It's been a couple of weeks since I've posted. This lag in updates is due to a busy schedule and lackluster occurrences. My work presents many challenges, but my administrative victories don't really make for exciting posts. So, filling you in on two packed days of meetings in the DC area isn't very noteworthy, except that I got to collaborate with a great colleague and friend during those meetings (thanks Rob!). I will, however mention that I got to catch up with a grad school friend as well as a former Commanding Officer from my Navy days during my two days to the north. It never ceases to amaze me how small and intertwined our worlds are. A fellow classmate from my masters program and internship at FSU is also in the Army. Although our official job titles in the military are the same, our professional focus' couldn't be more different. I take great personal satisfaction in the fact that my life experiences have been anything but traditional. I don't belittle traditional roles, I simply choose not to follow them. So when I come into contact with people from my past who have taken the traditional path, I am appreciative, yet befuddled by their choices. I understand the necessity of following well-established roles in order to progress in well-established institutions, I just can't internalize settling on those necessities. Of course I say this with full acknowledgment that I will do what I have to do to survive and succeed, I'm just thankful that I've not had to accept "settling" just yet. I'll elaborate on that "non-traditional" theme by giving kudos to my former Navy CO Rob (I mean no disrespect by calling my former Skipper by his first name, I don't use last names on this blog due to privacy concerns). For some unknown reason, I've been blessed with mentors throughout my life who have gone above and beyond to ensure that wayward souls like myself are provided with sound guidance and advice. Rob is one of those mentors in my life and played a pivotal role in my decision to leave the Navy in pursuit of a college education. I always enjoy our short encounters whenever our schedules allow it.
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| There's no modesty during the rigging process. |
Once back from my meetings in DC and back at Fort Bragg, I resumed my professional and military duties. During a sub-30 degree morning, I showed up to a military DZ (drop zone) once again hoping to exit an aircraft. Even while wearing enough snivel gear to add a couple of pounds to my body weight yet still shivering, I found myself standing around the DZ in an upbeat, optimistic mood. We went through all the steps previously described in
my last post about my failed jump attempt, then hung out anticipating the arrival of the aircraft that would deliver us to an altitude worthy of making a parachute jump. The vapor formed by our words and breath hung in the cold air while we kept our bodies in continuous motion in an effort to keep warm. Shifting weight quickly from one foot to another and rubbing gloved hands together in an attempt to generate heat, seasoned and newbie jumpers alike recounted memories of previous jumps and aircraft antics as we waited for the inevitably delayed aircraft. It was a crystal clear, frigid morning and everyone was ready to GO!
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| Seasoned jumpers ensure safe jumps for us novices. |
Military static line jumps are a well-orchestrated event steeped in tradition. After going through the pre-jump training, we help each other to rig up and go through inspections to verify our gear and preparations are sufficient to carry us to safe landings. The guys who have executed dozens of jumps look out for us novices by double and triple checking our rigs. Each man is the other man's keeper; a bad jump by one is a bad jump by all.
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| One of the easiest exits around; a CASA 212. I'm 7th from the left. |
Due to my hip surgery, it had been several months since I jumped. Since normalcy is relative, jumping every month makes the act of exiting an aircraft seem routine. The lapse of those continuous months, however, allowed the butterflies to flutter back in to my stomach ever so slightly. The smell of turboprop exhaust and the feel of specks of debris in the prop wash while walking up to a turning aircraft always stirs familiar visceral memories of my Navy aircrew days. Being rigged up in a parachute and reserve chute however, adds a wave of novel excitement and nervousness to those established aircraft memories. Once seated in the aircraft climbing to a safe parachuting altitude, each Paratrooper goes into his own thought process in preparation for a sound exit. With only a dozen military static line jumps under my belt, I can't really say that I have an established mental routine down yet. My thoughts oscillate between procedure checklists and just being in the moment of such a unique experience. I look to my left and right and feel a solid camaraderie with these uniformed jumpers.
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| Nice exits. |
As the ramp opens like a slow yawn to reveal the changing landscape of earth at a little over 1000 feet, I can't help but to feel proud, nervous, privileged, excited and determined all at the same time. I've heard of cases of "jump refusals", but down in my soul I just cannot comprehend that concept. I'm rigged up, trained and ready to exit this aircraft; the thought of doing anything other than that really never enters my brain. "One minute!"..."30 seconds!"... "GO!"..."GO!"..."GO!"... We shuffle in single-file line toward the ramp with static line in hand careful not to crowd the jumper to the front us. As the jumpmaster looks each one of us in the eye at one-second intervals, points his hand in our direction and yells "GO!", we take the 4-5 steps down the open ramp into an abyss of exposed space and start counting "One Thousand", "Two Thousand", "Three Thousand"... Somewhere between three-thousand and six-thousand, the familiar feeling of a tug followed by suspension in space tells me that my chute has opened and the need to deploy my reserve chute and emergency procedures will not be needed today. It all happens so quickly that my focused mind doesn't really register a falling sensation before the chute is pulled from the pack. I look up at a beautifully round, inflated canopy silhouetted by a cold, frigid sky; less than 10 seconds has elapsed. I smile and let out a sigh of relief that I executed a sound exit, causing not even a single twist in my risers, and now am only faced with determining wind direction and navigating myself to a safe landing.
I pull on the right and left toggles sequentially to determine that I have gained canopy control, then look below me to orient myself to the drop zone. Although minimal, I run with the wind to position myself as close to the equipment turn-in point as possible. I suddenly remember that this is the first real test of my surgically repaired hip and search for the softest landing spot possible. Usually I steer away from soggy, wet patches of land, but this time I aim for the scar of low-lying ground running the length of the drop zone. Soggy means soft and cushiony, exactly what I need to ensure a forgiving landing. At the edge of the bog and at the last minute, I turn into the wind to slow my descent. I fall a little further and feel the balls of my feet touch the ground. The lack of wind caused me to lose any momentum from which to execute a side PLF (Parachute Landing Fundamentals) and I found myself crumpling straight down over my boots. I managed to throw my right hip out to avoid a direct spinal impact landing and made contact with the ground just sightly right of center. The landing was gentle and the distinct lack of wind caused my chute to come down directly on top of me. I pushed the chute over as it deflated into a mound of nylon right next to me, then disconnected my reserve chute and all harness straps. I layed there on my back for just a minute gazing up at the crystal clear sky above me grinning like a fool. Another jump from which I would walk away; another life experience added to my collection to give me confidence. What a charmed life I lead!
Nothing but a thankful day can happen after such an enchanted morning like I had just experienced. I was back at my office answering emails by 10:30 a.m. Other than the random grains of red dirt lingering from my morning of Airborne Ops falling from my scalp onto my keyboard, my day progressed as any other administrative personnel's would. These sporadic moments of extraordinary help to balance out my otherwise uneventful existence.
Even if jumping out of airplanes does not appeal to you, look for those extraordinary moments that are surely veiled in your own life. Although disguised as everyday events, open your mind to the remarkable occurrences masquerading as a child's laugh, a stranger's heartfelt handshake or just a loved one's hug. They're all around and all you need to appreciate them is to allow yourself a moment to acknowledge them.
