The giant slab of rock is big enough to support 4 defined glaciers each kilometres long. From time to time a sudden rush of an avalanche disturbs the peace of the mountain. It's hard not to be a little apprehensive. We're really not supposed to be in this kind of environment, and the air knows it. The whole mountain is chilling the air and I'm falling out of the sky in the downdraft.
Team Nova pilot Will Palmer has in a short time established himself as an authority in the world of cross country paraglider flight. His abilities to pioneer flying locations in previously unexplored Central Asia was showcased during his recent year long overland journey between Hong Kong and Istanbul. Unsupported, his ability to travel by paraglider in to the unknown he hopes will blaze the trail for a new wave of exploration in the sport.
Will Palmer is due to return with the Afghanistan Secret Peaks Expedition to film a climbing bid on a virgin peak in the hidden Wakhan valley. After a short period of work with another team filming snow leopards in the area, he plans an ambitious 800km crossing of Tajikistan solely by paraglider. If accomplished it would represent the first time a route of this length has been achieved outside of the Himalaya or European Alps.
For more information: http://about.me/williampalmer
With a hop, skip and a jump I'm airborne and immediately hooked in to a thermal. The rocks baking in the sun all morning create a jet of warm air and I'm soon hurtling right for the cloud above. Taking the jeep was slow progress but now in the fast lane after only about 10 minutes I've battled the rough stuff to give me a couple of thousand meters. High above the valley bottom I look down at the oasis of sweet Karimabad to realise how special the town is. Away from the isolated glacial streams feeding life in the valleys, the environment up here feels like another world. Past the snowline and I'm starting to appreciate wrapping up. Here I've left the security of the thermal opting instead to surf a stream of warm air rising along the ridge below. The air has become smoother and without the fear of a sudden collapse of my wing, common in rough air, I venture closer to the walls of rock below. Slowing down a little to a modest 50km/hr I flirt with snow and ice swinging by with only a few meters to spare from pristine untouched rock faces. A far cry from high fives with friends on the top of cliffs back in the UK, I have to remind myself that a mistake here would not be so forgiving. Up above 5000m and alone in this alien environment I've got nobody other than myself to rely upon should things go wrong.
At the end of the ridge I'm reminded of how high I really am as the mountains below me fall away and I'm back out over the valley. When things are calm I'm offered a break from it all. With a few kilometres of air beneath my feet its over half an hour of time to glide before I have to think about the next climb so I'm moving on to another sun baked ridge 20km in the distance. Closing my eyes for a few brief moments I think about lunch. Coaxing some Parantha, (potato pancakes) from their newspaper wrappers, I manage to get a few bites and take some photos of the mountains around. Up at over 6000m and not fully acclimatised as a climber would be, eating and breathing presents a unique challenge. A mild euphoria overcomes me but it's hard to know whether it's as a result of living the dream or a lack of oxygen. After grabbing my flying meal I'm getting closer to my goal. Rakaposhi.
The face that only a few hours ago was far away is now up close and personal. What would have been a 4 day hike to the base of has taken only a couple of hours flying with no more than the contents of a backpack. The north face of this 7788m giant dominates the valley for miles around and now it's only a stones throw away. Cascades of ice and snow march slowly down the faces as for only a few hours in the summer will the sunlight stray here. The giant slab of rock is big enough to support 4 defined glaciers each kilometres long. From time to time a sudden rush of an avalanche disturbs the peace of the mountain. It's hard not to be a little apprehensive. We're really not supposed to be in this kind of environment, and the air knows it. The whole mountain is chilling the air and I'm falling out of the sky in the downdraft. Not to overstay my welcome I fly over to a sunlit spur but find such a rough little thermal that I'm not climbing and its all I can do to keep my paraglider above my head and the right shape. Loosing altitude quickly I push out over the valley and land out on the banks of a river only a few kilometres from my hotel.
I'm welcomed on the sandy banks of the river by a big crowd, and it is hard to protect my delicate wing from the mass of swarming children. After teaching my newfound fan club to fold away my wing I'm all packed, but getting to my hotel only a short walk away will be hard work. I've got invitations for chai and dinner, something never to be turned down. Conversation flows far in to the night, accompanied by lashings of Hunza water, an illicit distilled mulberry liquor.
I never did make it home that night, and flying the next day was never going to be a good idea. Sitting lazy in a hammock for now I'm content to simply look up to the mountains, my unconventional playground.
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