Treks
Since we're gypsies, we don't
stick to established routes. If we did, we wouldn't
disclose what they were in any case. Our competitors are always trying to get information
from us, and frequently try to follow us at a distance
unobserved.
We always catch them. |
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We will tell you that each trek explores a part of America that cannot be seen in any other way. We skim inches above the surface of
rivers at the bases of great canyons, and peer into mountain
vales in passing. We glide past the edges of magnificent
buttes and descend into vertical landscapes. We float between chalk faced
cliffs and red walled
corridors. We languidly soar across table-flat playas,
alone and in
groups. At times the arid desert is
beneath us for a hundred miles or more. A few of us, nameless all, even stray into
forbidden places.
Our routes seldom stray more than 150
miles north of the Mexican border, and they cover parts of
the country that few people have seen, probably, for centuries.
We have seen the last surviving wild buffalo herd in America
- the South Animus Valley herd that many people believe is
only a legend. We've landed on Pleistocene
lake beds and explored
caves containing Native American artifacts left undisturbed
for millennia. We've flown down the main streets of ghost
towns, and past rock
monuments that jut a quarter of a mile into the air. And we've seen
sunsets from perspectives that no-one has seen before.
Flying up the Portal Pass into the Chiricahuas, we saw caves,
500 feet up sheer cliffs, which show signs of human habitation
from some point in the distant past. We've flown above abandoned
rail lines that once linked the great mining empires of the
southwest. We've seen canyons surprisingly open into broad
valleys, which again become canyons in a few miles. We're
not likely to tell anyone how to get to these places any time
soon. But we strongly recommend that you take up this sport
and make your own path.
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Flying at treetop level, or a
few inches above a lakebed, is a universe away from
flying the same route at 1,000 feet. At 1,000 feet
you are an observer. At 10 feet you are part of the
landscape. |
