“SACRED FLIGHT“ IN THE SIERRA NEVADA DE SANTA MARTA, COLOMBIA
The Sierra has always intrigued me as far as the thought of paragling over it’s hidden slopes. It has been one of those places in the world where I always had a dream of visiting. This began at age 12 while reading a 1974 August issue of National Geographic magazine. Here I saw these amazing pictures of Kogi and Arhuaco natives clad in white robes, their cone shaped hats symbolizing the sacred snows above. . It was a childhood dream to come to a place where plush jungles of the Carribbean envelop the Sierra’s slopes on the north side and within 30 kilometers, culminate in glacial peaks nearing 6000 meters in height. Because of such changes in it’s varied ecosystems, The Sierra Nevada De Santa Marta is said to posses the world’s most diversified flaura and fauna. There are 650 species of birds counted , more than in all of North America combined. It is also the home to some of the most reclusive Indigenous tribes in all of South America.
I led a team trying to climb and ski in this area around Christmas time of 1998/99. There are several native Indian tribes which regard themselves as “ The Guardians of The Sierra “ . They see us as “ The Little Brother ‘ , or the one banished from their “ Heart of The World “ and led astray to wage war and lately cause severe climate change in the habitat below their sacred peaks. The Kogi “ Mamas” or high priests spend nine years isolated in a dark cave or hut to train their psychic shamanistic powers . From infancy they practice meditation skills, or explore a sixth sense which leads some to claiming telepathic powers. Although our 1999 team was well received, we were not allowed to proceed to the sacred snows despite a well rehearsed ski equipment demonstration . I was not paragliding often then, having only done a lot of alpine climbs and sled rides down on a paraglider. Nevertheless, after ten years or so of mountain flying, I could really appreciate an incredible paragliding location, and that view from the ridge top stayed in my mind for ever. I recall then, looking hungrily from a ridge top down on a magical valley we were leaving and thinking, “ what a perfect place it would to fly “ . The route then took us back into the jungle all the way back to Palomino, a two day grueling hike back to the coast. It was a long way down hiking in 42 degree heat and humidity. It was also not a pleasant thought leaving the comfort of the Taminaca valley, at a perfect 26–28 degree temperatures during the day , down to maybe 5–10 degrees at night.
Well, but here we were, nine years later, back climbing that last ridge above Taminaca in January 2008. We had somehow managed to talk our way through the many barriers and we were on the last leg of the steep climb to the summit ridge where the jungle parted and the incredible view of the snowcaps would unfold. We were exhausted. Five out of the eight of us had made it to this point. The other members of our crew had stayed behind in lower villages preferring not to risk meeting guerillas or the arduous climb above. Two of us were also beginning to be very sick to our stomachs and we had now been hiking a total of five days.
Then , magically somehow, an entire Kogi family had appeared out of nowhere and offered to take my paraglider as well as some camping gear on to their empty donkey, just to help out and lessen our load. Things like this just seemed to “ happen “in the Sierra. We followed the Kogi family to a hut perched just down a bit on the other side of that ridge I had descended nearly a decade ago. Here the Kogis gave us a guest hut to stay in , where we spent the night.
Just two days before I had been showing pictures of our last trip here to an Arhuaco Community of Indians . It had been the last checkpoint before the higher slopes of the Sierra. Here I pulled out my paraglider on a small meadow carved out of the jungle and popped the Advance Sigma 6 into the air a few times, just to give the one hundred or so Arhuaco onlookers an idea of what I was trying to do in their mountain domain. They had gotten my point very quickly and soon the whole village was helping to clear the shrubs with machetes, so my lines would not get tangled while kiting the wing.. The Arhuacos had really enjoyed the demonstration and gave us the green light to go ahead, even offering us Argemiro, a strong 28 year old Arhuaco guide and porter who would carry my glider. It was a motley crew which we had assembled over the last several months. With us was a Polish,/Colombian couple; Domink and Claudia, Andrea a skilled climber who had been here before, and an American couple which had initiated the journey . Rounding off the team were Patricia a Colombian psychologist intrigued to learn from the natives, as well as Kaja a friend and Polish information specialist working nearby in Panama. I had chosen women to comprise the majority of my crew as I thought these would be accepted with less hesitation than the more aggressive males, as we were perceived to be, by most cultures, indigenous or not.
The Americans who found me on the internet, Inna and Vantroig, had asked me to guide them into the Sierra in order so they could study and learn spirituality and medicine from it’s Kogi, Arsario and Arhuaco tribes. I had really embraced paragliding only in the last four years . I had remembered well the flying nirvana above legendary Taminaca.It was still stuck in my brain from being nine years ago in my very special Sierra . This time instead of skis I brought a paraglider which became my “ raison d’etre “ for coming here again, it was a mission, a goal, something to push my battered body upward in this 42 degree heat and humidity. My physical being had been well battered after all those years of mountaineering follies. We had also recently met up with the Colombian army which was assigned here to clear the Sierra of the guerillas which were rumored to be in the mountains above us. They were 5000 strong, or so some locals had estimated their numbers to be.
As to the flying, well, there were lots of rumours about that too. These ranged from tales of angry machete wielding Kogis chasing out some German paragliders from a hidden valley in the past. Then there was the tale of one Colombian pilot, making his way up to the snowline from the drier or southern “ Nabusomaki “ side of the Sierra. He then then bivouacked and flew just three kilometers shy from Santa Marta itself, South America’s oldest city , situated here on the Caribbean Coast.
There were several things actually which had me worried about flying here at all. One was the fact that by 11 am strong 80kph katabolic winds would barrel down from the mountains toward the sea – an opposite phenomenon from most coastal areas. Nevertheless, here I was now, and a decision had to be made – to fly or not to fly ? I was sick still with dysentery, but also knew that it was an arduous three hour hike down to our final destination, or the village of Taminaca. “ Hmmmm “ I thought, or, I could spread out my wing and fly the estimated 15k in under twenty minutes. I thought again of all the effort it took just to have my glider here with me at all. I spent a whole day retrieving it once after American Airlines lost my baggage somewhere between Miami and Vancouver . “Yes, dysentery or not, I was here to fly”, I thought, and began unfurling my wing . Argemiro continued to whack away at weeds with his machete which were still blocking my takeoff runway.
I had found the perfect launch site right next to our Kogi Family’s home. Soon I had laid out my glider as Dominik and my friends scrambled into positions to take photos. A nice thermal gust came up, I brought up the wing, thinking I would just kite it. Then I just kept walking, took a few steps and soon in utter bewilderment found myself flying over the valley of my dreams. I looked right and contemplated climbing up over the jungle covered ridge and straight-line it for the Coast. But then I knew that the layer of clouds would not allow me to see where my landing on the beach might even be. Also I recalled the high winds and did not want to be blown out to the sea ending up in Aruba or something. Then, there were the tell tale guerrillas down below and getting shot out of the sky did not seem like a good proposition either.
Sooooooo, instead of thermalling upwards with my birdie friends, I stood hard on the speed bar, marvelled around at my incredible surroundings one more time, and decided to straight-line it instead towards Taminaca. It had been so tempting to hang around and try thermalling about a bit. As I passed smaller drainages flowing into the big Taminaca valley below I felt very unstable air streaming in and hitting at me from the side of the snow caps. Below me,Kogi huts Kogi , straight out of “Star Trek”, just passed under my wing, along with small rivers , fields, and occasional trails crisscrossing the terrain below. I was now directly over the fifty or so huts comprising the surreal village of Taminaca itself.
I turned my wing towards a field on the other side of the river and the incredible bridge made entirely sticks woven together only by natural vines, which the Kogis had made to cross it . This was something I had remembered so well from our visit here nine years ago. My landing approach was now aligned directly with a trail crossing my prospective air field. But then, as I was merely a hundred feet off the ground, two Kogi women suddenly appeared carrying wood. They were directly in front of me and just where I was hoping to land on the trail. I quickly manuvered and spun the glider sideways towards the tall grass below. It was a worrisome act as I knew there were granite boulders of all sizes scattered throughout the valley and in often hidden in the deep grass. Surely enough, right as I began applying my brakes, a boulder appeared directly in front of me. I barely managed to break and stall the glider in time, avoiding the hard impact on my well battered feet. Whew …”whack”…. I hit the rock softly and had somehow touched down, not too gracefully but intact. I instinctively reached down and massaged my legs , almost nervously checking for broken bones (as I have had a few of those from paragliding mishaps) . Then, something just made me kneel down and kiss mother earth. I was so thankful to the universe for allowing me my very special flight. It was a good thing I had landed when I did because ten minutes after, as I packed up my glider, frightfully strong gusts of wind began ripped through the valley and my chosen LZ. These must have been well over 70k’s in strength.
I had a swim in the river, walked into the village where I made some new Kogi friends . It then took Dominik and my team mates three hours or so to hike down to meet me from the top of the ridge . We then took a few photos and spent a beautiful moon filled evening, hiking back to our Kogi hosts and site of my morning launch. We spent our last night there, high above Taminaca reminiscing my climactic flight over “ The Heart Of The World “ before our long and dreaded trudge back to Palomino and the Caribbean Coast..