Hike and Fly in Pelvoux: Coolidge Couloir and Paragliding

Paralpinism at Pelvoux, or the art of turning a beautiful ice wall into a gentle glide through the air

When I met Valentin and Margaux a few months ago for an introductory course in ice climbing and ski touring, the conversation quickly turned to their summer plans. Crossing the Pelvoux—a bold ambition. And since both of them are into paragliding, I suggested combining this mountaineering expedition with one of the most beautiful paragliding flights in the Écrins Massif. Alpine paragliding, alpine paragliding, alpine splash… in short, a magical combo. The idea struck a chord. Climbing the Pelvoux is already a great idea in itself. The difficulty rating is modest on paper (PD+), but the route is already quite a challenge:

• 1,200 meters of elevation gain per day,
• The 600 meters of the Coolidge Corridor—a challenge to conquer with sheer leg strength
• and especially the very, very long and technical descent toward Ailefroide, which sent many a mountaineer’s spirits (if you can call it that) plummeting to the very bottom of their odor-filled socks… one of the longest descents in the massif, with a 2,500-meter elevation drop, a glacier, mixed terrain, rappels, and some good, leg-breaking trails all the way down to the bottom.

Planning the paragliding trip: the moment the first doubts arise

These paralpinism projects—the art of combining mountaineering and paragliding in the high mountains—are truly incredibly appealing on paper. But pulling off such a sequence requires a number of factors to align: favorable weather conditions for both the climb and the flight, a sufficiently long window of opportunity, sticking to the schedule, reliable team members, and a good deal of flexibility in the plan.

To pull off this combination of mountaineering and paragliding, I’m teaming up with Yohan, a friend who’s a paragliding instructor and with whom we’ve already co-led this type of outing: he’ll handle the aerial portion, and I’ll take care of the ground portion.

We decided right from the start to set aside a 3.5-day window to maximize our chances of flying, which would potentially give us three full days to attempt the summit.

The time comes to go over all kinds of routes, and the first disappointments hit us hard. Our first two planned windows fall through miserably: strong winds at high altitudes and cold weather. Not very inviting—even for “simple” mountaineering, things aren’t looking good at all. On the eve of our last possible departure, conditions improve significantly for mountaineering, but the chances of getting the paraglider out are practically nonexistent. We decide to wait out the night and make a decision in the morning.

A surprise when we woke up: the models had a good night and are significantly more optimistic early this morning. It’s not a perfect alignment either, but the possibility of flying without ending up on the French Riviera is starting to take shape. We let the decision sit for 2–3 hours with Yohan and decided to give it a shot! Will the gods of paragliding be on our side?

Pelvoux (3,943 m): Coolidge Couloir and Summit

And the next day, there we were, all on our way to Pelvoux, which was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday. The conditions were superb; it wasn’t very cold, but the snow had refrozen nicely nonetheless. It was just right for maintaining a steady pace and occasionally taking in the scenery from the bottom of the Coolidge couloir. At this point, we’re not making any predictions about our chances of successfully completing phase 2 of the combo. The forecast calls for a north-northwesterly wind, and from the bottom of the couloir, we have absolutely no way of knowing what conditions we’ll encounter up there. That’s part of the charm of the mountains, too—moving forward into the unknown… We’re just savoring the moment and the first light of day. The Coolidge Couloir is already quite dry for June but is still passable without any trouble.

Stepping out into the sunshine on the Pelvoux glacier plateau after hours spent in the dark and the shadows is always a wonderful moment.

The view gradually opens up to 360 degrees, and after a little more effort, we’re all at the summit!

Everyone is happy!

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Suspense Surrounds Paragliding Flight; Pelvoux Holds Its Breath

Yohan is already out there, his nose in the wind, scrutinizing, probing, sensing, and trying to understand the day’s capricious winds. He heads down to the central slope. First piece of good news: the wind is blowing in the right direction! But in paragliding, assessing the wind conditions is a complex art that requires taking your time… We decide fairly quickly to check further down; the wind is blowing a bit too strongly at times, and taking off above the central slope doesn’t allow for much margin for error—clearly unsuitable for our little group today!

We’ll set up below Petit Pelvoux, where the terrain is already more forgiving in case of a mistake during takeoff. After a few minutes of trying to get a feel for the conditions, Yohan—with our approval—decides it’s safe to fly… So we switch to preparation mode and activate our paragliding mode!

The plan is to have Valentin take off first for a solo flight, followed by Margaux and Yohan in a tandem flight, and then me in the sweep flight—and of course, I can’t let anyone get left behind in the mountains!!

Preparations aren’t easy, hampered by a few gusts but punctuated by promising calmer windows. Yohan masterfully oversees operations and puts Valentin at ease. The three of us are just enough to hold the wing ready for him as soon as the right window of calm weather presents itself. After about a quarter of an hour, the first bird takes flight!!

Time for the tandem flight. Same routine: we prepare thoroughly and try to handle the gusts as best we can. Yohan once again handles everything brilliantly, with patience and without rushing. I also help out to make sure the wing is set up just right. Margaux has already done quite a few tandem flights and knows the process—that helps a lot, too! At the first good window, the two of them leave me to sudden solitude!!

The guide's solitude on the Violettes Glacier

I feel a great sense of relief knowing that everyone is in the air—or even already safely on the ground! After a bird’s-eye view of the Violettes’ seracs, the two-seater heads straight for Vallouise for a splendid 25-minute flight.

It’s still strange to see the sacred bond of the rope team—so dear to mountaineers—break so suddenly… but when you’re familiar with the descent from Pelvoux, you quickly console yourself by thinking of all the energy you’ve saved, the knees that won’t ache as much tonight, and the risks you won’t have taken above the snow bridges or while managing the rope—sometimes with other rope teams above you…

I realize that with my ultralight wing and its ultra-thin lines, setting it up without help isn’t a sure thing. I hesitate for a moment, thinking about heading down to a quieter spot to get everything ready in peace, but, overconfident as I am, I give in to the temptation to try doing it right there with the rest of the group… Well, it was bound to happen—within a few minutes, I’ve hopelessly tangled up my wing and end up with a dreadful ball of lines and fabric… A total disaster.

With today’s strong wind, there’s no way to untangle this. I pack up the wing with a heavy heart and set off in search of a calmer spot, which I think I find 100 meters further down. Untangling this mess is proving to be a real challenge, and I eventually throw in the towel in the face of baffling knots and that pesky wind that flips my wing over every two minutes… Time is ticking, and if I have to hike down, it’s important to do so before the glacier gets too warm—or I risk spending some intense moments of meditation deep within the “Monster of Les Violettes.” I pack up my gear again, hoping to try my luck further down. I cross the glacier without incident; it’s still very well-covered this early in the season.

After another failed attempt to untangle the rope before the belays in the couloir, I resigned myself to my fate and prepared to hike all the way back down on foot, tail between my legs, not without muttering a few curses to the four winds of the mountain.

I pass the other rope teams of the day as they struggle with the rappels down the couloir. For me, this is the first time I’ve descended this route alone, and I realize just how much easier this section is—with no one on the other end of my rope—it’s practically a walk in the park that’s over in a couple of minutes!

After passing beneath the seracs, the wind conditions are much calmer than at higher elevations, and I can’t resist taking out my kite for the fourth time today. Even if it means having to untangle it—whether here or at home, it’s got to be done anyway! After one last 45-minute session of patience, I finally get the last knots out with a groan of delight!!

Hip hop! Prep, inflation—everything’s good, so yallah! Finally, it’s my turn to take to the skies! My flight will be a little shorter than the others; I’m heading straight to Le Pré, where the car is waiting for me, before joining everyone else in Pelvoux. We’ll regroup for a debrief of the day and share the joy of this wonderful, successful outing!