Gin Seok Song, the man behind the brand, has been flying, manufacturing and designing paragliders for over two decades.
Gin Gliders is considered to be one of the pioneers in the paragliding world. The South Korean brand has been designing and manufacturing paragliders since 1998, under the aegis of its founder and competitive paraglider Gin Seok Song and his team of skilled engineers and test pilots.
The “GIN Team” has dominated the Paragliding World Cup every year since 1998, and has had countless other competition successes in World Cups, World and National Championships. In the recently concluded Paragliding World cup in Bir-Billing, India, the GIN team clenched a double victory as they won the individual as well as the team category.
In an exclusive interview with The Outdoor Journal, Gin Seok Song talks about his philosophy and love for flying that has kept him going for the last 38 years in the industry.
Tell us about your journey. How did you start flying?
When I was at university in Korea, I would often get bored while studying naval architecture. To make things exciting I started hang gliding. Eventually it became a hobby for me and I grew into the sport and started taking part in a lot of competitions because I realized I loved flying.
You have been fundamental in the evolution of paragliding. How did you get into it?
So I had started working at the Ship Yard after university, I was working for a big shipping company called Hyundai. One fine day I decided to go to Europe to fly a hang glider, and there I saw a paraglider for the first time in my life. I decided to start designing paragliders because I knew how to design from my naval architecture background. I realized I was pretty good at designing paragliders and I was already winning hang gliding competitions. Eventually after a few years I moved to paragliding because hang gliding was not easy and feasible at that time whereas paraglider was easier to use, perhaps it is the easiest aircraft to fly.
Paragliding became my passion over time and I was doing something that I loved. I started my own company in 1998 called GIN Gliders. Since I wanted to fly, I started designing and testing gliders for myself. I am 58 years old now and I have been flying for the last 38 years and haven’t looked back since then.
How has paragliding as a sport evolved over the years?
Paragliding has come a long way in the last 25 years, especially in terms of performance. Gliders were mere parachutes when the sport started but in such a short span of time the performance of the gliders has increased incredibly. This worries me some time because as the performance of these gliders is increasing, I am not sure if beginners can pick up this sport. At the end of the day paragliding is supposed to be a simple sport but as the gliders become faster there may be a compromise in safety for the flyers.
How was your experience flying in the Himalayas? How is it different from flying in Europe and other places?
It was my first time in India. I mean this is amazing here and I can fly with birds! Yesterday I flew with the bird, a big vulture. That’s beautiful. I completely forgot the competition and was flying with the birds, they really they fly together!
Do you participate in any other sports other than paragliding?
I do mountain biking back home and also enjoy a bit of kite surfing. But flying is what I thoroughly enjoy. May be that’s why I have been doing it for 38 years. I am quite addicted to it and I’m still enjoying it.
What were the main differences that you incorporated in the new gliders as compared to the older ones?
Over the years we have tried to make the gliders easier to use. The newer glider forgives you more. In turbulence, the paraglider is bound to get nervous. So along with high performance we have tried to make the gliders more stable.
How has the safety standard changed over the years and what kind of testing do you do for your gliders?
The international safety standard certificate is EN-European Norm. Every manufacturer is required to get this certification. We make a structure and do a fly test before anything.
We have different tests for different grades of gliders ranging from beginners, intermediate, performers and competition. We test features such as collapse, folds and spins. We try to make the glider as forgiving as possible. It takes a lot of time to finish a glider but if I don’t like the product I don’t finish it.
Where do you see the future of Paragliding?
I think the sport is growing rapidly. We are trying to make the gliders as light as possible because a lot of old people like me do not like heavy equipment. We are also working on new cross country flying wings. The future of the sport lies in the concept of’ hike and fly’ which will enable beginners to go on paragliding expeditions and we are working on it and I am enjoying it.
People who get into paragliding stay because it’s a crazy beautiful sport. It is more mental than physical. Once you start you cannot stop flying.
The rolling green hills, rocky passes, flower-laden meadows and clear streams of Gorkhi Terelj National Park in northern Mongolia is the birthplace of the Mongols. The Outdoor Journal spent a week on horseback with Stone Horse Expeditions in the heart of this country’s vast wilderness.
Tdrihe Khan Khentii mountains stretched before us, from one end of the azure sky to the other. Tegri, the Great Sky God, watched us with his infinite panorama. From here, I could see miles and miles into the distance. This was the “Forbidden Zone”, that unknown wilderness where Genghis Khan was born. As a child and then again much later on, he hunted here, his true home, on a horse, sheltered in a ger or under the blue sky. When he was a boy, exiled with his family into the cold and harsh wilderness of the northern Mongolian hills, his only friends were what these lands contained. After he built an empire and died, it became a sacred and taboo zone, left to the deer and wolves. For decades the area had been closed off. The Soviets enforced it as a Highly Restricted Area to allow them to do what they wished with it – from logging and military exercises, to also countering any potential rise of Mongolian nationalism around the great Khan. Despite those years, the Area remained wild.
No wonder the Mongols worshipped it.
A day before, we had crossed fresh bear tracks. There were no signs of human presence apart from our train of horses and riders. And now, this vista lay in front of us, green and yellow grassy hills, long valleys, meadows of flowers stretching to higher mountains all the way to Siberia, some still snow-dusted despite the summer sun. Burkhan Khaldun stood further behind higher peaks. And that incredible sky. No wonder the Mongols worshipped it. We all lived once under this blue infinity. As we’d ridden northwards away from Ulan Bator, the city’s pollution had faded away long ago, the gray curse had lifted and my eyes had once again accustomed themselves to what they had evolved to do – see long distances, look for hares, deer, bears, navigate passes and ford streams, climb rocks, and watch falcons circle on thermals above. And over the last few days, we had done all these things.
We had left our last camp around mid-morning, some hours ago. One half of the party broke away to ride into another valley out west, while Keith and I wanted to ride up and to the pass in the range of hills that separated the Gorkhi Terelj from the Khan Khentii. We skirted the granite mounds which punctuated the ends of this valley, forded a marshy grassland below the campsite, fought off the bloodsucking horseflies that made our horses’ lives miserable for a little while, eventually entering a tall forest of larch and birch. The ground began to rise as we entered a narrow rocky trail that started to wind uphill. Jerry, my sturdy, stubborn little Mongolian horse plodded on. This easy gait was infinitely more comfortable than the long trots of our previous days in the saddle. Keith Swenson, a taciturn, the 64 year-old owner of Stone Horse Expeditions along with his wife Sabine Schmidt, showed none of the wear I felt – my skin of my thighs were quite literally raw after 50 kilometers of riding and trotting in the wilderness. After a few days Keith opened up with wisecracks. “People ask what do you do, and I say I’m a rider”, says Keith, punning on his American accent. “They think I mean ‘writer’, “and they ask, what have you written?” “So I say, Blackie, Brownie, Ol Dirty Face…”, naming his horses.
These lands, however remote, are important.
Halfway up the trail was a shaman’s totem, poles placed on the ground to make a conical structure, wrapped with bits of fabric and ribbons. But at the base, and near a tree, we also found broken shards of glass, vodka bottles drunk and thrown by unknown travelers who no longer respected their old ways. We’d been riding for an hour or so and we stopped for a short break in the little opening in the forest. It was quite warm in the strong sun, perhaps 30C like every day of the summer, but cold at nights, often dipping below freezing.
The Mongols invented the modern world*
The old ways are important. These lands, however remote, are important. The Mongols invented the modern world*. When, at the age of 55, Genghis Khan rode out into Asia and Europe, he created the largest empire known to humanity, as well as its first international postal system, and the largest free-flowing network of ideas, trade and culture. But today, Mongolia feels relatively isolated and far away, landlocked in the Eurasian continent. And getting there turned out to be a greater adventure than we’d expected. Instead of flying, we took the famous Trans-Mongolian from Beijing to Ulan Bator. At 11pm, the train pulled into the last station on the China-Mongolia border to change the undercarriage (the railway gauge is different in Mongolia). Three hours later we got back on the train and waited patiently for the Chinese guards to hand us all our passports back. Our intern’s passport was returned ripped from its cover. Before anyone could make a move, the train entered Mongolia… where the Mongolian border guard insisted that the 18-year old girl get off the train because she wasn’t allowed to enter on an invalid passport. Twenty minutes of arguing later, at nearly three am, we got off and watched the train leave without us.
Fifteen hours later, after many phone calls and emails to various embassies and important officials, she was finally allowed to enter the country. The Trans-Mongolian having long gone, we finagled an eight-hour taxi ride across the great steppes (on a second-hand car coming off a goods train) for $45. Welcome to Mongolia.
REAL MEN TROT
I did not have much riding experience, but I usually don’t let a little thing like that deter me from a trip. Keith, once also a climber, agreed that anyone up for adventure would be perfectly fine on a Mongolian horse. They were sturdy and forgiving. We all gathered at their staging camp an hour’s drive from Ulan Bator – a Singaporean couple on their second trip with Stone Horse, their friend from Hong Kong, a French diplomat from Swaziland, our team of three, Keith, Sabine and their crew – Nyamaa, Buyana and Jackson, the American intern. Soon, our team of 16 horses and Stinky the Mongolian Dog, a most genuine companion if there ever was one, were off towards the north. Day one went reasonably well, with a short four hour ride to our first campsite inside the Gorkhi Terelj National Park. The other experienced riders asked me various questions about how I felt and whether my horse had cantered or galloped, and I said I didn’t know, but the horse seemed to know what it was doing. Apparently, they have many gaits.
I learned what that meant the next day.
The morning begins easily and we move along a gentle valley. At a stream, the horses bend to drink. They’re herd animals, comfortable only in their own numbers. Suddenly, there’s a commotion as one of the pack horses spooks and bolts. We’re unprepared, and good old Jerry decides to follow the bolting horse too, suddenly turning 180 degrees and galloping wildly. I have to pull firmly on the reins to stop him, while the teamsters have to get the other fella back. He’s bucking around wildly, his unshod feet stamping, his grass-eating brain telling him that that bee sting he felt on his hind was a wolf’s nip. Stinky ignores the commotion, running ahead happily back in his favorite hunting grounds, chasing ground squirrels to their holes. We continue, entering a forest and then riding uphill to a pass. On the other side, a wide open valley, and our first real gallop. Now I feel the sensation, riding with the animal as one, gently cycling my feet in the stirrups and gripping with my knees, all of it coming naturally to me and I urge Jerry on, on, on. Chhoo, Jerry, Chhoo! We stop at a babbling brook in the valley below where we wash our faces. Are we in paradise?
And then the long trot begins. For a horse, it’s the most comfortable way to move. But it’s bouncy. I try to “post” like all the real riders. Watching me grimace in agony, Keith smiled and said, “real men trot,” as he rode along comfortably with that rolling ankle movement to compensate for the horse’s bumpy ride. “Trotting is how the Mongols moved such vast distances. If you make him gallop, you won’t get very far, you’ll kill the horse”.
Sabine crosses a river along with Stinky, the resident guard dog, who followed the horses and was very much a part of the team.
Mongolians worship the sky and we understood why after witnessing the big blue skies and red sunsets of the steppe.
Though every Mongolian doesn’t ride, those who do seem to have horsemanship in their blood. Here, expert horseman Buyana races up a hill at one of our campsites.
Our horses enjoyed grazing freely by the tents every evening, as the riders ate dinner and got settled at the campsites for the night.
Jackson was interning with Stone Horse over the summer and showed us a few tricks, including how to throw a lasso.
We met a group of students who were practicing their archery skills just outside Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia’s capital city.
a melting pot of humanity and ethnicities
But Mongolia changed the course of human history since long before the great Khan and his riders, the ultimate, self-sufficient soldiers. Apart from the Mongols, it is also the original homeland of the Huns and the Turks. It is a melting pot of humanity and ethnicities, where thousands of years ago two language families met and separated – the Indo-Europeans and the Altaics – and possibly where the wild horse was first tamed, thereby changing the course of history. When men on horses first raced out of Central Asia, first ancient Mesopotamia, then Egypt fell. Europe’s original ‘mother culture’ and India’s Harappan civilization disappeared. Humans, moving incredible distances on horses, spread across Asia, from the western end of Europe to Korea, all the way down to Arabia and India, creating nearly all the cultures we know today. Some of the languages they spoke evolved today into English, and others evolved into Japanese, but some of their words have become so intermingled that it’s hard to distinguish which came from which. Hindi is an Indo-European language, but today the common Hindi word for “home” is “ghar” (from the Sanskrit “grhá”) which is nearly identical to the Altaic Mongolian’s word for home, ger.
When the Hunnu (“Huns”) fought the Chinese Hans, the clans that lost fled towards Europe, creating Hungary, as well as leading to the downfall of the Western Roman Empire. Centuries later, the Turkics originally from the Mongolian steppes came hurtling into Constantinople, wiping out the Eastern Roman Empire.
We ride through rocky hills and rock formations, up and down defiles, over passes and across shallow streams, through meadows of flowers and knee-high grass. We ride all day, and every evening set up our traveling camp like the Mongols of old. We sleep in modern-day lightweight tents, under trees or under the stars, breathing cold clear air, drinking from fresh rain-fed streams, eating atop rocks while falcons circle above and the horses graze.
The world has continued to change, but horses and men will forever ride together.
One day we stretched out the ride to reach a farther campsite, a Hunnu gravesite. We set up our tents atop 2000-year old graves, low mounds of stones marking the places where men, women, children and horses were laid to rest. “I believe that these people would have loved us to be here, living like they did,” said Keith. When they hear our horses, they’ll feel alive”. The next morning, I pulled my horse off to a side and to a vantage point to shoot the group riding further down the valley. Jerry stomped and neighed angrily as the herd passed him by, but I held him back. When the group disappeared into the distance, I quickly packed my camera gear back into the saddlebags. Then jumping back on, I let the horse fly as he wished, back to his herd. Jerry, the funny but tough little horse, galloped madly a mile north over the gently rising slope. Our hooves rang out in the valley, as two large round mounds, Hun graves, emerged in front on the mountainside. Neither Jerry nor I needed to veer, and we galloped directly over the centre of the mounds, the sound of our hoofbeats gladdening passed Hunnu souls. Their ancestors, our ancestors, had once tamed wild horses, and together changed the world. The world has continued to change, but horses and men will forever ride together.