Mission accomplished

“Jumpers away!” was a warning I’d often hear on the CTAF on the many weekends that I fly. And, from the ground it wasn’t unusual to hear enthusiastic jumpers screaming yahoos as they landed.

My decision to skydive was not one of those bucket list things. As a World War II buff, I’d flown in a B–17 and B–25 to get some familiarity with the intense sights and sounds that those young aviators experienced. A skydive would help get a feel for what some of those young men experienced when their airplane wouldn’t be taking them home. It is an extreme affair to say the least, but at least I wouldn’t have people shooting at me.

Eventually, after 22 years as a pilot, and in my seventies, I figured, “What the hey,” and walked across the parking lot to the skydive office. I was directed into a room with a dozen iPads. I must have spent a half-hour (no kidding) signing waivers, disclaimers, indemnification forms, and doing live video interviews. Basically admitting, “Yeah, I know I could be killing myself.” In reality I was more worried about my wife finding out, and her killing me, even if I did survive.

After all that paperwork I’m now convinced that there’s no chance of dying in a rental airplane. I don’t have to fill out tons of forms or watch videos when I rent one, just a risk assessment. So how dangerous can flying be?

Anyway, you start by suiting up in a hangar with a five-point harness that will eventually attach the jump instructor’s harness to your back. My very considerate instructor with a video camera (warning: sales pitch) on his helmet reviewed what to expect during the different parts of the jump. My only previous exposure to the serious nature of wearing a parachute was many years ago while taking aerobatic lessons in an Extra 200.

One of the skydive company airplanes we used was a cramped (sans seats) Cessna that could carry two tandem parachutists at a time. Arriving at the airplane door we backed into our instructor’s chests, so they could attach harnesses and shimmied backward together along the floor. My first-time jump partner was celebrating his fortieth birthday and had never been in a small airplane before. Scrunched close together, I tried to be reassuring to my apprehensive jump partner, although inside, my own worry wheels were turning.

The jump instructors triple-checked our harnesses and reviewed instructions, while we slowly climbed above 10,000 feet. Once at altitude the side door was opened with a loud blast of cold air. My nervous jump partner was going to be first out the door, so I shook his hand, and with feigned confidence, yelled, “See you on the flip side!”

Then, it was my turn to slide along the floor with my instructor behind and swing my feet outside the door onto the strut pedal. I heard shouting from behind “Feet together! Hook your thumbs into the shoulder straps!” No chance to change my mind now.

With a robust push from behind, I was met with the startling blast of frigid air that is a combination of airspeed and prop wash. Disorientation followed as we tumbled upside down, catching a brief glimpse of the Cessna jump plane shooting skyward (an optical illusion from my rapid descent upside down). When I was turned around and speeding face down, I felt like an arched banana. I heard, “Spread your arms!”

I was surprised by the tremendous rush of oncoming air, even after the drogue parachute was deployed. Air was even inflating my pants and jacket, and every nook and cranny in my body. The ground seemed to be taking its sweet time getting closer. I was glad that I was smart enough to purchase some aviator goggles and leather helmet, even though I probably looked ridiculous, but breathing was surprisingly easy. Then came the sudden snap backward as the ram-air chute deployed, jerking on every strap attach point of my harness.

After free falling through what felt like a hurricane for 20 seconds, the parachute part was a pleasant respite. I was able to steer the balance of the jump by pulling two control cords hanging in front of my shoulders, wishing this part would last much longer. In no time my instructor did a stalled landing as gentle as stepping off a curb.

I had lost sight of my jump partner while airborne, but found him on the ground several yards away. He was sitting on a plastic patio chair in the grass, surrounded by ground personnel. Not everybody reacts the same way. Thankfully, he was up and around by the time we gathered up the chute and returned to the hangar.

You should be aware that the skydiving company likes to sell you video of your jump, assuming it’s a once-in-a-lifetime event. I passed on the offer. I lived through what some war veterans experienced; mission accomplished.

Mark Frascinella is a private pilot living in Mount Sinai, New York.