Alexander Polli was an adrenaline junkie, a daredevil who could pilot through faults in rockfaces at 150 mph. Our columnist tells the astonishing legend of Base, a new film starring Polli that had to be delayed when he was killed by the play he loved
One week after his wingsuit-flying spouse croaked, Carlos Briceno Schutte launched himself into the void holding an inflatable animal. The lower from the Aiguille du Midi, the 3,842 m heyday that towers over the French alpine city of Chamonix, had is an element of Alexander Polli’s favourites. It was only right, says Schutte, to run it in recollection- accompanied by his friend’s flavor swine.” He was sometimes a little bit fat , not doing much rehearsal ,” says Schutte.” I was like,’ You’re not an eagle, bro. You’re a pig .'”
Polli, who was just 31 when he died last year, was the Jimi Hendrix of wingsuit-flying, the supremely dangerous sport whose upper-class are revered like boulder starrings, thanks to the eye-watering accomplishments they play. Polli, like Schutte, had learnt himself by trial and error to use the nylon-webbed suits that allow base-jumpers to ascend to the next fearful level. Propelling themselves from heydays and helicopters, they cut horizontally through the breath at quickens that they are able transcend 200 mph, “proximity-flying” exactly inches from rockfaces and builds. Here i am little chamber for correct on such high-octane flights- and none whatsoever on the 2013 stunt with which Polli established his mention: threading the needle of a 25 ft hole in a rockface in Spain’s Montserrat mountains, an accomplishment abnormally extreme even by wingsuit standards.