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The year was 1988. The wife and I were strolling through the indoor exhibits at the Wichita County Fair (Wichita Falls, Texas). At one of the booths was American Parachuting, Inc., owned and operated by Ross & Sharon Wroblewski.
There was a TV and VCR set up with various skydiving videos running continuously. There were a couple of parachute rigs displayed on the table. There were full-color brochures there for the taking. I took one.
My skydiving career almost took off back in 1972 at Ft. Hood, Texas with the FT. Hood Parachute Club. At least I think that was the name.
I attended the training, which included learning how to pack a parachute. We were told to pay attention because on our first jump we would live or die by our packing technique. It was the old days of the round main parachute and the round chest-mounted reserve parachute. None of that ram-air stuff yet. We were to jump out of the venerable "Huey" helicopter.
On jump day, it was discovered that the "sleeve" on my parachute had a big rip in it. I was told not to use it. And since there were no others available at the time, I didn't get to jump that day. I later learned that a rip in the sleeve would have had no effect on the outcome of the jump. As luck would have it, either weather, or work got in the way of the next several jump weekends and I never got back into it. At least I got my first of many Army rotary-wing airplane (often referred to as a helicopter) rides out of the deal!
My First Jump!
Back to 1988.
I studied the brochure and made the phone call to sign up for the class, which was to be held at the Grandfield Municipal Airport. The appointed Saturday arrived and I was there.
The first rattle out of the box was a video explaining that, while skydiving was relatively safe, accidents do happen, and please sign on the dotted line acknowledging that fact, and that you will not sue! An attorney who ended the video by jumping out of an airplane narrated it.
We learned it all, from aerodynamics, equipment parts and pieces, exiting the airplane, steering the parachute, braking the parachute, emergency procedures for water landing, landing in trees, landing in power lines, deploying the reserve parachute, parachute landing falls, and more. The main parachute on the student rigs was the rectangular "ram-air" type, but the reserve parachutes were round. The rigs had, however, advanced to the point where both the main and reserve parachutes were in the same container. No more looking like WWII parachutists lading behind enemy lines. The beginner's calls lasted about 5 hours.
The student rigs were equipped with Automatic Activation Devices attached to the reserve parachute ripcord. They were set at a certain altitude somewhere around 1,200 to 1,500 feet or so. If you went past that altitude faster than a certain speed (much faster than you would if you were dangling under a properly-deployed main parachute), the AAD would assume that you were still in freefall and it would fire and yank the reserve ripcord for you.
Each student was also equipped with a radio receiver and headphones so they could listen to commands from the instructor on the ground, once under the open main parachute. There were three students on a typical "load" and all might be in the air, under parachute, at the same time. With this in mind, each jumper was given an ID such as "Jumper #1", Jumper #2", etc. The ground instructor would give commands to each jumper to get them as close to the landing target as possible. "Jumper #1, turn right. Jumper #1, stop turn, and so on.
The jump airplane was a Cessna 182, a single-engine, 4-seat, high-wing plane. The right-side door had been removed for jump operations. There's only one seat on the airplane, and you know who gets that. Everybody else sits on the floor. The typical student load was the pilot, jumpmaster and three students. Students are normally released at 3,500 feet.
The first 5 jumps were on a "static line". A static line is about 15 feet long and is attached to the airplane interior and connected to the pin holding the container closed, and also to the pilot chute of the student jumper's main parachute. When the jumper falls away from the plane, and reaches the end of the static line, the line pulls the pin, enabling the container to open, then pulls out the pilot chute. The pilot chute is a small chute that, once it catches air, pulls everything else out of the container. The connection is strong enough to perform these two functions, but weak enough to break when the jumper reaches the end of the line. The whole process takes about 1 second.
So, it's time for that first jump. We suited up in baggy white jumpsuits. Then we strapped on our pre-packed parachutes. Parachute packing was not part of our basic class, although it's a must if and when you purchase your own equipment. I was designated as Jumper #1 for my load. This means I was the last student to get into the airplane so I could be close to the door. You WANT to be next to the door on a skydiving plane, but that's another story.
Demo Jump at Sheppard AFB
Walking toward the airplane. Not a particularly troubling event since I held a commercial pilot certificate, but it did make me think that something very different was about to happen. All onboard, cranking up, and taxi out to the runway. Seat belts? What seat belts? Well, the pilot has one. You don't want the pilot falling out of his or her seat. And why is the pilot wearing a parachute? Does he know something we don't know? Actually, FAA regulations require everyone on board an airplane to have a parachute if the door is open or removed, and under other conditions.
Off of student status, got my own snazzy
gear, on the ride up for a fun jump
We're at the planned jump altitude and over the target. The jumpmaster tosses out a wind drift indicator (WDI), a piece of crepe paper about a foot wide and maybe 20 feet long. The paper is wound around a foot-long aluminum rod, with the rod being attached to one end of the paper. This will give it some "weight" and cause it to unfurl and stream down toward the target at about the same speed as a jumper under parachute.
Exiting the plane over Sheppard
Air Force Base for a demo jump
We wait until the WDI hits the ground. If it lands XXX meters from the target, then our exit point will be XXX meter from the target, in the opposite direction. This is not so important with ram-air canopies, but we were using round reserves. If a student had to deploy their reserve, the adjustment for wind speed would bring them closer to the intended landing point.
We circle and approach the target again. This is known as the "jump run". We'll pass the target and continue to that imaginary spot on the ground opposite the target from the grounded WDI. The jumpmaster signals Jumper #1 (me) to move forward toward him. This meant scooting forward on my knees, since you don't stand up in a Cessna 182. The jumpmaster takes my static line, which had been tied to my container, and attaches the end securely to a ring on the airplane floor. I give it a tug and nod my head that I'm satisfied that I'm all hooked up.
The jumpmaster checks the ground and when we are over the exit point, he signals the pilot to reduce power to slow us down a little. Then he points to the open door. This is my signal to climb out. Right foot on the step, right hand to the wing strut. The wind and noise is unbelievable!
Left foot on the step, left hand on the wing strut. I work my hands out to the two marks on the strut, indicating the proper handhold points. Then, I let my feet slide off of the step, and there I am, dangling from the wing-strut. Now that's a weird feeling!
There's absolutely no turning back at this point. There's really no way to get back into the airplane. You're going to make a parachute jump! Even if you chicken out, it's only a matter of time before your grip weakens and you fall away. Besides, we were told that the pilot isn't going to let you dangle there for long. A little wigwag of the wing will make a skydiver out of you.
As soon as I get off the step, I look back at the jumpmaster who points upward. That's my signal to look up and let go. When I look up, I see "ARCH" in big letters. I let go, give it my best arch, and ZOOOOM! By the way, a wing-mounted camera recorded the moment.
It was like an elevator dropped out from under me. I've never had a sensation of falling so fast in my life. Another thing that shocks the senses is how fast the airplane shrinks into a tiny replica of itself! I start my "count" as soon as I let go. If I have no main parachute by "7", then it's time to pull the reserve.
But before I could soak it all in, and at a count of about "1 one thousand", BOOOOM, the parachute was open. I released my brakes and heard the ground instructor chiming in with orders for Jumper #1. First, she (Sharon) wanted to make sure I had indeed released the brakes. (the parachutes were packed with the brakes set at 50%, if I remember correctly). Then, we started to make a few turns just to get the feel of how the parachute flies.
I was used to setting up a landing approach in an airplane, and flying a parachute isn't any different. Everything that flies lands "into" the wind. Watch birds when they land in your yard. If they come in with the wind behind them, they'll turn into the wind before they land. A ram-air parachute has a top speed that will get a car driver a ticket in downtown Wichita Falls. You definitely need a headwind to slow things down so you can make that tippy-toe, stand up landing. A tailwind or crosswind will cause severe bumps and bruises.
With the help of the ground instructor, I landed pretty close to the "peas", the circular landing area filled with "pea gravel".
I definitely got my money's worth, which I think was about $125.00 for the course, parachute rental, and ride to altitude. I was thinking that I'd probably try it a few more times just to make sure. I ended up giving it about 57 tries before hanging up my pilot chute. My most memorable jumps were my third and 35th.
On my third jump, a week later, I was to do a simulated ripcord pull, just after letting go of the swing strut. This was to prepare for my upcoming freefall. I let go, and did the simulated pull as I started my count. "1 one thousand, 2 one thousand". I knew right away that something was wrong. The opening shock that I experienced almost immediately on my first and second jumps was missing. "3 one thousand".
There were two new sensations overcoming me. The first was the rapidly increasing feeling of that elevator falling out from under me. It was now like that first drop on a scary roller coaster ride. Then there was the sound of the wind roaring as I picked up speed. I looked up and saw that the pilot chute had pulled the bag containing the parachute all the way out to the end of the lines, but no further. (The parachute is folded into a small rectangular bag, the lines are stowed in zig zag fashion on the bottom of the bag, and the bag is placed inside of container worn on the back.) The bag wasn't coming off of the parachute. It's called a bag lock malfunction. It's a high-speed malfunction that leaves you no doubt that you're going to need your reserve parachute.
At "7 one thousand" I had no useable main parachute so I reached for the reserve ripcord with both hands. On the student rig, the act of pulling the reserve ripcord releases the main parachute at the same time it deploys the reserve. On regular rigs, it's a two-step operation. You release your main parachute with one handle, and deploy the reserve parachute with another.
As I pulled it, I remember saying out loud "WORK!" And work it did! I saw the main parachute leave and the round reserve open. During all the confusion I had apparently tumbled a little out of a stable freefall position. The opening shock jerked me upright so violently that something struck me in the face. I don't know if it was a hand, the ripcord handle, or what, but it felt like someone had hit me in the face with a brick. A tooth went sailing out into space.
The wind was light that day and I drifted downward toward a muddy field. I could see a car speeding down a nearby road. It was the ground instructor coming to the rescue. I grabbed the risers and pulled up on them just as my feet touched the ground. After all this, I was determined to do a stand-up landing. And I did. Only then did I notice all the blood on my jumpsuit from the busted lip. It would have been a fun experience if it hadn't been for the injury. It all happened so fast that there was no time to be scared.
The next week I was hanging from the strut for jump number 4!
Off of student status and
the ceremonial pie-in-the-face!
Fast-forward to jump #35. (I may come back and fill in more jumps later)
Off of student status for some time now, my skill at controlling my flying during freefall, as well as my skill in maneuvering the open parachute has increased considerably. One fine Saturday morning, a group of the more experienced jumpers decided it was time for another McJump. "What's a McJump", I asked?
I was informed that it was simply a jump onto the property of the McDonalds Restaurant in Walters, OK, just past the tollgate on I-44. It seems that these guys liked to jump into such places to eat. A non-jumping member would drive to the location to pick them up. The old Tinkers Catfish Inn was another popular spot. In the case of the McJump, we would only have to walk across the highway to the little airstrip where the airplane would be waiting.
Me, on the step, over Grandfield, Oklahoma.
Marvin Walls is poised to follow me out.
So, here we were, at altitude, high up over the McDonalds. I was on the step, with another jumper in the door, holding on to my arm. As we fell away, the other two jumpers dove out headfirst to catch up with us. We formed a brief four-way formation before breaking away and opening our parachutes. We flew to a landing right outside the McDonalds. Kids came running out. People in the parking lot were saying "What the heck"! We re-packed our parachutes on the lawn right next to the building, then went inside and got in line for some nourishment.
To be continued - maybe!
Maynard