The friendly bustle of the restaurant fades into the background as I sit, head down slightly, considering the proposition put to me. Am I fit to do this....two beers after flying but hours ago..... a glass of wine quaffed swiftly in the last few minutes... but how do you feel? I glance up with a grin at Manu standing feverish with impatience at the door, throw down some money to cover my abandoned meal order and deflect the banter of the group as I grab some bread from the table.
Seconds after picking up some wings from the chalet lobby there are three of us tearing up the mountain, Manu four wheel drifting the big 4 x 4 through the curves up to La Clusaz with an “oohhhh sorry for that” each time he loses the back end . Adrenaline levels peak and show no sign of abating as we leave tarmac for rough track. Laurent looks round to me with a little smile “you are not a true Savoyarde flyer unless you have done a night flight!”
We kill the lights and step out into the calm of soft, sweet, mountain air. The night is dark. There is a half moon around but hidden completely behind a solid bank of cloud; the pattern of yellow twinkling lights of the village 700m below will be our reference. The down slope night breeze is blowing hard downhill at 10 or 15 kph but this doesn't deter the other two as we work our way round, one head torch between three, to the downhill side of the big ski station building which will provide the sheltered air for us to get our wings above our heads.
Merde! Merde! Merde! Laurent and I explode in fits of giggles as Manu goes over on the steep grassy slope. The cows also like the lee of the ski station at night and Manu is now covered in cow shit. I have never been to this take off and am fortunate to find a clean patch to lay out my wing between the cow pats, leading edge hard up against the building. Manu is not so lucky and tomorrow the owner of his “borrowed” wing will exclaim at the orange, white and now brown colour scheme. “Do not fly eento ze pole in ze middle of ze piste”, are my only instructions and Laurent is off wearing the head torch on the back of his head so we can see where he is. “No way I am going off last”, I decide and run madly into the inky black.
Whoops ring out as the two of us get off smoothly and move slightly right to avoid where the piste towers may be. The air feels gentle but full of texture and I even put in one 360 in a gentle bit of lift as we float out towards the village. Are we really flying? It feels surreal. Then Laurent lets out a long, mournful howl and all the dogs in the valley below bark their objection to these new wolves coming down from the mountains. It is over too soon.
After we get off, Manu packs up and drives down – he needs his car early next morning. He admits over a celebratory pression with a smirk that he was trying to intimidate me on the way up into copping out and being the driver. But his envy at missing out is balanced by his pride at having introduced me to to such an experience. Merci bien mes amis!
