Describe your first freefall

[DocHolidey 0]

My first free was memorable for both myself and my instructor. It was my 6th jump and the DZ I was at used a belly band instead of a BOC for students. The climb out was fine and the release was fine, however what made the event memorable was that I threw the pilot chute overhand. The result of this was that it tangled around my right arm. After doing the 3 second count and not feeling a canopy coming off my back I looked at my arm and saw the problem. I tried to shake it off with no positive result so I reached over with my left arm untangled it and threw it into the air. The parachute opened and I landed safely. I also happen to be the instructors first Freefall student and I was told later she was freaking out in the plane watching me. So for my first Freefall I logged 7 seconds instead of 3.

[Snowbird 0]

This is great! I love reading these stories.

This is an abreviated version of what I wrote after my first freefall. Sorry it's kinda long.

May 18, 2002

I’m sitting in an airplane. A Cessna 182. There are five of us aboard; Tyler the pilot, Andrew, Don, Brian and myself.

I look out the window. The sun is nearly down, and the clouds are turning to gold. The same gold touches the ground below me, but it is the presence of balsam root flowers that gilds the hillsides. We are nearly 3000 feet in the air, and the game-board world below me is far less real than the noisy metal bird in whose gullet I sit, and wait. We are kneeling on the padded floor, a bit cramped, but not badly. The air is warm, a touch stale, with hints of sweat, anticipation, excitement and fear. The drone of the plane makes speech difficult, but we talk anyway to calm our nerves. Thank you, Bob; his friendly talk keeps my mind away from what I’ll be doing in just a few minutes.

Now we are at 3500 feet, approaching the airport on our first jump run. Brian is going first; we all give him a thumbs up for encouragement. Andrew, our jumpmaster, yells, “DOOR!”

The blast of wind from the open door is less than you’d expect, but definitely not comfortable. It is loud, whistling through the plane and sweeping away extraneous thoughts. Andrew nods at Brian and tells him, “Climb Out!”

Brian doesn’t hesitate. Right hand on the right doorframe, left on the other. His right leg is out on the step, now his left. Andrew is holding him; when Brian lets go of the plane, it is Andrew who will throw the pilot chute to open his canopy. But not for me. I tune out that thought and peer out the door to watch Brian.

Andrew yells, “Look up!” Brian looks up. “GO!”
Brian lets go of the strut, still looking up, and falls away from us while Andrew tosses the pilot chute. Immediately it catches air and begins to open the canopy. Brian loses his arch, but it’s okay because his canopy is already open. Mine won’t be.

With Brian away, we pull back into the plane, Tyler banks just a bit and the door swings shut, cutting off the noise of wind and prop. Andrew looks at me, nodding and grinning, and I shuffle up until I am kneeling beside the door.

I’m no longer noticing the smells, or the noise, or the pretty view. Instead, I close my eyes to visualise exactly what I’m about to do. Exactly. No mistakes, no oops, this is it. This is the first time that I will save my own life and toss my own pilot chute. My brain begins to consider what will happen if I mess up; Get lost, brain! I tell myself. You will go out there, you will look up and arch, you will let go, you will hold the arch, you WILL pull that pilot chute! There is plenty of time, you will not rush or have a brain malfunction. Slow is smooth and smooth is fast. My arch will be a thing of beauty. Okay, I’ve told myself what will happen, and I actually believe myself.

Tyler has come all the way around; again we approach the airport for jump run, my jump run. My heart speeds up, as it always does. I tell the butterflies in my stomach to fly in formation, and they do. Until Andrew yells, “DOOR!”

The door opens upward, to let us out easily. Wind welcomes itself in again, an old friend eager to greet us with its howl. While Andrew checks the spot, I put my hand out to say ‘hi’ in return, the wind curls around my hand in happy recognition.

I’m kneeling on the padded floor, with the door wide open to see the world 3500 feet below. Andrew does not have my pilot chute, his hand is not gripping my rig. I reach for the handle for the pilot chute, and then my two emergency handles. It is comforting and reassuring to touch them. They are solid, the wind is not. I want Andrew to hold my shoulder as he always has before, but he won’t. I’m being weaned off of his supportive touch, all at once, and like an unhappy kitten I want that security back.

“Climb Out!”
Damn it’s too soon, I don’t want to do this, just get out there and do it! My brain sends me a dozen mixed messages all at once. But the training overrides all the voices, and I put my right hand on the door frame, then my left on the other side. My right foot pushes out into the wind and feels the step. Hey, Andrew isn’t leaning out with me! Please lean out! But he doesn’t and won’t. My hands are on the strut now, and I shuffle to the end of the step.

Here we go, will I step off will I will I yes I will and my arch will be a thing of beauty and I have so much time to make this work and GO Tina Go! It seems that I’m going to do it, because now I’m dangling beneath the strut. My hips push forward to greet the wind. It is whistling around me, a greeting not a threat.

Now Andrew has leaned out, and I look at him. “Look up!” he yells, and I do. There is a happy blue smiley face sticker grinning from the wing above me, and I grin back at it. “GO!”

No way in hell I’ll let go! But then it’s too late, because I have. I’m looking straight at Andrew, his blue eyes sparkling above a huge grin and both thumbs up in encouragement.

My arms spread wide, my hips thrust forward, I look up, and my arch is stable. Arch Thousand!
Keeping my back motionless and my head up, my arms move. The left one extends above my head, the right one reaches for the handle of the pilot chute. Reach thousand!
I pop it out, tossing it hard, and spread my arms again. Toss thousand!

Right then, I realise that I am flying, and I want to sing.

Arch thousand! Two thousand! I feel the canopy springing to life above me. But it still isn’t open, and I’m flying.

Three thousand! Four thousand! And now the canopy begins to catch air, slowing me down and swinging me around so my feet are below me. Five thousand!

My canopy is open, a beautiful blue and black wing above my head, whistling it’s own tune as it works. But as quickly as I notice that, I’m distracted. Andrew has followed me out, and is freefalling in front of me. He is flying headdown, a streak of red reaching for the earth and leaving me behind. Recalling myself to the moment, I reach for my controls, yellow handles stowed on the risers above me. A few small pulls confirm that the canopy is responding and functioning, so I turn around to find the airport. Then I look around.

Yes, I’ve been here before, hovering 3000 feet up. I’ve seen this view a dozen times now, and it is always spectacular. Only, I can’t stop to enjoy it right now. A voice pipes up, via the radio attached to my rig.

“Looking good Tina, but the wind has picked up a lot. Turn towards town and stay on that heading. No playing.”

I do as I’m told; with little else to do now I look around again. And then I realise I did it I did it I arched and pulled and I flew and I did it and I’m alive and this is what it means to be alive! I want to sing. My song will be about the snow-capped mountains that stretch away in almost every direction, about the undulating landscape of green hills and valleys, about the ponderosa pine trees standing rigidly along the slopes beside tiny lakes nestled into the earth’s curves. And I can sing about the wind, how it laughs at the world. It is the only truly free thing, having never known the bondage of gravity.

Looking straight down, I see that I’m no longer moving forward into the wind. I’m going backward. This is not good; it’s very windy and my canopy is bumping its way through the turbulence. On my radio I can hear ground control helping Brian land; he has missed the dropzone, missed the airport, and is landing in the nearby golf course. It’s very very windy!

I’m almost down. Now I’m not moving backward, but neither am I going forward. I’m slowly coming straight down, completely vertical. Only at the last moment do I drift forward a bit, and then I’m pulling down on the toggles and flaring, and I step from the air onto the ground.

At the clubhouse, there is cheering and clapping and hugs all around, for they all knew what this jump was. It was the defining moment, when I met the sky as more than a silly human jumping from a metal bird. This time, and from now on, when I reach the sky I am home.

Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea.
-Robert A. Heinlein

[hooked 0]

Geez, girl, if that is an abbreviated version, I'd love to read the full version! You write very well
J

TTK#5

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Sometimes we're just being Humans.....But we're always Human Beings.

[Razzamattaz 0]

3 sec delay. I jumped out and then there was a canopy over me and a rip cord in my hand so it must have gone well.

The guys watching me said they never saw somebody do so many rolls in 3 secs.

[paulledden 0]

August 1983 at Shobdon UK- Cessna 206. Had just done my 3rd successful DRCP and it was time!!!

Dropped three first time static liners out at 2500 - JM called climb to 3200 for clear and pull 1st freefall.

We run in - JM calls exit. I refuse.

"Why?" says he

"We're not high enough" says I

"Fucking hell" says he and tells the pilot to go around and climb to 4000.

Again we run in....


"Is that fucking high enough for you?" says he

"Yes" says I.....and out I went.

The End

The probability of being observed is directly proportionate to the stupidity of your actions at the time!