|
My Tropical Andes experience started with a quick lesson
in Venezuelan driving as I was met by my arranged jeep with
driver, which apparently doubled as an Indy racing team. My
plane landed in Merida just after 8:30am from Caracas
along with the rain. The wet mountain air was thick like a
soggy blanket. Those of us who are familiar with the tropics
can easily relate.
My guide for this portion of the trip was a young well spoken
man named Alvero. He became a partner in a small tourism company
located out of Merida. Merida sits at about 6000 ft
and consists of a population of around 40,000 in the surrounding
hills. Several colleges and language schools bring a wide
variety of young people to the lively town. Alvero was about
28 yrs old, no kids and obviously understood the importance
of his mission.
On day three, after a few nights in quaint high altitude mountain
lodges, accompanied by hiking and biking, Alvero asked if
I wanted to fly with the condor. The elusive Andean Condor
was a prize that I wanted to capture on film, but had only
seen photos in my bird books. I replied with a curious "Yes".
Although I had no idea what I had just roped myself into,
we set off on our next adventure. At the end of a short drive,
we appoached a little dirt road where I noticed a small Toyota
van with four or five X Games looking guys, who obviously
did not fit in wearing Bolle shades and Suunto watches. Their
Toyota van was piled ten feet high with bags and ropes. We
came to a sudden stop Alvero jumped out and began the greetings
with large smiles and long hand shakes. These guys had "adventure"
pasted on their foreheads.
Following a minute of Andean high altitude Spanish, they asked
me if I was ready. I reluctantly replied "Sure",
while I slowly approached their gathering. Immediately as
if perched on that one word, they began to jump in the van.
Alvero motioned for me to get in the Jeep. As I dashed to
the jeep, the Toyota van had already peeled out and zoomed
up the little dirt road creating a cloud of dust. Looking
at the angle of the road I realized that we were going up.
Up, Up, and Up we went, one cut back after another. Along
the way I had to change my North Face diapers more than once.
One close call after another I thought "I'm gonna die
if he doesn't slow down". I yelled out to Alvero over
the whining engine, "What's the hurry and Where are we
going?". He began to explain the conditions were worsening
for the jump and that time was of the essence. "Jump?"
I yelled. He briefly glanced at me with a smile, "Yes,
paragliding".
Paragliding, or parasailing, also known in Latin America
as "parapente", is the adventure sport of riding
the winds and thermals on a large wing type structure that
resembles a parachute. Very popular in the Alps and Western
USA, and always extreme. Once reaching our ridge top destination,
the valley below looked like a redish sandy Arizona desert.
This is becasue the valley is a desert. The Andean mountains
are so tall on the Western side that the rain has a very difficult
time making the voyage over the mountains to this valley,
giving way to an unusual desert like climate on the valley
floor. The baking floor creates conditions for Europe's and
America's best paragliders, a top three destination for year
round paragliding.
Once the van was unloaded and I had marvelled at the view,
I began listening to the broken English from my Swiss-French
pilot. With universal hand signals and my broken French and
Spanish, we began making progress on the procedures for take
off. Our "chute" was a bright yellow pillow flapping
in the wind as Alvero and the others spead it out over the
grass. I had been fitted with my harness and made sure my
helmet was working (knock, knock). Strapped to my pilot, we
hobbled over to the laid out lines. After snapping into the
tandem harness, my new extreme friends along with Alvero held
us down so the wind would not blow us off the mountain. Only
a second or two later we were running with the small group
of handlers... WAIT! We are running right up to the edge of
a cliff! Jump!
The air was cool, and the wind was lightly blowing over my
face. I opened my eyes. There I was, flying out over the valley
below and climbing altitude. My pilot was not making a sound,
and neither was I. Feelings of peace and relaxation fell over
me. While circling in a thermal to an unknown height I began
looking around out over the multitude of peaks, lakes, and
forests. My pilot pointed at one time, yelling "Humbolt!"
The glacier's ice and ancient snow reflecting the afternoon
sun, like a mirror, brought great satisfaction. I was in heaven.
The quiet, smooth, beauty of gliding on the Andean winds made
me think I could be a Condor. "I am a Condor", I
thought to myself. Then just over my shoulder as if to tease
me came the black monster swooping by in all its glory, fast
enough to give me my only a glimpse of what it must be like
to be an Andean Condor. Disappearing into the rocky mountain
back drop, I still dream of a day when I can fly again with
the Andean Condor.
Now, What about landing........?
|
Travel Writers: Flying Like a Condor by
David Geddes
