Beermonster

The Central american ones may be Basler conversions but the SAAF use a local conversion with -65s instead of the -67 engines in the Basler. There's a company called Dodson which is American owned that operates a number of ex SAAF C47TPs all over Africa, mainly in war zones for the UN and ICRC.

Know of one particular rocket surgeon who spent the afternoon watching the Para Planes, Strangle Stars and Flyers landing then promptly went out and broke both wrists flaring a Spearchucker using the toggles.

The PC doesn't generate lift as a product of forward speed in the same way a ram air does, thus flaring the beast would be a futile excercise. What I've found is that pulling down on the back risers just before touch down pulls down on the crown lines that invert the apex and probably force air out and down a bit faster, giving a softer landing. The down side is that if you screw it up, the small amount of acceleration required to inflate the canopy properly again could mean a harder landing. My 2c worth....

Did a demo into the opening of a new shopping mall. As the circus was in town, the elephants were invited to attend and spent an hour or so wandering around the parking lot before we jumped in. Yep, you got it. Stomped a pile of jumbo crud on landing and spent the next hour wandering around the new mall with a warm, smelly foot. Used to wear a "Banzai!" bandanna with a big red rising sun and a load of inspirational stuff for kamikaze pilots written on it. Went low on a 16 way wearing it one day, and having no way to get back up (Yeah, I was THAT low), rolled onto my back and watched the formation from below. As we passed 7000' odd, the bandanna came off and went through the centre of the formation. One particularly squirrelly individual decided it was my pilot chute and backpedalled out of there, clawing madly for his own pilot chute. The chain reaction that followed was watched in amazement by myself as I lay on my back below them. Took it down to 2500' and deployed as usual and was already back in the clubhouse arranging for a beer truck when they landed. Doing a downplane one afternoon, the other guy, DK, got a grip on my foot and removed my sneaker before letting it drop. Thinking I'd lost it we got back to the clubhouse with me limping along in one sneaker to be met by the proud and pretty angry owner of a new Honda Goldwing waving my sneaker. It appears my footwear missed his bike by about an inch as it pigged in next to the clubhouse. Same bike owner was later ambushed by a friend who shoved a Thunderflash into his barbecue and almost caused his heavily pregnant wife to give birth right there. Same guy stopped at a pedestrian crossing to admire the *ahem*, view and forgot to deploy a foot. The view got a good laugh as he slowly toppled over and ended up pinned beneath his bike while having his leg slowly fried.

Onya, Pat! Good to hear from the Master...

Nope. Got on the wrong side of a bonehead and now looking for a real job. Getting a bit tired of being shot at, jailed, bombed, and taken hostage... Got to do the wild beer thang again some time...

Stupidity takes it's toll... Did a demo jump with a bunch of scary ragged @rse military loons. Exited over the field and chased her down to 2500' with smoke before waving off and pulling out the pilot chute. Glanced over the shoulder to see one of the military lunatics sitting just above me with a huge grin on his kisser. Held the pilot chute for a second or two until he'd dumped, then let go - Nothing! Saw the pilot chute wrapped around my paw so in a state of terminal rampant stupidity, I rolled onto my back and untangled it before letting it go and rolling over again. About that time my bowels turned to water as I saw the hangars coming up at speed. Didn't even get the brakes unstowed before spearing in between the hangars on the taxiway. Did another two jumps that day before the thousand yard stare kicked in that evening. The military loons got me adequately ratted that evening and that seemed to cure it, albeit with some side effects, ie not taking shirt from them any more, to the extent of screaming and swearing at a dopey senior officer (staff rank) to get his act together while docking canopies.

It am indeed me, yer honour! When we seeing you for beer and bullshirt again?

Sparky I reckon a low hook into a tight DZ while a huge open space is available a few feet away qualifies one for that. Just too old and broken to try something like that now... Another time, Andrelr, a poster on this forum and myself spent the evening getting close to a few beers. Well ratted, we decided to visit another skydiving buddy we knew was courting a young lady. Arriving at his place we discovered negotiations had reached a delicate point so, being in quite a good mood and in full voice we decided to serenade him and his young lady with a few skydiving ditties. It took about ten seconds for an angry, naked lunatic to appear in the doorway, brandishing a 9mm pistol and vowing to cut short our concert. Andre disappeared over the fence and being somewhat fuddled with ale and slightly disorientated, I headed for the back yard where Denton was able to herd me into the open and take pot shots at my scurrying form. With good luck rather than any degree of skill I managed to get to the driveway where Andre was revving up the getaway car and we beat a hasty retreat. Have to say that skydiving has provided more life changing experiences than most other things I've come across.

A few years back, a jump was planned into a friend's wedding. Myself and the best man did a demo into a football game earlier in the day and headed back for the wedding jump. Packed the gear, woke the pilot and got airborne in good time. Normal run in and exit but the temptation to land in front of the marquee (and pretty girls) was too much so ignoring the huge field next door, I set up for a hook into the open area between the trees and in front of the young ladies. All went well until the actual moment I hooked it. Looking down on my intended landing area with my canopy blocking my view of it, I realised I was in a heap of painful trouble. Didn't remember much else after that. Eyewitnesses later informed me that after the first bounce I came by at about head height with blood spraying from eyes, nose, ears and mouth. The distance between the first crater and where I eventually came to rest was about thirty feet and if it hadn't rained for three days solid the week before, the general consensus was that I would have been the latest instrumentalist in the White Cloud Orchestra. The impact crater was about a foot deep and remains in the garden to this day. Anyhow, the bride had a brother who was in the medical profession and as the reception was at his house, all his medical friends were there as well. They managed to jumpstart me and got me loaded in an ambulance and off to the emergency room. Unfortunately, the bride arrived just as the ambulance was leaving with siren wailing. She was a pretty sensitive sort and had spent the morning crying so this wasn't doing her nerves any good at all. In the meantime, the best man had landed in the garden of the house next door. This particular home belonged to a lady who prided herself on her garden. she'd won prizes for the best garden in the suburb for a good number of years and the annual judging was about due again. The guy found himself in a flower bed and facing a large drooling Rottweiler with bad breath and a worse attitude. He grabbed his canopy, scrambled onto the dividing wall and proceeded to shuffle across to a point where he could hop down and join the party. While he was doing this, the Rottweiler was losing it below him as it rampaged through the garden, ripping up plants and generally kicking up a fuss. We'd flipped a coin earlier to see who'd be best man so being the loser in that respect made it unnecessary to frisk the body for the ring so the happy couple could get hitched. It came pretty close to having to follow a dog around with a bucket to recover the ring, though... Anyhow after a couple of botched escape attempts, I eventually made it out of the hospital and managed to call for rescue in time to have a few cold ones with the guys at the party. Not a great idea on top of concussion but it did dull the ache somewhat. Last thing I recall before passing out was Dave Barr shaking his head and calling me a freakin' idiot!