Flying from Banff to Baja
When the snow finally began to melt in April, Evan said goodbye to Banff and pointed his battered Chevrolet Venture south. The plan was simple: surf, fly, and chase freedom all the way to Baja. His first stop was Boise, Idaho, where Alyssa—who he’d met just weeks before while paragliding through the clouds of Colombia—was waiting. Together they crammed the van with three gliders, five surfboards, and the restless energy of two people ready for the road.
The adventure kicked off immediately. A quick detour with local pilots led to a short cross-country flight, and only hours later, they found themselves eyeing a valley with perfect grassy ridges. They pulled off the highway, searching for a landing field, and began hiking. Halfway up the slope, a rattlesnake slid across the trail, nearly underfoot. The wind never turned flyable that evening, so they camped on the mountainside, fire crackling under the stars. At dawn, before coffee, they hiked back up and launched into smooth morning air, gliding down as the sun rose.
The Oregon coast promised dune soaring, but the wind was too strong, even for the speed wing. So they drove on, trading sky for redwoods until they reached San Francisco, where they soared the famous Dumps at Pacifica. In the city, they scavenged roof racks to complete their road-warrior setup before pressing south again.
Sand City brought magic: 11 kilometers of coastal ridge, glassy onshore wind, and playful top-landings as the sun sank into the Pacific.
Big Sur, though, was the real jewel. Entering the Southern side of Big Sur, they hiked a hidden hill and soared over Highway 1 as the ocean shimmered below. They landed barefoot on a narrow strip of beach and celebrated by jumping into the freezing surf.
That second flight led to one of the most surreal encounters of their journey. Upon landing a naked child ran up to Evan on the beach, announcing it was his seventh birthday. Soon, they were ushered into a hidden community in the hills of Big Sur, where the 1970s seemed alive and well. Women wove baskets in the kitchen, flowers spilled from gardens and decorated the birthday cake, and everyone drank cool water straight from the river. There was no cell service, no time clocks—just a warmth that felt like home. Evan and Alyssa shared cake and stories, their presence accepted as if they’d always belonged. Later that evening, two teenagers roared them back up the hill in a convertible Mustang so they could steal one last sunset flight. The sky glowed pink and gold, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire coast belonged only to them.
The journey continued south: Torrey Pines in La Jolla, soaring over Black’s Beach with naked sunbathers scattered below like tiny specks; nights camped in empty coastal car parks; propane and water refills marking the rhythm of the road. Each day blended the ordinary with the extraordinary—cafe lattes brewed beside the van, wings unfurled into the wind, surfboards rattling on the roof as they chased whatever the horizon promised next.
Crossing into Baja felt like entering another world. The desert stretched endlessly, cactus forests spiking toward the sky, scorpions and snakes hidden in the sand. The Sierra Madre mountains were steep and unforgiving, their jagged ridges ill-suited for flying. They had a few successful flights at K58 and Scorpion Bay, but soon traded thermals for waves.
It wasn’t always comfortable—there were burns from the hot sand, close encounters with scorpions, torn wings from cactus encounters, food poisoning and gear constantly damp with salt. But in the discomfort lay the magic. With each mile, each flight, each wave, Evan, Alyssa and Evan little brother Ryan weren’t just discovering landscapes; they were discovering what it meant to feel free and alive.
Picked up Alyssa in Boise, Idaho. Met a few local pilots for a short cross-country flight.
Scenic sunset soaring session along an endless ridge in Sand City, California.
Hike and Fly over the famous Pacific Coast Highway in Big Sur, California.
Sunset hike and fly with the speedy in Big Sur, California.
Unsuccessful dune soaring session along the Oregon coast. The strong winds won this day.
First flight in Baja after crossing the Mexican border. A few locals from Parapente Baja California gave us a lift up to launch. Landed next to our car at Alisitos Sandy Beach K58.
Sunset surf with “Lola” the log at Nine Palms, the Southern tip of Baja.
