Joyous Jumps

With prove-up completed and divorce decree signed by the ill-tempered judge, things were gelling for escape from the hard gray edge. Sight of means to move to the mountains and live there loomed large. A parcel of property had been identified as a good candidate for homesteading and I would be inspecting it in the fall before snows settled on it for winter. So that jump was going to happen within two years, for sure. There was another jump to take, though. A jump I had dreamed of since childhood. A jump I had decided probably wasn't ever going to happen considering my workload and constantly full calendar until I heard about a same-day opp at the Gainesville municipal airport to skydive out over the Red River.

So without hesitation, I called and set up an appointment for a tandem jump. At the airport I watched a 15-minute video as training for the jump, then went to the hangar to gear up and go through dry-run physical movements practice. I noticed a few beer cans on top of lockers.

The plane was taxied out of the hangar onto the runway and we boarded. The jump master showed me how we would move through the open door of the plane where I would grab the wing spar and place my left foot on the specialized step for that purpose, we would pause as he determined our jump readiness, then would signal with a shoulder tap for me to let go. It was a simple and straightforward process. He did warn me not to try to grab his hands, ever.

During the flight to altitude of about 14,000 ft, it was too noisy in the plane for much conversation. Sitting facing the jump master, I could tell he was watching me for signs of having second thoughts. I had none and relished every moment as the little airplane labored upward. It was running well but it was an old aircraft. I was more worried about it living up to its part of the deal than I was about freaking out and changing my mind about jumping out.

At altitude, the jump master signaled for me to dangle a leg out the doorway so he could buckle us together. That went smoothly and then he pointed for me to grab the wing spar.

Releasing my grip on it at the shoulder tap, we tumbled to the side and began our freefall.

The adrenalin rush was more intense than expected as I gazed straight down at the Red River bending around Leeper Lake. I remember not feeling weightless, as expected, but heavy. Too heavy, in fact, as we plummeted toward the ground. Forty seconds later the chute deployed and opened. For me, the fun part was over. I liked the freefall sensation most, but not the glide down to the ground as much, especially when the jump master began steering us back and forth toward the landing zone. The adrenalin rush had peaked and my inner ear was revolting against the turning, swinging steering motions as we approached the ground.

Upon landing, Nick, our camera man, had already landed and rushed up with his helmet cam still on and asked excitedly "How'd you like it?". I damn near lost my breakfast but managed instead to hold a hand to my belly and ask "Is it normal to feel like I'm gonna hurl?". Nick replied "Oh, yeah. Totally. It's the adrenalin!" and that helped my mind quell my unsettled stomach. We all laughed, congratulating each other on a successful jump and job well done.

It was fun, but that was all I needed to satisfy the childhood dream of jumping out of a plane. The next jump would be even more fun as everything came together perfectly to make my escape from the hard gray edge on schedule at the turn of the century. Driving away from the metroplex after dark, bidding it farewell and deciding never to return there ever again, the next two decades of life were excitement enough for me, until the USFS burned me out.