Skydiving

  • Published
  • By John Cochran
  • 377th Air Base Wing Public Affairs
Kirtland Air Force Base, NM --  Life is a series of choices. Many times, understanding the motivation for a choice is easy - if I'm hungry, having a meal rises higher on my to-do list. At other times, though, the motivation is not so clear. Case in point: What would make a reasonably bright and otherwise sane person choose to jump out of a perfectly good airplane? I was that guy Sunday, checking an item off my bucket list.

The fine folks at Skydive New Mexico, operating at the Belen Alexander Airport, about 45 minutes south of Albuquerque, enabled my once-in-a-lifetime mission. During the week, the instructor for my tandem jump, Kyle Bailey, is a first lieutenant aircraft maintenance officer in the 58th Special Operations Wing. The videographer/photographer, Eric Kieffer, is a staff sergeant assigned to the 58 SOW as an aircrew flight equipment craftsman, and is a Federal Aviation Administration senior parachute rigger. Both have years of experience and hundreds of skydives to their credit, so I knew I was in good hands all the way.

Even I wondered what I'd gotten myself into when I signed up to do the jump. I've never been a fan of heights. As a teenager, it was all I could do to help re-shingle the roof of my parents' one-story house. Now I was going to voluntarily step out of an airplane that is mechanically sound and not on fire, at 10,500 feet above the ground.

I've never been a fan of small airplanes, even when they're in perfect working condition. The first airplane flight I ever had was in a Cessna 150, when my college roommate, an aviation major, took me up one hot summer afternoon. Calling that flight was "bouncy" is like calling an elephant a "big" animal - the words don't come close to conveying the enormity of the situation.

I've never been an adrenaline junkie. I only learned to ride a motorcycle in March, prompting a friend who's a long-time motorcyclist to say that I ride like her mom, but there I would be, strapped in front of an instructor who actually enjoys falling out of the sky. Is that not clear evidence of a serious psychological disturbance?

After a half-hour of ground instruction, including a safety briefing, aircraft walk-around and jumpsuit and harness fitting, it was time to board the Cessna 182 that would take us aloft.

During the smooth 20-minute flight to our designated jump altitude, Kyle kept the mood light and relaxed by telling funny stories about his experiences as a skydiver and instructor. Soon it was time for him to strap his harness onto mine. Eric, our videographer and still photographer, went out the airplane door first.

With my heart pounding like a jackhammer, a series of thoughts flashed through my consciousness: Doesn't anyone care enough about me to stage an intervention and stop this madness? I had openly talked with friends and colleagues about my plan to do this crazy thing. Are there no laws to protect me from myself? I suppose not, because this is America, where a man is free to lose his mind in the pursuit of happiness. What the heck was I thinking when I signed up to do this? I'll consider it a moral victory if all I do is scream like a scared little girl all the way down. While I plummet earthward at 120 mph, my life will be literally hanging by a thread and a mere scrap of fabric - an unnatural act of the highest order. Human beings are not designed to do that.

Stepping out onto the tiny platform attached to the airplane's wing strut wasn't so bad, but rocking forward off it, out into thin air, was a moment of pure, primal terror. My brain couldn't function at a most basic level. I forgot all about the proper skydiving technique I'd been instructed to use only minutes earlier - "Look up, push your hips forward, arch your back and kick your heels behind you." My eyelids slammed shut and refused to open, while my mouth flew open and refused to close. On the plus side, my lungs were working at a peak level. For the record, the manly roar I emitted was completely involuntary. I hope Kyle will eventually get back at least some of his hearing in that range.

In no time at all that seemed like forever, I settled into a stable, prone position, with elbows and knees bent at 90 degrees. I opened my eyes, stopped screaming and started to breathe somewhat normally. I did my best to smile and give two thumbs up to Eric, the video and photo guy who was in front of us, capturing the event for posterity.

After a few more seconds of freefall, we reached 6,000 feet, where Kyle signaled me to pull the ripcord that would deploy our parachute. It's a simple task, but he had to help me accomplish it. About a nanosecond later, I felt a strong upward tug on the harness as the canopy inflated, slowing our descent to an easy glide. I was able to look around and enjoy the view of the mountains, ranches, farm fields and desert floor.

"Let's do a high-speed turn," Kyle suggested.

Naively, I said, "Sure."

Suddenly, we left our comfortable perch under the canopy's center and whipped around in a wide arc, centrifugal force spinning us out to the edge.
One of us then said, "Can we NOT do that anymore?"

Then Kyle put the riser handles in my grip, letting me control our joined fates for a few seconds. I made easy steering inputs and we descended while turning gently to one side and then the other.

Kyle took over operating the canopy handles, pointed out the drop zone southwest of the airfield, noted the flags showing the wind direction, and steered us to a smooth, quick and accurate landing right on it.

Once we were on the ground, Kyle told me I'd done a great job. I was happy merely to have done it at all and survived intact. Besides, I'll bet he tells that to all the students who don't kill him.