It’s as if from September onwards somebody turns a knob a couple of shades at a time to change the landscape’s tonality. The beech trees lower down are quick to turn. Going from green they turn yellow, from yellow to red. And when the wind blows the leaves away bundling them mattress like into the undergrowth the grey of the branches remain; dotted here and there with the lemon coloured foliage of the tall and white birch tree and up high, the larch trees. It is worth going to the Dolomites just to see them. To lightly touch these leafy branches which turn into tall flames, sparkling amidst the darker green of the spruce trees. Autumn air is different too.
It is colder, the rock faces don’t warm up as much; there are a lot less thermals ascending, and the winds caressing the burnished meadows and peaks dusted with the first snowfalls are not as strong, they are more relaxing. The general feeling is that of biding time, as if nature were holding its breath while preparing for winter. There’s hardly anyone about. Autumn in the Dolomites is for taciturn people, for those who grant their soul to the quiet breath of the world around, silently etching the undergrowth.
In the silence that envelops Pale di San Martino the click clacking of ski poles can be heard, a quick rhythm, light and acute, accompanied by a lesser one of feet moving the fine scree underneath. It is early morning, very early, and the breathing which moves the otherwise still air of the Dolomites is that of Aaron Durogati. Aaron was born in 1986 and has already won the paragliding World Cup, he is a professional athlete, one of those who seems to have the physical need to be committed to a race, to compete for some form of excellence. Aaron, on his own, heads up towards rifugio Pedrotti with the first rays of sun.
There are no races these days. Thermals are not pushing enough for distance flying. On his back Aaron carries a backpack weighing a dozen kilos. That’s not little, but not even enough to get exhausted. He steps on the Rosetta plateau, not too distant from the mountain hut, just before the sun rises. In the uncertain and terse morning light he opens his backpack and starts unfolding his wing. It is small, very small, nine square metres. Too small to be a “real” paraglider. In fact it isn’t; it is a speedflying wing, something that stands for paragliding like extreme skiing stands for ski touring. Aaron fixes his backpack, puts his harness on, checks his risers, and puts his helmet on. He clips his harness into the sail, then looks into the horizon, following the line he imagined with each step during the ascent, the line which will lead him down, to the valley: everything is still. Not even a puff of air, or the sign of a thermal. Perfect. It seems absurd, but that’s exactly how it is: it is best if there is no wind for speedflying. It is to fly while skimming the ground, quickly and very close - you have to be incredibly precise. Aaron starts running, into a narrow couloir. A few steps, and his feet, increasingly lighter, lose contact with the ground. The air which earlier on caressed his face now lashes it. Free flying has nothing to do with aeroplanes, helicopters or other contraptions which at the end of the day are nothing but means of transport, boxes in which you enter a place and come out of another.
To fly this way is creative, aesthetic, like imagining music, writing it and playing it. Throughout the entire Pale di San Martino there isn’t a sound, only the swishing of the air carved out by Aaron’s sail. Rock, scree, and trees skim by fast below his feet, instant and palpitating visions which run along with the short rhythm articulated by the beating of his heart, his breathing. A sharp turn, a shout of joy, landing on the meadows, below these incredible mountains.
By now the sun has risen, caressing the warm colours of the trees, and as was expected it has started to warm the tall faces of dolomia rock. Perfect: a slight breeze starts to blow, caressing the larch trees just below, making them wave like flames. Aaron folds up the small sail, opens his back pack and gets the large one ready. This adventure would have been impossible just a few years ago. Such light weight and performing gear did not exist. Instead, nowadays it is possible to easily walk, not with one, but two sails. This is where the evolution of gear finds its meaning to be lighter, to be at the right temperature, to fly with the same shoes you have just walked hours in, not suffering the heat or the cold, not having to accept compromises between safety and comfort, going further. Aaron has finished laying out his gear - it is equipment with which he tackled the latest Red Bull X-Alps with, the most difficult hike and fly race ever: from Salzburg to Monaco, trusting only one’s legs and the air. He places his speedflying sail and lastly goes through his preflight checklist while the thermal starts to pick up strength as the rock warms. Two elegant and precise steps, a half turn, and he is back in the air.
Paragliding is not only a sport, it is strategy. No flight can be taken for granted: you have to imagine how the air moves, this fluidity which cannot be seen, which you can only sense by the effect it has on the landscape surrounding you. You need luck as well as experience; maybe you’re in the right point, but the ascending thermal which can lead you up high and far away has just gone without waiting for you. You need experience and imagination, creativity, and luck to fly well. You need to be always present, it is a continuous challenge for wind magicians who play endless chess games with the air. During autumn it is different: everything is more relaxed, more stable. Of course you don’t have the currents of rising air which allow you to travel hundreds of kilometres a day, but the ones that are present, are softer, less intense. Flying in autumn is like playing a game of chess with an old friend, a friend often met in the local pub. It doesn’t mean that it will be easy, but it is more meditative, more relaxing. Aaron spends his day sailing north, accompanied by these thoughts. On his right the pleasantness of Val di Fassa rolls by, then the magnificence of Catinaccio. He lands at Cima Bocche, near Moena, he fixes his gear, walks quickly towards the summit, takes off again, and lands near Pordoi pass. Nobody could have ever imagined how two disciplines which are so similar to each other but so different, paragliding and speedflying, could combine so well.
After all, every invention is nothing other than a creative assembly of ideas which already existed. The genius is in imagining new combinations of things that already exist, creating the terrain for absolutely unprecedented experiences.
And that is how, in four days, in the calm, autumnal air Aaron Durogati speeds down like lightning from Piz Boè and Schusterplatte, from Tofana di Rozes, and Monte Piana gliding until he skims over the rippling sky blue coloured Misurina lake. He soars from Passo Falzarego, landing at Cortina, then again from Falzarego all the way to Alleghe.
What is an adventure? A special experience, intimate and enjoyable. Achieving something innovative, and watching the world with a different eye. It’s not a race, not a competition, but the pleasure is by no means less, on the contrary. We are used to thinking that each peak has already been climbed, that each venture has been achieved, that there is no room anymore to live an adventure in the mountains. This is not true that space exists, and the key to reaching it is in being hybrid: in invention, in mixing things that already exist, conceiving new ways of experiencing familiar places. Adventure at the end of the day is like autumn; it throws marvel onto everyday landscapes, only changing the way you see them, its light and colours. That is what Aaron is thinking of, while he finally packs everything up, and heads back home.
