This week one of the local parapent operators asked us if we'd like to trial a free parapent flight, in order that we can better explain the experience to our guests. Heck, yes! We snapped up the offer and presented ourselves at the right time and place, eager to be thrown off the nearest mountain top.
Chatting to our parapent pilots as we drove up to the departure point at Samoëns 1600m, we realised we were in exceptionally good hands. Our two pilots are a father and son team with more experience than any others in the world - literally ! Erwan and his father Michel run
Air One Parapente (get it? ... Air-One is Er-wan ... ok, try it with a French accent, it works better!) from Morocco in the wintertime and Samoëns in the summer, and Michel was actually one of the inventors of the sport.
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| Launching off a slope |
As the story goes, back in June 1978, Michel and some parachutist friends were tired of the time and cost required to enjoy parachuting out of planes, so decided to try launching their 'chutes from the hillside behind his house in Mieussy, just a few kilometres down the road from Samoëns. It worked and, voila - a new sport was born !
The term
para-pente comes from
para-chute and
pente, which means 'slope' in French. Sort of seems obvious now, really.
Chute means 'to fall', which refers to the use of a parachute for jumping from aircraft, and now the equipment has been adapted expecially for parapenting, in order to allow maximum control and flight time.
So, back to Michel and Erwan. Erwan was born into the sport and now represents France as a member of the National Parapenting Team. We didn't know this team existed, but are suitably impressed nonetheless. He travels around the world competing in races, technical challenges and freestyle parapenting competitions ...none of which he had any intention of trying out on us, we hoped.
Arriving at the departure point we suited up with windproof jackets, helmets and super-baggy giant backpacks (our harness-seats), looking a little less cool with every addition. As we suited up, one after another parapentist lifted their 'wing' up beside us with a whoosh, then jogged coolly down the slope until they were no longer running, but flying. It all looks so easy.
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| Preparing for take-off |
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| In flight ! |
I get clipped onto Michel's front and he says 'start running and don't sit down'. I'm a total liability and he has to tell me 3 times not to sit down, which with the harness-seat thing pushing into the back of my legs is easier said than done. And then oh - we're about 30m above the ground, with pine tree-tops just below our feet !
The flight is an undescribable sense of freedom, being thrust upwards by thermal currents of hot air from the ground and moving with every gust of wind but not minding. This is what it feels like to be a bird, I think, watching a huge eagle soar with us just a few metres away.
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| Landing |
The flight lasts 30 minutes and I've spotted Ferme du Ciel, the village square, other nearby villages and even visually explored the unrecognisable ski slopes we know so well in the wintertime. It seems to all make sense from up here. I watch Erwan do a few loops as he descends towards the landing point and quickly warn Michel that he probably shouldn't do the same, as the heat is starting to make me feel queasy as we approach the ground. Apparently I was perfectly dressed for the cool heights we reached at 2100m, but upon descending back to summery Samoëns at 700m I overheated and - ahem - was unwell upon landing beside the swimming pool. Note to self - wear less next time !
Despite my queasy final 2 minutes, I'd highly recommend a parapent flight with Erwan and Michel over Samoëns ! Flights cost 70 euros per adult or 60 euros per child, for a 15-30 minute flight (depending on the conditions). Get in touch with Ferme du Ciel and we'll make a booking on your behalf.
During the wintertime we get away with wearing ski socks day in, day out for as long as we can before they start getting stinky, and no one seems to think any worse of us. Drying them over a radiator at night, ready to slip into ski boots the next morning is totally socially acceptable. So why doesn't this rule apply to non-ski socks?
The question is entirely opinion-based and thus unanswerable. And yet, during her two-day training hike this week, Su was fairly certain that the fellow a few bunks down (who snored, by the way), should perhaps have carried a fresh pair. Or two.
