This photo series is dedicated to the fearless conquerors of the wind, paragliders. It sounds grand, almost romantic, and, in a way, not entirely accurate. Because paragliders don't conquer the wind, they negotiate with it.
The photos were taken at the highest launch site on Mount Babadağ, one of the world's major paragliding hubs. Nearly two kilometers of altitude, flyable conditions almost year-round, breathtaking views, and a remarkably predictable wind that's considered the area's greatest treasure.
The launch site feels like the stage of a vast open-air theatre: a steep slope plunging into the void, where pilots mill about, waiting for their turn. They lay out their colorful wings, adjust their lines, and constantly test the wind. From a distance, it looks almost like a collective meditation.
Naturally, there are launch assistants on site, helping pilots prepare for takeoff. They're easy to spot in the photos: dressed simply, usually without any flying gear of their own.
Experienced pilots, however, don't always need assistance. They're simply waiting for their moment. Paragliding doesn't begin with a jump, but with a long wait for the right gust of wind. The canopy must not just be laid out, but caught just right so it fills with air like a sail and locks into its working shape.
A paraglider wing is a soft aerodynamic structure, not just a braking canopy like a traditional parachute. It's made of durable synthetic fabric, but internally divided into cells that inflate with air and form a profile close to that of an airplane wing. This creates lift, the force that allows not just a slower descent, but true gliding flight.
Before takeoff, the slope becomes almost theatrical: colorful canopies gradually come alive as they fill with air. In those moments, you begin to understand that paragliding isn't about pure adrenaline, it's about a delicate, fine-tuned balance between human and element.
To take off, you must override your self-preservation instinct, run straight off the edge, and jog a few meters down the slope until the airflow catches the wing. Pilots don't conquer the wind, they negotiate with it, searching for pockets of warm air rising from sun-baked slopes, balancing on the razor's edge between lift and gravity.
Paragliding, in truth, is deceptively simple: a wing, some lines, a bit of aerodynamics, and suddenly, a person appears to be flying. Although in reality, they're mostly learning how to fall in a way that looks like flying.
And then they're in the air. At first just colorful dots against the blue sky, then full silhouettes gliding over the mountains. What stayed with me was that watching them drift away felt almost as satisfying as flying myself.
I was left standing there, waving goodbye to someone else's freedom. Have a nice flight!
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