Failure To Launch

I recently read of a British tourist who died tragically in Argentina in a paragliding accident. The poor guy plummeted to his death when he slipped through the harness and was separated from his instructor on a tandem jump. This story really shook me up quite badly - not just the thought of his awful fall to death, but because I've been paragliding and very nearly had an accident that could perhaps have ended just as tragically.

I didn't really give it much thought at the time.


Being of a somewhat cautious disposition, paragliding was not an activity I would normally have considered. In fact, I hadn't really heard of it before B and I went on a walking holiday with friends in the Alps a couple of summers ago. Driving from Geneva airport to our base in Haute Savoie, I noticed loads of parachutes soaring high above the mountain tops. When I learnt that they were paragliders, and that the sport involved running off the edge of a mountain and free-flying to the bottom with the aid of a parachute, my immediate reaction was, well something along the lines of "Won't catch me doing dumb ass stuff like that!".


By the end of the week, however, the thought of soaring effortlessly from yonder mountains into the green alpine valley started to rather appeal. Perhaps it was the thin mountain air or the pain from my aching limbs forced by the slave driver guide to hike 15 miles a day that blurred my judgement. Quite possibly the general 'gung-ho camaraderie' of the group spurred me on, as one by one we decided we'd give paragliding a go. Being in France, it was as simple as that. You decided to go, you phoned some dudes, they picked you up and off you went to the top of a mountain and threw yourself off. No safety video, no training, no indemnity form. No helmets in some cases (Shhh! We won't tell if you don't!)


Here I am (in purple top) being quite 'gung ho' already on one of the hikes...to get out there involved hugging rock faces and hanging onto ropes...

So we're at the top of the mountain/hill (a ski station) and all around us people are casually pitching up, strapping on parachutes and throwing themselves off the edge. Three of us doing the jump that day, two instructors... my immediate thought was "Go first as that way you won't have to watch the other two and then get cold feet". But, something (Je ne sais quoi!) got lost in translation and it transpired that I would in fact be going last.


I was still feeling pretty 'gung ho' as I watched the slightly comical spectacle of G and H being strapped to their instructors and then running clumsily towards the edge of the mountain with their parachutes gracefully lifting and billowing behind them... before taking off, with shriefs of laughter.
And then it was my turn. Strapping me into the harness thingy, the instructor said "You run as fast as you can, you only stop running when I tell you". I reckoned I could manage that - how hard can it be? All around me people were still nonchalantly running off the edge and soaring into the valley.


Ready, set, go...


And we're off....


I'm shuffle-running forwards... the instructor is shepherding from the rear...the parachute is starting to lift and flap behind us...


The edge is coming closer... and closer... and I'm desperately trying to 'run' as hard and fast anyone possibly can when connected by straps to another person (this must be what it feels like being the front legs of the pantomine horse)


And then suddenly I'm not really running or even shuffling at all, just sort of stumbling into a hollow patch. There is shouting... I scramble helplessly to try and get out of the hole...and then I'm falling.... falling fast and falling towards the edge of that mountain. The parachute must now be fully inflated as it's billowing and tugging very hard above us.


I feel a huge weight as the instructor falls on top of me....my head hits the ground, hard (luckily I did have a crash helmet!). I feel winded.


"Don't move!" he yells.


It sounds like he's detaching the parachute - there's a lot of metal clipping noises. I'm lying with my body on the downwards slope of the land, just at the edge. There's grass and dirt pushed up my nose, and I feel like I've been punched in the ribs.


Suddenly all is quiet. Then voices.... muffled at first, sounds like someone is coming closer.... I roll myself over and look up to see an elderly man peering at me. He says something to the instructor (probably "Stupid clumsy woman!", only in French, so maybe "Femme maladroite stupide!") then bends down and slaps me on the shoulder as if to say "She'll live" and walks off again laughing. I start laughing too... at that moment this is the most hilarious situation I have ever found myself in. Possibly it's near-death experience euphoria or just an overload of adrenaline....


"We go again?" asks the instructor. From somewhere I hear my own voice agreeing that indeed would be the appropriate plan of action. Weirdly, I am feeling very calm. Back at the start of the 'runway' the instructor straps me into the harness again..... we begin our shuffle-run forwards... the edge is getting closer... and closer... this time there are no hollows and I'm not stumbling.... and then suddenly there is no edge... my feet are suspended in the air, the instructor pulls me to sit back into the 'seat' part of the harness and we are flying.... and it's fantastic!

But would I do it again?

No! Jamais encore! [Never]