There was a period of about ten years when I engaged in a lot of adventures. One Sunday I got up and headed for an airport south of Atlanta. They were giving lessons on parachuting. When I got there a group of about 6 of us started practicing jumping from a platform. We were learning how to hit the ground and roll. This is supposed to absorb some of the impact of the landing. After about 2 hours of this, to my surprise, the instructor said we were ready to parachute.
The airplane that was to take us up was relatively small. All the seats except for the pilot's seat were removed from the plane. This would be what is called a static line jump. That means one end of a line is attached to the plane and the other is attached to the parachute. When we jumped from the plane, the static line would tighten up and pull the rip cord of our parachutes to open them. We put on our parachutes with the main chute on our backs and the reserve chute in front. The right hand door of the plane was removed. Three of us got in the plane along with the pilot and the jumpmaster. There was very little room for all of us. I was the second one in which meant I would be the second one to jump.
As the plane took off, my head was spinning with all the things the instructor had told us that morning. It was a list of "what if this happens" sort of things. What if the parachute doesn't open, what if the parachute lines get twisted, what if we landed on the runway or in the trees. The one I was worried about was "what if I can't find the emergency rip cord handle if the main chute doesn't open?" I recited these "what ifs" over and over in my mind and then we had arrived at the jumping spot.
I thought to myself that at least I'll get to see the guy in front of me jump first. Then I heard him yelling over the sound of the air rushing by because there was no door on the plane. He was telling the jumpmaster that he wasn't going to jump. The jumpmaster pulled him over out of my way and told me to slide forward. We were all sitting on the floor so I slid to the open door spot. There was a foot step on the strut that supported the right wing. The jumpmaster attached the static line to my chute and told me to put my right foot on the step on the wing strut. As I moved to do that I was now outside the plane facing forward and holding on to the wing strut. The jumpmaster gave me the signal to jump and I let go of the plane. For the few seconds before the parachute opened, my only thought was that of terror. Then my fall was interrupted with a jerk as the chute opened. I immediately felt myself twisting and I looked up to see the parachute lines wrapped. Fortunately I could see it was unwinding itself and I didn't have to do anything to correct that problem.
This was the fun part of parachuting for me. I looked around at the fields and all the earth below me. It was eerily quiet as I floated down. Then I realized I needed to be guiding the parachute to the bullseye on the ground. By pulling cords on the right or left side I could direct the glide of the chute in the right direction. I was approaching the ground much faster than I expected and then suddenly I hit hard. I had landed on the hard runway. This was one of the "what if list items". If I land on the runway, get off of it immediately to keep from getting hit by a plane that may be landing. I was in pain. My right ankle felt as if it were sprained. I got up and began hopping and gathering up my parachute. When I was clear of the runway, I stood on one leg and finished getting my chute contained. Then I hobbled back to the shed where the instructors were. It was about a quarter of a mile away.
When I got to the shed, I took off my boot and my ankle was badly swollen. One of the instructors put an air splint on my left leg. I left my car at the airport and caught a ride to the hospital back in Atlanta. When I got to the hospital, the xrays indicated that I had broken my right ankle and lower leg. I still have a screw in my ankle from that adventure. That was my first and last time to parachute.
I am adding this paragraph after I reread the blog. I would have just corrected it, but it reminded me of what happened later in the hospital. If you noticed, I said that I hurt my right ankle and leg. Then I said that an instructor put an air splint on my left leg. I did break my right ankle and leg and that's the leg the air splint was on. When I got to the hospital they put a plaster of paris cast on my right leg. To put the cast on, they attached my toes to a frame above the bed with something that looked like Chinese finger cuffs. That was when I finally asked for some pain killers. Later, when I was laying on a gurney outside the operating room with the cast on my right leg, a nurse came up and asked me which leg was supposed to be operated on. Wouldn't that have been obvious?
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