A plunge taken

I'm a naturally cautious person. And I don't plan on rushing the process of buying a rig. So, obviously, I now own one. The first one I went to see. I regret nothing, but then I haven't jumped it yet. This week I went to the bank, got out the most money I've ever held in my hands then did another 200 mile round trip to exchange it for a peach of a rig. 4 years old and only 140 jumps is way better than I was hoping for.

The urge to get naked and roll around in it was almost overwhelming

It's not perfect. Reserve parachutes, the ones that are deployed when your main malfunctions, are repacked every six months by a fully qualified rigger, and this one is way overdue. I won't be allowed anywhere near a plane with it until this is done. The Automatic Activation Device, which deploys the aforementioned reserve if it detects I'm still in freefall under 1000', is due it's 4 year service. Which means the entire rig has to be sent to Germany. Also, it's filthy. It spent most of its active life at Empuriabrava, a jumper's paradise that covers everything that goes near it with a solid layer of impregnable dust.

My little piece of nylon-based freedom

The main problem with it is that it's too small. Canopies are measured in square feet, the smaller ones are faster and more manoeuvrable which makes them more fun but also more dangerous. I'm currently jumping a 220. I was looking for a 190, but this is only a 168. It just means I'll have to rent club rigs for a few more jumps, which isn't an issue if I can display some patience I've so far been completely devoid of. Oh, and the colour scheme doesn't match my jumpsuit.

But the advantages make the problems inconsequential. It's in great condition, almost new. I'll get it clean, get it sorted and then be able to jump it for years. I don't believe in the idea of seeing something and immediately knowing it's what you want. That said, when I first went to see it, after I tried it on I instinctively kept it over my shoulder instead of handing it back to the seller. It's a great fit, but maybe it just felt right.

Taking risks

I'm a naturally cautious person. Really. There are all sorts of different types of risk in this world, and the rewards for each have to be analysed before they will be taken or abandoned. We all do this process instinctively, hundreds of times a day. And we all see the rewards, and the probabilities, differently. I, for example, have looked at skydiving, seen the facts, spent time at the dropzone and decided I'll probably be fine and the thrill of each jump is worth it.

When it comes to large scale purchases, however, I'm a wuss. It takes me 3 months to buy a car. I have to find the best possible one, and then this has to be checked relentlessly. I'm too worried about getting scammed. This leaves me slightly uncomfortable with the situation in which I find myself.

Yesterday I went to the South Cerney dropzone near Swindon. My purpose was not to jump, but to meet someone coming from Cardiff who had a rig to sell. It seemed good. But, being my usual cautious self, I wanted it to be looked over by a rigger, someone who's job it is to check and maintain parachutes, to make sure there were no hidden issues. He spent approximately 30 seconds looking at it and asking questions before without even checking the canopies within he declared if I didn't want it he would buy it then and there. This was about as good a recommendation as I could hope for, but a part of me would have liked him to take it all apart and inspect every inch of it. In an unusual show of retail bravery, I said I would buy it.

The seller would only take cash, which I didn't have, so we are meeting up again to make the exchange. Before we could even leave the dropzone the rigger let the seller know that he had two other jumpers who had said they wanted it. I know I'm getting it for a steal, so I'm praying the seller doesn't decide he can get more money for it and call the deal off. I wouldn't really blame him if he did. If I do get it, I'll hand over thousands of pounds for a parachute I've never even seen. I'll probably be getting something fantastic. That's the risk.

One careful owner

Parachutes are like cars.

There are different brands, and these are perceived to have certain characteristics - sporty, safe, old fashioned, budget. Everybody in the group has one, and there's a large amount of arguing the pros and cons  of various types.

The biggest similarity is the way you own them. You usually learn with one that isn't yours. Your first will be something slow, safe and well used. From there you progress to something that goes faster and costs more. If you have even a mild interest you spend a lot of time looking online and in magazines at the latest, best models you can't possible afford. And no matter how good yours is, someone always has a better one.

I'm currently looking for my first rig. The reason I only do a couple of jumps a month is that I've been saving money for it. Renting gear from the club doubles the cost of each jump, and in an already expensive sport this is a outlay I don't need. I have a budget, I'm looking for something used but in decent condition, not quite at the bottom of the pile. A rig's condition is also measured in jumps, and I want something in the hundreds, not thousands.

The trouble is the size of the market. Skydiving has a small community, so used rigs don't come up very often. I spend an unhealthy amount of time scouring UK Skydiver but it's a difficult process. If you discount everything too old, too expensive, too big or too small (both harness and canopy size) then there are only a couple of rigs on sale that would suit me. Still, I'll be buying something that will be the physical representation of the sport I love, something that will save my life every time I leave the aircraft. It's not a process I plan on rushing.

Only dead fish go with the flow

#27 10-09-11 (Part 2)

So there I am, hanging under my canopy, watching a tandem glide away from me and marvelling at physics, human innovation and the universe in general, when I turn towards the landing zone to gauge my progress so I can work out an approach. There's a technique we use to work out where we're going to land. As you sink your perspective of the ground changes. The top of your view gets shallower, the bottom gets steeper. The point where these affects meet, where your view stays steady, that's where your going to land. After couple of seconds I realise everything in front of me is getting shallower. I'm going straight down.

I have a problem. A parachute moves through the air at a certain forward speed. But the air moves as well. We call this phenomenon 'wind'. So if you're moving with the wind you speed over the ground is increased, and when your moving against it it reduced. If you fly directly into the wind, and it's at a speed roughly the same as the forward speed of your parachute, you'll go nowhere. And I was. Fast.

I was a few hundred metres from the nearest edge of the Landing Zone, but I didn't panic. Headcorn, the drop zone, has a great location, surrounded by nothing but fields (and a few lion cages). Plus the winds will be slower at lower altitudes, so I might get some penetration then (no sniggering - that's the technical term).

I pick a field just ahead of me that looks good, aside from being full of sheep. I was supposed to be testing out a new canopy, to see how it flies. That idea is discarded now - I want to land as close to the drop zone as possible, so I keep the canopy facing into the wind. However, I do a couple of flat turns - these are safe even close to the ground, and stalls as these will slow my landing to a more comfortable pace. Pretty soon I'm at a thousand feet and barely any closer the the DZ. I'm thinking about nothing but landing, and the sheep field is looking pretty good.

I should explain at this point that I'm not only one whose completely focused on my actions. My girlfriend, Monika, is waiting back at the drop zone.She doesn't understand the intricacies of skydiving, yet, but she may have figured out something's wrong. I hope she's not worrying about me.

Monika's view of me - when I'm landing a canopy that actually goes forwards.

As I get lower I start to move forward, slowly. At 500' I realise I'm going to come close to the hedge at the edge of my field, so I put in a couple of flat turns to burn some altitude then line up into the wind. The sheep scatter as I get low - I can't help but grin - then I'm flaring as the ground comes up to meet me. It looks pretty good but there are too many unknowns in play so I drop into a Parachute Landing Fall -  the safest, but least glamorous way of touching down. I get up, collect up my parachute, and start the walk back to where I should have been. Piece of cake.

I get back to the landing zone in time to catch the minivan back to manifest, and get the front seat. As we pull up I see Monika standing against fence closest to the LZ. I give a big smile, hoping she never noticed anything was wrong. Not a chance. I get a look back that suggests she doesn't know whether to kiss me or slap me. I was lucky. I got the kiss.

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The sky - smaller than you think

The jump that kicked this off - #27 10-09-11 (Part 1)

Usually my second jump of the day is less nervous than the first. The nerves are never too bad anyway, it's amazing how quickly you get used to such an extreme event. However, this time I had a different, smaller parachute on my back. I wasn't sure how it would fly, but I knew it would be quicker, more aggressive. I had between the time it opened and the time I reached the ground to work it out or my landing would be rough and probably painful. But I was ready, I had a lot of jumps on the larger canopy and my understanding of how parachutes work was increasing with each of them.

We had a full load, 14 of us squeezed into the back of the jump plane. Across from me was a tandem. I like tandems. They're the dropzone's cash cow, and keep lift tickets for us fun jumpers close to affordable. They're also almost always first time jumpers, and the emotions they go through are great, both because they remind me of my first jump and because they're absolutely hilarious. This one was particularly good. She started panicking as the plane left the ground, and announced how we were so high every 30 seconds or so, looking out of the windows wide-eyed, swearing at her friends who were jumping with her.

As we reached altitude I started my usual routine, checking my rig, giving 'cool' skydiver handshakes to the jumpers around me, but I also leant over to the tandem instructor she was strapped to, patted him on the shoulder and said "Good luck Pete." Then the door opened and the swearing increased in volume, coarseness and frequency. 20 seconds later my turn came up. I got in the door, tried to focus on my exit and went. It sucked.

Freefall was amazing. It always is. But with a new canopy I wanted more time with it open, so I pulled at 6000' instead of 4. I watched it unfurl above me, thought how small it looked, then cleared my airspace and checked I had full control of it. The plan from here was to do some turns and stalls to see how the new parachute handled. However, I paused for a second as something caught my eye. A couple of hundred metres away from me was another falling object. As it started to expand I realised it was another parachute. Beneath it was a shape that must have been two people, a tandem. The whole assembly decelerated as the canopy opened, but something kept falling away from them. This was a videot, another skydiver paid to film the tandem's jump. He would open much lower, so he was on the ground ready to film the tandems landing.

I'm not sure I can convey how amazing all this was to see. Most of my jumps have been solo, and out there a mile from the ground you can feel pretty isolated. To see other people sharing my experience so close was fantastic. I let myself enjoy the moment for a second, then turned towards the landing area. I had work to do. Unfortunately at this point things got interesting...

So many 'Why?'s

I am a jumper. A skydiver. At weekends, when the weather is sunny and my bank account is in the black, I like nothing better than to drive to a small airfield 70 miles away, strap a bag full of nylon onto my back, sit on the floor of an ancient, cramped aircraft as it climbs to 12000 feet then open the door and throw myself out. The majority of people consider this stupid, reckless or crazy. Something for suicidal adrenaline junkies only, or to be experienced once under the control of a tame suicidal adrenaline junkie and then left well alone before the numbers catch up with you. In a lot of ways they're right.

So why do I do it? In a word - boredom. Not the "I've got nothing to do today, hmm, skydiving" kind of boredom but a slow realisation that modern day life is so sanitised and safe that it's lacking a primal excitement, an integral element shared by all life. Human beings don't ever have to run from something trying to eat them any more, and whilst this is probably a good thing the downside is we miss the rush of getting away. When you skydive that changes. From 12,000 feet you find yourself heading towards the ground at 120mph, and you have less than 2 minutes before gravity turns you into a statistic. Saving yourself is easy, but you still have to do it. Jumping takes me closer to death, and I've never felt more alive.

So why write a blog? We have a log book to record jumps. It's a legal requirement, with more advanced parts of the sport requiring certain numbers of signed jumps. I fill out my log book as soon as I get down, when the memories are most vivid. However, my handwriting, which is terrible at the best of times, is not aided by the adrenaline coursing through my veins, a state which I can find maintained for hours after a jump. My mental faculties are similarly reduced, so there would be little chance of any eloquent prose (less than now, anyway). I also want to share these experiences, and most of my nearest and dearest are too busy or too terrified to come to the drop zone.

So why the title? Well, I consider myself a mediocre-to-good jumper, for my numbers. I have a pilot's licence, something that aids me under canopy as I understand how bodies move through the air, I'm good at spotting other objects in the sky and I can judge distances to the ground and fly neat landing patterns. My freefall isn't bad either. Of the seven training levels you have to complete to be allowed to jump solo, I failed once, a record I am led to believe is very strong. However, my exit, the moment at which I leave the plane, is shocking.

Looks good doesn't it? Well, the asymmetric legs are going to cost me in the next few seconds. And the old student jumpsuit is hideous

Even after 27 (and counting) exits I think I'm still completely overwhelmed by the experience. The first few seconds all my brain can yell is "This is amazing!" and "What the hell am I doing?!" Soon enough I sort myself out, but before that there's a bit of tumbling. This is referred to as being unstable. I'm good at it.