Paragliding in the Himalayas

John Silvester's fabric-and-string paraglider bucks and lurches in the powerful air currents; it takes all his piloting skills to keep it from collapsing. Some 6,000 metres up and many kilometres from the nearest civilisation in the remote Himalayas, crashing would mean certain death. Steep granite walls, adorned with chandeliers of blue and green ice, rush past him as he blasts upwards at 550 metres a minute – the same climb rate as a Boeing 737. Bursting over a summit on a column of rising air, he watches the snowy tips of the world’s most fabled mountains fall away beneath his feet.

This is paragliding, but not as ordinary pilots know it. Silvester is recognised as the pioneer of Himalayan paragliding. Every year, the 48-year-old sets off deep into the middle of nowhere to conquer more unflown skies. It’s proper old-fashioned adventure. No support crew, no helicopter back-up, no reliable maps, no weather forecast, no engine – Silvester is powered purely by his skill at riding the winds and air currents through the mountains.

I first met Silvester in 1995 when I was a rookie paraglider pilot. He offered me a lift in his campervan to some competitions, so my parents and I set off to meet him. When his bedraggled, long-haired, scruffily dressed frame emerged from his rusty van, only English politeness stopped my parents from asking what the hell was going on.

Despite his unorthodox appearance, Silvester’s enthusiasm for his adventures is infectious. It’s as if he can’t contain the excitement in his body as he talks about flying; laughter comes steaming out like his throat is a whistling kettle.