Introduction
Coming from a background in foot-launching and hike-and-fly missions, I thought ski launching would be a breeze. You know, lay out the wing behind you (summer style), point the skis downhill, and a few seconds later you’re airborne. Fast laps, more airtime, less hiking? Sign me up. So when I found myself at Solaise in Val d’Isère, skis on, wing packed, a belly full of pastry and dreams of 15 lap days, I was buzzing.
This was far from reality…
Reality Check on Skis
I watched Aaron fail to launch and figured my experience skiing—compared to his, coming from snowboarding and only being on his first ski trip abroad—would give me the edge. Confidence is a funny thing.
First launch? Total fail. The wing dragged half-inflated behind me, I tried to over-correct, and the wing whipped into a full 360 behind me before I was picked up slightly and rudely dumped back into the snow. It took me 20 minutes to recover the wing and reset, trudging back uphill through soft, ungroomed snow. I was already overheating under too many layers and there was no chance I was taking my harness off mid slope in 2 foot of snow to try and cool down.
Second launch? Almost identical. Still too flat. Still too hesitant. Still sweaty. By now I was well down the hill, frustrated, and approaching the point of no return. I remember thinking to myself, “Is this actually happening?” Just standing there, baking hot, tangled, halfway down the launch area — this sport really doesn’t waste time humbling you.
Archie appeared above me, about to lap me for I think the third time. I was now well below the main launch area, and standing at a decision point—either hike all the way back to the top for another shot, or try one more time where I was, on this steeper part of the slope, before I ran out of launch area entirely. I set up, took a moment to breathe, and sent it. Finally—success. I felt that familiar lift in the harness as the wing loaded, the speed building underfoot, and then—bliss. The friction of the skis vanished. The snow disappeared beneath me. I was airborne. It was a familiar feeling from foot launches, sure, but with skis and snow all around me it hit completely different. It was pure joy. One clean swoop into flight after so much failure—it made everything worth it. I will never forget that first flight on skis—just like I’ll never forget my first proper foot launch off a big-boy hill. Both moments marked a shift: a before and after. That exact second where everything clicks, where frustration turns to flow. The wing comes alive, the ground drops away, and for the next few moments you’re truly flying. And that’s the feeling that keeps you coming back.
Key Lessons from My First Ski Launches
1. Steep Terrain Is Your Friend
I spent my first two attempts on terrain that felt safe and forgiving—flat-ish, mellow, summer-launch-style. The problem? It didn’t give the wing what it needed. You need speed, and on gentle slopes, you just don’t get enough of it quickly enough.
On steeper terrain, the wing comes up faster and cleaner. You get tension in the lines sooner, which gives you time to manage inflation and make corrections before you run out of hill. As soon as I moved to a steeper patch, it all started to click. You’re not just skiing anymore—you’re flying the wing from the get-go.
2. The “French Launch” Is a Game Changer
I knew about the French launch, or just “launching” to French people. I’d seen the informative video from ProSpeedflying, spoke to Archie about it, I even watched many people launch like this in Solaise. But I was already outside my comfort zone, and trying something new in that headspace felt like too much.
The French launch technique involves laying your wing downhill and skiing off in a wide turn around your wing. It allows you to launch on steeper terrain helping the wing pressurize sooner, or when you have a tailwind where a traditional layout wouldn’t work.
It wasn’t until a failed launch left my wing naturally draped down the hill that I thought, “Why not?”, I checked my lines for snags, grabbed hold of my toggles, skied around the wing, and to my surprise, it inflated cleanly and came overhead almost effortlessly.
3. No Wind? Tailwind? Stay Cool and Go Fast
Speedriding has a massive advantage over foot-launched speedflying when it comes to launch conditions. You don’t need a headwind to get airborne and often you can generate a lot more speed on your skis compared to running. In fact, many ski launches happen in tailwind or zero wind.
But that means you need to create the energy yourself. More speed equals more inflation force (be careful not to let the wing overshoot by controlling it with the toggles). I was originally waiting for the wing to rise and settle before committing. Big mistake. The key was to build speed from the start, which gives the wing that extra “oomph” to pressurize cleanly. It took a few runs (and fails) to stop hesitating and start committing to the acceleration.
4. Watch Your Gear
Skis, boots, bindings—there’s plenty of stuff for your lines to catch on. After a couple failed launches, I found lines jammed under bindings and looped around brakes. If your setup’s messy, your launch will be too.
Take your time laying out. Double-check your lines and give them space. Snow has a way of hiding small knots, and sharp metal edges have a way of slicing fabric. A sloppy layout can mean a damaged wing—or worse, a launch you have to abort halfway down the hill.
5. Embrace the Struggle
At one point, after yet another failed launch, I just exclaimed in anger into the mountains. Archie, full of good vibes after what must have been his 8th flight of the day, shouted back: “It’s all part of the process dude!” I laughed because I had no choice. He was right and this was just what I needed to hear after a day of ups and downs.
Speedriding has a steep learning curve. You’ll fail, get cold, get hot, get snow in your wing, and probably question your life choices. But then you’ll get it right. And that feeling—when everything lines up and you take off—makes it all worth it.
Why It Was All Worth It
By the end of three days at Solaise, Aaron and I had each managed around 20 flights and Archie quite a few more. But every launch, good or bad, taught me something.
Ski launching and fast lift access opens more flying windows and adds efficiency. When there’s no wind or even a light tailwind, you can still launch with gravity doing the work. But it’s not just plug and play—it takes training, practice, and a good amount of patience.
Learning to speedride has been one of the most humbling, hilarious, and rewarding things I’ve tried in the air. If you’re curious to get into it yourself, or just want to understand what this whole speedflying thing is actually about, check out my What Is Speedflying blog post. If you’re new to the sport and wondering how to get started, it’s a great place to begin your journey.
Disclaimer: This post—and the rest of this website—is based entirely on my personal experience, most of which involves making mistakes and slowly learning from them. I’m not an instructor, guide, or coach, and nothing here should be taken as technical advice or instruction. Always seek professional coaching, mentorship, or supervision before attempting any new technique for the first time.
Share the Stumbles, Celebrate the Wins
Because if there’s one thing speedflying teaches you, it’s that the learning never stops.
If you’ve had similar experiences learning to ski launch—or if you’re just getting started—drop a comment or share your story. Every crash, sketchy inflation, or breakthrough helps others learn too. And if this helped you, check out more posts around the site for practical tips and stories about speedriding, speedflying, and learning how to speedfly step-by-step.
