Would Today Be the Day I Got My "A?"

 Would today be the day I did the grad jump and get my "A" license?
Fellow students had theirs.  What was taking me so long?

There were signs I'd need more work.  Recent coach jumps (more than required) showed my stability and docking needed work.  To help things along, I'd spent ten more minutes in the wind tunnel, where I was stable.
"Is this your grad dive?" my DZ friends asked.
"It is if I pass it!" I said.
 But would I pass?
As I waited for my instructor, something spooky glided across the landing area.  A dust devil! 

Uh oh.  I knew they were bad news.  Whirling thugs who snuck up on folks and slammed them into the ground.    If these are on the loose, I thought, I'm not jumping.
Minutes later, student jumps went on hold thanks to unpredictable winds.
A mock up, hanging three ring release gizmo stood nearby.   I was surprised nobody was using it.  With my instructor's permission, I played with it..  Pull the red handle, pull out the lines- clink!  Reassemble,  repeat.

The winds calmed down.  I was  cleared to go!
I repeated the dive plan in my head as the plane gained altitude:  Exit with the instructor, dock, follow the instructor up or down, dock two more times, break off by 6000, track away, pull by 4500.  This was doable.
We left the plane. 
I found myself on my back.  I flipped myself  in place.  Time to dock, I thought.  Then I flipped over again.  What was going on!?  I was fine in  the tunnel.  Why was I getting more unstable in the sky?
I knew better than to get upset.  I got stable, docked...

... let go, followed the instructor "up"... dang, she was rather far.  Was I backsliding again?  I tracked to her for a second dock.  I followed her down, tried to dock, and missed.  One more try... no wait, what's the altimeter say?
Whoa!

 The needle had passed 6000.  Break away!  Track away!

 I turned, tracked and almost flipped over again right before I pulled.   The canopy popped out.
Ah well, I thought.  I didn't get the three docks in  but at least I got two of them.  Maybe next time I'll pass.
My landing was soft and could have been a standup, but guess who tripped?  Then a gust inflated the canopy and dragged me across the landing area like a sack of potatoes*

  
My instructor  would have passed me with only two docks, but my late break off and pull had  pushed me into DoOverville.  (She didn't use the term "DoOverville").
 Fair enough.  As much as I wanted the "A", I wanted to earn it properly.  If I needed a few more attempts to master the routines, then that's how it went.
Then I saw it: 
My instructor played back the video she'd taken of me with the helmet cam.  I couldn't believe how sloppy my form was.  I looked like I was doing a Jerry Lewis routine.

What was going on?  After all these skydives and so much tunnel time, why was my stability getting worse?   My inner critic tried to throw a hissy fit, but I couldn't 't take him seriously.

Okay, I thought, I need to keep an eye on that altimeter.  I need more practice.  I need to be more stable.
 But how do I get more stable?
 I knew from earlier dives and the tunnel that I was capable of being stable.  What was going wrong in the sky?

* I might have prevented the whole ride if I'd pulled one of the steering toggles down to begin with.

Skydiving Duck: Far to Go

 I was supposed to do a student solo, but the clouds came in.  Weather hold.

Then the sky got bluer, and my flight was back on.  I was the first one to the loading area... 

 ... but it was still  too cloudy for students. We had to wait.
(It didn't bother me too much.  I liked the idea that they were interested in our safety.)

Eventually the weather cleared enough for us students to join the pros.  It was still cold, and I was glad I had several layers of clothes under the jumpsuit.

The plane took off.  Then it was my turn to leave.  When I peeked out the door, I noticed the drop zone was slightly  further away than usual, but thought, well, the green light's on, people jumped before me, people are waiting to jump after me, so out I go!

It was cold.  My clothes kept my body warm, but my face nearly froze off.

Then came pull time.

 After the controllability check, I noticed I was still somewhat south of the drop zone.   I headed toward it.  Would I make it back? 
3000 feet above ground level:
I was closer, but keeping an eye for alternate landing areas...
2000 feet:
Almost there, almost there...
1200 feet:
Okay, I was over the drop zone now, but still a bit south of the student landing area.  Since I was facing the wind, I wanted to keep going straight.  That way I'd land at the far end of the student landing area-
-but a few jumps earlier I'd gotten in trouble for not doing the landing pattern properly.  I did not want to be the dummy that did that again.   
Gotta do the landing pattern, I thought.
1000 feet:
Okay, turn for the downwind, okay, wait for 600 feet before crosswind- dang, I was getting kinda close to the "real" landing area for people with more experience.  By the crosswind leg I was over it.  Okay, I was looking out for other jumpers, but still...

Uh oh,  I thought. I'll bet I hear a few words about this escapade.  I hope they don't kick me off the D.Z..

I turned for the final approach and landed standing up.  I 'd have been proud if I wasn't so close to the wrong landing area.

Sure enough, the latter was (politely) pointed out to me.  When I explained how I ended up that way I was told in this case I would have been better off following my original plan (skipping the pattern and continuing straight to the far end of the student area, as there was less traffic), or perhaps going crosswind and downwind a bit higher than usual to keep me from straying where I wasn't supposed to be.  Made sense to me. 

Nevertheless, my inner critic was steamed...

....but I wasn't.  I'd learned one more thing not to do, and had managed to learn it without getting hurt or trashing the place.  That was good!

Drop, Flop, then Hop & Pop

I still get nervous on the drive to the drop zone.  I still get nervous  on the ride to altitude.  Maybe I need more practice.  Maybe the "common sense" part of my brain still isn't cool with jumping out planes.  Oddly, once I'm in the doorway, I'm ready.  The drop which  onced scared me silly was getting fun.

My exit was a bit floppy.  As usual.  What was I doing wrong?  Maybe I should get a video of the next jump, I thought.

I knew a video would be wise after the landing.  I'd hoped for a stand up one...

 ...but it didn't happen.
 I did take out some weeds.  Maybe a gopher too.

 I was steamed.  What was going on?  I was defiantly getting the next jump videoed.
 And while I'm at it, I thought, let's get that Hop & Pop* out of the way.

 The Hop & Pop scared me.  Exiting at a lower altitude was adding another monkey to the Barrel of What Could Go Wrong?  And my exits were still unstable!  What if I couldn't get myself in the right position by pull time?  What if I got tangled up in the parachute?
Calm down, I thought.  Just tell the instructor about your exits.  If he thinks it will be a problem, he'll let you know.
Soon I was back on the plane for a ride to 5000 feet.  I liked that the waiting time on the plane was shorter- less worry time.  As for my exits, the instructor was confident that I'd be stable in time- and had his camera ready to catch it.
The green light came on.  I dove out and...

 flipped on my back.  Uh oh.
 I wasn't scared(!).  I turned myself over, got stable and pulled.
The chute popped out and I was on my way to the landing area.
Between my recent crashes and the botched landing pattern of the previous week, I figured I'd learn a lot from seeing it taped.  I'd discover all sorts of "I didn't know I was doing that!" stuff.
My touchdown was another crash.
I picked myself up and headed toward the instructor.
"You did great" he said.

 Huh?  His camera was aimed at me, wasn't it?
"Are you kidding?" I said.  "I crashed and had to do a PLF"
"That happens sometimes when there's no winds," he said.

 It turned out that my landing was fine.  The pattern was good.  I flared at the right time, and landed the best I could with the wind.
I couldn't believe it!
I went to the shop and bought a shiny turquoise blue altimeter.

 Next week I returned to the drop zone, ready for action.
Okay, I was still a bit nervous, but I wanted to jump with my new "toy"!

Alas, it was too cloudy and breezy for student jumps. It was chilly too.   I hung around anyway.   There were quizzes to take, the SIM to study, people to talk to, and a nice fire. 

Here's the  video of my exit,  in case you want to see me drop from a plane.  It wasn't as floppy as I remembered it (though I did flip over at some point.) 
I haven't uploaded the landing yet, but check back later.

*in this context, a Hop & Pop is a practice emergency exit where the student leaves the plane at a lower altitude.  It's one of the things required for getting your license.
**SIM = Skydivers Information Manual

Skydiving Duck: Who's the Dummy?

If your jumps go well today, I promised myself, you can buy your own altimeter.  After all, I was more than half way towards my "A" license.  Maybe it was time to start getting my own equipment.

 I was still nervous in the plane.  I still flopped a bit after exiting.   The funny thing was, instead of thinking Oh no!  I'm upside down!  I thought That's no big thing.  I can right myself.  And I did.

My tracking was getting better.

I pulled on time and kept an eye on the landing area.
I remembered how close I'd came to the runway during my last landing.  I didn't want that to happen again!   I made sure my downwind approach was further east...
...downwind, crosswind, final... wow, maybe I overdid it on the "further east" thing.  I was going to land east of the landing area.  Oh well, at least I knew how to do a standup landing now.
I flared, stood up and...

 ...thunk!  Fell forward on my knees, hard.  
Huh?  How'd that happen?  So many of my earlier landings had been so soft.  Was it the new lines on the student canopy?
Stop blaming the parachute and try again, I told myself.  And this time, try to land correctly.  In the landing area, perhaps.
My second jump went like the first one.  Unimpressive exit, improved tracking, pulled on time, etc...  Now to land properly.  
Okay, I thought.  Let's do the downwind leg a bit closer than last time so you don't land in the sticks again.
I went downwind, turned crosswind and...
...Damn!  I was too close to the runway again!
You idiot!  I thought, cutting the crosswind leg short.     The landing pattern isn't that complicated!   Why have you been screwing it up lately?
Then final approach came.  Toggles up, toggles up, don't flare too high, flare half way, all the way... ...hey I was still coming in like a freight train.  I PLF'd hard and came to a stop.

Well, that was train wreck, I thought.
Three other students landed nearby.  As we were shuttled back to the DZ, one of the employees told us he'd like a word with "The person who did a 180 degree turn instead of a normal pattern."
180 degree turn?  I thought.  Ha!  At least someone was worse than me.  I'm glad he didn't get in my way...
But soon enough it became clear who the rogue jumper was. 
Can you guess who it was?

My shortened base leg (to miss the runway) was the 180 degree turn!  My "let's make sure you don't land out again" downwind approach was way too close to the center of the landing area (instead of off to the side, where I belonged).  My error was pointed out politely, but I was furious with myself.  Just furious.

I didn't go home with a new altimeter that day.  I didn't deserve one yet.

Skydiving Duck: Screwing Up and Standing Up

I was proud of my previous jump. I'd done my first stable exit and was ready to repeat the trick. After all, I was getting better, right?
I walked to the door, looked down, got into position, dove and...

...flopped around like a paper bag in the breeze.  Whoops.

I got stable, practiced some tracking, pulled on time, and checked to make sure the canopy was steerable.  It was.  

Hey, this is pretty neat, I thought.  I can see the freaking ocean!   I never noticed that before.

I started to sing...

...but my common sense put a stop to that within seconds.

 

So it was back to keeping an eye out for other jumpers and staying in the holding area.
As I got closer to my entry pattern, I spotted two flags in the (student) landing area.
See those flags?  I told myself.  You're going to land right between them.  Its not windy at all, so your downwind and final approaches should be about the same size.  So enter the pattern near the flags and you'll end up between them.
The downwind approach went great, but my final approach seemed too close to the runway.
You idiot!  I thought.  Get away from that thing before the plane comes!

But now I was too low to turn away further.  Turning makes the parachute dive.  When you're low, the ground is included in said dive.  Instead I tugged lightly at one toggle until I eased away from the runway.   This was good, except now I was heading for the wind tetrahedron.
You're a menace!  I thought.  Can't you do anything right?
I knew better than to fix my eyes on the tetrahedron.  Instead I focused on a patch to the left and gently steered away.  Soon the ground zoomed up, I flared and...

...I was standing!  My first stand up landing!  The jump wasn't a total loss.
Then again, I managed to get my foot caught in the parachute lines as I boarded the shuttle back to the drop zone buildings.  Tsk tsk.  I should know better by now.

Skydiving Duck: Getting Better (Sorta)

Here's how I think of skydiving most of the time:

This attitude can change the morning of a jump:

That being said, I'm slowly getting better.
Jump #15 was a coach jump.   I hadn't jumped with this instructor before, but my rep as the problem student who sabotages jump run by door hesitation had reached him.   "Remember," he politely repeated as we flew to altitude, "Follow me to the door right away, OK?"
Soon it was our turn.  I was proud that I got in the doorway (and out of the plane) without stalling.  I would have been prouder if my exit hadn't looked like this:

I was flopping around like a Sea Monkey again.  I got stable a few seconds later.  The goal of this jump was to control my falling rate to keep up with the instructor.  Subtle changes in body position make you fall faster or slower.  I was so-so at it.  After the jump I got a peek at the video.   My legs were bent way too much.  This sent me backwards like a fleeing lobster. 

Afterwards the instructor gave me some suggestions, including some exercises to improve both my leg position and my tracking ability.
After a week of practice, I was back in the doorway at 12500 feet.  This time for a solo jump.  I dived out the door and...

...Holy Geez !  I was stable!  No flips, no rolls!
I tried some tracking.  Legs straight, arms back, body position like in the exercises...

Wow!  I was going straight.   I was Superduck!  Or at least Getting-Better-at-This Duck.  

Could it be?  Maybe it was possible that I'd someday get good at this sport?
Now for a stand up landing...

...whoops.
Not this time either.
That's okay.    Superduck needs to remember that there's a lot more to learn...

Skydiving Duck: Solo Two (Adrenaline Boogaloo)

 Skydiving seems  cool, but I still get second thoughts on the drive to the drop zone.  What was I getting myself into?  This was for bold, adventure seeking types, not me.  I had no business getting on that plane.
The ride to altitude wasn't the torture it was in my earlier jumps, but it wasn't a merry-go-round ride either.  A primitive part of my brain still sounded the alarm: "Oh noes!  People are falling off this thing!  And you're in line to do the same!"
Oddly, standing in the doorway wasn't as scary is it used to be.  The exit was another story.

   "!@#!!" I thought "I'm falling out of a $%!&^@ airplane!  Holy *&%#!!"  Those first few seconds are just overwhelmingly weird.   Unnerving.  I'm falling, yet I'm so high that the ground doesn't zoom up.
I feel like Alice in Wonderland when she tumbles down the rabbit hole.

Experienced jumpers tell me this part eventually becomes great fun.  Will this ever be the case for me?  When?
 It still takes me about ten or fifteen seconds to quit flopping around and get stable.  I suspect the comparative lack of air resistance might have something to do with it, plus the fact that I'm not relaxed as I should be.
Then I was stable.  Hooray!
I tried to breathe deep and slow as I kept my eye on the view and the altimeter.  See?  I told myself.  You can do this.  Soon it was time to open the parachute.

I'm surprised (and a bit disappointed) that I'm still super frazzled after the parachute deploys.     What's wrong with you?  I thought,  Why are you so rattled?     You're a big baby!

Big baby or not, I was getting better at controlling the canopy.  I practiced my flares at different speeds and kept nagging myself to fly safely:  Look at the windsock!  Where's it pointing?  Look for the other jumpers.  See anyone?  What are they doing?  Hey!  Look before you make those turns!

Then came landing time.  One of my instructors once suggested the best time to flare is a second or two after you think it's time to flare.  I'm in no position to recommend this for everyone*, but it seems to work for me.

And what was this...?

Was I actually going to have my first stand up landing!?

I touched down, held the flare, was about to stand up when...

...I tipped over.  Whoops.
Maybe next time!


*for flakes, sake, I'm just a student.