Knowing when to walk away

Waiting to Launch — Setting up to launch - the calm before the internal storm.

It’s hard, sitting down to pen something about a part of me so deeply embedded in who I am. It’s in how I show up for myself and others, shaped by years of feedback from both ends of the spectrum and everything in between. Something that has been a driver for some of my finest achievements whilst at other times riding roughshod over the ever-present voice of reason to help me arrive at some of my scariest and indeed lowest points in life. To write this feels like a betrayal in some ways, like the ultimate act of negative self-talk. Perhaps it is simply the voice of someone who has had to come to terms with their mortality and similarly seen the devastation left by others who chose to be a little blasé in the face of overwhelming evidence.

As I sit here contemplating what the conclusion of what I write will be, I can’t be sure. Such is the internal war raging between the two factions.

In a year where I have been learning to battle the inner negative rhetoric. To have more belief in myself, and more self-confidence. To now suggest that you can’t do everything you want, or rather you can but some of those things won’t end well ergo you can’t or at least shouldn’t, seems contrary to all that I have been learning. I guess as with most things in life, it’s all about balance, moderation and ultimately self-awareness. I like to think that over the last few years, my self-awareness has grown but I guess it is multi-faceted and whilst some areas have improved, some things still need work.

How many of us can hold our hands up and say we are truly honest with ourselves all of the time? Certainly not me. Being honest with ourselves can be hard, and scary sometimes. To look inside and accept that there are things that don’t align with where we think we are can be a hard pill to swallow. Learning to accept the truth though can be the difference between enjoying a pint with your friends in Wasdale or spending a painful and worrying few hours on the hill and in Preston Major Trauma Unit, or worse.

October 2023 saw me stepping off the plane at Delhi International Airport and feeling what was not so much an attack on the senses, but an all-out war. Dust, noise, nearly 34 million people seemingly on the same street as me, heat, a constant barrage of people selling or begging. It is a place unlike any other I have been before. No matter, I was bound for Bir in Himachal Pradesh, the foothills of the Himalayas, it would be quieter, cleaner, and more relaxed there, right?

Sleeping pills popped and nine and half hour’s bus ride later we pulled into Bir. A dusty, lively Tibetan outpost in the foothills of the Himalayas. My next three weeks were spent on a steep learning curve. Paragliding in Bir is very loosely regulated, has consistent thermic conditions and great cross-country options for those who want it. The problem with this is the number of people it brings and the massive variety in competency levels. It's an intimidating place simply for the sheer volume of pilots at the take-off. Everyone jostling for position and so many variations on etiquette. Once in the air, it forces you to be hyper-vigilant as people turn into your path, fly in opposite directions in thermals and generally don’t follow the simple rules of the sky. This I found both very stressful and incredibly useful. I found that my active piloting improved massively. The amount of airtime available, the basic skills needed to locate, climb and bridge thermals coupled with the awareness required to safely move through a very busy sky all added to a good bank of knowledge and skills gained.

Whilst I was there for just over three weeks, there was an average of one death per week and several accidents. A scary statistic but a very useful tool for learning. I’m nervous at take-off, not because of my ability but for the fear of being watched or judged and then making a mistake. I learned to be less eager in the morning, to wait for the larger numbers to leave, so whilst I perhaps foreshortened my available flight time, I reduced the stress I felt and progressively improved my take-off and connection with the first thermal. The gusty nature of the take-off forced an improvement in my ground handling of the wing and efficiency in choosing a good launch point away from the masses.

I returned to the UK having all but achieved the goal of my first 100km triangle (4 km off) and had plenty of time passively as well as actively learning in the sky for long periods. My first flights of longer than 3 hours and up to 6. Unfortunately, days turned into weeks turned into months. British weather in winter is not the friendliest when trying to stay current in air sports. Finally, though, the weather looked to be suitable for a little hike and fly. I wanted to get to Yewbarrow for sunrise and thought heading over the summit and on towards Pillar would at some point provide a decent launch point to get me back to Wasdale.

A long day with Jesse and Gwyn resulted in arriving at the col below Pillar in less than ideal conditions with legs that felt like they’d been out for a while, an obvious and easy though long descent route and a desire to fly. Here’s where the problems started. All the learning I had done in India gave way to the need to fly, to prove to myself that I could mitigate the obvious red flags. Three months without a flight and all the currency I had gained was gone, the experience was there but it can be so easy to think ‘it won’t happen to me’. The problem is though, it could, it already had, and it was about to again.

Waiting for CT scan results in Preston Major Trauma Unit — Awaiting results of a CT scan. Not how my Saturday night was supposed to look

In the hours that followed as I waited for the helicopter evacuation, the CT scan results and the doctors to give their verdict I tried to downplay the significance of what I had done, the string of bad decisions and the potential for a long time out of action. I had a suspected broken pelvis and there were concerns over my back and leg. It is only in the time since the incident that I have begun to process what happened, what could have happened and just how lucky I was. It is imperative that with this realisation comes some significant learning. Had I been lower down the mountain (in a phone reception blackspot), had I broken my pelvis or had the break to my back been worse, I could potentially be writing this whilst staring down the barrel of serious health complications or even not here to write it at all. This may sound dramatic but, I think that for many people in these sports, it is easy to acknowledge the risks involved but perhaps not fully comprehend the implications until faced with them. By this time, it is too late to make a good assessment and thus a judgement call on whether to proceed.

Accepting that I am wrong, that I made some terrible decisions in the face of very obvious available information is an uneasy but necessary step to take. Being able to enjoy these sports is a privilege and to approach them with seemingly reckless abandon will probably foreshorten my enjoyment of them or indeed life.

I think over the years I have learned to walk away, be it climbing or base jumping through a combination of personal experiential learning or the mistakes of others. As a friend pointed out, however, the lack of a definitive edge on paragliding launches allows the ego space to counter reason. Learning to take a physical or metaphorical step back is so important and something I need to work on if I want to continue and indeed progress in the activities I love. In doing this, hopefully, I will recognise when my ego is dominating the internal dialogue and make smarter decisions based on achieving fun and longevity.

I am writing this as much for the people out there who are younger and perhaps bounce a little better but won’t always, as me. It is a gift, this life, don’t squander it.

At War With my Ego

Knowing when to walk away

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