I jumped out of an airplane

Actually, "jumped" doesn't quite express it. I was in a harness, tightly connected by 4 straps to a "pilot." The cabin of the plane being low, I had to sort of squat-walk as I stepped out the door, onto a small step over the wheel of the plane, while simultaneously the man connected to me followed. Once we were both in position, and the photographer also, my pilot-companion gave a push and we tumbled forward, and were in free-fall at 10,000 feet above the Caribbean Sea.

During the airplane ride I kept telling myself that this was really, really stupid. Climbing out of the plane onto the step was really, really scary. But once we were clear of the airplane, oddly, I was not frightened anymore. The excitement, the magnificent view, the absense of any falling sensation once we reached terminal velocity, and the fact that the ground didn't seem to be approaching noticeably, all perhaps combined to asuage my fear. And perhaps the knowledge that it was too late to back out.

The only sensation was the wind. A Google search says that a typical terminal velocity for a skydiver is around 120 mph. The wind was strong enough to make breathing difficult, but not difficult enough to be worrying. Once we were horizontal I looked up and soon saw the photographer way off in the distance, but rapidly floating in towards us. He came close, and I smiled for the camera, then he floated away, and then in again, and then away again, and meanwhile I was admiring the view of Playa del Carmen below and off a bit to the side, as we were over the ocean.

The free-fall lasted 45 seconds, long enough to appreciate the whole business of falling out of the sky impeded by nothing but wind resistance. (Which helps you to appreciate why your mileage drops so rapidly at high speed.) Then we were abruptly jerked upright as the pilot parachute opened, and a moment later we received another upward jerk as the main 'chute opened. As previously instructed, I put my feet on my pilot's feet and stood up on them so he could unfasten the hip straps, and I was only connected by the shoulder straps, which makes for a more comfortable flight. The parachute flight lasted some 6 or 8 minutes. We were now flying parallel to the coast and slightly toward it in long back-and-forth tacks. The turns made me airsick, but while we were flying straight I felt okay. The ground still did not really seem to be approaching, until the very end.

As we got close, the pilot pointed out to me the bit of beach we were going to land on. It's a testimony both to his skill, and to the technology of modern parachutes, which really fly like gliders, that from 10,000 feet, where the beach appeared the thinnest line of white, he was able to land precisely on one small stretch of beach right next to where the van was parked. The last 30 seconds was the bad part: I became as sick during those 30 seconds, as I had been on board the Lord Nelson, due to the gyrations the pilot had to make to get us into position for the landing. Like an airplane, he had to land into the wind. He turned and turned to bring us just where we had to be, and the sand came up to meet us. As I had been instructed, I lifted my feet so the pilot would touch first. Something about my touching first could make us trip forward. When my feet hit the ground, the impact was less than if I jump up into the air as high as I can, and land on my feet. It was a soft landing indeed. The wind then pulled the parachute gently backwards. My heels dragged in the sand for 3 or 4 feet until the photographer, who had landed first, grabbed the ropes and stopped us. The pilot disconnected me, and I sat down, from airsickness and wobbly legs due to the excitement. I was so sick, from that last 30 seconds of manuvering, that I needed help to stand up. But it was totally worth it!

Two thoughts went through my mind: "That was amazing!" and "I'm alive! I survived!" We were 20 feet from where they'd parked the van, and a 5-minute drive through town to their office. Instead of pictures, they gave me the undeveloped roll of film. I figure I'll send it in to Kodak to develop and post on my Kodakgallery web page. This was the second-scariest thing I've ever done. The scariest was climbing the boulder field at the end of the "keyhole" route to Kokanee glacier in BC, Canada.

On a much lighter note, I also swam with tame dolphins at Xcaret water park. That was cool. And I did some snorkeling, though the weather was not great for that, and took a jungle tour, including the longest zip line in the Yucatan Peninsula and a climb up the only Maya pyramid still open for climbing.

Here's me with a dolphin. They are so cool. Just like big kitty cats.

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The foot push was fun, too. Two dolphins put their noses against your feet and push you like a speed boat. I wished I could have done that again.

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I will definitely swim with dolphins again at the next opportunity. I will never sky-dive again. It was worth the airsickness, but once was enough.

 

While parachutes may "fail with statistical regularity" I think the statistics would show you more likely to be bitten by a rabid dog on your way to the 7/11 for a quart of milk, than have both your parachutes fail. (There's always a back-up 'chute.)

I certainly do not do something that scares me every day. But I've done a few scary things. And now that I am in the second half of my life, I have less to lose. And there's a big difference between fear and danger. I never do things I judge to be dangerous. But we are so often afraid of things that are not really dangerous.

According to this link, fatalities per 100,000 participants in the U.S. are: auto accidents: 28; scuba diving: 47; mountaineering and boxing are the same at 50; hang gliding (which I did in NZ): 40; and skydiving, only 25 per 100,000.

Failure to open seems rare. Accidents are most likely for students jumping solo (I was tandem with a professional) and are most often related to collision and deflation between parachutes, or turning at too low an altitude, as descent rate increases during a turn. Thus it's safer not to be in the air with another skydiver. I had a photographer jump with us, but he waited for us to open before he opened, so he was well below us during the parachute flight, and landed well before us. Striking hard objects on landing is also a cause of death, but we landed on the beach. Given Mexican drivers, the taxi ride from the hotel to Playa del Carmen, 15 minutes away, was far more dangerous than the skydiving.

And if anyone is interested, the cost in Playa is $230 for a tandem skydive, plus $100 if you want a photographer to jump with you and take one 36-exposure roll of photos. The bank tacked on $9 as a foreign currency conversion fee since I paid with my credit card. I'll have to pay to develop the film and make whatever prints I want. A CD with the photos will be extra if I want one. Kodak won't let me download the digital images unless I buy a "premium" membership, though I can "share" the on-line photo album.

The diet was on hold while in Mexico. Now it's back to the struggle. I gained a couple of pounds. But I needed a break and a fresh start.

After the jump, I bought a t-shirt. I never wear place t-shirts if I have not been there, or activity t-shirts if I have not done it:

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And while I'm posting pics, here's rapelling, down a very short cliff. To be honest, this was as scary as the skydiving:

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And the longest zip line in the Yucatan Peninsula, less scary because I can swim. They give you a hooked tree branch to hold over the cable to act as a brake:

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