Flight log
Every line you've flown, kept
Scrub the whole flight end to end. Green where you were slow, red where you weren't. Top speed, altitude, time in the air, where you launched and where you put it down.
Every flight, every site, stacked up in a logbook you can actually scroll back through. Show your mates the line. Send them the replay.
What you won't find is a leaderboard. Nothing ranks how fast you went or how close you flew to anything. That scoreboard has a body count, so we didn't build it.
Risk dice
Five dice. See which ones are loaded.
Wind, avalanche, how tired you are, how well you know the site, your kit. Each one either sits quiet or loads up. Two loaded today? It'll say so on the front screen before you've even picked a line.
Every loaded die names the one thing that unloads it — fly later, fly the other face, fly the line you've done fifty times.
It never tells you not to fly. That's yours. It just makes sure you know what you're holding when you make it.
The site
Turn up already knowing the place
Where the cables are. Where it rotors. What's closed and what's merely tolerated. Pulled from real sources — aerialway data, FFVL cable records, wildlife closures — not someone's guess in a group chat.
Plus the best window, and whether the locals are relaxed about you being there. Handy, given the fastest way to lose a site is one person turning up and being a liability.
The bit that runs itself
So nobody's ringing round at nine o'clock
Set a time you'll be back. Get back, tap once, done — nobody hears anything. Don't get back, and the people who'd actually come looking get told. Mates first, family after, and only what you chose to share.
They don't need the app. They get a link.
The upside is they stop asking. If someone knows the app will tell them, they're a lot less inclined to text you every twenty minutes about whether you've landed.
And if nobody's watching, the take-off button says exactly that, in red. It's not going to pretend otherwise.