
Lonely journey went unremarkable, as much of it was spent on a desperately empty terminal (9 hours lay-over in Madrid). In contrast, there was not a single minute wasted in Lima – almost straight from the airport I was catapulted into a press conference preparing mountain festival (Semańa del Andinismo), and then to a Miraflores cliff launch.
I don’t think I’m exaggerating here – Lima may be the only place on Earth where you can soar all day long in the capital city downtown, flapping your stabilos on skyscrapers and peeking into penthouses’ pools. To be frank, European July is theoretically winter in Peru, so flying at that time of year is hampered by low clouds with eternal drizzle. Nevertheless, the weather gods winked to greet a disabled pilot and offered us a couple of hours sun. Thus I performed ritual two hours of cliff soaring – nothing spectacular (especially as there were no beautiful girls sunbathing by those pools), but local TV of course thought differently. You can hardly see a wheelchair user on Miraflores streets, let alone in the Miraflores sky! So after landing I gave usual interviews, collected usual compliments and with friends went for a bus towards real, more ambitious flying.
All night drive with steward service fitting an airline transferred us to different reality: from sultry climate of crowded capital city on the oceanshore we woke up three thousand meters higher, in crystalline air of the heart of the Andes. Huaraz does have that feeling to it: it lies in a valley dividing snowcapped Cordillera Blanca to the east (with tops exceeding 6000m it is not hard to deduce the origin of the name) and contrasting Cordillera Negra to the west (named from grass blackened under scorching sun – this range is lower, with peaks under 5000 m).
First day we pass on organizing ourselves and getting necessary contacts, but the very next morning sees us heading towards launch site. Our Landcruiser with a pile of paragliders on its roof dwarfs mountain village houses and barely squeezes between sunbaked walls, but after climbing steep and narrow paths our guide, Franck of Andescamp brings us to destination without a scratch. The place is absolutely gorgeous, fully justifying Swiss nickname – standing at 3800m on shore of a little lake we have a wide valley at our feet, with shepherd woman spinning wool against breathtaking backdrop of sparkling peaks. Well, maybe violet cows with “Milka” written on their sides would better fit Switzerland than high hats and colourful wraps of Indian women, but let’s not be too scrupulous.
Thermal activity is not quite ripe yet, so we take our time to set frequencies (you can’t really count on a cell coverage in the mountains), landing place (that’s harder, as narrow valley promises a lot of wind and power lines) and all similar details. 
Finally, blazing sun (I thought I was well protected with sunblock of 35, but a friend outclassed me with his 90 UV filter) wakes up the slope and we have a nice wind coming up. Despite currently nice conditions we don’t have much time to waste, as there is high probability of strong valley wind prohibiting launches in an hour or two. So we get to work and our driver gets a bit amazed seeing the white, allegedly civilized people preparing to throw a cripple down the valley as the first one, in order to check whether it’s safe for them to fly. Situation is obvious for the pilots – if they go first, there will be nobody left to launch me, but for the strangers it must be a puzzling sight indeed. At last the moment comes. With a good wind the launch goes flawless, but lift is still weak and for the first hour I am barely able to stay on the launch level. This has a nice side effect of creating a most attractive prey for hungry filmmakers: a paraglider just before their eyes, playing on a fantastic background of Cordillera Blanca. Nevertheless the pilot side of their nature quickly wins and one after another they launch too. Disorganized thermals prove to be demanding and soon they sink down the valley in the same order they launched. Meanwhile on my trusty Dudek I’ve been scrapping together every single meter I could, and having collected some two hundred I head for a steep slope behind. There are some rocks there, possibly able to ignite the air warming up on the lake plateau – and if it won’t work, I can go back over launch or simply topland by the car. But this is not necessary, my hopes work like a charm. Relatively fast my first real Andean thermal starts up and I say my goodbye to lovely Wilcacocha. After climbing a kilometer up there is no way back for me – I’ve been considerably blown up the valley, while our car started its trek down – so automatically I go cross-country. This is my very first day here so I have modest expectations, but flat Cu’s reaching the horizon promise unbelievable time for the future. As for now I make for the next perpendicular ridge, find a nice three meters up there, climb another couple of hundreds et cetera. I feel quite safe, as the valley is spacious over here, with wide riverbeds carrying gravel down from the glaciers – not a trace of narrow, powerlined gorge under launch site. Yet those open slopes bring a different problem for me: there are no tracks in those vast, naked mountains, so if I can’t reach the national road along the river, as when getting blown uphill while hunting some elusive thermal, there will be serious trouble for all of us. Thus I stay on the lower slopes. Thermals top out at 4700 m anyway, that is a bit below Cordillera Negra tops so definitely not enough to dream about coming up to the main ridge. After an hour of such play another thermal turns out to be a fizzle, and since there is a village within my reach, I just go for landing. I can’t really make the desired football stadium and land by its fence, but there is a nice trail along it, with first kids already arriving. Moments later adults show up too and I‘m impressed how clever they are – despite lack of communication (my Spanish is just a couple of words so far) they are able to take the wingtip out of a cactus and pack the canopy without any problems. Looks like civilization is killing our natural wits – sometimes novice pilots need quite a time to get oriented in all those lines, while those people get along pretty well with a paraglider they see for the first time in their life. Neither are they moved by learning that I am a flying cripple. They just recognize that since I can’t walk they have to carry me to the cab, so they simply grab me and off we go. Their cordiality makes the language barrier shrink, and a pocket dictionary I prudently took with me finally clears the matter. On the market square (it’s packed dirt to say the truth, but central nevertheless) one of the two present cab drivers agrees to take me 40 kms back to Huaraz and so ends my first Peruvian XC.
I return in a very optimistic mood. Fantastic views, incredibly good xc prospects, safe valley landing with friendly locals and cheap transports hold much promises for coming days. Life can be so good at times. Unfortunately, the reality turns out to be less satisfying. Thanks to constant good weather we fly almost every day, yet to a variety of reasons I can’t reach the tempting cloudstreets. Either it’s strong valley wind blowing away thermals, so flying ends after an hour with a hard-won toplanding, or I can’t find the next lift after first one, but most often it’s just the immense space of these mountains. Despite its relatively high tops, Cordillera Negra has gentle slopes and while flying them is absolutely safe, any outlanding far from sparse roads would be reckless on my part. There are some villages in these mountains, but you can’t reach all of them by car (once we met a group of locals carrying on their backs a powerline pole up the hill !). Necessity of staying close to the main road forbids me to go for the main ridge, even as it looks like the only place to get to the clouds. So I fly rather cautiously, just taking pictures and savouring the views.
On one occasion I climb to 5000 m and this is the first time I can feel the altitude – even relatively modest exercise of weightshifting in turbulence makes me short on breath. After a couple of days there is also some heavy head in the morning, result of sleeping at 3 kilometer high. So it is a very lucky coincidence indeed that exactly then we have a planned trip to the seashore – a night somewhere low (and you can’t get much lower than sea level :) is perfect cure for altitude problems.
So, in company of Xavier Murillo who just arrived and James Oroc of CrossCountry we head to examine possible X-Andes route to the ocean. Crossing Cordillera Negra by narrow gravel roads is absolutely fantastic and spectacular from touristic point of view, yet proves that Aija valley is too dangerous to think paragliding there. It is steep, narrow and windy, with a lot of unevitable turbulence and no places to land. After several hours we arrive at a desert, seashore city of Huarmey and there is our reward: a festival of kiting and flying huge sand dunes a short drive north. Ocean breeze allows us to play long after it gets dark – even if the setting is not as beautiful as Iquique, it is a nice alternative, sparing another long journey to Chile. And the Europeans with their Dune de Pyla experience will be awed by size of these dunes anyway.
The next day we return by national road from Casma to Huaraz. This valley is much more promising – despite its depth it’s wider and definitely safer to fly. On the pass over Huaraz we spread out our wings to try another place and the history repeats itself: taking off not far from the crest of the Negra I was hoping to get to the clouds at last, yet despite launching at 4200 and climbing a nice thermal I was still unable to reach them. This time it was the convergence of ocean breeze coming from the west and thermal activity of the eastern Negra slopes; beside creating the usual, most promising cloudstreet over the crest, it created a layer of turbulence too, which proved too strong for me. So I land halfway to the city of Huaraz, with friendly locals again folding my wing and carrying me up steep slope to the roadside. After half an hour the cavalry shows up as our car comes down from the pass and Xavier who did just a short sled ride down is amazed seeing me sitting by the road as proper hitch-hiker should, with all the gear packed up, with none of the expected labor to do.
In another two days accompanied by Jeff Cristol we head for Caraz, a city two hours north in the same valley. This move finally looks to hit the nail on the head, although by pure chance. Due to some misunderstanding with local drivers, this time end up on the Cordillera Blanca side. As the city itself lies almost a kilometer lower and the valley is wider here, valley wind is not so strong (friends had quite a time trying to launch me in nil wind conditions) and for the first time I can reach the longed-for cloudbase already in home thermal.
Again it’s just a “modest” 4900 m, but this time it means decent 1700 m over launch so there is some working space at last. Magnificent snowcapped peaks and glaciers of the Blanca stand close by, within reach, but I don’t have the courage to go for them – the usual concern of outlanding on barren plateaus is amplified here with indeed yawning quebradas, time and again funneling violent cold winds which fall down from the glaciers. Thus I stick to the middle of the valley, finding lift on successive transverse ridges. This isn’t easy and paradoxically my experience from Polish flatlands comes handy – drifting up the valley in turbulent (due to increasing valley wind) weak lift requires a lot of patience, there is no magic skyrocketing here. No more clouds over head and I am low anyway, so reading the terrain is the only possible way to stay afloat. At least I don’t have to worry about any navigation here, following the valley with the main road is simple enough, and reading a map would be impossible in rough thermals close to the ground anyway. After an hour of playing such game I arrive at a small bush fire I’ve been watching for a long time. Smelling burning grass I can’t find any better lift than before, but constant supply of hot air brings another advantage – resulting thermal breaks above the valley wind at last and carry me to the cloudbase again.
This time it is a solid 5400 m (after 50 kms I covered the valley floor has risen significantly too), but suspecting this is my last opportunity for a good flight here I decide to go for more still. Since I am absolutely certain there is no one else in the air (Jeff and James who shared the home thermal with me landed soon after Caraz, and Xavier feeling not well chose not to fly at all) I follow the lift into the cloud. I just pull the big ears for sake of stability (it’s pretty turbulent again, and seeing no horizon faulty reactions can result in really serious problems). All the time I closely watch the magnetic course, as I really don’t wish to smash myself into some Cordillera peak in the fog. Altitude approaches 5900 m (it’s a pity I was more concerned with the compass than altitude, as I would certainly add that missing hundred :) when I leave the lift. This time despite record height and rougher air I have absolutely no problem with oxygen, so it seems I am really well acclimatized after two weeks of sleeping high. I clear the cloud in front of Huaraz and am really glad to see the city – there is a feeling of achievement and a bit of relaxation too, as the valley just before and after city is pretty narrow and dangerous to land.
On the other hand, there is still much height to use and it would be a shame to waste it when valley wind is enhancing my L/D… so I head for a ridge behind the city and try to find something there. If I could make decent altitude again, there would be tempting prospect of easy terrain once more and additional kilometers to bag. Unfortunately we are relatively close to the equator and there is no comfort of long summer days. Broken lift drifting toward high sierra is not what I dream about, so for the sake of safety I jump to windward slope of the next ridge – nothing there too – and it is time to accept the unevitable. To facilitate my retrieve I have to come down into side valley, close to the main one, asphalt road and civilization in general. The problem is, close to civilization means close to trees and powerlines too… the hardest part of the flight begins. Fortunately I am able to find a compromise and after a final tight turn with big ears pulled (mandatory when I have to hit a short field in turbulent valley) I touch down in a decent location near to dirt road, alive and well.
First peasants come and… some Spanish sentences I proudly managed to learn turn out to be useless, as the village is remote enough for the locals to speak only Quechua. Yet once again they are able to pack my paraglider and soon another youngster arrives who, going to the schools, speaks Spanish. Then another stroke of luck emerges - I turn on my phone and here comes the reward of being modest and not pushing the limits too far: I landed close enough to the main valley to have cell coverage. So I call super friendly MonkeyWasi hostel where I live, ask them to send a taxi and give the phone to the local so that he can explain which unpaved road should the cabdriver take. Then it’s just an hour of nice chill out, with setting sun adding nice colours to snowcapped peaks.
Result: personal altitude and local XC record. Some fumbling with cables & drivers and… yes! A correctly registered track shows 77km xc and 69 km linear distance. That means I have two records in one flight, a personal altitude best (5874m) and the distance record of the valley, as local pilots regard flying the Blanca side as too dangerous. Everyone is happy, since given all the trouble of hauling paraplegic pilot to launch at these altitudes it is our common success. In general there is not many tracks from Peru on the net, so it looks like for the time being the best flight north of Lima will be made by a cripple. May it serve as an incentive for the local pilots to improve the result soon :)
The next day I feel like I did catch some cold, so I prefer to stay in the hostel and try to cure it. And a day later pilots who went for Caraz return in the evening with bad news: Xavier did not surface after his flight, did not show up at his hotel and did not call anyone at all. We all hope he just landed somewhere far from civilization and there is nothing we could do at night anyway, but when the next morning nothing changes, we sound an alarm. Despite being the most experienced and sober pilot of our group, despite having huge mountaineering experience (including conquering 8000m peak in Himalayas) it was him who drew the short straw. Local SAR capabilities are not impressive; having neither a chopper nor a light plane the locally based mountain guides and park rangers cannot really search such a huge area on foot. Nevertheless, they head off to cover most probable locations, while our pilots try to raise Xav on the phone/radio from the opposite Negra range and Peter gets to local media broadcasting need for any sightings of a paraglider. Most importantly, he starts organizing a plane to fly in from Lima. Unfortunately, the crucial plane search is hampered by many problems ranging from bureaucracy to adverse weather – in our three weeks long stay those were the only days when clouds did totally envelope the mountains.
Then I had to fly home. There was no joy in that, leaving Peru I had a nasty feeling of escaping the sinking ship and leaving Xavier stranded. Theoretically I knew I could not be very helpful there anyway, without command of Spanish and unable to get anywhere in my wheelchair without assistance, but it did not really get to my conscience. Taxiing in Lima airfield I saw from the Airbus a sad picture of ten army Mi-17 choppers sitting idly on tarmac and imagined but one of them stationed in Huaraz. Then my hope soared a bit when climbing over Andes I saw clouds clearing a bit, so that the airplane could fly that day...
As we all know, it was too late and tragic event marred the adventure. I would happily give away my flight if it was to change anything.
What can I say to sum up the story? Beautiful country, awesome mountains, cordial people. And fantastic flying of course. Not an easy one, but this is one of the factors contributing to even greater satisfaction afterwards. Barren wilderness and high altitudes proved to be accessible for regular paragliding pilots. Even for pilots needing a wheelchair to move in everyday life, given they behave reasonable. The bigger the mountains, the bigger challenge and smaller margin for errors they present. If you can cope with that, if you can restrain yourself in face of overwhelming beauty, your rewards will be accordingly great.
That’s why I am not going to answer my neighbours, repeatedly asking me if I am not afraid to fly, if I am not afraid to visit wild places. For those are the questions if I am not afraid to live.
Waiting for the unknown... ©Todd Lawson 2011
