My girlfriend Jody, who had taught me how to flysome four years previously, and I had purchasedthis trip with the hope we’d get to fly XC over muchof the Alps, beginning at Annecy and ending at Nice.Toby had come highly recommended as a guide andwe’d heard great things about his ability and hissafety record. But in those first minutes all I couldthink about was how to find a way out.

An hour later we’d found a small bar, done theintroductions, and with the aid of a cold pint thingswere looking up. Our flying group consisted of fiveguys… and Jody. The experience level ranged from aScottish pilot (Kevin) who’d flown well over 1,000hours, to a Brit (Steve) who had only 50 flights. Jodyand I sat somewhere in the middle. Toby seemedpleased that we’d both done a few SIV courses butour XC hours were minimal.

In fact my longest XC flight to date had been 40kmjust a few days previously at Interlaken. Tobyinformed us he’d never had anyone in his groupsuffer an injury; he’d just done remarkably wellin a comp in Spain; and while the weatherdidn’t look stellar our chances for somesolid air time looked good. He’d said themagic words: air time… XC… X-Alps! Myfears assuaged, the Passion Wagonsuddenly seemed rather luxurious!

We did a checkout flight nextmorning from Forclaz at the southend of Lake Annecy. It was at besthorrifying and certainlyhumbling. The early-daythermals were zinging but notwell formed and the edges feltlike samurai swords, makingmincemeat of my wing. MyGin Rebel, which I’d grownto love in the previousweeks in some powerfulconditions, suddenly mademe feel I’d jumped up toa DHV2 way toofast. I’m allfor

rodeo flying when there’s enough height to deal withthe consequences, but as I was scratching rightover the tree tops the frequent collapses got thebetter of me and I was the first on the ground,shaking from the adrenaline. Toby liked my launchand landing so I guess I’d made the checkout, but Iwondered if I was in over my head.

Toby thought we had a good chance of getting somedistance that afternoon so we headed west to theSemnoz launch, where he gave us a 70km taskdown to Chambery, back to launch, then over theback to Roc des Boeufs and down to the standardLZ for Annecy at Doussard. Strong lift plucked Kevinand our good friend Bruce, an Australian, up to lowcloudbase right off launch. I followed with jitterynerves left-over from the morning’s flight, but by

the time we were 5km downthe ridge I was all

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The No Bull X-AlpsGavin McClurg crosses the Alps without the Red Bull pain

I took one look at the Passion Wagon, the retrieve vehicle operated by Toby Colombe ofPassion Paragliding, and realised my next seven days were not going to be what I hadenvisioned. The driver, who we would only know as Mad Paul, was covered head to toein tattoos, looked like he’d participated in a fair share of recreational substances Hewas wearing a T-shirt that said, “I don’t have Turrets, you’re just a F****** C***.”

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smiles. The lift was incredibly smooth and perfectcloud streets clearly showed the way across thethree potential sink-out valley crossings, the onlyreal obstacles of the task.

Two hours later, with the sun setting to the westand the last thermals of the day winding down, Ifound myself back over the Semnoz launch after aridiculously low save. I planned to land in thedesignated LZ, happy to have achieved the 40kmout-and-back but not a little disappointed to knowthat Bruce, Kevin and Toby had made it over theback to Roc des Boeufs and would no doubtcomplete the task. Each time I wandered off the hilltowards the LZ I caught another gentle thermal andcouldn’t help drifting back over launch, eyeing theantenna tower to the east that Toby had said youcould practically kick and make it to Roc desBoeufs. Maybe, just maybe…

Suddenly I found myself with a Korean pilot and anextra 100 metres of height and we both went for it. Iplay-kicked the antenna and didn’t look back. Icould just make out Bruce’s orange Sprint over Rocdes Boeufs and heard some chatter on the radiothat he was going to shoot back across the lake forthe Plan Fait landing, near where we were staying.

By the time I reached de Boeufs Toby had caughtsight of my wing and recommended the simplerDoussard landing, but I’d already made up my mindto continue across the lake - what a way to end thetask! I made it on glide with a bit to spare andlanded right next to Bruce, who had no idea I wasstill in the air. Day 1 of the trip and I’d bested myprevious record by 25km and had the mostrewarding XC experience of my life. The localAnnecy pilots, and the many Red Bull pilotspreparing in the area for the upcoming X-Alps,would view my flight as average at best, butuploading to Leonardo that evening was quite apersonal thrill!

Our trip over the Alps was billed to have all of thepleasures of the Red Bull X-Alps with none of thepain. Land anywhere, SMS your co-ordinates andMad Paul would magically appear, each timewearing an even more entertaining t-shirt. Cheapbut comfortable, clean and sometimes trulyoutstanding accommodation was arranged inquaint French villages depending on the success ofthe day. Toby had done the route both from thenorth and south on many previous occasions andhad everything wired. Each evening he wouldassess the weather prognosis and kept hispromise that our itinerary would remain flexible.The goal was never to reach a certain destinationat a certain time, but to maximise airtime and flysafely within the given conditions.

A nasty low was headed towards Annecy on oursecond night, pushing high winds. Steve, who’d alsohad the best flight of his life the day before, was asthrilled as we all were to have another go, but theconditions called for discretion. Toby knew a spotcalled Le Banchet down in the lowlands he thoughtmight work. Twice we each sunk out in very lightridge lift, and shortly after had winds in excess of 25- 30km/h per hour scream through with almost nowarning. On our third launch, again after a longassessment of the weather Toby, Bruce and Stevegot up over the ridge while the rest of us missed thewindow and sank back to the LZ. But just as I wascussing myself for sinking out I noticed a low, verymenacing cloud approaching from the west at whatseemed to be well over 50km/h.

Toby was way too high to get to the ground in timeand smartly sprinted over the back. Bruce started

aggressive tight spirals in an effort to get out of thestrong cloud suck, but after getting thrown aroundlike a rag doll also made the wise call to run. Stevewas lower than the other pilots and tried to pull bigears to get down. He made it over the landing fieldjust as the gust front hit. The trees shook violentlyand each of us watched in horror as Steve and hiswing got tossed around like a handkerchief in a tor-nado. Then, 30ft off the deck, his wing went para-chutal and before he could recover smacked theground standing straight up.

For Steve, later diagnosed with a shatteredvertebra and a broken pelvis, the trip was perfectecstasy and perfect misery inside 24 hours. While Ibarely knew him I felt incredible sadness at his fateas well as for Toby, who I knew felt responsiblehowever unjustly. But I know his misfortune madeeach of us better pilots. Bad things in this sport

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Mad Paul the driver

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are inevitable and selfishly I was glad it hadn’tbeen me, but I found myself thankful (albeitguiltily) for the lesson in humility. We each madeour own decision to fly that day, and the only one ofus who made a good decision was Jody, who nevereven pulled out her wing.

For the remainder of the week the mood wassomewhat subdued but the magic that isparagliding overshadowed the accident. Whileeveryone bested their own personal records andmuch was learned in the way of tactics andweather, I will remember the journey for theextraordinary beauty. An active XC day at thefamous St. Hilaire; a spectacular glass-off ridgeclimb at sunset at Saint Vincent les Forts; a longwild run through the “Battlefield” from theDormillouse ridge and landing in a stunning,ancient village perched in the hills; and finally a

fitting end of ridge soaring at Gourdon on theafternoon sea breeze above Nice. Mad Paulprovided boundless energy and was foreverwilling to drive absurd distances to retrieve us;while Toby patiently and competently ran theshow, forever proving valuable lessons andinsight which translated into radically improvedskills for each of us.

Maybe in a few more years, after thousands ofhours of practice and a desire to live throughextraordinary pain, I’ll have a go at the real X-Alps,no doubt one of the most difficult and spectacularathletic events ever been created. But for those ofus lesser mortals who ache to fly and have goalsmore grounded in sanity, the No Bull X-Alps hasthe perfect combination of solid cross countryflying, spectacular scenery, and an organised andnurturing learning environment.

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Below: Entering the battlefield off the south endof Dormillouse on the way to St Andre

Co-ordinating the GPSs before take-off