Too much excitement

(originally posted 7/17/08 @ conservativelesbian.blogspot.com)

An old friend from high school emailed me today with pics of her first skydiving experience. It reminded my of my skydiving days from 1981 when I was stationed on Oahu. I made 4 jumps, all from a 1950s vintage twin engine Beechcraft. The plane had a small side door from which we would jump. The plan was to crouch in the doorway and wait for the signal from the jumpmaster, whereupon the jumper would spring out spread eagle style and (supposedly) float gracefully while the parachute opened from the static line.

On the my last jump were were at 3000 feet and lining up for the DZ. The jumpmaster had me crouch in the door and, because it was a tight fit, he said he’d hold my harness. The plan was that as he said, “Go!” he’d let go and I would spring out. I was scooching around trying to get in position and I leaned too far out, lost my balance and fell. Out of the airplane. At 3000 feet.

Because in those days we didn’t jump tandem, I was on my own. Having lost my balance, I tumbled and my lines became twisted as the chute opened. I looked up and had a good canopy but discovered I couldn’t steer at all. It wouldn’t have been so much of a problem in the midwest with open fields and all, but as it happens I was jumping from a small airport on the north shore of Oahu, and I was headed out to sea. I would surely land in the water and drown. I was coming down at a good pace and had two choices: Splash in the drink, hope to tread water in jump boots surrounded by lots of canvas and cordage, or quickly cut away the main chute and hope the reserve works and is steerable.In a moment of extreme clarity (or insanity, I vaccillate between the two as I look back), I popped open the capewells and pulled the rings that released the main parachute. As it let go I began to fall over backwards. In slow motion I watched a little piece of cord, the Johnson Cord to be exact, that was tied from the main canopy riser to the reserve parachute rip code handle grow taut. Then the reserve went *poof* up through my legs (I am completely upside down and falling headfirst at a high rate of speed at this point) and started to open. As it did, two things went through my mind: 1) Hooray! The reserve is going to work! and 2) the straps from the reserve chute to my harness. Literally, the straps went up between my legs and, because I was upside down, they snapped me upright with a force I will never forget.

I looked around and figured I’d just lost about 1200 feet of altitude, having jumped at 3000 feet. I began fumbling with the pin releases and I became aware of someone screaming at me. At this point I’m kind of wondering if I’m hearing things. Maybe I’ve crashed and died. Maybe it’s a dream…. Nope, someone is definitely screaming at me! I realize that there was a radio strapped to by harness and someone on the ground crew is wondering what the !@#$% I had just done. Given that it was not a two-way radio, I couldn’t really reply (this struck me as funny somehow) so after another moment or two of “What the F*** did you do that for???” the voice finally calmed down and walked me through the reserve canopy steering procedure.

I executed a turn and got myself pointed back toward land, but was quite some distance from the drop zone, since I had departed the aircraft somewhat prematurely. I continued to descend and it became obvious I was going to land, not at the DZ, not on the airfield, but in a cane field. Hawaii is famous for its sugar cane (probably the second largest crop after pineapples) and cane grew in great fields of bamboo-like stalks growing 10 to 12 feet high. And so I landed somewhere in the field. I had tried to maintain my bearings as I landed, but between me, the cane, the parachute, and the harness, by the time I got disengaged from it all I really had no idea where I was or which way to go.

Given that I was alive and on the ground, being lost didn’t seem like such a big deal at all. Nonetheless, I did need to find my way back to civilization, so I jumped up and down, turning circles as I did, hoping to see the mountaintops. Once I did, I was okay, for all I needed to do was head away from the mountains, which was towards the shoreline. I knew I had landed west of the DZ, so when I got to the shoreline road I needed to turn right and walk down to the DZ.

After about an hour I arrived, dusty and dirty but none the worse for wear, back at the DZ to a severe chewing out and lots of “why didn’t you…” questions. One woman finally said to me, “Look, if you are comfortable with what you did, then forget about everyone else. You were there, you had to decide, and you lived to tell about it.”

I never jumped again. That had been just a little too much excitement, if you know what I mean.