Skydiving Duck: AFF Level Seven

 
When I signed up for  AFF, it was on a "I'll try this level and we'll see about the others..."  basis.   Videos of the each level  seemed intimidating, but the video of level seven freaked me. 
Tumbling out of the plane!?  Backloops?  Barrel rolls?  No way was I going to do stuff like that!  I didn't do  those things.  That wasn't me.

But now, a few months later, I was ready to do the dreaded level seven.
Thanks to my history of bungled roll 'n' flop exits (including ending up on my back by mistake), this wasn't exactly unfamiliar territory anymore.  Sure, I was still nervous, but the sky and  drop zone had become more fun.  The  "what the hell am I doing here!?" vibe had faded.
It reminded me of Toontown from Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
It was colorful, friendly, unique, exciting...

...and what was more surreal and cartoony than falling through the sky?

Of course, Toontown wasn't Disneyland.  Someone could drop a flowerpot  (or a piano) on your head.   Both Toontown and the sky require caution.

The plane ride is getting easier.  The facing-the-firing-squad terror has fizzled away.    Walking to that door is another matter.  Remember when Curly from The Three Stooges gets scared and goes "Nyaaaaaahhhhhhh!?"  That's me at the door!

It's amazing how dropping out of that door is easier than walking toward it.
I went through my routine.  I tried the backloop.

 It worked!
Now the barrel roll.  That sort of worked, but I don't think you were supposed to keep rolling until you were on your back again.  Whoops.

When I righted myself I tried tracking (for you non-skydiving readers, that's pulling your arms back so you fly forward).
How graceful was I?  Think "Peter Pan on horse tranquilizers."
Soon the canopy was open.  I remember thinking "That feels like a line twist" and looking up to find one.  I'm getting good at kicking them out.
As for the landing...

 ...I still haven't been able to do a stand up.   Guess I need more practice there too.
But guess what?  I passed the level!
(To see what happened when I tried level 8, click here.)

Skydiving Duck: AFF Level Six

As I work my way through AFF, my attitudes are changing:

My thoughts on the ride to altitude have been more consistent, but I'm shaking less than I used to...

All week I'd anticipated the exit to be like my previous ones:  I'd leave the plane with the instructor holding on to a jumpsuit handle.  Not so, I learned.  We'd get into the usual exit position, but I was to leave first, and he'd follow.
What!?  I thought.  Jump out of the plane unattached?  That's nuts!
Then I thought, Well, I don't see why I couldn't do it...
Soon enough I was on the plane, at altitude, stepping towards that screaming evil blowhole called "the door."   (The primitive part of my brain is still convinced that door = bad news.)   Fighting my instincts and the wind, I somehow got into position.
Ready!  Set!  Go!

Holy  Smackerel!  I thought as I flew  Did I really just jump out of the plane?  Wow!  I can do this...!

Or could I?  In seconds I was on my back.  Whoops.  Time to try out the "bring one arm in and you'll roll over" trick.  It worked.  I was back in position.  Sorta.

Out of nowhere the instructor grabbed my arm handle, gave me the Relax! signal and let go.

Oh yeah.  Relax!  I'd forgotten about that.  I relaxed (as much as I could) and found myself more stable.  From there it was easy: spin left 360 degrees stop, spin right 360 degrees, stop etc...   It was weird seeing the view twirl so fast, and even weirder to think I was causing it.

The canopy ride was uneventful.  I still haven't mastered a stand up landing, but I'm not getting bruised either.
I thought my tumbleweed exit might have disqualified me, but I passed the level.  On to level seven!

Skydiving Duck: AFF 5 part two

I returned to the drop zone to retry level five (AFF).  As I waited for my instructor, I looked up and saw the plane fly over.   It was tiny- I could have eclipsed it with my little finger held at arm's length.   Little dots- the jumpers- dropped out like clockwork.  It looked like an early video game. 

I was smiling as I boarded the plane, but Fear snuck on after me.

He spent the next fifteen minutes hollering about the door.  I think he doesn't like it.
Getting myself to back out of said door is about as easy as getting a cat into a bath. 

My exit was sloppy, but then I arched correctly.  I couldn't believe I was floating (okay, falling) thousands of feet over the ground, unattached, and able to control my turns.
Freefall makes the "be here now" cliche real.   Body position, the altimeter, and what's happening right now replace everyday worries and nagging thoughts.  Maybe that's part of the appeal?  I'm too new at this to know for sure.

My thoughts after the chute opened:
Yay!  It opened normally..! ...where am I?  Oh... there's the landing area....   Far above me I could see the plane dispensing jumpers.  Below I could see other parachutes.  Cool!  I was in the video game!
Hey Super Mario, my cautious side thought, you're hanging 4000 feet in the air like a *@!! pinata.  Why don't you, ah, check to see if you can flare and steer the parachute before you take in the scenery?

I circled around my holding area until I got to 1000 feet, where I was to start the landing.  The plan is to fly with the wind at 1000 feet, turn 90 degrees (west) at 600 and turn another 90 degrees at 300 so you'll land in the wind.  I had a walkie talkie strapped to my helmet.  Some instructors flew me in with precise instructions.  Others waited until I was near the ground and told me when to flare (slow down the parachute).  I didn't hear anything.
After the 300 foot turn, I noticed I was heading straight for a flag in the middle of the field.
Way to go!  I thought.  The landing area is the size of Rhode Island and you point yourself at a stupid flag.  Now what?  I was too low for any real turns (turning drops you).  Then I figured,

1. If I focus on the flag, I'll hit it for sure.
2. If I focus on the area to the right of the flag, and very subtly pull on the right steering toggle, I'll pass it.

The ground flew closer.  By this time the walkie talkie usually squawked landing instructions.
I didn't hear anything. 
Wow!  I thought. They trust me to do it on my own?!  Okay... I'll just wait till I'm almost down,*  okay, flare to level off...  ... flare all the way...
It worked!  I landed gently (for me).  Just right of the flag.
Later I learned that the walkie talkie wasn't working.  The instructor was trying to tell me stuff, but the walkie talkie wasn't picking up.  So that's how I accidentally landed without assistance.

Here's the video:
*technically this is ten to fifteen feet over the ground, but to me it looks like "almost down" 

Click here to see how level six went.

Skydiving Duck VIII: The Big Spin (AFF Level 5 attempt, take 1)

 

The trouble started at altitude.  As with the previous jump, I was to leave the plane standing in the doorway, facing the plane, with my upper half  completely outside.   I grabbed the bar over the door,  turned around, backed out and... ...wait.  I was stuck.  Had my parachute somehow hung up on something?  Was I doing something wrong?  I couldn't get completely upright*.  

The instructor signaled me into the plane,  No, I wasn't hung up she said.  The only resistance was the wind, but that shouldn't be enough to stop me.  

Thanks to my bumbling we had to wait several seconds for the plane to turn back into position.

Way to go!  I thought.  You're holding up the whole plane!  I'm sure that's a good way to make friends at the drop zone.

A wave of fear and doubt hit me.  I was screwing up.  Causing trouble!  Being a pain.  Who did I think I was, doing this parachuting stuff? 

Soon it was time to exit again.  I stepped out, looked right, then left, and stepped out.

 It's funny.  My earlier drops from the airplane seemed terrifying and violent.  There was no question that I was falling, and fast!  Now they seemed  more gentle.   Not a cozy nap-time gentle.  More of a Hey!  I'm free falling again.  Time to get to work!
 The dive plan was  simple.  Circle of awareness and controlled 90 degree turns.  It was nothing I couldn't do.  Right? 

At first things  seemed good.  Right ninety degrees, left ninety degrees.  Then things went downhill...

...right ninety degrees, left 180 degrees, right 360 degrees.   I was blowing it! (Later I'd learn that I'd rushed into the turns without checking the instructor's hand signals, and was sabotaging myself with uneven leg positions.  Thus, the spinning.)
Then came pull time.
I arched, reached back and... ...where was that handle?  It was as if a gremlin had pulled it out of my reach.

Don't be silly, I thought.  It's back there somewhere.  Go grab it!  NOW!
But a few seconds into my hunt I started spinning again (in hindsight, I should have returned to an arch and taken a second swipe at it instead of hunting for it like soap in the tub).  I arched to stop the spin, spotted the instructor nearby and-
-whumph!
The parachute yanked me upright like a rag doll.
The instructor pulled for me.
From exit to pull time, I'd made hash out of the freefall.  This was going to be a do-over.  I obviously needed more practice.**
At least  canopy ride and landing went well.

Update: I took level five again and passed it.  

*I was wearing a slightly larger parachute this time around, so maybe I mistook the  wind resistance for being stuck.
**the instructor  suggested I work on keeping my legs even  in the tunnel.  The next day I did ten minutes of tunnel time, focusing on those legs..   I'm getting better.  We'll see how my attempt at level five goes...

SkyDiving duck VII: Arch Nemesis (AFF level four)

Normally skydiving seems interesting and cool, but when I'm in that plane watching people drop out the door, I change my mind.  Suddenly I'm nostalgic for the days when "trying something new" meant sampling Absinthe or making rugelach.
Why was I in this stupid airplane?  How on earth was I going to jump out of it?
Fear pestered me on the way to altitude.

This jump required a new exit.  Instead of crouching in the door between two instructors I'd be hanging out the door with one.  The idea of hanging out the door seemed even scarier than falling from it.  One of my subconscious rules must be "Don't hang from speeding vehicles."

When the time came I forced myself into position and went through the routine I'd practiced over and over:

Check right (instructor), Check left (propeller), kick forward... no wait... it was kick back, then forward.. hey, you're blowing it, dummy!  ...kick, kick, arch!

Another sad, sloppy exit was underway.  

This drives me batty because I know how to arch.  Why can't I do it right away like I'm supposed to?  Arrgh!

Then things got better.  I arched properly, the instructor let me go, and I stayed in place.  

I pulled on time and the chute opened normally.  No twists!

It's funny.  In the relative safety of the plane I feel scared, but when the canopy opens, I feel relieved.  This in spite of the fact that I'm dangling from a kite, thousands of feet in the air, with plenty of opportunities to get mangled*

My landing went smoothly...

...until the "contact with the ground" part.  I flared on command but there wasn't much wind, so it was another PLF roll.  I'm getting good at those rolls.
And that's how I passed level four.
As for level five, well, click here to find out what happened.
*following directions and paying attention minimizes these risks, but I try not to fool myself into thinking "Yay!  The 'chute opened.  Now I'm safe!"

Skydiving duck VI: AFF 3, Take Two, with a Twist

I was still frightened on the plane ride up.  This disappointed me. Then again, my fear level had dropped a little.  The soul melting terror of my earliest flights had been replaced with a distracting unease.   
Minutes later I was out the door with a whoosh.   You're supposed to arch.   I thought I arched.  I certainly yelled "Aaarrch!"

Alas, the GoPro video (see below) caught my bad form, as did my instructors.
I suppose I could have defended myself with "Gee, I was distracted, falling out of a plane and all."  Instead, I added "Arch right away when you're out the door" to my to do list.

Lucky for me (and the instructors hanging on to me), my form improved.  They let me go.  Would I spin?  Flip over?
Incredibly, I was able to hold still.  Yay!
I kept a sharp eye on my altimeter.  I'd botched my last lesson by not pulling on time.  Nothing was going to distract me.   Not the wind, not the noise, not thoughts, not even a pterodactyl   or flying saucer...

...6500 feet, 6000 feet, 5500 feet, wave off, pull!
I felt the familiar tug of the opening chute.    Ha!  I'd done it!

Then I looked up.  What the ...!?
The lines were twisted like a wrung out  rag.  This wasn't the cute little "X" twist I'd had a few dives earlier.  This was a bad-attitude-"#@!* you!" twist. 

I grabbed the risers and tugged them apart, and kicked out the twists.  The parachute  became much more cooperative.

I kept my eye on the landing area and worked my way towards it.  I almost didn't notice that it was a beautiful day with a gorgeous view- the lake spread out like a flat emerald, the mountains  like piles of brown sugar.   Maybe that's good- one doesn't land safely by sight seeing.
I had radio help for landing.  I currently don't get how the pros know when to start the flare.*
Yes, I get that you're supposed to do it at ten to fifteen feet above ground level.  I get that you should be looking forward instead of down.  Still, as I get lower and see the weeds zipping by, it's tricky to judge.  I look forward to the day when I figure out how to do this on my own.
Well, I passed.   Here's the GoPro video.
See my sorry exit and my recovery (well, the body position could be better but hey, I'm new at this) yourself:



To see what happened on level  four, click here.

*Flare means pulling down on the steering toggles.  When you get to the ten-fifteen feet above ground level, you pull them half way down and hold them.  This levels you off (so you're flying parallel to the ground instead of at an angle.) for a few seconds.  Then the canopy drops and you pull the toggles all the way down, which slows your decent long enough to land you gently.  If you know what you're doing.

Skydiving Duck V: Altitude! Altitude! Alltitude! (AFF 3, attempt 1))

I wanted to be extra prepared for my level three jump.  I studied till  I had the dive down cold:  Exit, circle of awareness, two practice pilot chute touches, circle of awareness, lock on (keep looking at the altimeter) at 6000 feet, wave off at 5000 feet, and pull.
Being prepared didn't keep my legs from shaking when I did my practice exits in the mock up door.  I knew most beginners were nervous, but this was silly.

 That being said, on the plane ride I was delighted that my fear level had gone down since the previous ride.  I was still scared, but it wasn't the vicious terror that tormented me earlier.  And for the first time, I exited without screaming.   It was almost fun.

At first things went great.  Soon the instructors let go and I was flying on my own.  Gosh, I thought.  I'm actually doing this.

Then came the stupid thoughts:

 

 I wasn't panicked, just distracted.  Even when the instructors grabbed me again I thought Gee, I guess I wasn't as stable as I thought I was...  ...oh !@$!  Altitude!  The parachute!
The instructor pulled for me.
Fail!
I was livid.  How could I have been so stupid?
It was arguably the easiest, most obvious and most important move, and  I'd blown it.

My inner critic let me have it:

How on earth had I gotten distracted? 
I'll admit it's pretty weird up there.  An alien environment:

In retrospect, I should have dropped the chatter about whether or not I could breathe (now really!) and go back to the plan.  Arch.  Heading.  Altimeter.  Repeat.

Update: (Oct 2, 2011) I repeated level three.  Click here to find out what happened.

Skydiving Duck IV: Shakes on a Plane (AFF Level Two)

I'm high strung.  Like toy wound up too tight.  Seriously.   I jump when phones ring.  I start when someone taps me on the shoulder.  I was nearly arrested at a routine traffic stop because the police "could tell by looking at [me] that I was on amphetamines."  I wasn't!

I was the timid kid (and adult) who never wanted to try anything new because it was scary.

And now I'm taking skydiving lessons.  I'd passed my first AFF class a few weeks earlier.  It scared me silly, but I passed.

In prep for the second class I  learned (and practiced) relaxation exercises.  I was impressed with how calm they made me.   I couldn't wait to try them on the plane...!

...but when I got on the plane, they didn't  work.

.  As the altimeter slowly dialed up, I had a new top five list of heinous things that I suddenly loathed:

• The sky
• The wind
• The noise the wind made
• Airplanes
• Jumping out of airplanes

What the hell was I doing?  I was as frightened as the guy in Scare Tactics when the Rat Monster jumps out.  Okay, I wasn't screaming or crying, but I was freaked!
And furious.
It wasn't like I'd never jumped out of a plane before.  I knew the dive routine and simple parachute skills.  I wasn't thinking stuff like "What if [this bad thing] happens!?" 
You Big Baby!? I thought..  Why are you scared?  You think that the Boogeyman is  waiting for you out the door??

I bet the problem was how the brain works.  The more evolved, articulate chunk of my brain knew what was going on and what to do.  But there's also the primitive, unconscious animal part of the brain.  "Frog Brain*," as I call the him, isn't that sharp..  And he has his finger on the panic button.   As far as he was concerned, not only was I way too close to a "cliff" but I was "crippled" with a heavy pack that made it hard to move.
"Danger alert!" he croaked  "Extreme vulnerability detected.  I repeat, extreme vulnerability!  Deliver an extra 50 cc's of stress hormone stat!"
Frog Brain really lost it when I left the plane. 

Thus my usual "scream like a girl" exit.
And then I lost Frog Brain.  I suddenly knew what I was doing:  Arch (stable body position), check the altimeter, practice touches (the handle of the pilot chute**) turn right, stop, turn left.  Hey, this was kinda fun.  Whooohoo!
Frog Brain stayed away.  I guess shortly after I fell off the "cliff" my situation was so alien  that he couldn't find anything on his ancient "These Things are Bad" list. 
In my original AFF jump the instructor activated the chute for me.   I was determined to do it myself.  What kind of skydiver can't even pull their own chute?   I reached back, grabbed it the handle, threw it and...
WHUMP! I jerked upright.  Hooray!  I did it...!
...wait.  Something was weird.  Why wasn't it opening up?

 

I caught the problem.  The lines were twisted.  In class they'd taught us to untwist by grabbing the risers, spreading them and kicking in the opposite direction.  It worked.   The chute opened.   Success!  

As for the landing, that was a semi-success.  At least it was a fun one.

Soon I learned I had passed the class.  The instructor wrote I was "very good" in the sky but "nervous" on the plane.   I'm looking forward to the day I can look back at this the latter and laugh.

As for Frog Brain, I'm still trying to figure out how to shut him up. He's a chump.

Click here to find out what happened when I tried AFF level 3...

*A good example of Frog Brain in action happens when you accidentally see a gruesome photo. You'll notice a jolt of shock before you're fully aware of what you're looking at. Before you think "Golly, it's a picture of [insert gory details here]," Frog Brain has sounded the alarm.




**The pilot chute is a cute mini parachute that you throw in the air to activate the main chute. 

SkyDiving Duck III: Parachuting School (Chicken of the Sky, AFF version)

Thoughts pestered me as I drove to the dropzone.  Parachuting class?  You?  This is the stupidest thing you've ever done!   You're clumsy!  You're a slow learner!  Dropping out of a plane freaks you.  You'll break your legs!  You'll get killed!  Why are you doing this?
Why was I doing this?.  I wasn't a thrill seeker.  It scared the @#$* out of me.  It was something I'd watch from afar. That's cool, I'd tell myself, but I could never do it.  This seemed reasonable.  Then again, really something I could never do?  What would happen if I tried?
A level 1 AFF class is the first of many required to earn a parachuting license.  You spend several hours learning the basics, then jump out of a plane (with instructors.)   This promotional video shows a jump similar to the one I did*
I looked forward to meeting my fellow students.  Would they be nervous too?  At least we'd have that in common.
Then I met my classmate.   He was my age.  He was also a war veteran who knew no fear.  He wasn't nervous, he told me.
That's who's supposed to be a skydiver, I thought.  This guy has dodged bullets and bombs!  What the hell have I dodged?  Telemarketers?  The meter maid?   I so don't belong here!
The skills I needed to demonstrate were easy... ...on the ground.  What would happen in the sky?   What if I freaked out?  I practiced over and over.  Out loud, in my head, in the door of a mockup plane, and on the ground.  Thoughts like "you'll get killed," and "you'll be sorry" tried to butt in...

Then I was in the plane.
 The engine roared like a lawnmower as I watched my altimeter slowly dial up to 12,000 feet.  Other passengers began dropping out, each  with an alarming whoosh.
What was I doing here?  I was off my rocker to try this.
Jumping out of a plane is about as counter-intuitive as jumping into meat grinder.  It didn't matter that I had a parachute.  My  instincts said "Get the away from that door!"
 Then it was my turn.  To exit, I was supposed to crouch in the doorway.  Instructor 1 poised to my right, Instructor 2 hanging out to my left.  To  make sure we jumped together, I was supposed to lean forward; "Ready!" lean back, "Set!" and step out "Arch."
The "Ready" and "Set" went as practiced, but the arch was more like this:

Holy $#!+;!!  I'd jumped out of a #!(*ing plane!
 The initial drop is very different than any plunge  I've felt on land.  It's like being sucked into a roaring vortex of wind mixed with being shot downward from a cannon.  This lasts a few seconds and is replaced by a "head out the sunroof at high speed" sensation.
It was time to demonstrate my skills.
The "circle of awareness" was easy:  Check the altimeter (left wrist), check the horizon, check your right instructor, then your left.  Got it.
Now for three "practice touches."  This reaching back to tap the pilot chute** handle while counterbalancing with the other hand.  Touch one went perfect.   I reached back again.... ...where was it?  The instructor nudged my hand in place.  I missed it completely on the third try

Oh no!  I'd blown it.  Now what?  Should I try again?  No!  Time's running out. Next task!  I changed position to fly forward  for four seconds.   Okay, time to check that altimeter again.  Should be 6000 and almost time to-
-Whoa!  It was already 5500 feet.  Time to wave off, reach back and-

I jerked upright.  The chute rose over my head like a smoke cloud.  Huh?  How?  As it  settled into place I figured it out: an instructor had pulled my chute for me before he let go.  I'd botched it!  My inner critic let me have it:

Seriously, I wanted to focus on what I was doing.  I could scold myself later.

I grabbed the steering toggles and did some turns. This is pretty cool, I thought..  The landing area floated below.  Okay, I'm facing it, I'm heading toward it...

"Turn left," an instructor's voice crackled through the walkie talkie, "Now right..." Later I learned that, while I was looking at the landing area, I wasn't heading towards it.  For all I know I might have landed in the next time zone if I hadn't gotten directions.
Then came landing time.   You're supposed to land standing up, but even after flaring my chute (pulling the steering toggles all the way down to slow forward motion), I was still zipping along, so I did a PLF.  (That's the army style landing where you roll to distribute the impact.)
I did it!  I was on the ground without a scratch!  Whoohoo!
No, wait.  I didn't do it.  The instructor had  pulled the chute.  I'd failed.  I was a bad student.  A bad parachuter.

I gathered the chute and headed for the instructors,   I was sure I'd be scolded.  Surly I'd get a "You know pulling your parachute is important, right?" lecture.
But the instructors seemed glad to see me.  They went over the details of my jump, focusing on what went wrong and what I did well.  I paid attention, figuring I'd still be learning stuff even if I flunked the thing.
Then the surprise came:

I hadn't failed.  I passed!  Sure I lost points for the pull-the-pilot-chute fumble, but the instructor said that he saw me wave off and reach immediately after he'd deployed it (it takes a few seconds after the pull to feel the parachute take effect).  My body position (in freefall) was good they said, and my PLF landing was "perfect." I suspect they go easy on first timers so not to discourage them, but still, I passed!  I couldn't believe it.
I could throw in a smug ending like "Don't tell yourself you could never do something," but there are many more classes to take, each with increasingly complex and scary (to me) tricks that I could never  do.  Or could I?  Maybe....


To find out how my AFF level two class went, click here.

*I could have filmed my jump, but I was nervous enough without having a camera pointed at me.  This was made at the same place I had my class, but the gal in the video is way more poised than I was!
**A pilot chute is a mini parachute attached to the main.  Instead of pulling a ripcord, you grab the pilot chute by the handle and toss it.  It inflates and pulls out the main chute.