INTO THIN AIR

Fusing big mountains with wingsuit flying was only a matter of time for Tim Howell, and at the end of 2022, he set off to Argentina, for the first ever high-altitude wingsuit flight.

CLOCKWISE back all went to plan. A successful landing after the world’s first high altitude wingsuit flight; After turning the corner into the last valley, this is where you finally catch the first sight of Aconcagua’s summit; Ewa and Tim take a much needed rest at 6650m above sea level; With Aconcagua now on our back we trace the trail over the next two days back to the park entrance. It's always special to share these expeditions with my wife, when we are tested to the extremes the simple tests in life seem easier. the valley in not so favourable conditions;

Below the tip of my toes is a 300-metre drop to the glacier below. My foot is curled over the edge, for maximum purchase against the rock. Pushing off is all about the perfect angle. Predetermined by a thousand other jumps, that angle is ingrained into my muscle memory. Practice doesn’t necessarily make perfect, but practice does make permanent, so I’ve made sure to practise perfectly.

I bend over to sweep the edge of the rock of any loose snow and shingle and zip up my leg wing. That minute under tension and the small amount of physical exertion has deepened my breath and quickened my heart rate. I am at 6000 metres above sea level. There’s 50% less oxygen and I can feel it. I need to compose myself again before I jump, but in the back of my mind I ask myself: Is the altitude clouding my judgement? Flying already requires the most immediate responses to both the wingsuit and the environment, I can’t afford those reaction times to be lessened.

It took us eight days from the Aconcagua Park entrance to get to this point, and 10+ years of experience to be comfortable standing there about to jump. The first three days took us along the Vacas Valley, following a river that, due to the day’s glacier melt, would be raging by the afternoon. We crossed the river by the morning of day three, when it was at its lowest, and climbing, we gained significant altitude to reach basecamp at 4200m.

Now began the real acclimatisation. We gave ourselves a rest day before we pushed up to camp one and two which would be our highest camp. We had enough rations to stay for three more days. At 5900m, it was the highest we had ever slept and although the night was full of restlessness, broken sleep and cramped conditions, we were acclimatising well.

The next day we attempted a summit push via The Polish Traverse. Breaking trail all day left us exhausted. Finally pushing round to the west face, the extreme wind hit us and we turned back 300 metres away from the summit. I had prioritised summiting over the wingsuit exit. It was a goal for the whole team and it would lessen the pressure on myself. This would be important for my mindset, I didn’t want to feel like the wingsuit flight was the primary goal.

I had already recce’d the exit point and landing options. I walked for 200 metres from our tent following a crag to the sheer cliffs at the end. Passing a bolt and some tat on the wall, I noticed a bag on the ground stuck in the snow. For crag tat, it was in an unusual position. There was no need for a bolt to be on such flat terrain, so it stuck out as an obscurity. I tugged at the bag to find a human skull staring back at me. Dropping it instantly, I beckoned Jimmy over and told him what I had found. It had been such a quick visual. Did I really see a skull? I had seen many skulls and even full corpses over the years but I’d never reacted like this. This hit me because of the surprise element of the situation. This wasn’t a war-torn country, the location of an ambush or a poverty stricken village in a developing nation, it was a glacier next to our campsite. I had never seen human remains on a mountain before.

50 metres past the bones, fingers of rocks protruded from the cliff, cornices between them like webbed toes. I would have to find the steepest and most accessible one, avoiding the cornices as I went. Throwing a rock over the edge I counted until I heard the impact. Six seconds. That meant I would have plenty of height for the wingsuit to inflate before impact. Normally I would use a laser range-finder but this large vertical drop gave me plenty of room for error so I didn’t need to know the exact distance. Using various mapping tools for altitude difference and distance, I had already calculated the glide ratio needed to reach the landing.

The gear at this altitude would also be different to my usual jumps. I wore a gilet over a base and mid-layer. It was the perfect attire as the arms wouldn’t get stuck in the zipper of my arm wing with so many bulky layers. With half as much oxygen here than at sea level, the inflation of my wingsuit would be slower and impact the handling of my parachute too. I have to take this into account and give myself a larger margin for error than normal. I have carefully calculated and thought hard of all the possibilities that could arise in the moment, but at the end of the day I have never jumped from this altitude before.

The main worry was the weather. Aconcagua is a mountain known for winds of up to 100 kmph but we saw a weather pattern that would suggest before 9am it would be still. My wife Ewa joined me on the exit, her hands and feet still numb from the summit attempt the day before. ‘Only jump if you are 100% sure,’ she cautioned.

Her second opinion on the jump was invaluable, her calm approach and consideration of all the variables. On other hundreds of jumps that I have done, margins can be squeezed, but I wanted nothing left to chance today. I spotted my landing, knowing the anabatic winds would be running up the glacier so I could plan my landing accordingly.

I walked out onto the finger of crumbling rock, regained my composure and counted down. There is no room for doubt.

I am 100% sure and I jump. The air even feels less dense, it takes a while for the wingsuit to inflate. But finally, I’m gliding.

For me the hardest part of this was finding confidence. Or at least the correct level of confidence, whilst remaining true to myself and my own ability. Confident enough to take that leap, but not overconfident which can cause delusion.

It has taken me 10 years to gain the experience to fly wingsuits at high altitude. But for me, combining my love for the mountains and BASE jumping was always an inevitability. I’ve recently discovered that conquering fear comes with acceptance. In this case the fear is of serious injury or worse, but I’m not willing to accept that result. As long as I’m not overconfident this is less likely to happen.

My landing was fast, but on easy terrain. While packing up my gear I thought of the friends I’ve lost this year and the skull next to our camp. I want to be flying and exploring with my wife for the rest of my life. These people gave it their all. But the reality is you always need something in the tank to get back home.

Modern climbers are more accomplished than ever, and we don’t just mean on the wall. We’ve always valued boldness, whether that means having the vision to push highpoints into the unknown or having the audacity to demand more for our home planet. To be a strong climber means full commitment to the sport and to our communities. It means not just working towards futuristic first ascents, but working towards a better future. And we aren’t going to get there alone.