Skydiving
On July 14, 2002 I joined the ranks of those people crazy enough to jump out of
a small airplane at over two and a half miles above the surface of earth.
I've been considering this for about seven years and have tried to convince
friends and coworkers to go with me. I usually would drop the attempt after a
few hours of trying to convince my friend and myself of the fun I was sure
awaited in floating around in apparent zero-gravity. Excuses would then start
deflating my dreams of free-fall: my life insurance doesn’t cover death by
failed parachutes; I can’t afford it; I’m over the weight limit.
Dan was about to turn 40 and was looking for an appropriate way to mark the
occasion. I suggested skydiving and after a few days, Dan and his friend Rory
and I had all decided to do our first jump at Archway Skydiving Center in
Vandalia, Illinois. (sidebar: Our decision was based on the placement of and
Archway brochure in a corridor at my employer. I didn’t do significant research
on safety, cost, quality, etc. of skydive drop-zones in the St. Louis, Missouri
area. If you're planning to jump, you should do your own investigation.)
The two options for a first jump are a solo static line where your parachute
opens immediately after exiting the small Cessna at 4,500 feet. The advantage
is you are in full control during the canopy ride and landing and an additional
jump on the same day is only $50. The other option is the tandem jump where the
student and a licensed jumpmaster are harnessed together, jump from a larger
KingAir plane at 14,000 feet, and experience a 55-60 second freefall.
We all decided the tandem jump was the way to go so we scheduled an appointment
for the following Saturday (appointments aren’t necessary for tethered-solo
jumps).
Vandalia is about 80 miles from my home in west St. Louis County and the drive
through eastern Illinois is less than inspiring. Much of the land adjacent to
the interstate is marsh and overgrown and in rather unnatural, manmade manner.
In my typical fashion, I didn’t bring a map or prepare for the drive. I assumed
there would be large billboards or signs indicating which of the two Vandalia
exits went to the airport but there weren’t. We ended up calling poor man’s
On-Star—a friend with a broadband connection and decent Googling skills—before
finding the airport 15 minutes late.
I didn’t count pages but I think I signed more legal forms before skydiving than
buying my house. Because I was late, and because I didn’t feel like reading all
the legal verbiage, I signed most of the documents given to me by the Archway
staff without reading them. A brief skim revealed what I expected, skydiving is
dangerous and if I’m injured or die it’s not Archway’s fault. I finished
scrawling on all the pages, went to the counter and paid the $150 fee.
The next step was a video with a terribly dull person reading lawyer approved
cue cards about the mountain of documents we had just signed. "You gave up the right to sue
the operators of the drop zone, the owners of the drop zone, and anyone even
remotely connected to the drop zone." I also agreed that if I or my estate sues
the drop zone I/they will pay for any legal fees need to fight the case I/they
filed. After we were given one last time to back out, collect our money, and
leave, another video segment explained the particulars of tandem skydiving, the
exit posture, flight controls, equipment operation, and landing styles.
An hour after arriving at the airport, I was putting on a jumpsuit. Finally, we
were seeing some action. All that sitting around was letting me get a little
nervous.
We did a few "dirt dives" to practice exit technique, arch position,
turns, altitude checks, chute opening procedure and landing. The plane pulled up to
the hanger and we climbed the rollup stairs to the KingAir through the custom jump
door opening in the back of the aircraft. We calibrated our altimeters to register
zero at ground level rather than sea level, the ground in central Illinois is only a
few hundred feet above sea level but not worth risking a mistake on landing.
The climb to jump altitude took only a few minutes. As we climbed past 5000 feet
we removed the seatbelt and hooked our jump harness to the instructors’.
The pilot reduced engine power to slightly faster than stall speed as we
entered the drop zone. We tightened the harnesses again and one at a time
waddled up to the door to jump. The exit position for a tandem jump is
the student swatting in the doorway with the balls of your feet
hanging outside, hands on your shoulder harness and elbows resting of the
outside of the doorway. The instructor, hunched behind and tethered to your
harness at both shoulders and left and right hip points, rocks three times
to prepare you for the jump and pushes the pair of you out the door on the
count of four. Those last few seconds of looking out at the ground waiting
for the instructor to start our countdown was the most nervous part of the
experience for me. It was probably only four or five seconds but it felt
like an eternity. When we finally started the count my stomach jumped into
my throat and as we pushed out I felt at once the horrible sensation of
falling and the excitement of flying. The wind was deafening to the point
of sensory overload. I couldn’t hear or feel anything. My instructor was
slamming his had on my right arm, indicating we were going to make a
right turn by skewing our upper bodies to the right. I’m not sure if we
actually turned, if we did I couldn’t perceive a change because the ground
was too far away and the wind was mind numbing. We did a left turn
immediately after the right, checked the altimeter and then we spotted Dan,
a small colorful speck in the distance, with his canopy open. All of the
sudden I noticed the instructor banging his right hand on my thigh and
before I remembered this was the cue to pull the ripcord he had pulled it
without me. The canopy opened with a jolt that caused pain all over my body
and whipped my head. Tandem canopies take a few seconds to open and at
terminal velocity you fall 1000 feet from pulling the ripcord until the
canopy is fully opened. The harness was cutting into my armpits and legs.
I also felt incredibly nauseous perhaps from the rapid deceleration of the
chute opening or perhaps from the freefall and I was too busy at the time
to notice. Whatever the cause, I spent the next three minutes trying not
to loose my breakfast down the front of my jumpsuit—the harness wouldn’t
have allowed me to bend over to get a clear shot of the ground.
We finally were getting close the ground and did a few test landings by
pulling both cords on the parafoil to flare the chute and slow our forward
motion. I was to raise my knees so the instructor’s legs would touch the ground
first. After each flare we would stall and drop quickly as we regained airspeed.
As we circled around the landing zone for final approach I experienced "ground
rush." At higher altitudes the ground looks the same as you fall so there isn’t
a perception of falling but within a few hundred feet the ground can seem to
"rush" up at you. I didn’t feel it until we were about 100 feet up, a few
seconds from landing. We hit the ground and the instructor told me to put my feet
down from their position for landing but I was too late and fell over instead of
firmly planting my feet and standing straight up.
It took several minutes for the falling sensation and nausea to wear off.
My first words after landing were, "I won’t be doing that again anytime
soon," but only a few days later I was already trying to convince other
friends to go with me for a second jump.
—July 13, 2003