Nature From 12,000 Feet

There are times you really need to look at things from a different perspective in order to keep them fresh, vibrant and interesting. Some things may become a bit commonplace or bland when you see them every day, and you might begin to take them for granted. For example, over the past three decades, Gail and I have spent a great deal of time in picture-perfect Vermont. Several years ago, I asked our very good friends who live there if they ever tire of what I consider to be some of the most beautiful landscapes in this part of the United States. The response was a somewhat hesitant “No.” I suppose I should have expected that. It’s like believing the very intense passion of early love will remain that way forever. While the love may last and remain strong, it probably won’t have quite the same feeling as when it was new. What can be done to renew this feeling? Perhaps shake things up a bit!

Late last summer, I was asked to go skydiving, something I’ve wanted to do for decades. A date was set, but the weather didn’t cooperate and things were put on the back burner. About two months ago, I was told that a new date was arranged and that I was going. OK, I thought. I love height and I love planes. I really want to do this. It sounded so good. I also was aware that I could think about it too much (read: obsess) and make it difficult to actually go through with a skydive. So I did what usually works (for me) to minimize the potential problems that could arise from thinking about things too much. I began to visualize all the phases of the jump (that I knew about at that time) so they would be less of a challenge to overcome. See it in your mind and process it in advance, and you’ll know it…at least a bit. It worked when I was learning new dives off a three meter board when I was a teenager. I would visualize the steps in performing a dive, and it would usually be easier to accomplish. And so I slept well, thinking about the day but not being overly concerned about it. 

When we arrived at Pennridge Airport in Perkasie, Pennsylvania, there was plenty of time to watch, or to be nervous, or work it through. This is a single-strip airport that caters mostly to skydiving, and we had a fairly long wait before it was our turn to board the 1990 Cessna King Air twin-engine plane, which was outfitted just for skydiving. The runway numbers are 26 and 8, meaning that in one direction, you take off or land at a heading of 260°, just south of west (which we did on this Saturday), or 80°, just north of east. (The last digit of the compass heading is eliminated for runways, so a heading of 140° is simply listed as runway 14.) With runways, if you subtract the lower number from the larger, you will always end up to 18, or 180°.

We were able to observe four rounds of jumpers before it was our turn. We saw them put into the tandem harnesses that will connect them (very tightly) to the jump instructor, and go through pre-flight and jump instructions; things like “we’ll rock back and forth twice before exiting the plane, keep your hands crossed over your chest and keep your head back, once we’re in free-fall push your hips out and keep your legs bent back.” Tandem jumpers were also told that just prior to landing, they should bring their knees close to the chest and then extend them as straight out as possible. That’s it. Easy! Right? 

We thought we would easily be able to see the plane at 12,000 feet (jump altitude for this day) from the ground, but it wasn’t so. You could hear the plane circling to gain altitude, but at more than two miles overhead, it’s tough to pick out that little silver dot against the deep blue sky. However, on the jump just  before ours, we were able to not only see the twin-engine plane but observe the jumpers exiting the door on the left side of the fuselage, one little dot after the other…about 5 seconds or so apart. 

They free fell from 12,000 feet to about 5,000 feet in about 45 seconds, and then the parachute was deployed. From there, it was a about four and a half leisurely minutes to the ground…except for some aerobatics that I didn’t expect on my jump.   

I felt a mix of emotions while waiting to jump, and I deliberately kept myself busy observing things on the ground. As I love planes and height, and was positioned right next to the Plexiglas door from which we would jump, I had a bird’s-eye view of the entire takeoff and ascent to altitude. Once we were at 12,000 feet, two of the jump instructors kept a vigil for our position over the vicinity of the airport to time the jump period. They couldn’t see it. A very large cloud had moved into position and made the jump impossible at that time. We circled for about 15 minutes more, but the cloud was so large that it would take at least another 20 minutes before it cleared. The pilot opted to land and refuel. This would provide the needed time for a very large clearing to move into position and enable us to jump. The King Air does not fill up completely with fuel for every skydiving flight. It carries enough for about 45 minutes to save weight, and that’s it. There is no need to fill up completely and have to haul that extra weight of fuel to altitude. 

After refueling and waiting a short time, we boarded the plane again, in the same order, with my instructor and me last, and therefore at the door. This time things were different, with clear skies. I tried to not think too much about what was about to happen. The door slid up, and we positioned ourselves at the opening with my feet at the threshold. The photographer/jumper, Amy, positioned herself outside the door, holding onto the aft side of the opening with one hand and one foot. Rob, the instructor, duck-walked us into position at the door and grabbed onto the frame with both hands. He rocked forward twice (this is the point at which Amy left the plane), and on the second motion we were out of the plane. I guess it’s the scientist in me, but one of the first things I noticed is that it was cold at 12,ooo feet. Not to worry, in just over five minutes we would be back to where the temperature was in the low 70’s. I also noticed how loud the wind was as we zipped through the air at 120 mph. 

When you first begin to fall, you can see the plane peripherally, so you really get a feel for the acceleration and the speed. I will admit it’s scary. I did think, “Am I actually doing this?” You think it to be like taking a flying leap onto a bed, but there’s nothing to stop you. You keep falling. Now it’s too late to worry. You’re committed to the jump! But within just a few seconds the observer in me kicked in (thank goodness). WOW! It is amazingly beautiful up here. This is a feeling you MUST experience to understand. It cannot really be described adequately. You get the feeling of flying (perhaps like a brick) but there is nothing to encumber your view at all. It’s totally unrestricted. I didn’t control the fall; Rob did, of course, but everywhere he turned, there was something else to see in a way I had never seen things before. We were way above the clouds at first, but it was incredibly evident how much this part of the country was farmed. Cultivated land was everywhere, as were several developments of dozens to perhaps hundreds of homes in close proximity to one another. The fairly small town of Perkasie was just to the southeast, and the larger town of Quakertown was to the northwest of the airport. Both were easy to see from two and a half miles up. But I did notice a swath of green running to the northeast of the airport. This was, in part, Nockamixon State Park, with a fairly good-sized lake within its boundaries. The green also curved southwest of the airport, far beyond the state park. But it was how “settled” the land was in relation to the areas allowed to remain green that impressed me initially. 

Amy, the photographer who left the plane just before we did, slowed her descent skillfully to meet up with us. I found out 10 days after the jump that the video camera had malfunctioned, but she successfully took about still 110 shots of the jump in just five minutes. (The shutter release was a long plastic wand that was bite-activated so she wouldn’t have to use her hands. Clever!) She gestured to me from just a few feet away to do some things, but I couldn’t make out what she wanted. Likely it was a thumbs up, or A-OK sign. We were able to hold hands for a few seconds and then release, all while dropping at about 120 mph. It really wasn’t physically difficult for me, but I must remember that Rob and Amy had done this hundreds of times before, and Rob was controlling our descent. In fact, they later told me that they might do as many as eight jumps a day when the weather is good. 

At one point I saw the next jumper about 200 feet above me and waved, but to no avail. The view was too enticing for her to look down to my position. 

After about 45 seconds of free fall, we had descended to nearly 5,000 feet, and Rob reached back with his left hand and pulled the ripcord to open the main parachute. By then we were in the shadow of the cloud through which we had just passed. 

There is no sudden lurch when this happens, as the rectangular parachute unfurls smoothly. Most people think that when this occurs those attached to that particular chute rise suddenly. Not so. It’s only an illusion created by the fact that the photographer continues dropping for another few seconds while the instructor and student (Rob and I in this case) slow quickly to about 10 mph. It’s a rapid deceleration but not overly abrupt. Another reason for the photographer to deploy her chute a bit later is that she wants to land first with sufficient time to set up to photograph our landing. 

Once the main chute was open, Rob initiated a few lazy turns. “Nice,” I thought. In fact, it’s a fantastic way to sightsee. I noticed a round-shaped quarry just a mile north of the airport. It was presented with crystal clarity as if it were a relief map which I could examine in exquisite detail. Absolutely beautiful. I also noticed some homes, not overly large at all, each with a few acres of land with woods surrounding them in such a way as to keep them nicely hidden from other homes. What incredibly lovely pieces of property to be fortunate to enjoy! 

It was then, and without warning, that Rob initiated a series of very hard acrobatic-like turns, first 360° right, and then a reverse turn to the left. These were executed so quickly that it caused us to spin at a steep angle to the descent, like spinning a pail of water around, and placed many G’s on my harness. I had seen a few jumpers before me go through these gyrations, but I was less than comfortable with this and there was little time to tell him. He repeated the maneuver, and again the significant force was uncomfortably evident. Perhaps I was a bit unnerved, in part because I was NOT in control of the movement. That would fit my M.O. perfectly. I really wonder if I would have been much more comfortable with these maneuvers if I had been able to control them. After that, we settled down and enjoyed the final two minutes or so, and prepared for landing.  

Landing is not difficult or jarring. Some tandem pairs before us were even able to land and remain standing, with hardly a step after touching down. We knew the field was mostly dry after the prolonged period of rain we had recently been through, but we managed to find one of the only wet and muddy spots on which to settle. I will readily admit that from as close as 50 feet up, you really couldn’t see any water down there. The puddles were only a half inch deep, and were hidden by grass that was four or five inches high. Oh well, jeans could be washed, and it was a small price to pay for a fantastic experience. 

I found out ten days after the jump (when I reviewed Amy’s photos on the DVD that was mailed to me) that Rob had deployed a drogue chute as soon as we began the jump. This common practice stabilized our fall and limited descent speed just a bit. This also served to give us a bit more time in the air before having to open the main chute. 

A post-jump observation (from the photos) is that at 120 mph, your cheeks and the skin on your arms ripple in the wind. I didn’t expect that, and it’s not very flattering in some photos. But it happens to all jumpers, even those with smooth, tight, young skin. Also, I think I was the oldest jumper on this day. Interesting! It isn’t physically demanding, so go for it! 

Since May 21st, I have been asked (emphatically) numerous times, “Are you crazy?” The answer is simply “NO!” And “Would I do it again?” “Absolutely!!!” In fact, because the video camera failed, I have been offered a very discounted re-run. I’ll take it, but maybe in the fall. 

The act of jumping itself aside, seeing the countryside from two and  a half miles up, on a diamond-clear day, is amazing, wonderful (in the true meaning of the word), and absolutely unforgettable. Each time I think of the event, I break out into a smile. This is a great way to see the world in a new way.

You can find a complete photo album of the event HERE which adds a great deal of interesting detail. 

This column also appears regularly in Mr. Wolfert's blog, Nature Notes...a Lifelong Journey.