The Competition

 Koreans love tests of skill.

They have a T.V channel devoted to Starcraft along with Pro Gamers with huge salaries. They have arcades and batting cages with many skill testing games such as "Dragon Punch", "Fire Kick", BB gun shooting, "King of the Hammer" and many others. Competition is embedded into Korean culture. My kids are incredibly competitive, a simple game of rock, scissors, paper can be turned into an intense tournament of strategy and skill here. At times this can be tiring, but most of the time, its awesome.

Last weekend I got to witness and participate in an evolved version of the "test of skill".

A National Paragliding Competition.

Day 1: At 7am, I get up, shower and dress. Jumping on the bike I stop at the local GS25 to have of power breakfast of Seaweed-rice triangles (Kimbap Triangles) and canned coffee. By 8am I'm in Paracamp's van, squished with 8 people and 8 para-gliders. I talk with the team as best I can and continue tackling War and Peace.

At 9:30 we arrive in a field in the middle of rural Korea. Our van parks next to a multitude of similar vehicles, all plastered with paragliding pictures and logos. It is a beautiful day and the morning sun warms the quiet village and mountains that we have arrived in. Announcements break the morning silence and various teams sporting technical looking uniforms are mingling.
The special aspect of this field is the center target: a 4 meter by 4 meter target with a black button at the center. The goal is to hit the button which then displays the number of centimeters from the exact center on a digital screen. The competitor has to hit this within centimeters. Across from the target is a raised judging platform, where a panel of judges scrutinizes each pilot for technique, acrobatic maneuvers and skill.

Penny, a team member, ran the registration desk

After registration by the pro's (you need a professional license to compete I was simply an exhibition pilot: White guy can't fly), description of the rules and some team chants, we got in our respective gnarwagons and were off. 20 minutes of driving up a concrete cart path to the summit of a 700m mountain. The course was interesting to say the least. The take off was a flat field that ended with a precipice, the first takeoff I have encountered that facilitated the "jump" into space. 50 People were arranged in a line. The first person prepared for take off. Despite low winds, the first competitor pulled up his chute with no trouble. Then standing at the precipice, casually chatting, he hopped of the lip and soared into the sky. The take off was so graceful, I began comparing the competitors to birds. This guy was like an eagle in the ease and grace in which he took to the skies. After the contest started, people took off in 1 minute intervals. I have never seen such a rapid fire take off procedure. Everyone knew exactly what they were doing. The female Asian champion and world ranked paraglider had one of the most spectacular takeoffs. Tall and incredibly skinny, the fragile looking pilot inflated her chute with no effort then dove headfirst off the precipice, instantly soaring up, and diving down. Clearly, she was the Peregrine Falcon of the flock. After watching and helping the competition take off I was left on an empty mountain top looking into a sea of sky and color as the nation's top paragliders played in the sky.

a small number of competitors. At its height, about 40 gliders were airbourne

When it was clear that I couldn't get in the way of the competitors, it was time for my first flight. With a basic chute, no navigation equipment and little to no skill, getting to the landing area would prove difficult. After checking my lines and clipping in I got the clear for take off. I burst into motion pulling my risers above my head and once I felt the canopy filled, ran full speed at the precipice, jumping off and soaring away. I assume that if you were to describe my takeoff, it would be akin to a wild turkey. Once in the air, I began following the ridge trying to find the elusive updraft that would allow me to fly over the mountain that sat between me and the landing zone. If I couldn't clear the mountain, I would have to land in the rice field of another village and miss out on more flights that day.  With a woosh I felt myself lifting and seeing a col in the ridge I pointed my glider for the pass. I crossed the mountain ridge and saw the landing area, still about 5 or 6 kilometers away. Luckily I knew I had enough altitude to make it to the LZ.  I allowed myself 5 minutes to enjoy the quiet woosh of the wind and the panoramic view of the sky. Then it was time to get ready to land. I spotted the field and the target.  After checking the wind direction I moved to the area to do my landing passes. I flew in a figure eight pattern, slowly descending to the field. I wanted to hit that target. With my eyes focused on the target I judged myself ready to go in for landing. I moved in, a large audience watching my landing. So far, my judgments seemed correct, the target got closer and closer, I knew that I'd be short so I leaned back and put half brake on floating feet off the ground into the target area. I stretched with all my might for the black button but landed on my harness (a big cushion) 1 meter from the button.

sttaaayyy ooonnn taarrrggettt

However, this was enough to impress the onlookers. They all cheered for my accomplishment, apparently hitting the target is pretty hard to do. I had done what many pros had been unable to do, hit the target. I packed my chute and got ferried to the top again, to watch the second takeoff. In an hour I was in the air again, this time playing around with the ridge winds a bit longer before coming in for my landing. This time I was focused, I was like the bearded guy in the first Star Wars who, when flying to take out the death star, kept saying "sttaaayy onnn tarrget". Like the bearded guy I failed to hit said target but at least I didn't perish. It was looking good on my approach but I came in too early (that's what she said?!??)  and overshot the target by 3 meters. I was rattled.

Mid course, if you don't clear the ridge here you will have to land about 10km from the landing zone.

The last flight of the day was the same old sad story, take off, nice flight, move in to the target. This time I was 1.5 meters short of the target. No black button for me. Still most of the paragliding folk there where very impressed with my flying and it was really cool watching people who where so comfortable in the air, watching their flying techniques made me fly very different. I use body movements more than controls now. I'm trying to become an osprey, or some cool bird, not some wild turkey.

This pic was taken from the target... I was close but no cigar.

Day 2: 10am and I'm back in the field. Questionable winds on the second day and I'm sure a few soju hangovers have the day progressing slower than normal. Still by 10:30 everyone is at the top and begin takeoffs. The wind is fleeting and changes direction often, in addition a cross current creates instability in the takeoff area. Not needed, I climb up a beautiful tree and nestled in its branches, I can see for miles. It is a beautiful sunny day and from my perch I can watch all of the takeoffs from a good location. I read War and Peace, glancing up to witness sketchy but well executed takeoffs.

After 50 pages in my tree, the first false start occurs. A man jumped without his chute inflating fully. Instead of shouts of worry, laughter ensues at the takeoff, I join in. Everyone, including myself, have had the embarrassing false takeoff. The man yells "Gwencheniao" ("I'm OK!"). I climb down the tree and go help him. I am not busy with competition stuff so it is only right to help the guy out. Unfortunately the man crashed into thick brush 10 meters below the takeoff. This would be fine if this brush wasn't huge thorn trees on an incredibly steep slope. Getting a large stick, I smash my way down the treacherous slope to find the grinning man laughing and clapping me on my back. He speaks rapid fire Korean to me and I just nod and say "ne" (yes). I crawl and smash my way to his chute before beginning the long and prickly process of extracting his chute.

After 40 minutes and more than a few thorny situations we emerge to the takeoff triumphant. By this time, there were only a handful of people on the takeoff and they are flying off all sides of the mountain when the right gust of wind becomes available.

Finally the wind becomes reliable and I'm ready to fly. I take off and have an excellent flight but I am dismayed when I arrive at the landing to find the target removed. Devastated, I just go in for landing. There is an awards ceremony, and most of the teams pack up and go. There are many handshakes, pictures and cheers exchanged before things quiet down and we can go flying again. This time, I have priority. With several lifts going at once, in 3 hours I fly 3 more times, running to stuff an unpacked chute into waiting gnarwagons. I land for the last time, looking at a setting sun. As I touch down, my teacher and hero of the people, Mr. Park, gives his approval along with his critiques of my flying. After the critique, he lets me know that he has been testing me this weekend and I have passed the licensing course. Next week I become a licensed paragliding pilot.

Clearing the ridge

An hour later I am sitting crosslegged around a big pot of fish head soup. I have a glass of SoMaek (Korean liquor mixed with beer) that people encourage me to drink faster. Around me sit 9 amazing people, all speaking a language I don't understand. I have no idea what the conversation is about but I am happy to just sit and share a meal with these amazing people. I know their names and though 5 word conversations I know them as good friends. Through their interactions with each other I have learned much about their personalities and they are a very special group. Despite my inability to converse, I am included in the conversation and there are toasts to me and to others. I laugh and enjoy one of the final meals with the group. These are the special moments in Korea, ones that I will always remember and always enjoy.

Now who is ready for a test of skill?

The Accident

The Accident

by Brad Roach on Wednesday, August 4, 2010 at 11:47am

Mountains are a domain that demand respect. Oftentimes, so saturated in the beauty and excitement of this environment; we can forget how weak humans are in comparison with their vast and violent powers. I write now, trying to understand an event that has me considerably humbled and shaken by this power. I witnessed a traumatic death days ago while belaying 70 meters into an 8 pitch, 200 meter climb.

The General

The route was called “The General”, a granite monolith in Seoraksan, South Korea. The mountain was busy, several parties were there and already there had been several rock falls. Nevertheless, the day was sunny, the route challenging and engaging and the views spectacular. Climbing with a Korean team, I was happy to be out, climbing one of the most celebrated routes in the country. The mood was exuberant and there was very little to worry about. 

In an instant, the reverie was shattered by screams from above. A sharp crack and what sounded like rock fall, heading for our belay station. Looking at my climbing partner (a strong experienced climber by the name of Yeongju), I saw not fear but horror in his face. He understood the meaning of the screams. 

Flying down the mountain was a person, not a rock. I was unable to look away as they flew, mere feet from my belay station. Wet impact left a deafening silence. We prepared to rappel down. Climbing was finished. We descended and arrived at a grisly scene. Our gear was littered with small pieces of flesh and the fallen climber, most assuredly dead, was in plain view. We packed up and left but unfortunately, the images from that scene have traveled with me.

I have been shaken after this event. I am a risk taker, I love the mountains and everything they offer but I had not yet seen the reality of these risks. The big question I keep asking is how did something like this happen? No amount of physical ability, money, intelligence or experience can guarantee safe passage in the mountains.

Accidents prove that a minor mistake in an unforgiving environment can have an instant and fatal result. I did not see the accident happen, only the result. The climber had no rope attached and there were no signs of gear failure. Sometimes accidents are unavoidable, but many have, in hindsight, an obvious lapse of judgment. I stand humbled by the power of the mountains and sobered by the fragility of human life. May the deceased climber rest in peace.

I have learned a few things since the accident. The climber was a woman (impossible to tell at the accident scene) in her forties. She was very experienced but, in a fatal lapse of judgment, she unclipped from an anchor before tying in.

Hello All

So I've decided to start a blog. Some folks have mentioned that I should give it a try. Although I am a sub-par writer and the idea of posting things about myself borders on vain narcissism. I figure I should give it a whirl, I have had a few experiences this year that I have felt necessary to share and feel driven to write certain memories or longings that have hit me and bring me into the past, or with hope, into the future.

This will also act as a journal for my trip across the Himalayas on a bicycle next month. The trip will be very difficult for a number of reasons, altitude of 5000+ meters, higher than any peak in the Rockies and most mountains in the world. Long distances and bitter cold of the Tibetan plateau in winter and the most recent development, a torn hip labral.

Essentially, this torn labral will probably not heal and despite doctor warnings, I have decided to go through with the trip. I will have another, probably harrowing visit to a Korean hospital to get a better idea but with some will and painkillers I'll be able to do this 1000km cross Himalaya Odyssey. Surgery is probably in my future but my hope is that I can tough through the trip, another ski season and a treeplanting season, essential to recovering my shattered finances. Then I will be able to accept my fate of 6 months down time post op and maybe study or teach while I recover.  


So I am going to post up a couple experiences from Korea that I have written, one was definitely life changing, the other an entertaining example of a sick day in Korea. The last is of the best cup of coffee in the world.