UP team pilots Benno Schmidt and Max Lorenz met up again in 2026 for their traditional bivouac flying trip. Find more information here, in addition to Instagram.
Benno says: "Every year, Max and I disappear for a few days with nothing but our paragliders on our backs. The plan is always the same: hike, fly, and stay spontaneous. This year, it turned out that this was exactly what the story would be about.
A little over a year ago, I moved from Berlin to Lecco on Lake Como - and I love it here. The flying area is incredibly diverse, the hike-and-fly community is open and welcoming, and the landscape never fails to impress. In fact, not a single flight goes by without me thinking: This is exactly why I moved here. So it made sense not to show Max just any new area this year, but my new home.
Our backpacks each weighed about 19 kilograms. Inside: our UP TRANGO Xs, harnesses, tents, sleeping bags, sleeping pads, clothing, water, and radios. (If you’re curious about exactly what I brought along, you can find my complete packing list here.) The radios deserve a special mention. Sure, they weigh a few hundred grams. But I wouldn’t want to be without them on any tour anymore. Cranking out a line together, discussing the next route, or simply saying in the middle of a flight, “Check that out!” - that makes flying twice as much fun. Especially on a tour like this, they’re just part of the experience for us.
Otherwise, the plan was incredibly simple: no reservations, no set route, no time pressure. Just set out and keep going on foot and with the paraglider for as long as the weather and our mood allow. Or so we thought.
Day 1: Home Game
Before the start, the weather forecast actually looked promising. Although a massive heat wave was sweeping across Europe and thunderstorms were possible every afternoon, to be honest, we were more concerned about the temperatures while running than while flying. To kick things off, we wanted to fly the classic “Catino” - as the locals call the roughly 80-kilometer loop: from Cornizzolo to Como, on toward Grigna, across to Monte Linzone, and back.
That’s exactly how I’d imagined the start. Calm conditions, stunning views, and plenty of time to show Max my new home flying area. On the way back from Como, however, I noticed that massive cumulus clouds were forming over the Grigna unusually early. You could even see sleet falling beneath one of the clouds. From that moment on, our plan changed.
Instead of heading deeper into the mountains, we stayed strictly on the southern ridge. From there, we could have glided out onto the plain at any time without any problems if the weather were to deteriorate faster than expected. The conditions remained wonderful. But suddenly, having options had become more important than racking up kilometers. When we reached Monte Linzone, my stomach made its presence known quite clearly.
We landed at the top, checked the rain radar, and opened Google Maps. The small village of Valcava lay directly below us. On foot, it would have taken maybe twenty minutes. By paraglider? Five. Decision made. Actually, this very moment pretty much sums up our idea of bivouac flying.
We don’t believe that adventure automatically means having to suffer as much as possible. That’s why we don’t carry a stove and - except for a few granola bars as an emergency reserve - completely do without food. We’d rather save weight, stay flexible, and eat wherever the tour takes us. For us, a good dinner at a small village inn is just as much a part of the adventure as a long thermal flight.
After a quick bathroom break, a visit to the calves on the Linzone, and a few more perfect landings - the mountain is just too good for anything less - we took off again and glided down to Valcava. A family that was sunbathing on our chosen landing meadow must have been quite surprised when two fully loaded paragliders suddenly landed right next to them.
What followed was a good meal, two beers, and a beautiful campsite just a few minutes’ walk away. To call it “bivouac flying” would have been almost an exaggeration. “Beer-vac” probably describes it much better. In hindsight, it was probably the best decision of the day. While we sat relaxed over dinner, thunderstorms broke out right there in the mountains where we had originally planned to spend the night.
Day 2: Plan C Wins
The next morning, the weather conditions had changed significantly. The forecast called for a westerly wind and a lower base. So we took our time packing up and walked the nearly twenty minutes back to Linzone. Just 100 meters of elevation gain - that’s exactly how a morning of bivouac flying should start. Shortly after takeoff, it became clear: The reality was much rougher than the forecast had suggested. The wind was blowing over the ridge with a northerly component; the air was choppy and, in places, uncomfortably turbulent. We kept each other constantly updated via radio and came up with three plans.
Plan A: Take off, fly toward Bergamo and Lake Iseo with a tailwind, and slowly work our way toward Bassano over the next few days. We’d probably end up covering more elevation gain on foot than flight kilometers - but that would have been fine, too.
Plan B: Enjoy one more nice flight, glide back toward Lecco, make a top landing somewhere, and try again the next day.
Plan C: If it gets too challenging, land safely, jump into Lake Como, and just enjoy the day in a different way.
We didn’t have to think long. A relaxed cross-country flight suddenly turned into an unplanned SIV maneuver. After a few intense moments - during which I’d rather have had my glider above me than beside me - Max and I looked at each other. A few words over the radio. That was all it took. Plan C. No disappointment. More like relief.
A little later, we were sitting with a gelato by Lake Como, watching the swimmers and dangling our legs in the water while the foehn wind churned up the lake and nearly blew the boats away. It was one of those moments when you realize: The real adventure often begins the very moment you let go of the original plan.
Day 3: Change of Course
A look at the forecasts confirmed what we’d already suspected. Strong foehn winds and daily thunderstorms were predicted for the Triangolo Lariano. Waiting there for better weather just didn’t make sense. We looked all over Europe. Really, only two options remained: Andalusia or Bassano. Fly to Spain for four days? Not really. So we loaded our backpacks into the car and headed east.
Even on the way there, we knew we’d made the right decision. The foehn clouds slowly disappeared from the sky, replaced by friendly cumulus clouds hovering over the mountain ridges. A few hours later, we were sitting in Bassano with an espresso, looking out at a completely different mountain backdrop - and shortly afterward, we shouldered our 19-kilo backpacks again. The weather there wasn’t perfect either. But it gave us a window of flying.
As we gained altitude over Monte Grappa, the next thunderstorm cell was already beginning to form behind the massif. It was impressive to watch - as long as there was enough distance between us and it. Instead of venturing further into the mountains, we glided out over the plain. There, butter-soft thermals and another hour and a half of relaxed flying awaited us. Again and again we looked back and watched as the anvil behind us grew larger and larger, until we decided to call it a day.
Ten minutes after landing, thunder rolled through the valley. Once again, the right decision. In the afternoon, we continued on foot up to Campetti. Sweat instead of thermals. At the top, a great dinner at Malga Col Serai and a campsite with a view awaited us. After sunset, the real show began. All around us, lightning flashed in every direction. A thunderstorm fireworks display like you rarely experience. Around half past two in the morning, the spectacle finally reached us. We took shelter under the hut’s roof and watched the thunderstorm until it had moved on. Of all times, that hour later became one of my fondest memories of the entire trip.
Day 4: The Best Flight
According to the forecast, conditions wouldn’t be truly flyable until around noon. So instead of just sitting around, we decided to earn our last flight with another hike. After polishing off the remaining granola bars and the last pieces of a cheese sandwich, we climbed the 1,000 meters in elevation to Monte Grappa. When we took off, conditions were still pretty challenging with an easterly wind of around 20 km/h. Trying to cover distance by crossing the Piave would probably have ended in an early landing. So we did what had worked all week: we adapted.
We ignored the imaginary rule that bivouac flying is always about covering distance, and flew out over the plain to simply enjoy the flying window. Max and I climbed to the base, with about 2,300 meters of air below us. For the next three and a half hours, our two TRANGO X simply danced through the sky. No destination. No records. No pressure. Just flying.
Every now and then there was a crackle on the radio - not because we needed it, but because moments like these are simply too beautiful not to share. When we finally landed, we couldn’t stop grinning. Heading to Bassano, letting go of our original plans, and making the most of the conditions had given us one of the most beautiful flights either of us could remember.
As the foehn wind picked up and thunderstorms spread across large parts of the Alps, it also felt like the perfect moment to end the tour. Many people believe that bivouac flying is about grinding through at any cost. Carrying the heaviest backpack. Sleeping in the most uncomfortable conditions. Sticking unwaveringly to the original route. Not us.
For us, it was never about following a plan. It’s about making good decisions. Reading the weather. Staying flexible. Sharing the experience with a good friend. This trip never followed the route we’d imagined. We chose a restaurant over a mountain hut. Gelato over a struggle in treacherous air. Bassano over stubbornness. A relaxed afternoon above the plain instead of a forced crossing through the mountains. Looking back, none of these decisions feels like a compromise. They became the highlights of the tour.
As we drove back to Lecco, the Föhn was blowing at over 60 km/h. That’s exactly why we’d decided to end the tour. But that same wind had swept the haze from the sky. The mountains stood out crystal-clear on the horizon and glowed a deep orange in the evening light. It felt like the perfect ending. Sometimes it’s precisely the conditions that change our plans that create the most beautiful moments.
Thanks to UP for supporting these adventures - and thanks to Max for a few more unforgettable days."