JaapSuter

Does he base jump as well? I might have met him a few weeks ago. If so, drop Dexterbase, KMonster or RayLosli a PM, they'll know how to get in touch.

I think I just crapped my pants laughing. That was awesome Luke! Keep 'm coming people!

There's plenty of existing discussions on slider down versus off out here. I don't think we need to rehash those. Both have advantages and disadvantages, and as long as you know both and make an educated decision, either can work great. That said, I noticed my name appears only two times on the frontpage. So in the interest of maintaining the status-quo, here's another poll. This is to (dis)prove a theory I have. Edited to add; obviously ignoring any slider up jumps you do. I'm just talking about what you used in the past and use these days for low stuff.

It was Tim. He dropped me a PM. Thanks everybody!

At Kevin's request, here is my essay. Blame him if you feel I'm polluting the boards. My apologies to Nick for hijacking his vintage story thread with such a fresh story. While this story happened exactly as written, I cannot confirm that it was me who this happened to. I decided to write it in second person perspective. Can you tell I'm a Chuck Palahniuk fan? Too bad I'm a shitty writer. Credit to those who actually read it to the end. Go play outside! Bingo Twistle, Seven Q's Bongo and the plan in between... You are at the airport in a city you've never been before. Your plane landed twenty minutes ago for what is supposed to be a five day business trip. Unknown to your co-workers, your suitcase contains more than fresh undies, some clothes and a toothbrush. Your helmet, body armour and kneepads barely fit in. Earlier, the airport security officer asked you about the contents of your carry-on luggage. The sweat crept up your back, but he allowed you to pass after you whispered something about a parachute and skydiving. A thorough inspection could easily have ruined everything. The plan had been formulated four days earlier. Weeks of discussion had transformed a mission impossible into a scheme so brilliant that only the best would understand. On Zipday we flooz the bingo twistle. Then rest maybe grap dingo chomp chomp. Xanadu, flipmode squash on seven Q's bongo. Your colleagues are getting in a taxi to go to the hotel. You tell them you're having lunch with a friend first and will catch up later. One phone-call to your accomplice and minutes later you are picked up from the airport. Cursing the traffic, you look out over the vast city landscape. In the distance you see a crane. You ask your friend how high he thinks it is. He says you can find out yourself. The crane is in the neighbourhood of your hotel. The plan hasn't started and already you are thinking of ways to accomodate this new potential. Four hours and a lunch later, you finally make your way through city traffic and approach the hotel. The crane is no longer on your mind when suddenly you turn around a corner and it is right there, in your face. You put your nose against the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the beam. Your head swivels in all directions looking for potential landing areas and getaways. Suddenly you lunge forward into your seatbelt as the car screams to a halt. "We're here", your friend says, "this is your hotel." Dumbstruck, you can't believe that the first object you spot in this city turns out to be only two hundred yards from the hotel you are staying in. Blaming fate, you decide that the plan will have to make room. The car is parked and the two of you walk over to the object to laser it and scout for landing areas. The tip of the beam hangs right over a busy six lane street. Counting the number of stories in the building, you estimated it static-linable. Now you're looking through the range-finder and can't believe the magic number written on the LCD display. It's your hard deck; your limit; the height at which you start thinking about turning that static-line or PCA jump into the definition of base jumping. You can go and throw. Fast forward two days. Part of the plan has been accomplished and the letter B is now officially yours. Unfortunately, your partner in crime pulled a muscle on this jump and he decides to rest for a few days. Meanwhile you spent some time with colleagues satisfying the business trip's intended purpose. Coming back, you walk into your hotel room and the stash-bag catches your eye. You dump its contents onto the floor and start looking around the room. There is barely room for line stretch, but you decide it's not an obstacle, it's a challenge. Fifty minutes later your old personal record for packing in tight places is shattered and you put the rig into the stash-bag. Your friend is too sore to jump but he generously offers to ground-crew. There is no wind, the street seems quiet enough at night and the crane is oriented exactly right. The plan quickly emerges during a delicious sushi dinner, and you decide that next time you're in this city, the crane will be gone. Now, or never. Just ten minutes after midnight, a car stops at the back of the building site. The door opens and a dark figure carrying a bag appears. He makes his way towards the fence while the car drives around the corner. Quickly but silent the figure hops over the fence and dashes towards the shadows. Nobody had a chance to see him, and city life continues as if nothing happened. Hiding behind some piles of brick, you take your helmet out of your stashbag and put it on. Next, you grab your cellphone and call groundcrew. He's only a block away, and yet this phone-call is routed from one country to another and back, making for a very expensive long distance call. You stick your cellphone in between your head and helmet where it allows you to talk with both hands free. Try that with a radio. One of these days you will buy a proper headset, you promise yourself. If people would have any interest in building sites and cranes, they could notice a person climbing up the ladders. The bottom hundred feet of the crane are basked in a sea of light. Big halogen lights brighten that side of the building, and the climber seems to make haste to get into the darker section as quickly as possible. Fortunately for him, people prefer staring at the ground, avoiding contact with other people as much as possible. Closer to the top of the crane, you start worrying about the cabin. It is blocking the entrance to the beam and unless the hatch is open, you have to climb around it on the outside of the crane. You'd be wearing your rig in case you fall, but an unstable exit that close to the building won't ever classify as a forgiving jump. You give the hadge a little nudge and it seems to move. Pushing harder, the hatch opens up and you sneak your way into the cabin. Shielded from the outside world this is a great place to gear up. Almost ready for the final stretch, you take a break to suck in the view. Overlooking a city you have never been to before, three hundred feet above the ground in the middle of the night, it feels familar. A thousand miles away, you suddenly feel at home. What you are definitely not familiar with is the beam of this crane. As you climb through the second hatch on top of the cabin, you see your worst nightmare come true. What you had already suspected from the ground becomes a reality when you are frantically trying to find some sort of catwalk. Instead, all you see is a thin rail that allows a platform to wheel out to the end. Unable to use this platform now, you are going to have to climb along the rail itself. This means side-stepping on the outside of the beam, holding on to metal structures too thick for your hand to fully wrap around. You remind yourself that this would be a breeze if it were only three feet of the ground. You remind yourself that you should always keep three points of contact, and only move one limb at a time. You remind yourself not to look down, but then realize you thrive on staring into the gaping void that lies underneath any exit point. Suddenly cheerful, you share this information with your groundcrew and ask him not to disturb you for the next ten minutes. This requires total focus. Imagine a couple, walking hand in hand along the boulevard. They are on their way home from a visit to the theatre, enjoying the warm summer night. He would rather take a taxi, but she insists that the full moon night is too romantic to pass up on. They just bought a house and they expect their first child in a few months. Every friday he plays tennis with his boss and she is trying to decide what color to paint the baby room. Nothing can possibly disturb this beautiful night. They're talking about their hopes and future. She reflects on the meaning of life and the infinity of the universe, and both of them look up towards the stars. Seeing the man make his way towards the end of the beam, their first thought is this has to be a suicidal maniac. Looking more carefully, they notice he is wearing a helmet as well as some sort of funny backpack. It doesn't take long to register. On a recent trip to Australia, they had seen an episode of Sixty Minutes about base jumpers. This must be one of them. Now a witness to such an experience, the meaning of their life seems more complicated than ever. What motivates a person to climb along the beam of a crane in the middle of the night? Is gravity so rewarding that it transcends the risk and effort? Something in the women starts protesting. The man feels it too. Every cell in their bodies panicks wildly, telling them how troubled this jumper must be. This stunt resists everything the couple believes in, and they decide they want no part in it. The imaginary couple walks on into the night. Meanwhile, in a world that consists of only two hands, two feet, a metal structure and a three hundred feet gap, you feel more alone than ever. Oblivious to the people walking underneath, you make your way towards the end of the beam. Arriving there, you find yourself on a small platform no more than two feet squared. You get in touch with your groundcrew and explain to him you are about to do final gear checks. You reach back to check your bridle and velcro and notice your right flap feels weird. You realize that your overzealous desire to prime your velcro has come to haunt you at the worst possible time. Standing on the tiniest of platforms with hardly any railing, you now have to take off your rig to close the right flap. Five minutes later you put the rig on for the second time that day. You take out the pilotchute and route your bridle along the velcro on your shoulder. Meanwhile, your groundcrew tells you he has put the tailgate of his truck down. After your canopy opens, he will pull out into the street, blocking the lane you land in. You will then jump onto the back of his truck and drive off. Behind you, the street makes a turn into the distance. Just as a car comes into view, you start counting. No more than 23 seconds later the car is exactly underneath you. As long as no new car appears on the street when the last one drives underneath, you'll have a 23 second gap to jump, fly and land. Your groundcrew, friend, accomplice and partner in crime tells you to have a good one. You tell him that you have no regrets and that you'll see him in a few minutes. You then hang up the phone, take it from between your ear and the helmet and put it in your pocket. Your toes move to the edge of the platform as you keep looking over your shoulder to find a gap in between traffic. You pass up on several promising opportunities. Every time you're just about to go headlights appear in the distance, ruining your chance to jump. Fifteen minutes pass and you are wondering if your groundcrew may think something is wrong. Then suddenly you notice the white van driving underneath you. You look back over your shoulder and see that no other car has appeared yet. Is this it? No time to think! One last glance around to see if there is traffic anywhere, and then a countdown. 3.. 2.. 1.. CYA! You leap off the edge with your eyes on the horizon. A nice stable exit and less than a count later you pitch your pilotchute. Your hands start reaching up in anticipation for the risers while your head moves down to give your eyes a peek at the asphalt below you. As groundrush starts settling in, you hear the comfortable sound of velcro ripping apart. A split second later you find yourself under a perfectly flying canopy, on heading. In front of you an empty road ready to be landed in. Behind you, momentarily blinded by the headlights, you recognize the truck of your friend. You flare and run out the landing, quickly trying to pull the canopy down to the ground. You bundle it up as the truck pulls up besides you. You throw the canopy in the back of the truck and jump on. Just as you duck for cover, you notice the car in the corner of your eyes; police! Yelling to your friend that he should get the hell out of here, you look over your shoulder to see the police car turn around in pursuit. The world around you dissapears as images of arrests and jail start exploding in your head. Is this still a game? Is this still worth it? Will this be the last jump with this gear? What about the business trip? Hell, what about ever setting foot in this country again? "Run into the hotel!" your friend screams, bringing you back to your senses. Suddenly jerked back into reality, you notice you are in front of the hotel lobby. You quickly jump out and make a run towards the door. The hotel lobby personnel is having a night like any other. Some chit chat with guests, helping people with their luggage, and the occasional valet parking. It's not busy tonight so some of them sit down in the lounge enjoying a coffee. Seeing the door thrown open violently and the madman appear is the last thing they expect. "Press fourteen! Press fourteen!" the man screams as he dashes towards the elevator. The man is wearing a full face helmet and carries what seems to be a parachute. Too shocked to do anything, the lobby personnel asks: "Did you just jump off a building?" Just before the elevator doors slide shut, the man confirmes: "Yeah, and don't worry; I'm a guest here." Breathing heavily, you understand that going to the fourteenth floor is no longer an option. You just told them you'd go there. Randomly, you pick seventeen and consider your options. Your own room is on fourteen and staying in the hallway is too dangerous. There is only one other room you have access too. Your company reserved an extra room on the seventh floor, meant to be used for after hours lounging. You know it contains a fridge with beer and you hope that your colleagues are already in their own rooms, sleeping. Coming out of the elevator, you make your way to the stairwell and run down ten floors towards room 704. You put the key into the reader and open the door. You walk in and you hear the familiar sound of a gramophone needle screeching over a vinyl record. Two seconds ago, at least twenty people were talking loudly, playing poker, watching television, drinking beers. Now, everybody in the room is completely silent and staring at the door. No wait, at you. Apparently, not everybody had gone to bed yet. The first words uttered from a stammering co-worker: "Are you being chased?" You have now taken off your helmet and the look on your face explains the story better than any words can. "Yeah, sort off," you shrug as you throw down your gear and make your way towards the fridge. As you crack open a beer, questions start pouring in. You try to answer, but all you can think of is your friend who, by now, must be hand-cuffed and legs spread over the hood of his truck, getting padded by a police officer. Minutes later, somebody knocks on the door. Your heart skips several beats as you push your gear out of sight and hide around the corner. A colleague opens up and hears a man ask a question. Recognizing your friend's voice, you turn around the corner. You're impressed by your co-worker who is trying to protect you by saying: "Who's asking?" You tell him it's okay, looking at your friend with a puzzled look. ...The cops pulled over besides me laughing hysterically. They must have seen the entire thing judging from the look on their faces. They never even got out of the car. All they said over the speakers was: "Sir, you can't have people ride on the flatbed of your truck. That's illegal in this city!" and then they drove off... You can't believe it. You raise your arms into the air feeling the weight fall of your shoulders. You scream of joy and you hug your friend to celebrate the great ending of another adventure. Suddenly you notice another ackward silence. You turn around and for the second time you stare into twenty astounded faces. Realizing you owe them an explanation, you walk over to the fridge to grab another beer for your friend. You sit down and talk. Fast forward six days. The rest of the plan worked out perfectly. You traveled to Xanadu to do a flipmode squash and obtained the seven Q's bongo. This got you the letter A, completing the word. Four nights in an unknown city, three different objects, two letters and one amazing story. You find yourself in an office. You have the weekly meeting with your boss and discuss the recent business trip. It's been a great trip that was succesful for the entire team. Superlatives fling back and forth and yet you notice a certain unease. "Well," you hear him say: "there is one thing I need to discuss." ...we think that your base jumps are very cool, and we urge you to keep doing what you love. However, we do ask you to please leave your parachute at home during business trips. It is a liability the company can not afford. That said... ...that night you came running into the hotel room was unbelieveable! I don't think I've ever seen anything like it before... You walk back to your desk. You sit down and notice the picture attached to your monitor. It's a picture of yourself, just as you're about to leap of a bridge. And then you smile...

Thanks Lou. I'm not slaving over an ironboard for these. I already have a hard enough time to iron my own shirts, let alone iron somebody elses t-shirts. I used http://www.zazzle.com to print them. I've used Cafe Press in the past, but in my opinion Zazzle delivers higher quality apparel, both the textile as well as the print. I suppose I could just make the print public and let people buy it directly from Zazzle. But that wouldn't be fun anymore. Thanks again!

Does that go for me as well? I've been chastised for writing essays, so I have to be careful.

Mostly, but sometimes I get to share them with Skreamer, Cornische or GirlFallDown. Skreamer prefers putting them on right after I jumped in them and sharted in freefall. Quick, hide! Before Tom moves this post to the chit-chat section! Seriously though, let's get back on topic. My bad. Online I prefer legal jumps. In real life, it greatly depends on the site. I'm a great proponent of opening up the US national parks for legal jumps. But I also realize that it's unlikely the downtown core of your local city will become a free for all freefall. It's the diversity of it all that I enjoy.

Except for the part about the cheese, the essays and the panties, you got it all wrong!

Oh my god, just what we need; more Ozzies on this forum.

Hoi Tenshi, Als je ff in je profile zegt hoeveel skydives en base jumps je hebt, wat je naam is en waar je vandaan komt, dan zal je merken dat de reacties hier een stuk gezelliger worden. En de post hierboven maakt een goed argument. Er zijn op dit moment verschillende groepen bezig om bepaalde sites legaal te maken. Als we daarna online in een forum allemaal gaan roepen dat we voornamelijk illegale sprongen het leukst vinden, dan helpt dat niet echt. Woon je in Nederland by the way? Cheers, Jaap

I've gotten a lot of requests from people that would like to buy a shirt. To keep the price down, I'll have them done on regular t-shirts instead of polo-shirts. Paypal your requested size from XS up to XXL and your address to paypal@jaapsuter.com. If you're in the US it's USD 22.50, outside it's USD 26.50. The shirt should be there within two weeks if you're in the US. Outside can take a little longer. They could be a little cheaper if I could put in a big order at once, but I'm too lazy too coordinate that. I'm making 3 cents per order on these. If you prefer, I can send you the design and you can iron it on your own shirt. Those people that I have promised t-shirts already, e.g. the contest winners and the ones who succesfully bribed me behind the scenes, will still get their polo-version for free obviously. Cheers, Jaap

Lateral means sideways, right? So I meant that pulling the right riser down wouldn't tug the left one with it, and vice versa.

No, you're not. I'm just a complete and utter retard.

Neah, we have people with 47 basejumps telling everybody online how to basejump. Humtiedum...

Is there any chance somebody can ask him to drop me an email or PM? He can also call me (604-313-JAAP). Thanks!

And for what it's worth, I've done 20 jumps slider off, and 27 slider down. I'm a slider down person now because I haven't noticed a difference during packing or in heading and flight performance. Not that 47 jumps is a good statistic, but it's enough to convince myself into thinking that slider down works for me.

Edited to remove a really silly explanation. Read warped's post below for a proper explanation of why crosslinking can help in case of a three ring failure.

And it allows you to use your rear-risers independently without the slider connecting them lateral.

Pull up bumper, pull down slider, pull down bumper. Done. No need to tie anything down. I have yet to hear of an incident where the slider traveled up when it was put below the bumpers. Only do it on the front-risers, leave the rear-risers alone so they can move freely through the grommets. But you knew that already.

I think he might know Shane McConkey in person as well, if that is any help. Don't know how well.

Hi, I'm looking for a jumper from South Africa. I don't have a name, but I have the attached picture of a jump he did near Vancouver, Canada. I guess there's not too many jumpers from South Africa, so if somebody knows a way to get in touch with him, please drop me a note. Thanks, Jaap

Great initiative Nick, I love to read more of this stuff. Unfortunately I'm too young to have any historical stories of my own, so I'll just back and listen. Just to give it a little nudge though, here are two threads that also contain awesome stories: The best of Nick Digiovanni Down and Out - A Base Story in Five Posts And all of you old-timers and people with more than 500 jumps, share your greatest story!

I voted no. I think the signal to noise reduction is low enough that people can do manual filtering. Blinc took the route of having multiple forums, and it takes me too much clicking to read every post. The online base community simply isn't active enough to warrant more than one forum. That said, feel free to hand out the occasional warning if things get too off-topic. I'm prime suspect number one, and I'd be more than happy to continue the occasional thread to the Bonfire. Base is as much about the chit-chat as it is about the technical and legal issues. If I only cared about the latter, I'd volunteer to work for the USPA.

What a strange coincidence you have reply number 69 in this thread. Shanonononononon!