Showing posts with label Skydiving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Skydiving. Show all posts
7/24/2011
And Some Days...
After a precarious landing and a trip to the ER, you find yourself sipping coffee with with a sloppy grin on your face and a bass drumming ache in your shoulder. Your arm is in a sling and you can't do much but marvel at how such great and terrible things can happen in the same day. You consider whether it's appropriate to smoke that celebratory cigar you've been saving for months, lament that strangers won't ask how you hurt yourself and ponder how long the ligaments will take to heal so that you can do it all again.
Here's to Blue Skies and the Skin of our Teeth.
9/21/2010
The Fundamental Lessons of Skydiving pt 5
Bad things will happen and you must be ready for them.
A cutaway is inevitable. While there are a number of things you can do to minimize the likelihood of a malfunction, it cannot be avoided altogether. No matter how good your packing technique or how flawless your body position, one day you will experience a major malfunction and you will have to ride your reserve. It is only by internalizing this unavoidable eventuality and by learning to tell a nuisance from an outright equipment failure that you can ensure your survival.
Moreover, understanding that bad things will happen also means preparing for the consequences. Cutting away usually means losing your main canopy and the hundreds or thousands of dollars you've invested in it. Cutting away also has a set of risks that must be evaluated whilst dangling from a malfunctioning parachute: altitude, decent speed, possible canopy entanglement, landing pattern, RSL or no RSL*? These are all factors that have to be considered and rehearsed in detail before you get on the plane.
Wise, measured preparation and swift action under pressure are all that separate a reminder of your mortality from a demonstration of it.
* A Reserve Static Line and it's sibling, the SkyHook, are safety devices built into some parachutes that automatically deploy the reserve canopy in the event that the main canopy is jettisoned. There are good reasons to have them and good reasons not to.
A cutaway is inevitable. While there are a number of things you can do to minimize the likelihood of a malfunction, it cannot be avoided altogether. No matter how good your packing technique or how flawless your body position, one day you will experience a major malfunction and you will have to ride your reserve. It is only by internalizing this unavoidable eventuality and by learning to tell a nuisance from an outright equipment failure that you can ensure your survival.
Moreover, understanding that bad things will happen also means preparing for the consequences. Cutting away usually means losing your main canopy and the hundreds or thousands of dollars you've invested in it. Cutting away also has a set of risks that must be evaluated whilst dangling from a malfunctioning parachute: altitude, decent speed, possible canopy entanglement, landing pattern, RSL or no RSL*? These are all factors that have to be considered and rehearsed in detail before you get on the plane.
Wise, measured preparation and swift action under pressure are all that separate a reminder of your mortality from a demonstration of it.
* A Reserve Static Line and it's sibling, the SkyHook, are safety devices built into some parachutes that automatically deploy the reserve canopy in the event that the main canopy is jettisoned. There are good reasons to have them and good reasons not to.
6/08/2010
The Fundamental Lessons of Skydiving pt 1
I don't know a single skydiver that can't say skydiving has fundamentally changed their life. Whether introducing them to a new community, challenging them beyond their assumed limits or just giving something to brag about, everyone comes back down from their first solo jump with a different worldview than the person who went up. So universal is this that there is a monthly column in Parachutist magazine called "How Skydiving Changed my Life."
What's interesting is that the life changing aspects of jumping seem to be different for every skydiver. For some it instills confidence and allows them to overcome adversity. For others it provides them with a second family. For others it is a profound escape, a feeling of freedom that trumps all other forms of distraction.
Still, there are certain lessons, certain aspects of the skydiving experience that become ingrained in all jumpers' characters. First among them:
Ambivalence Kills.
You must either do, or do not, never something in between.
This is best exemplified when landing a parachute. Once you begin to flare the canopy (engage the brakes) for landing, you can't let them up. If you flare too early, or too aggressively, you can stall the canopy, in which case you will fall straight down and will probably have to do a bracing, rolling landing*, and even then you still might still hurt yourself.
On the other hand, if you release a partial flare, the canopy will surge forward, gain speed rapidly and send you face first into the ground, which will send you to the hospital if it doesn't kill you outright. Once those toggles start to come down for landing, they can't go back up.
This is, by virtue of happening on landing, the most often observed such example. There are others.
Cutting away a malfunctioning parachute is an all-or-nothing proposition. When you reach your Decision Altitude,** you have to know, not suspect, not hope, but know that your canopy is land-able. If it's not, you have to know to chop it or you're in deep trouble.
Moreover, if you've made a mistake, and stayed under a malfunctioning canopy for too long and are now below the safe deployment altitude for your reserve, you have to commit to that mistake and ride the malfunction down. A partially inflated canopy can slow you enough to only injure you but a fall with no canopy at all is certainly fatal.
Reaching out an arm for a partner in freefall rather than flying your whole body towards them will cause you to backslide and put you further away from that person than when you first reached for them.
Failing to commit both hands when reaching for your deployment handle makes your wind resistance asymmetrical and can put you into a spin that will twist up your suspension lines as the canopy comes out of the bag.
I almost forgot the single most important decision a jumper makes. You have to either exit the aircraft or land with it because once you're out, you're not getting back in. Well, unless you're this guy.
This lesson, like all good lessons, speaks to everything we undertake in mundane life. Do something or do not do it. Commit to every action. Commit to every inaction. Mistakes are forgivable, failures of will are not. If you are going to fuck up, fuck up like you meant it.
Here endeth the lesson. Pull Low, Hook Low.
*This is called a P.L.F. - a Parachute Landing Fall. It's a standard maneuver that we all learn.
** Decision Altitude is the height above the ground at which you must cut away from a malfunctioning parachute in order to have time for the reserve to safely deploy. It varies depending on the experience level of the jumper and the kind of canopy they fly but it's usually in the 2000-2500 foot range.
What's interesting is that the life changing aspects of jumping seem to be different for every skydiver. For some it instills confidence and allows them to overcome adversity. For others it provides them with a second family. For others it is a profound escape, a feeling of freedom that trumps all other forms of distraction.
Still, there are certain lessons, certain aspects of the skydiving experience that become ingrained in all jumpers' characters. First among them:
Ambivalence Kills.
You must either do, or do not, never something in between.
This is best exemplified when landing a parachute. Once you begin to flare the canopy (engage the brakes) for landing, you can't let them up. If you flare too early, or too aggressively, you can stall the canopy, in which case you will fall straight down and will probably have to do a bracing, rolling landing*, and even then you still might still hurt yourself.
On the other hand, if you release a partial flare, the canopy will surge forward, gain speed rapidly and send you face first into the ground, which will send you to the hospital if it doesn't kill you outright. Once those toggles start to come down for landing, they can't go back up.
This is, by virtue of happening on landing, the most often observed such example. There are others.
Cutting away a malfunctioning parachute is an all-or-nothing proposition. When you reach your Decision Altitude,** you have to know, not suspect, not hope, but know that your canopy is land-able. If it's not, you have to know to chop it or you're in deep trouble.
Moreover, if you've made a mistake, and stayed under a malfunctioning canopy for too long and are now below the safe deployment altitude for your reserve, you have to commit to that mistake and ride the malfunction down. A partially inflated canopy can slow you enough to only injure you but a fall with no canopy at all is certainly fatal.
Reaching out an arm for a partner in freefall rather than flying your whole body towards them will cause you to backslide and put you further away from that person than when you first reached for them.
Failing to commit both hands when reaching for your deployment handle makes your wind resistance asymmetrical and can put you into a spin that will twist up your suspension lines as the canopy comes out of the bag.
I almost forgot the single most important decision a jumper makes. You have to either exit the aircraft or land with it because once you're out, you're not getting back in. Well, unless you're this guy.
This lesson, like all good lessons, speaks to everything we undertake in mundane life. Do something or do not do it. Commit to every action. Commit to every inaction. Mistakes are forgivable, failures of will are not. If you are going to fuck up, fuck up like you meant it.
Here endeth the lesson. Pull Low, Hook Low.
*This is called a P.L.F. - a Parachute Landing Fall. It's a standard maneuver that we all learn.
** Decision Altitude is the height above the ground at which you must cut away from a malfunctioning parachute in order to have time for the reserve to safely deploy. It varies depending on the experience level of the jumper and the kind of canopy they fly but it's usually in the 2000-2500 foot range.
11/08/2009
Now THAT Was Fun!
A parachute does not always open the way that you plan. Freefall is a dynamic environment, after all. A certain number of nuisance problems are simply going to occur. We're trained to deal with them and they're not a big deal.
Some nuisances are more entertaining than others, though.
Yesterday I had a line twist. The nose cells of my canopy weren't pointing in the same direction my body was when the parachute came out of the bag. As a result the lines twist up in much the same manner as the chains of a swing set when a child spins. Normally this is no big deal. You reach up, tug on the risers and kick your leg in the opposite direction and you spin out of it.
Yesterday, though, I had an asymmetrical line twist. The lines coming off the right risers folded into the lines on the left risers unevenly. This led one side of the canopy to be the tiniest bit warped when it inflated and it made the whole apparatus want to slowly turn and dive with me dangling under it, spun up like a rubber band and unable to steer.
I pulled out of the twist and landed safely directly on target. No biggie. My heart rate didn't even go up.
One of the best things about skydiving is that it really puts life's obstacles into perspective.
Some nuisances are more entertaining than others, though.
Yesterday I had a line twist. The nose cells of my canopy weren't pointing in the same direction my body was when the parachute came out of the bag. As a result the lines twist up in much the same manner as the chains of a swing set when a child spins. Normally this is no big deal. You reach up, tug on the risers and kick your leg in the opposite direction and you spin out of it.
Yesterday, though, I had an asymmetrical line twist. The lines coming off the right risers folded into the lines on the left risers unevenly. This led one side of the canopy to be the tiniest bit warped when it inflated and it made the whole apparatus want to slowly turn and dive with me dangling under it, spun up like a rubber band and unable to steer.
I pulled out of the twist and landed safely directly on target. No biggie. My heart rate didn't even go up.
One of the best things about skydiving is that it really puts life's obstacles into perspective.
5/31/2009
I Am In Pain.
Before yesterday, I was in pain. Pain, because the weather had prevented me from jumping for the last month. It's been rainy and cloudy for weeks and hanging out at the drop zone all day, watching the drizzle and listening to the pilots talk shit about their aviation exploits as we waited for a half hour break in the clouds didn't appeal to me. Thus I've been grounded for a while.
Today I'm in pain because on my second jump my canopy took mere two-hundred feet to deploy rather than it's usual eight-hundred.
A lot of things can affect how a parachute opens: canopy design, packing method, body position, relative wind and dumb luck being foremost among them. Maybe the slider wasn't quartered properly. Perhaps I wasn't fully out of the track position when I pitched. It's possible I hit a thermal as the bag came out of the container and the relative wind was much faster than I realized.
Point is, going from one-hundred and twenty miles per hour to fourteen in under a second feels a touch like getting hit by a car. Not a big car mind you, but perhaps a Geo, or a 323. You also end up carrying most of that force through the leg straps. I'm now actively wondering if I'll ever father children.
So, how was your day?
Today I'm in pain because on my second jump my canopy took mere two-hundred feet to deploy rather than it's usual eight-hundred.
A lot of things can affect how a parachute opens: canopy design, packing method, body position, relative wind and dumb luck being foremost among them. Maybe the slider wasn't quartered properly. Perhaps I wasn't fully out of the track position when I pitched. It's possible I hit a thermal as the bag came out of the container and the relative wind was much faster than I realized.
Point is, going from one-hundred and twenty miles per hour to fourteen in under a second feels a touch like getting hit by a car. Not a big car mind you, but perhaps a Geo, or a 323. You also end up carrying most of that force through the leg straps. I'm now actively wondering if I'll ever father children.
So, how was your day?
5/04/2009
I Shall Stay 'til the Wind Changes
John and I did a connected, exterior exit and hit the 2 man star while still on the hill.
As soon as we leveled out we W tracked to the right into a closed accordion, 1 point.
We tracked out and each 180'd back into the star, 2nd point.
W track left to a closed accordion, 3rd point.
Track out and 180 back to the star, 4th point.
W Track to the right closed accordion, 5th point.
Track out and 180 back into a 2 man star, 6th point.
We're at Five thousand feet so we break to track off for deployment and here's where things get sticky.
Normally, one tracks perpendicular to the line of flight to avoid getting in the way of other jumpers. One knows the line of flight because the line of flight is parallel to the runway except, at break off time, I can't see the runway. I have no idea where the hell we are. So I turn 180 degrees from John and I track away from him. I deploy and my chute snivels for 1200 feet.
I'm full open, square, stable, steerable by 2200 feet but I have no idea where the airport is.
Oh, there it is, on the horizon, nearly three miles away. Can I make it back, downwind, in full flight all the way? I realize at a thousand feet that, no, the best I can aim for is the parking lot and that will require me flying over 300 yards of pine forest and a set of industrial power lines at low altitude.
Right beneath me is an open meadow so, fuckit, I'm landing here. I turn into the wind and, on the assumption that the grass is four to eight inches tall, I flare for landing. I then realize that the grass is actually about five feet tall. Commit, commit, commit to that landing ... and I stand it up, in neck-high grass.
I, very gingerly, gather up my canopy and then shimmy out of my jumpsuit enough to get my cell phone out of my pocket. I call for a lift. A few minutes later Don rolls through in his truck to pick me up and drive me the mile or so back to the hangar.
And it was such a good dive, too.
So, 6 point freefall on jump 61, hell fucking yeah! Landing in another municipality, not so great.
I did make another jump later that day that I stood up directly on target, so, s'allgood.
As soon as we leveled out we W tracked to the right into a closed accordion, 1 point.
We tracked out and each 180'd back into the star, 2nd point.
W track left to a closed accordion, 3rd point.
Track out and 180 back to the star, 4th point.
W Track to the right closed accordion, 5th point.
Track out and 180 back into a 2 man star, 6th point.
We're at Five thousand feet so we break to track off for deployment and here's where things get sticky.
Normally, one tracks perpendicular to the line of flight to avoid getting in the way of other jumpers. One knows the line of flight because the line of flight is parallel to the runway except, at break off time, I can't see the runway. I have no idea where the hell we are. So I turn 180 degrees from John and I track away from him. I deploy and my chute snivels for 1200 feet.
I'm full open, square, stable, steerable by 2200 feet but I have no idea where the airport is.
Oh, there it is, on the horizon, nearly three miles away. Can I make it back, downwind, in full flight all the way? I realize at a thousand feet that, no, the best I can aim for is the parking lot and that will require me flying over 300 yards of pine forest and a set of industrial power lines at low altitude.
Right beneath me is an open meadow so, fuckit, I'm landing here. I turn into the wind and, on the assumption that the grass is four to eight inches tall, I flare for landing. I then realize that the grass is actually about five feet tall. Commit, commit, commit to that landing ... and I stand it up, in neck-high grass.
I, very gingerly, gather up my canopy and then shimmy out of my jumpsuit enough to get my cell phone out of my pocket. I call for a lift. A few minutes later Don rolls through in his truck to pick me up and drive me the mile or so back to the hangar.
And it was such a good dive, too.
So, 6 point freefall on jump 61, hell fucking yeah! Landing in another municipality, not so great.
I did make another jump later that day that I stood up directly on target, so, s'allgood.
3/21/2009
Gravity Check
Passed my recurrency.
Four months out of practice and I still stood up the landing.
It's good to be back .
Four months out of practice and I still stood up the landing.
It's good to be back .
12/11/2008
Wikipedia Will Kill You
Before I get into this screed, I should disclaim that I love the Wikimedia foundation. They are on their way to fundamentally changing the way we learn. Their flagship project, Wikipedia is an important staple of the internet that has empowered individuals, expanded public discourse and generally done the noble work of making people smarter.
That having been said, beware what you find on Wiki's.
On WikiHow today I found THIS ARTICLE* on what to do if one's parachute fails to open.
The information contained herein is incorrect. Not just mistaken, no, it is absolutely and completely, from top to bottom, outright, bass-ackwards wrong and attempting the, supposedly lifesaving, technique explained here would likely kill not only you but whoever was dumb enough to try it with you.
This piece was clearly not written by a skydiver. Any of us who've been through a day one jump course knows better than this. Whoever wrote this has spent more time watching poorly researched movies about skydiving than they ever have spent researching the sport, itself.
The technique explained, essentially bear-hugging another jumper through their harness and having them deploy their canopy for both people, is unnecessary, impractical and dangerous, probably more dangerous than the chute malfunction that might prompt someone to attempt it in the first place.
First, skydivers break off our formation well above their deployment altitude. We track away from each other, ideally until there is more than one hundred feet between any two jumpers, before pitching our pilot chutes. If, at that time, one of us realized that we were having a catastrophic malfunction, we would likely not have time to track back to and dock with another jumper before both became meat waffles.
Second, even if one could accomplish the dock and the other jumper was able to deploy one shoot for both, the reduced drag profile and increased weight of two people falling together would mean that the pair were falling much faster than normal. Deploying a canopy at high speeds, while carrying double the usual weight is likely to snap the suspension lines or tear the nylon, collapsing the canopy and landing both people in a more precarious situation than.
Third, supposing, just for the sake of argument that one could pull all of this off, whoever managed to do it would have to be a highly experienced skydiver. No novice could manage it. More advanced jumpers tend to use canopies that are smaller in relation to their weight, often much smaller, than those used by their less experienced compatriots. We call this comparison between weight and size of canopy "wingloading" and I'm not going to go into any detail but, suffice to say, the smaller the parachute and the more weight suspended beneath it, the faster it travels, faster down and faster forward. Additionally, though a rig laden with two jumpers would go faster, it won't break any harder so the jumper piloting the canopy would have less steerability. Even if a pair of jumpers could deploy and get to the ground safely, they would have to land going twice as fast than if either of them was alone and with less control over the canopy.
Fourth, by FAA mandate, all civilian skydiving rigs are equipped with a second, reserve canopy. It is spring-loaded and packed in a manner intended to reduce or eliminate malfunctions. This canopy is, by law, inspected, maintained and repacked by an FAA certified parachute rigger no less than every 160 days. Reserve parachutes are some of the most well designed, extensively tested and reliable pieces of safety equipment on the planet and they make stunts like this absolutely unnecessary.
Finally, and this is the reason that I'm writing a diatribe on my blog rather than a hotly worded letter sent in triplicate to the FAA, FIA and USPA. Anybody who's had a first day's jump course, anyone who's had the tiniest bit of training, knows better than to try something so ridiculous. Sure, there are hugely experienced demo and stunt divers with thousands of jumps who have done exactly this maneuver but they do it as a stunt, not as a life saving enterprise. In either case, these are extremely advanced jumpers that aren't going to be getting survival advice from WikiHow.
The real point being, Wiki's can be edited by anyone. Generally, this means that they are self-regulating, with the best and most correct ideas gaining the most traction. At other times, though, they can be outright wrong, perhaps dangerously so.
Reader beware.
* I actually added to the article in both the Tips and in the Warnings sections to try and impress upon readers how unrealistic this article is.
That having been said, beware what you find on Wiki's.
On WikiHow today I found THIS ARTICLE* on what to do if one's parachute fails to open.
The information contained herein is incorrect. Not just mistaken, no, it is absolutely and completely, from top to bottom, outright, bass-ackwards wrong and attempting the, supposedly lifesaving, technique explained here would likely kill not only you but whoever was dumb enough to try it with you.
This piece was clearly not written by a skydiver. Any of us who've been through a day one jump course knows better than this. Whoever wrote this has spent more time watching poorly researched movies about skydiving than they ever have spent researching the sport, itself.
The technique explained, essentially bear-hugging another jumper through their harness and having them deploy their canopy for both people, is unnecessary, impractical and dangerous, probably more dangerous than the chute malfunction that might prompt someone to attempt it in the first place.
First, skydivers break off our formation well above their deployment altitude. We track away from each other, ideally until there is more than one hundred feet between any two jumpers, before pitching our pilot chutes. If, at that time, one of us realized that we were having a catastrophic malfunction, we would likely not have time to track back to and dock with another jumper before both became meat waffles.
Second, even if one could accomplish the dock and the other jumper was able to deploy one shoot for both, the reduced drag profile and increased weight of two people falling together would mean that the pair were falling much faster than normal. Deploying a canopy at high speeds, while carrying double the usual weight is likely to snap the suspension lines or tear the nylon, collapsing the canopy and landing both people in a more precarious situation than.
Third, supposing, just for the sake of argument that one could pull all of this off, whoever managed to do it would have to be a highly experienced skydiver. No novice could manage it. More advanced jumpers tend to use canopies that are smaller in relation to their weight, often much smaller, than those used by their less experienced compatriots. We call this comparison between weight and size of canopy "wingloading" and I'm not going to go into any detail but, suffice to say, the smaller the parachute and the more weight suspended beneath it, the faster it travels, faster down and faster forward. Additionally, though a rig laden with two jumpers would go faster, it won't break any harder so the jumper piloting the canopy would have less steerability. Even if a pair of jumpers could deploy and get to the ground safely, they would have to land going twice as fast than if either of them was alone and with less control over the canopy.
Fourth, by FAA mandate, all civilian skydiving rigs are equipped with a second, reserve canopy. It is spring-loaded and packed in a manner intended to reduce or eliminate malfunctions. This canopy is, by law, inspected, maintained and repacked by an FAA certified parachute rigger no less than every 160 days. Reserve parachutes are some of the most well designed, extensively tested and reliable pieces of safety equipment on the planet and they make stunts like this absolutely unnecessary.
Finally, and this is the reason that I'm writing a diatribe on my blog rather than a hotly worded letter sent in triplicate to the FAA, FIA and USPA. Anybody who's had a first day's jump course, anyone who's had the tiniest bit of training, knows better than to try something so ridiculous. Sure, there are hugely experienced demo and stunt divers with thousands of jumps who have done exactly this maneuver but they do it as a stunt, not as a life saving enterprise. In either case, these are extremely advanced jumpers that aren't going to be getting survival advice from WikiHow.
The real point being, Wiki's can be edited by anyone. Generally, this means that they are self-regulating, with the best and most correct ideas gaining the most traction. At other times, though, they can be outright wrong, perhaps dangerously so.
Reader beware.
* I actually added to the article in both the Tips and in the Warnings sections to try and impress upon readers how unrealistic this article is.
7/28/2008
You Can't Take the Sky From Me
Today my canopy opened with me dangling above a thin, gray, cloud. It was an ephemeral thing, translucent, still in the process of coalescing some three thousand feet above the ground, more a bank of mist than a cloud at all. I doubt anyone on the ground could even see it.
As I glided gently over this evanescent bit of atmospheric moisture I passed directly between it at the sun and there, for a few heartbeats I could see the shadow of myself, hanging in air, my canopy and my body sharply outlined against the miasma. Around my shadow I could see a halo of color, a perfect, round rainbow encircling the impression of my shape.
I am not yet skilled enough to be allowed a freefall camera so I have no memento save my own recollection. Perhaps it’s better this way, the memory of something so lovely and so rare can live as a motivation for excellence, the possibility of such a sight pushing me to jump and jump and jump.
For those who keep wondering why I insist on repeatedly “jumping out of a perfectly good airplane,” picture that and it’s not so hard to understand.
As I glided gently over this evanescent bit of atmospheric moisture I passed directly between it at the sun and there, for a few heartbeats I could see the shadow of myself, hanging in air, my canopy and my body sharply outlined against the miasma. Around my shadow I could see a halo of color, a perfect, round rainbow encircling the impression of my shape.
I am not yet skilled enough to be allowed a freefall camera so I have no memento save my own recollection. Perhaps it’s better this way, the memory of something so lovely and so rare can live as a motivation for excellence, the possibility of such a sight pushing me to jump and jump and jump.
For those who keep wondering why I insist on repeatedly “jumping out of a perfectly good airplane,” picture that and it’s not so hard to understand.
7/05/2008
My First Solo Jump
Perfect diving exit.
Hard and fast 360's in freefall. Hard back loop, four rolls over, for three thousand feet.
I could have stood up the landing but I wimped out and rolled soft.
I can't remember a time in my adult life when I've been more proud of myself. I exited, free-fell and landed m'self in near textbook fashion without a single word of advice.
After today, I am properly and truly a skydiver.
Hard and fast 360's in freefall. Hard back loop, four rolls over, for three thousand feet.
I could have stood up the landing but I wimped out and rolled soft.
I can't remember a time in my adult life when I've been more proud of myself. I exited, free-fell and landed m'self in near textbook fashion without a single word of advice.
After today, I am properly and truly a skydiver.
6/08/2008
In Other News
I just retook my AFF level 3 and had a nearly flawless dive; held my heading; kept to my dive flow; pulled dead on my crit altitude. I pulled two hard 1080 spirals under canopy and came home right on time. I dragged my ass on the landing but I'm not really expected to be able to stand one up yet.
Got my groove back.
Got my groove back.
6/01/2008
How Embarassing
I failed my AFF III test.
I was working so hard on my heading control through the clouds that I didn't pay enough attention to my altitude, which is about the worst thing one can do as a student skydiver. I pulled well above the hard deck but 1300 feet below my planned deployment. My canopy opened with me in a medium lateral spin and I broke in a line twist that took me nine hundred feet to uncoil.
My first two jumps this weekend were nearly flawless so this one spooked me a bit.
I'll be back to it next Sunday.
I was working so hard on my heading control through the clouds that I didn't pay enough attention to my altitude, which is about the worst thing one can do as a student skydiver. I pulled well above the hard deck but 1300 feet below my planned deployment. My canopy opened with me in a medium lateral spin and I broke in a line twist that took me nine hundred feet to uncoil.
My first two jumps this weekend were nearly flawless so this one spooked me a bit.
I'll be back to it next Sunday.
5/30/2008
Like Hummingbirds in Heavy Rain
A runway at night is a scene of apocalypse, flat, hard paved, empty and adorned by hundred of droplets of colored light. The mynd-like silence is broken in even intervals by the shredding of air by props and jets only to return to the infinite anticipation of soundlessness. The beacon hums lowly as it flashes its distinct code of white and color across the landscape, illuminating all in operatic sweeps.
Everything seems strangely far away, the service vehicles along the access road, the rustle of wind socks and the chatter of jumpers just inside the hanger doors. The real world doesn't touch this place any more than it has to. This is the realm of daredevils and weekend aviators who frequent the work-a-day world just enough to be considered members of society and not a touch more.
Everyone is waiting, waiting for the light, waiting for the weather to clear, waiting for the next load, the next jump, the next seventy seconds of freefall.
It's a bit like real life that way yet comfortably not so.
Everything seems strangely far away, the service vehicles along the access road, the rustle of wind socks and the chatter of jumpers just inside the hanger doors. The real world doesn't touch this place any more than it has to. This is the realm of daredevils and weekend aviators who frequent the work-a-day world just enough to be considered members of society and not a touch more.
Everyone is waiting, waiting for the light, waiting for the weather to clear, waiting for the next load, the next jump, the next seventy seconds of freefall.
It's a bit like real life that way yet comfortably not so.
2/02/2008
A Note About Gravity.
Anyone who says, "Why would you jump out of a perfectly good airplane?"
Obviously hasn't seen the planes that we use.
Obviously hasn't seen the planes that we use.
6/06/2007
Throw Yourself at the Ground and Miss
At first nothing really happens. The Earth gets far away and you're detached, strangely detached, your indolent mind refusing to give in to primate emotions. Then, suddenly, when the moment is almost at hand you become distinctly aware of gravity.
Nine and a half meters per second, per second. Force equals mass times acceleration. The potential energy of two bodies is inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them. Acceleration is the derivative of the velocity with respect to time.
Your heart bounds about your ribcage like a rubber ball shot from a cannon into a maze of mirrors. Your eyes are sitting too high in their sockets. Everything hangs on you, snug but dangling, like old skin and all you feel is heavy, heavy, heavy.
Your main-sider, betraying no thoughts through eyes behind opaque plastic, gives the word, kicking a domino that may govern the rest of your life. "Take up position by the door," she commands.
"Right foot," you say, genuflecting against the wind. "Right hand," you clasp the door, hand flat against the wall, thumb hooked around the portal. It's dark inside and bright, blinding, without. "Left hand," the litany has taken over. You've practiced again and again. They call it "flow" and you've gotten oh, so, good at it, good at it to avoid thinking about all the other things that a rational person might consider right now because right now is all that matters. You press your hands together through the wall and pull yourself standing, "Left foot," you say.
The wind bears down on you like a sideways waterfall, lifting your clothes and pressing your cheeks to your skull. You peer back into the darkness at your main-sider, "Check in," you holler over the shriek of the wind.
Thumbs up.
Over your left you find your reserve-sider, "Check out." He can't hear you but sure he can see your lips trying to move as they ripple under the force of moving air.
Thumbs up.
Your head snaps forward, the next maneuver in the drill. In front of you, whip, whip, whip, to fast to see, thousands of RPM's, hundreds, thousands of horsepower. Top of your lungs "Prop!"
You shoot up on your toes.
You dip down, bending your knees.
And, you step backwards.
Nine and a half meters per second, per second. Force equals mass times acceleration. The potential energy of two bodies is inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them.
You yaw hard to the left and your head dips hard towards the Earth like an avian shot from the sky by some attendant hunter as the weight of the other two people gripping your sides drags you sideways and down. They don't tell you this in preceding hours of intensive training that are all that save you from a grisly demise. It would have been nice to know.
Arch, arch, arch, strain your back because the round side of a leaf always faces the ground as it falls.
"Just breathe," your reserve sider had said back on the ground. "Scream if you want to, or swear. That's fine. You can't scream if you don't breathe." But you don't scream and you don't swear. You just arch and check your horizon and your altimeter, that flimsy piece of plastic no more complicated than the wristwatch in the bottom of a box of cereal.
You check your reserve-sider. He gestures peace, straighten your legs, falling too fast. You arch and tighten your legs, feeling the wind slacken just enough to notice, like a candle snuffed in a blinding, bright room.
Thumbs up.
Reserve side - Thumbs up.
Check the horizon. The wind threatens to make you into Anne Boleyn but the ground will be up on you in so much less than a thousand days. Reach for your pilot; keep your balance in the air; recover. Reach for your pilot; keep your balance in the air; recover. Reach for your pilot; keep your balance in the air; recover. Arch, arch, arch.
Check the horizon. Check your altimeter. Check your reserve-sider.
Thumbs up.
Check your main-sider.
Index extended, fist together.
You wave off, gesturing your two companions to abandon you to gravity. They release and loft away like cheap toys in a stiff breeze.
You reach for your pilot and pull, pull, pull, throw aft and right.
Nine and a half meters per second, per second. Force equals mass times acceleration.
The world halts. Everything broke hard and hit the pavement but you were wearing your seatbelt. You dangle, only three - quarters of a mile left to drift. You follow the wind and turn once each way to be sure you can. All the world is as it should be, square, stable, steerable. You ride the wind as your guts climb back up from your ankles and you wonder what all that panic was about. Everything gets so, so slow and all you do is dangle.
500, you turn left, cross the wind, to loose speed and altitude.
At 200 you turn right again and attack the wind, the breeze pushing you back and down and lifting you at once. The ground encroaches and you flare, flare, flare and land rolling, not graceful, but safe.
There's supposed to be some revelation. You're supposed to land as different person than when you ascended. You were expecting to kiss the ground or realize the important things in life or have your spirit set alight by the pure thrill. There's none of that, no great change, no reinvention of life. Just the memory that you were so incredibly busy on the trip down, so much to do that you almost missed the experience.
You walk away, get debriefed and sign up to do it again.
And you cross one more thing off your the before you die list.
Nine and a half meters per second, per second. Force equals mass times acceleration. The potential energy of two bodies is inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them. Acceleration is the derivative of the velocity with respect to time.
Your heart bounds about your ribcage like a rubber ball shot from a cannon into a maze of mirrors. Your eyes are sitting too high in their sockets. Everything hangs on you, snug but dangling, like old skin and all you feel is heavy, heavy, heavy.
Your main-sider, betraying no thoughts through eyes behind opaque plastic, gives the word, kicking a domino that may govern the rest of your life. "Take up position by the door," she commands.
"Right foot," you say, genuflecting against the wind. "Right hand," you clasp the door, hand flat against the wall, thumb hooked around the portal. It's dark inside and bright, blinding, without. "Left hand," the litany has taken over. You've practiced again and again. They call it "flow" and you've gotten oh, so, good at it, good at it to avoid thinking about all the other things that a rational person might consider right now because right now is all that matters. You press your hands together through the wall and pull yourself standing, "Left foot," you say.
The wind bears down on you like a sideways waterfall, lifting your clothes and pressing your cheeks to your skull. You peer back into the darkness at your main-sider, "Check in," you holler over the shriek of the wind.
Thumbs up.
Over your left you find your reserve-sider, "Check out." He can't hear you but sure he can see your lips trying to move as they ripple under the force of moving air.
Thumbs up.
Your head snaps forward, the next maneuver in the drill. In front of you, whip, whip, whip, to fast to see, thousands of RPM's, hundreds, thousands of horsepower. Top of your lungs "Prop!"
You shoot up on your toes.
You dip down, bending your knees.
And, you step backwards.
Nine and a half meters per second, per second. Force equals mass times acceleration. The potential energy of two bodies is inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them.
You yaw hard to the left and your head dips hard towards the Earth like an avian shot from the sky by some attendant hunter as the weight of the other two people gripping your sides drags you sideways and down. They don't tell you this in preceding hours of intensive training that are all that save you from a grisly demise. It would have been nice to know.
Arch, arch, arch, strain your back because the round side of a leaf always faces the ground as it falls.
"Just breathe," your reserve sider had said back on the ground. "Scream if you want to, or swear. That's fine. You can't scream if you don't breathe." But you don't scream and you don't swear. You just arch and check your horizon and your altimeter, that flimsy piece of plastic no more complicated than the wristwatch in the bottom of a box of cereal.
You check your reserve-sider. He gestures peace, straighten your legs, falling too fast. You arch and tighten your legs, feeling the wind slacken just enough to notice, like a candle snuffed in a blinding, bright room.
Thumbs up.
Reserve side - Thumbs up.
Check the horizon. The wind threatens to make you into Anne Boleyn but the ground will be up on you in so much less than a thousand days. Reach for your pilot; keep your balance in the air; recover. Reach for your pilot; keep your balance in the air; recover. Reach for your pilot; keep your balance in the air; recover. Arch, arch, arch.
Check the horizon. Check your altimeter. Check your reserve-sider.
Thumbs up.
Check your main-sider.
Index extended, fist together.
You wave off, gesturing your two companions to abandon you to gravity. They release and loft away like cheap toys in a stiff breeze.
You reach for your pilot and pull, pull, pull, throw aft and right.
Nine and a half meters per second, per second. Force equals mass times acceleration.
The world halts. Everything broke hard and hit the pavement but you were wearing your seatbelt. You dangle, only three - quarters of a mile left to drift. You follow the wind and turn once each way to be sure you can. All the world is as it should be, square, stable, steerable. You ride the wind as your guts climb back up from your ankles and you wonder what all that panic was about. Everything gets so, so slow and all you do is dangle.
500, you turn left, cross the wind, to loose speed and altitude.
At 200 you turn right again and attack the wind, the breeze pushing you back and down and lifting you at once. The ground encroaches and you flare, flare, flare and land rolling, not graceful, but safe.
There's supposed to be some revelation. You're supposed to land as different person than when you ascended. You were expecting to kiss the ground or realize the important things in life or have your spirit set alight by the pure thrill. There's none of that, no great change, no reinvention of life. Just the memory that you were so incredibly busy on the trip down, so much to do that you almost missed the experience.
You walk away, get debriefed and sign up to do it again.
And you cross one more thing off your the before you die list.
6/01/2001
The 30th Birthday Extravaganza
Those of you that plan on joining me for my marathon jumping / 30th birthday weekend, please read the following.
You do not have to jump to come and party. Everyone is perfectly welcome to come hang out, watch cutes come down and, once the sun has set, do keg stands. Lots of people come down to the drop zone to encourage others and to spectate. The big night for partying is going to be Saturday 1st of August.
If you've ever considered coming to jump with me, though this is the weekend to do it. I invite and encourage everyone who's ever entertained the idea.
There are two ways to go about your first skydive.
1. Tandem: the training takes about half an hour. You get clipped to an experienced jumper and get to spend 60 glorious seconds in freefall. If you know for a fact that you only ever want to go skydiving once, cross it off your bucket list and never do it again, this is the way to go. It costs about $200 plus video if you want it.
2. AFF Level 1: This is the first level of true parachute training. You will go through a six hour ground school that details equipment, safety procedures, dive flow and landing pattern. You wear our own rig and altimeter and run your own skydive. Two instructors accompany you and are physically holding your jumpsuit as you fall. They watch your dive flow, give you instructions, keep you safe in the air and make sure that you deploy on time. You are then talked through your landing by radio. This method costs about $300.
Personally, I recommend that everyone that has even the tiniest inkling of an interest in parachuting spend the extra hundred dollars and do AFF 1 rather than Tandem. Why, because you get so much more out of it. First, AFF is a huge learning experience. You get so much training in so little time; you are smarter for having done it. More importantly, you get a huge sense of accomplishment. When you land from that first skydive, it wasn't just a Six-Flags ride. You accomplished something. You get to look up at the sky and say with pride, "Fuck yeah, I did that!" Finally, if you find that you really loved it, as I certainly did, you are now already over the biggest and most expensive single hurdle towards being a trained skydiver.
Other weekend details:
There are couches to crash on in the airplane hangar for those that want to spend either friday or saturday night there. That's what I'm doing both nights. There are also showers if anyone's going to be there the whole weekend. I'm going to try and arrange to grill out on Saturday. I'm going to get a keg if the DZO will allow me. Like I said, you don't have to jump to come help me celebrate being older than I ever thought I'd be so Come one, come all.
Those of you that do plan on jumping, I know that it's expensive. That's why I'm sending out this invite two months in advance. Trust me; it's worth every penny.
Please Note: If you're going to be doing a first jump, by either method, you must be 100% sober. Do not show up crazy hung over or having imbibed something to calm your nerves. You will be kicked off site and they will not refund your deposit. Part of the reason that skydiving is safer than fishing is that you're not allowed to do it when you're fucked up so, seriously, nothing stronger than coffee.
Unfortunately, you cannot go skydiving if you've ever ruptured a major joint, like a knee or a hip or if you've been SCUBA diving in the last 2-3 days. In both cases, it's an air pressure thing and it's for your own safety.
All Tandem and AFF dives must be scheduled in advance with Skydive Atlanta and require a deposit. I leave it to each of you to call 1-800-276-DIVE (3483) and arrange this.
Anybody who has the balls, I'll see you there.
You do not have to jump to come and party. Everyone is perfectly welcome to come hang out, watch cutes come down and, once the sun has set, do keg stands. Lots of people come down to the drop zone to encourage others and to spectate. The big night for partying is going to be Saturday 1st of August.
If you've ever considered coming to jump with me, though this is the weekend to do it. I invite and encourage everyone who's ever entertained the idea.
There are two ways to go about your first skydive.
1. Tandem: the training takes about half an hour. You get clipped to an experienced jumper and get to spend 60 glorious seconds in freefall. If you know for a fact that you only ever want to go skydiving once, cross it off your bucket list and never do it again, this is the way to go. It costs about $200 plus video if you want it.
2. AFF Level 1: This is the first level of true parachute training. You will go through a six hour ground school that details equipment, safety procedures, dive flow and landing pattern. You wear our own rig and altimeter and run your own skydive. Two instructors accompany you and are physically holding your jumpsuit as you fall. They watch your dive flow, give you instructions, keep you safe in the air and make sure that you deploy on time. You are then talked through your landing by radio. This method costs about $300.
Personally, I recommend that everyone that has even the tiniest inkling of an interest in parachuting spend the extra hundred dollars and do AFF 1 rather than Tandem. Why, because you get so much more out of it. First, AFF is a huge learning experience. You get so much training in so little time; you are smarter for having done it. More importantly, you get a huge sense of accomplishment. When you land from that first skydive, it wasn't just a Six-Flags ride. You accomplished something. You get to look up at the sky and say with pride, "Fuck yeah, I did that!" Finally, if you find that you really loved it, as I certainly did, you are now already over the biggest and most expensive single hurdle towards being a trained skydiver.
Other weekend details:
There are couches to crash on in the airplane hangar for those that want to spend either friday or saturday night there. That's what I'm doing both nights. There are also showers if anyone's going to be there the whole weekend. I'm going to try and arrange to grill out on Saturday. I'm going to get a keg if the DZO will allow me. Like I said, you don't have to jump to come help me celebrate being older than I ever thought I'd be so Come one, come all.
Those of you that do plan on jumping, I know that it's expensive. That's why I'm sending out this invite two months in advance. Trust me; it's worth every penny.
Please Note: If you're going to be doing a first jump, by either method, you must be 100% sober. Do not show up crazy hung over or having imbibed something to calm your nerves. You will be kicked off site and they will not refund your deposit. Part of the reason that skydiving is safer than fishing is that you're not allowed to do it when you're fucked up so, seriously, nothing stronger than coffee.
Unfortunately, you cannot go skydiving if you've ever ruptured a major joint, like a knee or a hip or if you've been SCUBA diving in the last 2-3 days. In both cases, it's an air pressure thing and it's for your own safety.
All Tandem and AFF dives must be scheduled in advance with Skydive Atlanta and require a deposit. I leave it to each of you to call 1-800-276-DIVE (3483) and arrange this.
Anybody who has the balls, I'll see you there.
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