Adventure School #2: Skydiving. No Tandem.

Sure, you can jump tandem there too and have a leisurely, pleasant experience strapped to someone who will do all the work for you, while you play the role of the tourist once again. But, if you’re going to do it, wouldn’t you rather have the decisions be yours? If I’m going to splatter on the roof of a farm house or in the middle of an empty field, I want it to be because I screwed up, not because some adrenaline junky with a mid-life crisis forgot to have his pre-flight Red Bull.

Enough convincing. On with the story.

It was a chilly, late October afternoon, and my girlfriend and I thought it was a perfect day to plummet to earth at 120 miles per hour. Well, to be honest, she did. It was my idea, but the closer we got to the location, the more I started hoping that we wouldn’t be able to find it and I’d have more time to get used to the idea. I choked all that down though. There was no way I would be the one to back out. Thank god for male pride. I’m getting kind of used to putting myself in situations where I have to shut down that inner voice.

“Just what do you think you’re doing? Shouldn’t you think about this for another week, or maybe even a month?”

“I’m not listening to you. Na, na, na, na, na.”

Something like that.

We showed up a little late for our day-long class to ready us for the jump from 12,000 feet (to commence immediately following the training session) and we couldn’t use traffic as an excuse. After all, the town had but one traffic light and a convenience store that sold deliciously greasy burgers, which was beset on all sides by farmland and quaint country homes.

We pulled down a small gravel drive up to a “compound” that we nearly passed thinking “this can’t be it.” A handful of trailers, a small hanger, and a little single-prop plane sitting in the middle of a field, which we later discovered was the runway, was the property. We parked and made our way past some chickens and a llama or two to the check in counter in the hanger, where a teenage girl was waiting with a few waivers in hand. Oh, here’s the one where I absolve you of all liability should I burn up on re-entry. Guess you’ll be needing that one. We sat down on a couch and joined the rest of our class (one other Accelerated Free Fall Jumper and two Tandem jumpers) for an informative yet antiquated instructional video on skydiving, which to be honest, I wasn’t even paying attention to. How could you? It’s like having a group of preschoolers watch a cartoon on playing well with others just before recess. You can’t focus on the inner workings of sharing when you have jungle gym on the brain.

After hearing safety tips from people with bad 80s haircuts, we started drilling. The instructor who came out was a good bit older, really not what you expect after watching movies like Point Break, and he started taking us through the basics:

1. Free fall form: Arch your back, lift your chin up, raise your hands up in the “don’t shoot” position but at shoulder level - I gotta say I struggled a bit with this one at first and started to doubt my physical fitness when he put the packs on our backs and my form went all to hell.

2. Checking your altimeter: Something you want to do every few seconds - Of course it’s important to know if you’re at 10,000 feet or 100 feet. I stuck that one in the important file of my brain box.

3. Pulling your chute: You pull it from a little plastic cylinder on the back side of your pack. We were instructed to do several practice touches of it during our free fall to get accustomed to where it is. - I know I’m going to forget this one.

4. Steering the canopy: When… ha ha… if the chute opens properly, you reach up above your head and pull two steering toggles from the straps and do a few practice turns to make sure it’s in working order - I’m a little hazy on what to do if the steering isn’t in working order. Pull your reserve?

5. Deploying your reserve: There’s a technique to it. One handle on one side of your chest cuts away from the main chute. The other handle on the other side deploys the reserve. So, you have to pull one (the right one) then the other. If not… problems. The cute little saying that helped was “look red, grab red, look silver, grab silver, pull red, pull silver” - Here’s me wondering why some aeronautical engineer can’t come up with one lever that does both. Pretty sure if I panic I’m just going to start pulling things.

6. Hand signs: Because you can’t hear anything but the wind like a freight train in your ear as you’re falling, hand signs like the peace sign (meaning point your legs out straighter) were taught to help the instructors who fall with you be able to give you instructions so you don’t die. - Which one’s the sign for I forgot all the signs?

After running through it all a few times over the course of an hour or two, we walked over to one of the trailers on the lot to practice simulated disaster scenarios. As we walked over, I read over some notes I’d made (that’s right, I’m a geek like that) and imagined the high-tech simulators that were waiting for us on the other side of the property. I thought about sophisticated computer screens and suspended harnesses dangling over a wind tunnel, like the one Wesley Snipes used to train in Drop Zone.

No such luck. Instead, we walked in to a long trailer, and there were just some tightly pulled straps set up between the floor and low ceiling that you leaned into and imagination did the rest. Our instructor had us each slide into the straps pretending we had just pulled our chute while he flashed photos just above our heads of what the chute would look like if it failed this way or that. And, then you had seconds to decide what to do. No pressure. Would you cut away and pull the reserve? Would you just pull down on your steering toggles to straighten it? Think fast. Clock’s ticking. You’re going into a spin.

Afterward, we walked over to the trailer that housed the packs and chutes to take a look at what equipment we were going to be bringing with us on this fall from grace. They began showing us the inner workings of the pack, what holds the chute in place and how it opens. I’m not sure if that was meant to help put us at ease, but if it was, someone should really rewrite that curriculum.

“You mean this little pin is what holds it shut?”

“Yeah, so watch yourself when you climb into the plane. Don’t want to snag it on something.”

“Why? What would happen?”

“Well, best case scenario, we can grab it and sit on it before it inflates and pulls you out of the plane.”

“Oh.”

To add to an already nerve-wracking situation, my eyes wandered over to where what looked like a prepubescent kid was learning the fine art of chute packing, and I said something under my breath like, “Can I have the chute that wasn’t packed by a 14-year-old?” He looked like he knew what he was doing though. So, I shrugged it off and chaulked it up to my ignorance of the skydiving world. It could have been a tradition for children with no real concept of life and death to be the ones to make sure my lifelines open properly.

After looking over some aerial photos of the landscape to familiarize ourselves with the landmarks, which went tree, field, farm house, field, tree, power line, and so on, we went into a room with college-style desks to take a test on everything we learned. All of that test taking anxiety left over from school, which I still have bad dreams about, started to show itself in beads on my forehead. When I sat down and started trying to think back to everything we had gone over, I realized this test was harder than those multiple choice questions where the right one is so obvious you’d have to be brain dead to miss, which was what I was hoping for. We all struggled. But, the good thing (or bad thing) was once we handed in our tests to the instructor, he would make remarks like “Are you sure you want to answer number 5 like that?” and we’d reply “Uh. No. I guess not.” Then we’d take it back and make corrections until we all passed. Yay!

This was shaping up to be a very low-tech, organic, old school way of teaching skydiving, and I was so nervous and unsure of what was going to happen. I loved every second of it. My outer adventure addict squealed like a little boy with excitement, while my inner hypochondriac safety monitor squealed equally as loud. But, the two met on the kickball field after school, and guess who limped home with a shiner.

Unfortunately, we chose our day poorly. We found out at the very end of the class that our jump was postponed. Apparently, strong wind and low cloud cover are factors you need to take into account when skydiving. I acted bummed out, with a bunch of “aw man” s and even a head-down kick the dirt or two, but really I was so glad I had an extra week or two to run through it all.

We returned a few weeks later on a cold day approaching winter (it’s 30 degrees colder at jump altitude) to make the leap on a clear day. We went through a short refresher course and suited up. It turned out, as it often does to me in these situations, the only jump suit that would fit me was bright, neon pink and green. Sigh. Sometimes it’s better to be short. I’m glad I didn’t opt for the aerial photo package. Oh well, at least it would be hard to miss a 6’2, 200lb highlighter streaking through the clouds.

It was time. I handed over all my belongings to my girlfriend, who was jumping right after me, and didn’t say it, but thought “at least she’ll already have all my personal effects and they won’t have to turn them over to her in a bloodied plastic bag.” Instead, I think I said something like, “Be back in a sec” with a smirk.

I debated calling my mom before jumping, but I thought it would just be cruel. No use worrying someone for no reason. “Hi mom. I’m about to jump out of a plane. Start freaking out. If I don’t call you back in half an hour, well...” I’m not that sadistic. But, chances are she wouldn’t have been that freaked out anyway. She’s become quite acclimated to her son’s foolish impulses.

The pilot, two instructors and I climbed in the cramped plane in proper order, me sitting with my back against the pilot’s seat. Upon entering the plane, I remember what the instructor said about being careful of the pull pin on the back of my chute. So, I step up extra careful with a hand bracing it on the back of my pack. The plane’s engine started, and we slowly began to grumble down the field over every little creature burrow and ant hill along the way. We lifted off and started the seemingly endless climb up to 12,000 feet. On the way up there was time, maybe too much, time for second guessing, time for me to start asking questions that should have been answered when we were on the ground like “how many people have you seen die doing this?” and “how many jumps have you been on?” Before all of my questions were answered, it was time for me to climb out onto the wing of a plane, and then jump from it.

I cleared my mind of all the questions and tried to stop thinking about anything but the very next step. I decided to let muscle memory take over, which was really all I could do at that point because from here on out everything happened so fast there wasn’t any time for tact. The door of the plane swung open with a “whoosh!” and verbal communication was pulled out of the door along with the musty odor of four dudes sweating covered in gear trapped in a metal box with wings. All I’d hear now was the roar of the wind. Good thing I spent the last two weeks studying my notes on the hand signs. The first instructor stepped through the door and climbed out to his place halfway down the right wing. Yeah, on the wing. Well, just under it. There was a beam for you to grab and another place for your feet, and there is where he waited for me to climb out beside him. This was the most insane part of the whole experience, stepping out of the plane, hanging on the underside of the wing and then letting go into… nothing.

As I took my place beside him through the door and onto the wing, I realized it was now real. For better or worse, this was going to happen. So, when it was time for that gentle hop from the plane, when I got the thumbs up from the instructor still inside the plane, I hesitated for a second, but not enough time for even a complete thought.

Fuck it.

I sprung off and immediately got into position. Hands up, chin up, pelvis out. After a second or two, I got my bearings and realized I was falling just as I was supposed to. But, it didn’t feel like falling at all. It wasn’t at all like the sensation of gravity tugging you to the earth like cliff jumping. It was more like soaring. The ground looked like a big blur of greens and browns, but the horizon was beautiful. Oh shit! I almost forgot! Keep an eye on my altimeter and make some practice touches of the chute release handle. Okay, 9,000 feet. Looking good. I could see one of the instructors just over my right shoulder and he’s not freaking out, so that’s a good sign. Oh my god, this is amazing. This is a rare experience. If I don’t do something to stop what I’m doing, I will die. Very few things in life are like that, where death is certain if I just keep doing what I’m doing, in the short term at least. We’re all going bite it eventually. Altimeter again! 7,000 now. The guys are still falling behind me. It’s so beautiful up here. It would be peaceful if I only had ear plugs to block out the thundering wind. I can feel the air warming up with every couple seconds as we approach the ground. 5,000 feet now. Time to pull my chute. I gripped it and threw it out beside me. The instructors went whizzing by. I Counted to 3 and looked over my shoulder hoping I wouldn’t see one of those scenarios where the chute looks like a burrito with the stuffing pouring out.

Success! That chute completely inflated was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. After I was finished thanking that glorious fabric sail over my head, I pulled down my steering guides and noticed a sharp pain in my inner thighs. The leg straps were tearing into my skin. I Should have pulled them tighter on the ground. Now I’m going to have to live with the worst Indian sunburn ever next to my groin for the next 8 minutes. But, there were other things to concentrate on.

Now that the dangerous part is over, I just had to find the landing zone. The problem was that I had no idea where I was. All of the fields looked the same, and it was starting to look more and more like I was going to have a para-hiking adventure. Of course all those aerial photos of the landing area were no help. Somewhere in the midst of concentrating on not dying I forgot what the images looked like. I heard a voice over the walkie try to give me instructions, but I couldn’t make it out. So, I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to land in a field where hopefully the farmer wouldn’t come out to greet me with a shotgun yelling about an invasion.

I stopped thinking about it and took a minute to look around and to do some sharp turns and flares. The parachute was a lot easier to steer than I expected.

Eventually, I recognized the field and compound. I was right over it the entire time, which made sense. I prepared for landing as I was taught and flared just before reaching the ground. I touched down, rolled, and sprung up like an eight-year-old on Christmas day with a wide grin pasted across my face. I scooped up my chute and bounded across the field toward the main building to meet up with the others. Everyone at Texas Skydiving came out to congratulate us. They handed me a certificate of completion, which I now polish every day and pose in front of wearing only an ascot and aviator glasses.

Words like “Amazmawonderful” or “ superradfantastical” wouldn’t be doing that experience justice.

The high and arrogance of making my first jump without being strapped to some dreadlocked adrenaline junky while his musk and patchouli smell stings the back of my throat was priceless. I will be going back over and over again. Very few experiences make such a lasting impact on you, and once you taste it, you’ll wonder how you haven’t been hungry for this your entire life. Hopefully, I’ll be jumping at Texas Skydiving again next time. It didn’t fit the image I had in my head of skydiving, and I like that. Some of the experience terrified me, but luckily being afraid is one of my favorite feelings. Despite the tone of some of my descriptions above, the place is really safe and professional. They know what they are doing, and I felt a lot like they were all about giving us an amazing experience, rather than just getting us cycled through so they can make more money off the next schmuck caught in a quarter life crisis.

Adventure School #1: The Flying Trapeze

If you have any tips or suggestions for potentially fun, weird or dangerous adventures in the vicinity of Austin, I’d love to hear them. If you’d like to know more or would like to try something you read about here, let me know. Many of the adventures herein I continue to do once in a while and can always use some company. Email me at millswd@hotmail.com or leave a comment.