A Coastal Adventure in Chile

U. S. ParagliderPilots Soar 101 Kilometers in Chile

By Martina Henry (Hank) Kaplan, photos by Rich Hass 

ANTOFAGASTA, Chile (AP).  Rumors were quickly quelled today as the soiled but smiling group of Miguel Eberle’s 1999 Chile-ECO-Tour paragliding pilots traveled through this northern Chile seaside industrial town on their way south to Santiago and the Palace of the President.  It has been rumored for several days that three members of the ECO-Tour soared the craggy coastal mountain range from just north of Tocopilla north to Rio Secco, just over 101 kilometers.  It is also believed that the three others landed short of this remarkable goal.  Members of the group were unavailable for comment as they were quickly ushered through the Antofagasta airport under heavy security to their private jet provided by North American Paragliding.  However, the pilots were identified as Mike Eberle, Rich Hass, Martin Kaplan, Don Marcy, Bruce McMartin, and Denton Meier.  Mr. Eberle is the Director of the Chile ECO-Tour and remained behind.  He was heard shouting to reporters and the enormous crowd as he ran to his limousine; “This was the finest group of pilots I’ve had the honor to lead in Chile during the last five years, of course I say that to every group.”  He offered no other details of the Tour.

It was reported however that the pilots were in Chile for 8 days and recorded significant flights every day.  Just before press time it was learned that the “Biggy Doggy” pilots who flew their paragliders over 101 kilometers were Rich Hass, Denton Meier, and Mike Eberle.  All we know at this time is that they all live in igloos up near the North Pole in Washington State, U.S.A., near Bill Clinton somewhere.  Kaplan and Marcy also live there while McMartin lives in a hut on a remote Atlantic Island named Bermuda.  All met with the Chilean President yesterday before flying back to their homes.  Crowds cheering the “Biggy Doggies” were estimated to exceed 20,000 screaming Chileans.  Kaplan, Marcy, and McMartin were seen carrying the bags of pilots Hass and Meier as they boarded their jet signifying that flying paragliders as far as these pilots have must be quite an accomplishment.  Earlier reports of their arrests for illegal sand export have been dismissed.

For many years Mike Eberle, of North American Paragliding, has led fantastic paragliding tours to many parts of the world.  After years of talking about joining our friend Mike for one of his tours, it was time for a group of good friends to hijack one week of his 1999 Chile tour.  We had finally heard enough of the many tall tales and often forwarded bravado served up by Mike and others that visited Chile with him over the previous five years.  We decided to take the first week of his typical 2-week tour ourselves and determine first hand the reliability of “Mike’s Marketing Machine.”  November in Chile is spring and our destination was the Atacama Desert, known as the driest place on earth.  For most of us Washingtonians, escape from the northwest rains was enticement enough.  Denton had joined Mike previously in Chile and was back for another attempt at the big XC.  The rest of us, while advanced pilots with many years under our collective belts, were South American rookies.  We had heard great stories from past participants about Mike’s tours and really looked forward to visiting a new site.  In the previous years,  we had flown many sites in the European Alps together and now were ready for a remote coastal desert mountain range.

Mike made all the arrangements and really organized the tour quite well.  It took us 24 hours to reach Antofagasta, our initial destination.  Seattle-L.A.-Miami-Santiago-Antofagasta.  Looking down from 35,000’ over Chile, one could touch the blue Pacific Ocean together with Andes and Mt. Aconcagua.  We landed downwind, on the Tropic of Capricorn, at about 4:00 PM at the Antofagasta airport, a few miles inland from the coast on the sloping desert floor, carrying terrific speed, and tremendous reverse thrust.  Eric, translator/driver, experienced hang pilot, and a 20-year resident of Chile from Spokane, Washington, was waiting with the van and open arms.  We retrieved our bags without compromise and immediately headed down the road for the shore and an outrageous coastal soaring site.  Within one hour of landing we assembled our wings and harnesses, traded our airplane garb for true flying attire, and suited up for some serious 75 degree November soaring.  We had secured little sleep so our movements were slow, concentrated, and a bit hesitant.  Mike suggested that this was our first site and would provide a suitable warm up for our stronger days ahead; the on-shore winds were laminar and steady at 18 to 25mph.  La Portada is named for a magnificent offshore limestone arch.  The 150’ high solitary arch sat seaward 300’ from the point and provided a fantastic backdrop to the coast and the eastern Pacific Ocean.  Here, the coast is a 200’ limestone cliff.  Our launching site was on the windward side of a small bay that provided endless ridge soaring opportunities.  It is truly one of the most dramatic places one can fly.  The mission was to bring up the glider behind the cliff and walk to the edge where you simply stepped off.  To land you had to crab back behind the lip and lift band where it was easy to sink out.  You had to be careful not to sink out to the beach below, as the wind intensity would periodically change and hiking back up would surely test your climbing abilities.  It was absolutely without compare.  Within a few moments we were in the air, forgotten our jetlag, and regained our hoop and holler as we drifted in and out from the cliffs and each other, coming in often to sharpen our control and high-wind launching skills. 

We soared until sunset.  Mike had secured a nice hotel, and we shared what would become a nightly ritual of evening promenade, wonderful people, local restaurants, pisco sours, Chilean reds, mixed grille, and a few hours sleep.  We would spend 3 days in Antofagasta.  Day 2 took us south 10 miles past the city’s edge where the coastal range returns to the coastline.  The 5,000’ coastal range runs behind the city, which appears to be founded on a large alluvial plane.  Huascar provided a 2,000’ drive-up to a steep sandy launch overlooking the Pacific.  As the winds were picking up, the flight plan this day would be to combine ridge and thermal flying in benching our way up to the top of the frontal range and fly XC back to the city where we would land on a beach, or other satisfactory LZ.  Mike suggested that we hike down 500’ because of the strong winds and then bench up, but being early morning with very little sleep, most of us decided not to hike and to take our chances up high.  Denton launched first in a perfect cycle while the rest of us decided to walk down a bit after measuring our 165 lbs. against his +200 lbs. and rising wind speed.  Well, after a few aborted higher launches and a personal dragger (losing my camera, what a way to start), we walked down to where Mike pointed us in the first place.  We launched and worked our way up above where Denton was waiting with a huge grin and an extra 30 minutes or airtime.  Experience matters.  The coastal breeze was coming in strong and provided wonderful laminar conditions with the occasional thermal to get you up a bit more.  We danced our way northward about 8 miles towards the city where we were forced to make a big jump across a military base (don’t sink out), hopefully find a thermal or two, and glide to the coast 2,000’ below.  After making the crossing, we had to find a place to land on the fully developed waterfront.  A P-4 rating and 8 years of flying experience means nothing when you’re searching for an opening between apartments, poles and wires, parking lots, houses, racing cars, and beaches covered with rocks the size of VW’s.  Mikes confidence held as we all found suitable LZ’s without incident and shared a well-deserved Latin lunch filled with promised bravado and gloats from those that glided the furthest.  The team spirit was beginning to erode and the friendly competition was on.  (just kidding)  I secretly decided to skip the lunchtime cervesas in order to be sharper for the afternoon flight.

The afternoon found us back at La Portada for the evening glide.  We soared the cliffs until the sun set and landed on time in respect for our USHGA rules.  ;-)  After cold cervesas and warm chips we again joined the evening festivities.  The town was always jumping.  While 200,000 people live there, you feel as though it is a very small town complete with typical Latin friendliness and celebration.  Mike set up Day 3 to be a bigger potential XC from a more distant site.  The goal today was to fly from the “Cactus” launch located on a 3,500’ mountain just east of the city and fly north along the range.  If lucky enough we would then jump west to the coast and end up back at La Portada, perhaps 20 miles down range.  The weather patterns here are unbelievably unique.  The convergence of cold Pacific seawater, the rocky coastal mountain range, and the hot desert environment provide morning clouds that bunch up against the mountains, become dark, but never release any moisture.  In Seattle you would be guaranteed rain with clouds this dark.  These clouds however, indicated areas of lifting air and became our friends as you might expect.  After breaking through a Chilean Army roadblock and traveling for miles up a jeep trail where they must have been testing weapons, we arrived at launch.  It was an incredible perch looking down upon Antofagasta and the Pacific Ocean.  We were only 500’ below cloudbase as we attended to our business of launching.  Again we were to launch, bench up to the top of a neighboring peak, and wait for everyone to gaggle before leaving.  This was an incredible site that opened up once you got up on top.  It was extremely challenging in that it provided a challenging course between craggy mountain peaks where you must get high enough to glide across valleys and secure new lift from the next peak.  The 4,000’ cloudbase provided our first proof that our compasses were necessary and would be often utilized.  We scratched and climbed, maintained and glided, and thermalled until our arms screamed.  We came in contact with intimidating 1,000’ granite cliffs that provided lift as long as you could kick rocks and we all found comfort achieving requisite elevation.  At the end of our flights we were left a scattered flock along the range.  Eric picked us up as we radioed in our positions.  Between the range and the coast is desert with an occasional indication of mankind.  As we sank out and were forced into abandoning heroic status, we attempted to reduce our hike-out by turning towards the coast.  I spotted a road, glided out a mile not more than 100’ above ground, and landed.  My road ended up to be the access to a live munitions storage area, complete with guard and dogs.  A guard politely hiked over and asked me to leave immediately, so I packed up and waited for Bruce to join me for our hike out through the adjacent City Dump.  This is where we met the most terrifying part of the trip: wild, hungry, and ugly German Shepherds.  Since I felt faster than Bruce, I made sure he was between me and the teeth.

Denton made it to La Portada where we joined him for lunch.  He was the big dog.  The late afternoon flight was to be remarkable.  Mike and Eric obtained special permission from the airport flight control personnel for us to coastal ridge soar northward through the airport airspace.  Our 10-mile dance began once again at La Portada, but unlike our previous cliff dancing in the bay, we would attempt to get high and cross a peninsula separating the arch and the coast where no beach existed.  Everyone but Bruce and me got high after 30 minutes of scratching and made the initial jump.  After landing for personal business, we got back in the game, got high enough, crossed and glided north to meet Denton, Don, Rich and Mike who were waiting at the next crossing perhaps ½ mile north.  During the next hour we boogied along the cliffs riding the warm 25mph and building onshore breeze.  Eric chased us in the van as we line-danced just above or just below the edge, with no beach below in most cases.  Because of our limited and time-sensitive special government permission to cross the airspace, we paused only once to backtrack to a rocky hideaway where Don (naturally) found an amorous couple auditioning for an X-rated video.  Think about it, this guy suggests to his girl:  “Listen to me honey, it is impossible for anyone to ever see us.  The only way is if they fly over us at 50’—yah, right!!!  Let’s just say that everyone was surprised.  She didn’t think it was funny.  Mike warned us in the air that the landing would be extremely tricky at the end where the cliffs transitioned to beach and the wind increases.  We all exhibited spirited landings in a 35mph-laminar gale without incident, fortunately.  Stories, hugs, and alcohol-embellished stories were unfortunately recorded on the trip video.  The flight was right up there with one of the best ever.  So far Mike was really delivering!!  We decided to stay on…

We loaded up and left Antofagasta on Day 4 heading north 100 miles for Tocopilla and bigger XC goals.  We stopped about 80K south of town, headed inland through the unforgiving desert and up to “Lucky’s,” a 4,000’ ridge on the range above the Pacific.  The flight plan was to fly north, bouncing along the range to Tocopilla.  We para-waited on launch for some afternoon development and our skyward highway.  It did not happen.  The winds did however pick up and as the afternoon sun lowered over the pacific a few of us chose to launch in favorable cycles and take the 30-minute sledder to Hornitos and the beach.  This was indeed our day of transit.  We arrived in Tocopilla after dark passing by two huge coastal power plants that defined the city’s raison d’être. 

The local coastline and desert environment is extremely rocky and visually intimidating.  A few small cities have developed around oil and coal fired power plants that feed the huge inland mining camps.  We secured our hotel in the middle of this very small city and even though it was late, the residents were still celebrating outside, a small marching band was traversing the grid, and people everywhere were enjoying the late evening air.  One could probably hit a perfect drive from one end to the other and the small two-story buildings house everyone’s daily necessities.  The coastal range curves inland a mile giving the city and its power plants room to exist. 

We picked our roommates very carefully.  As it ended up Bruce and I roomed together and it really didn’t matter that we flew Firebird gliders and the others flew Flight Design (yah, sure).  The wing competition thing offered up a daily repartee.  You can imagine for yourselves what the initials FB or FD may mean.  FD=First Down, etc….  FB=Flying Bitches, etc.  You get the picture…

Well day 5 dawned and both teams were ready to head north 20 miles to Paquica.  Clouds were forming early on the range behind town.  The launch is located on a huge hogback peninsula that juts westward into the Pacific from the coastal range.  From the shoreline, the rocky 1,000’ high granite promontory gently slopes up to join the peaks of the range approximately 4 miles inland and 5,000’ up.  The coastline is unbelievably dramatic, steep, rocky, and outrageously beautiful even without any visible living thing.  Since it is the driest place on earth, nothing grows.  Locals say it rained 6 years ago.  The 5,000’-6,000’ range sharply descends towards the sea and joins a gently sloping 1-4 mile desert transition.  The coastal highway (only road) parallels the coastline and provided a trail for Eric and our sag-wagon.  The cliff launch is located a short hike (the most dangerous part of the flight) up to this narrow scree shoulder that slopes off steeply for 1,200’ on each side.  You do not want to blow a launch here.  We timed our arrival for the next three days to coincide with the build-up of convergence from the hot desert air and the cold Pacific, forming clouds and confirming lift.  Mike asked all of us to report our elevations once we launched and benched up past an area perhaps two miles up the ridge from launch.  Denton had been with Mike on a past trip and was no longer a Chile rookie, so we watched him as well.  Mike always launched last making sure that his flock got off clean.  We would climb to cloudbase and an elevation high enough above the ridge to allow for us to “go over the back” and avoid the huge rotor from building prevailing southwest winds.

Each of us had our launching moments throughout the trip and I’ll leave the incriminating description for you to discover from each of us privately.  No matter how much you fly or how long you’ve flown, it is a humbling sport.  However, I seemed to fuss around each day at launch here on Paquica enough to launch last, as the winds were always predictably picking up.  Let’s just say that I was guilty of being too cocky about my ground-handling skills, and gave this intimidating site less respect than she deserved; at least on my first launch attempt (s).  Thereafter I was totally psyched-out and almost retired my flight suit after a few drags over the scree.  No harm-no foul and my friends still must look at the “Bunny Suit” thanks to some minor surgery successfully performed by my wife Leslie at home.  (Thanks Les from all the northwest pilots!). 

The first day at Paquica saw us getting high on the ridge and blowing over at cloudbase after an hour’s work at benching up.  The northern run was on.  Bruce and I were last over the back, choosing to go it slow and enjoy the new site (read, took longer to get up, wing not pilot).  We decided, as Team Firebird, to hold back and let the others lead the way.  It was our first time at the site, so we didn’t want to show off our superior wing speed and individual thermalling prowess.  In fact we were so respectful we sunk out short of “Windy Corner,” the first major point rounding.  The mountain range was extremely steep, with huge granite articulation and many places you did not want to snug in to.  The thermals, however, were being blown over the coastal desert floor and rose in close proximity to the slopes: Get in and scratch, or ride it to the beach.  Bruce and I, holding up the rear of the broken gaggle without the benefit of Denton’s and Mike’s experience, rode it to the beach, but not before ridge soaring the 50’ coastal cliffs for an extra few miles.  It was fantastic.  Eric gathered us up and we sped up ahead to Windy Corner where we saw the others rounding high overhead.  The prevailing strong onshore winds made it necessary to get high above the range at the corner and head well out over the water before rounding in order to avoid the huge rotor.  Denton, Mike, Don, and Rich all made it around without any problem.  It was so cool to see them skid around the corner ¼ mile out to sea.  Once around however you had to get back to the upslope quickly and catch the rising air.  Denton and Mike left Don and Rich to sink out at 35K and they continued on.  And on they went covering 101 kilometers before being forced down by high winds at Rio Secco.  The trip would include incredible crossings, skillful low saves, battle with fatigue, and calls from Mother Nature.  They worked as a seamless team as they marched north dancing at cloudbase and tickling the top of the range.  It was great to watch with envy as we drove below.  We were psyched for tomorrow with newfound experience as we shared the requisite cervesa “Crystal” and exchanged excuses and congratulations.  It was Denton’s personal best and what a ride he had.  Back late to Tocopilla for great food, more pisco sours, streetscape, tall tales and a bit o’Underaga (Chilean red).

Day 6 brought back Mike’s predictable mounting conditions: clear blue skies on the coast and building clouds bumping up against the coastal range.  Off we went to Paquica and my “favorite” launch.  I had brought an extra vario but did not figure I’d need another flight suit: being rather psyched out I made arrangements to borrow some chaps from a local cowboy.  I raced up to the top to be first off this day before the winds picked up.  But I forgot something back at the van and climbed up once again assuming my now customary last place in the queue.  Everyone got off quite nicely (me on my third try, oh shut up) and we once again sashaying our way up to our departure gate some 2,000 feet above at cloudbase.  Rich arrived early and waited an hour for all of us to join up.  Bruce and I decided to let Mike gaggle with us this time, giving us encouragement from his years of Chile experience.  We all blasted over the ridge high above the rotor and headed north stopping often to gain elevation at the ugliest granite jaws you ever saw.  But there was lift and we stayed in closer this day; it paid off.  We hung in at cloudbase for much of the trip to Windy Corner and got sucked up occasionally where the radios and compasses came in handy.  The “white room” at 4,000’ over is no problem as long as you know where 310 degrees and your buddies are.  The ocean is 4 miles west and the jaws lie 200’ east.  Better read your compass correctly.  All of us but Denton made it to and around a honking Windy Corner and began seeking our next thermal.  Denton rested with a beach run early in the game, tired from the big XC the day before.  Rich was first around and found the lift band taking him back up the ridge beyond.  The rest of us followed but were unable to get back up.  I was following Mike who was 500’ up ahead.  We were beginning to catch the lift in very trashy conditions.  He radioed back that he had had enough and was turning out.  When Eberle bags it, you know it is time to follow.  Now Rich was all alone and heading north along the range, once again on top and “porpoising” between clouds with no help.  He traced the tracks laid down the day before by Mike and Denton, made several fantastic saves, and executed many great crossings between peninsulas and valleys.  We arrived at Rio Secco just before him and cheered as he alone traversed the same 101 kilometers landing in the same sandy LZ in 25+ mph winds.  What a feat to ride the wave alone.  Sharing the necessary Crystal once again, we hoped aboard the van and Eric took us back home to rest, celebrate, and ready ourselves for the next day’s attempts.  Arriving back in Tocopilla we were again greeted by a local marching band and everyone out in the street.  Folks sure enjoy life here and spend every evening outside visiting with their neighbors; tough to do in Seattle during November.  After the nightly pisco sour and mixed grille, we crashed and readied ourselves for day 7.

The boring fantastic weather greeted us once again as we stopped by the market, gathered our daily fresh breads and sandwich stuff for the days provisioning and headed for Paquica.  Mike had made an extra few hundred pesos selling tickets to the Tocopillians to visit launch and observe my now famous technique.  I arrived on launch to thunderous applause and shouts that sounded like “viva la launching loco.”  Well this day was an instant replay for our launches with me getting a few extra attempts.  We all scratched for some time in much lighter thermic conditions and after over an hour, we had not yet arrived at cloudbase.  We were tired and decided to fly out to the coast and land at the local golf course.  Now you may ask how can they keep a golf course green in the driest place on earth.  Paint.  The course is graded out of the desert sand, fairways are lined with rocks painted white, greens are raked and painted black with a white perimeter, and the few trees are painted PVC tubes holding painted palm fronds.  We heard Tiger Woods was coming….next week.  It provided a wonderful LZ, even landing without golf shoes.  We were actually burned out from flying if you can believe it.  The XC days do tire you out more than you think and we all agreed that returning early for a bar-b-que at our hotel was the perfect choice.  Eric cooked up the local mixed grille while the rest of us enjoyed a generous sampling of Chilean reds.  The revelry went on as the local cats gathered on the surrounding rooftops in hope for a charitable lamb chop or chicken bone toss.

It was our last night in Chile, no need to get specific here.  Collectively we sacked 8 hours until we departed the next morning for Antofagasta and our 24-hour trip home.  Mike took us back to La Portada to soar the cliffs for an hour before packing up and boarding our plane.  It was a fitting end to a fantastic trip to once again soar with ease next to your buddies, land, and pack up in the sand, and drive ten minutes to the airport.  We all boarded with smiles, full logbooks, and a definite need to sleep.  We all had to admit that Mike really put together quite a trip.  While we concentrated on flying most of the time, we were able to cross paths daily with many Chileans and experience a tiny slice of the culture between Antofagasta and Tocopilla.  It was truly an outstanding experience, one we look forward to repeating.  And did I mention crowding?  We never saw another wing and had 1000 miles to ourselves.  Next time we’ll go 500 miles.