3 Seconds of Pure Terror.........

3 Seconds of Pure Terror, followed by the 20 Second Canopy Ride from Hell

Our mothers have said it to every single one of us at least once, invariably after we’ve done something that is physically dangerous and patently stupid.  “And if your friend Timmy jumped off a bridge, would you?” To which most skydivers would immediately reply “How high is the bridge?”

In this case the bridge in question is the New River Gorge Bridge in Fayetteville West Virginia, 876 feet from railing to wave top. For one day every year, they shut the bridge down to vehicle traffic and turn it over to pedestrians, rappellers, and skydivers. A mountaineering club hangs ropes along one section to slide down, and there are a couple of platforms stuck over the side next to them for people to do BASE jumps from. Hundreds of thousands of people show up for the entertainment, or to just walk across the bridge that is normally closed to pedestrian traffic. There is a small landing area on the right hand shore about a hundred yards from the bridge. It’s an uphill dirt and gravel slope surrounded by trees. If you overshoot, you hit the cliff face at the back of the landing area. If you undershoot the water’s edge is strewn with boulders. The safest option, and the one I had decided to use, was to go for the freezing cold water. The rescue boats fish you out pretty quickly and drop you off on shore.

In spring of 2004 when Trevor booked us a bunch of the limited slots 5 months before, it seemed like a good idea. I had never done a BASE jump, had never been to Bridge Day, and many people said it was the safest place to do my first one because of the height. I was also assured that as long as you waited the required 2 seconds after jumping to toss your pilot chute that it was impossible to hit the superstructure of the bridge. But you wouldn’t want to wait too long, if you didn’t get a canopy out you only had 8 seconds until impact.

As we walked up the bridge in a light rain there was a pretty good street party/carnival going on. We ran into my friends Joanne and Larry Dewy from Pennsylvania. Joanne couldn’t jump because she had a walking cast on her leg, but Larry was registered and ready to go. Joanne wanted to get a picture of the two Larrys so she started hobbling ahead. As soon as her back was turned we sped up, slowing back to a walking pace as she began to turn around. Seeing we were still too close she turned around and started hop-skipping up the bridge again, and again we sped up. She turned around, we slowed down, she saw we were to close, she took off again along the bridge, and so on, and so on. We chased that poor crippled woman a good fifty yards before she finally got far enough ahead to get the picture she wanted. I made the mistake of telling her about it a few years later. I think she’s still a little pissed.

Then we pushed our way through the crowd to the railing to watch the jumpers going off. The first person I watched turned out to be a paraplegic BASE jumper who was launching from a hanging position beneath a specially built platform. He swung back and forth several times before letting go at the end of a back swing to put himself slightly face down. The problem was, he also added a slight back slide component, and at the last possible second, he clipped the superstructure with his feet. So much for “You can’t possibly hit the bridge.” Jeff talked with him later that night at the party in the lobby of the Holiday Inn and he said that although he had broken his leg, it wasn’t a big deal because he couldn’t feel it and used a wheelchair to get around anyway.

The next people to go were a couple of people who had decided that BASE jumping wasn’t inherently dangerous enough, and had decided to increase the entertainment level for the crowd by doing several stunts on the jump. They left simultaneously, from two different platforms, with their canopies completely out and held in one hand. When they jumped, they tossed the canopies out to opposite sides, and they immediately inflated. As they began to fly down the valley about fifty feet apart we could see there was a tether between them. They had strung a couple of pool noodles on it to make sure everybody saw the rope. When they were about a hundred feet from the bridge, one of them, to everybody’s surprise, cut away (released) his canopy, dropping to the end of the tether. When he reached what should have been the limit of extension for the rope, he kept going instead of coming to a sudden stop, and I realized it wasn’t a rope, but a large bungee cord. When the bungee had stretched out to its maximum length, just before it started pulling the jumper back up, he cut that away, and went into free fall. The pair of them had lost altitude when they left the bridge, the bungee guy had had lost some more when he cutaway his canopy and the line stretched out, and then he lost some more in the time it took him to deploy a second canopy after he released the bungee. The canopy barely had time to inflate before he disappeared into the trees next to the railroad tracks on the opposite bank of the river from the landing area. On the side we were supposed to land on crews had spent the previous day stringing ropes up into all the trees surrounding the landing area, and today they had people stationed in them to facilitate getting anybody who missed the landing area safely to the ground. There weren’t any ropes or rescue crews in the trees on the side he landed on. I heard he was there for a couple hours before they got him out.

What the hell had I gotten myself into? This was supposed to be a nice simple jump off a bridge. I had only watched 2 jumps and neither one had ended well. This was seeming less and less like a good idea. 

Despite my misgivings we got into line and pulled on our rigs. I had rented Base gear to increase my chances of success. I was in line with Gerry Cluett, Oleg, and Jeff. Jeff had promised me several months previously “I’ll see you safely off the Bridge, after that, you’re on your own.” Far too quickly we had moved up onto the platform and were next in line.

With a grin, Oleg took a couple of steps, threw himself forwards, and vanished.

Oh Crap. This is really happening. And seeming less and less like a good idea with every passing second. 

Gerry was up next, and just as Oleg had done before him, took a couple of steps, and was gone.

My turn. I stepped up to the edge, and made the mistake of looking over. Suddenly the water seemed a lot closer than 8 seconds, and 876 feet.  Below me I could see the rescue boats zipping around, and the word “rescue” seemed to get stuck in mind. They weren’t the only boats down there though, about a dozen white water rafts jammed with people were drifting by with their faces all turned up towards me. I looked to my left up the length of the bridge to a sea of faces all seemingly staring directly at ME! I looked to my right and saw the same thing. Great. One hundred thousand people watching and waiting for me to DIE!

I turned around to look at Jeff. He leaned forward, and radiating calm and confidence quietly said “I’m here for you buddy. Take your time, leave when you’re ready.” I turned to look at the gatekeeper who was controlling the traffic and recognizing my terror he said “Don’t look down, just look out at the horizon, take a deep breath, and jump”. I looked out at the horizon and that didn’t help. I’m supposed to see clouds when I look out, not trees on the far side of the valley.

I stood on the edge for another moment, contemplating the crowd, the boats, the rafts, the rain, the clouds drifting past below us, and my own mortality. Okay it’s official. This was definitely a bad idea. In fact, out of all the ideas I’ve ever had, all the stupid things I’ve ever done, this was without the slightest shadow of doubt the dumbest thing I have ever done in my entire life.

“If Timmy jumped off a bridge…..?”

I jumped.

I’ve been told that in moments of extreme stress, you revert to your training. That would explain why, when I jumped off, I started shouting “ARCH THOUSAND, TWO THOUSAND..” just like a first jump student. I didn’t even realize I’d done that until Jeff told me about it afterwards. He said it got quite a laugh from the people close to the platform who understood the joke.

Fueled by adrenaline, I leaped with too much energy and over rotated, quickly pitching head down in a slow somersault. Instead of seeing the horizon all I could see was the superstructure of the bridge tearing past mere feet away. All I could think about was that paraplegic jumper clipping the bridge. Screw the count! Pitch the pilot chute! I was snapped back upright by the opening shock of the canopy, but instead of finding myself looking up the valley I was facing the bridge. The canopy had probably twisted around in the slipstream behind my unstable body. That was the 3 seconds of terror.

Now I started the 20 second canopy ride from hell. I should have been flying away from the bridge to make room for the next guy but when I vanished from sight under the bridge the gatekeeper put everybody on hold. I reached up to release my brakes, and hauled down on the left hand toggle as far as could. This thing sure didn’t turn like my Stiletto, It was like going from a sports car to a dump truck. As I slowly turned around, instead of facing a large open space in the middle of the bridge arch I was now over on the side where the people were rapelling down the lines hanging from the bridge. The lucky ones were looking the other way, but a bunch of them had seen me coming and were frantically dropping down their ropes as quickly as they could in a futile attempt to get the hell out of my way. After wasting a few precious seconds trying to decide whether or not I could fit between a couple of the ropes and deciding I wouldn’t, I pulled down the right toggle to slowly turn away, circling back over to where I was supposed to be. A few seconds later I finally flew back out from beneath the bridge and started moving up the valley where I should have been all along.

I wasn’t any happier being out from beneath the bridge. I was hanging below the slowest most unresponsive canopy I have ever flown, bouncing along in the wind and rain above a flotilla of rafts, with a couple of rescue boats chasing me around as they tried to get lined up beneath me, getting ready to splash into freezing cold water dressed in clothes that were guaranteed to immediately become waterlogged and drag me under. I pictured the headline back home. “Man survives BASE jump but dies in drowning.”

That’s when Jeff finally jumped off the bridge and opened right behind me, just one more thing adding to my terror. What was I thinking? How did I wind up here? Alcohol wasn’t even involved in the decision to come do this. I usually make good decisions sober. A good result here would involve me getting fished out by a rescue boat. Why would I willingly choose to participate in something where being “Rescued” was considered a desirable result?

I should have listened to my mother.

As I bounced along in the turbulence I kept looking over at the tiny landing area, down to the cold water, across at the rescue boats, back to the tiny, but dry, landing area, the cold water, the boats……

And I could see that completely by accident, I was at the perfect height and angle to be able to make the landing area. There’s a picture taken of me from along the bank as I’m flying along with a great big grin on my face. It was taken just as I realized I might be able to land warm and dry after all. 

As I turned in I could see that everything was perfect, and I would touch down towards the rear of the small square in the trees. At least I would have if the headwind hadn’t dropped off as I came into the shelter of the trees. I realized I was going to overshoot and hit the cliff face at the rear of the landing area about the same time all the spectators and cameramen lined up at the base of the cliff did. The canopy that had seemed so slow as I flew around under the bridge now seemed to be tearing along at breakneck speed. The crowd scattered out of my way as I desperately searched for an alternative to smacking face first into the rocks. That’s when I noticed that most of the people were running to the supposed safety of the road that led back up to the parking area.  

For lack of any alternative, I turned to follow them, and wound up chasing the crowd of people up the road below the canopy of trees. They all seemed to be either old, infirm, on crutches, or dragging baby carriages and small children, as they desperately tried to outrun me. I don’t remember what I said, but I clearly recall shouting at them as loudly as I could. I hope it was something along the lines of “Excuse me! Beg your pardon! Coming through!” But I suspect I wasn’t being very polite as all those innocent bystanders threw themselves into the ditches on either side of the road as I overtook them.

I flared as hard as I could as the ground finally rose to meet me but still hit the ground like the proverbial sack of wet cement. I slid to a stop on my hands and knees on the road just inches short of a large rock, leaned over, and kissed it. I was never so happy to have survived a landing, let alone a jump. I got to my feet as quickly as I could, preparing to either begin immediate apologies or to flee for my life from the crowd I had forced off the road. I didn’t get the chance to do either one. The moment I was on my feet I was treated to a round of applause from everybody present, including the guy with crutches lying in the ditch. He must have been a BASE jumper.

Bridge Day. Been There. Done That. Got A T-Shirt. I Don’t Need To Prove Anything To Anybody 

Again. 

Ever.

Mission 100, Day 4.

The ringers are due to start arriving today. They're the high caliber skydivers with lots of big way experience who will fill out our numbers to the goal of 100. It's 6 o'clock in the morning, there's a light overcast, less cloud than we had at anytime yesterday, and it's already warmer today than it was in the middle of the afternoon yesterday. It's not perfect but it's promising.

Okay maybe not so promising. It's now almost 11, the clouds have thickened up, and we're standing by to stand by.

I was sitting with a group out on the patio, when somebody said "I'll be pissed if I took a week off work to just sit around another airport." Someone else said"I only had 1 week of vacation left and I'm spending it here." Brian looked around to say "I can't believe I took 2 weeks off from retirement to just sit around and do nothing all day, and then drink beer until the middle of the night." We all turned to look at him. After a long pause he admitted that was exactly what he would have been doing if he had been at home, but the rest of us were bitching and moaning and he just wanted to get in on it.

I've had so much free time I finally finished and posted a story on my trip to bridge day that I had started years ago.

A little after 6 with the cloud cover finally starting to break up, we were called to the dirt dive, did our run outs, the Sherpa load was ferried over to their airport, and we all headed up. But the hole we were aiming for wasn't there, and after circling around for several passes over the airport at 20,000 feet, we sat back down and did up our seat belts for the ride back down. At least most of us did. The passengers on one Otter and the Sherpa elected to make a hop and pop through the clouds. They made several passes with only a few people getting out each time, and it resulted in people being scattered across a couple of townships.

That's 2 days in a row without jumping. We're running out of practice time. Our window is closing. It must have been tough getting 4 aircraft together for this, getting qualified people signed up, doing all the logistics. The weather has to turn around soon, or it may have all been for naught.

Lead me not into Temptation

Lead me not into Temptation.
I can find it myself.

Mission 100, Day 3.

We're released until 1:30 this afternoon because of low clouds. Before they turned us loose we all met in the barn for an oxygen briefing. That led to Brian and I coming up with a way to put the cylinder of helium to good use. We're going to slip it into the oxygen bottles so that when we do the high altitude jumps everybody will be talking like Donald Duck. The balloons that came with the cylinder won't go to waste, we'll turn them into water bombs for the party.

At 2:30 we were released until 3:30, and it started to rain.

At 3;30 we were released until 4:30, and the rain stopped.

At 4:30 we did a dirt dive, and put on standby, even though the clouds hadn't changed.

I'm wearing all the warm clothing I brought, and this event is starting to seem more and more like the Great Perris P3 Camp-out of 2011. It's almost the end of the third day, and so far we only have 6 jumps.

At 5:30, Cyr asked in his thick french accent if I knew what the codes on the screen of his Cypres Automatic Activation Device meant. It's what puts your reserve out for you if you're incapacitated. He said  that after it finished the countdown it went through when you turned it on, it was showing the code "1160". I pulled out my laptop and started a search that lasted the next 20 minutes. It ended when Cyr walked back up and said that once he had put his glasses on and turned the Cypres right side up, it said "0911'. Turns out that's the date the battery is due to be changed. That's 20 minutes of my life I'll never get back, but the day was a complete loss anyway.

A little after 6 we were called out to the field with suits and full gear. There was a large hole in the clouds coming our way, and they wanted us to be ready. But it was not to be. We were eventually released for the day when it was decided the sky gods simply weren't on our side, and that the promised hole in the cloud would not appear.

Debbie Lovegrove organized a bunch of us for dinner, making a reservation for 17 at a place in St. Esprit that came highly recommended by the DZ staff. Robert and I were the first ones there, and we walked into a tastefully decorated restaurant complete with white tablecloths and classical music playing. Hmmm. My first thought was that the ambiance was about to be shattered by a herd of frustrated skydivers with way too much energy to burn. Maybe we were in the wrong place. The hostess approached us and when we said we had a reservation she asked "Skydivers?" Well, she can't complain later that she wasn't warned. As the rest of the group descended upon the place they immediately began the ritual of rearranging most of the tables in the place to accommodate us. By the time dinner was over the racket had chased all the rest of the patrons to the other side of the restaurant that was separated from us by a stairway that acted as a sound barrier.

Everybody was in bed early to be ready for a 7:15 start on Thursday.

"If I've learned nothing else..."

A Man and his Blog

Mission 100, Day 2

Standing by to stand by. The clouds have closed in, and the ceiling is too low to do any bigway skydives. We've been split into 2 groups of 41 each, we've done our dirt dive, practiced our exit, run it out on the field numerous times, and are ready to go as soon as the skies clear.

Mathieu managed to get himself a ride with Daniel Pacquette in his RV-7, a real slick looking 2 seat airplane. He was grinning like a kid at Christmas as they took the covers and tie downs off. Matt and I were looking at it earlier this morning and speculating about teaming up to buy a kit and build one. I probably won't be able to shut him up now, and should probably start clearing out the garage to have room for it.

As we came in from the landing area yesterday we were checked back in by a girl standing at the end of the path near the beer line. If you cross the line before coming to a stop after landing you owe beer. She's standing there anyway, she has everybody's names, so this morning in my role as Beer Cop I swore her in as a deputy. There were at least half a dozen people who busted the line yesterday, if they do it from now on it will cost them.

A little before noon Martin came up on the PA to page everyone into the barn for a briefing, ending with "Under The Beer Rules, Larry will be charging the last person to arrive with a minor infraction!" The fine for which is a six pack of beer. The goal was to get people to hustle, but as I stepped out of the building there was a veritable stampede of skydivers going at a dead run, headed for the barn. Never be the last for a briefing! Apparently Donald Poulin didn't feel the rules applied to him, as he strolled in dead last, munching on a sandwich. Beer Rules are Beer Rules, no exceptions for anyone.

We were called in so they could outline a plan to pick the entire operation up and move it to their sister operation on the ther side of Montreal where the weather was better. But by the time we were ready to move the ceiling had come down there as well so we stayed put.

A couple of hop and pop loads went up to check the altitude of the ceiling, and when one of them came down saying they had gotten to 13,000 feet we started to get back to our feet and pull on suits in anticipation of a call. We were soon up in the air, launching a mostly successful 41 way from 3 different aircraft. By the time we got back down and debriefed the ceiling had come back down, and it was back to standing by to stand by.

The other group was called to report to a dirt dive with "Full Gear". That means suits, rigs, and helmets. Unless a jump is imminent you normally only wear your jumpsuit so everybody can see your colors to enable them to figure out where they have to go once they get in the air. They were out in the field for 40 minutes in the heat and humidity, running back and forth, with Rob Laidlaw critiquing and detailing every part of the dive. By the time they came back they were tired but smiling, and a lot of the less experienced people felt they had a much better idea of how to do their job.

Late in the day, just as it seemed we would be released, Martin and Donald came out of the building, walked down the steps, looked up at the sky, and ran back into manifest. We didn't even wait for the call, everybody who had seen them run back in started pulling on suits and gear. As we went through the dirt dive before boarding Michel Lemay decided to put me in a different spot for the exit. I was moved from the first row of divers to the second row of divers. For the next run out he had me switch with a girl who wasn't comfortable at front float, and just before boarding he had me switch with somebody else and I wound up being the last diver. By the time we loaded I couldn't remember where the hell I was supposed to be, or figure out what I should see when I finally made it to the door.

On jump run, Michel opened the door when the red light came on, stuck out his head and looked down, and when he saw it was solid cloud below us he closed the door. I was looking out the window across to the other plane and saw they were climbing out! I started yelling at Michel, he grabbed the door and heaved it open, and there was a scramble as all discipline went out the window and people scrambled to get to their assigned exit position. I was so confused from being moved all around for the exit that when I dove out the door I took off in the wrong direction. It took me a few seconds to get sorted out and by then I had a lot more distance to cover to get to my slot. I managed to dock before the formation dropped into the cloud, and while the line I was part of stayed stable some people were distracted by the sudden white out and either floated or sank out.

"If I've learned nothing else, it's that time and practice equals achievement." Andre Agassi

That ended our second day, and at this point we only have 6 jumps in. On Wednesday the plan is to go higher and use oxygen, and the day after that we start the record attempts. 6 Jumps isn't very many to get the lower experienced people up to speed for something like this. There are a lot of good skydivers here, but it doesn't seem that many of them have a lot of big way experience. Everybody is trying, they're all doing their best, but if the weather doesn't cooperate it will be hard to get the needed practice jumps in. One thing that is a big concern at an event like this is the possibility of canopy collisions. That's when somebody flies a perfectly canopy into another one, usually caused by not paying enough attention to where everybody else around you is. Usually with disastrous results. So far everybody has done well under canopy, following the landing pattern, watching out for other canopies, but the sky will just keep getting more and more crowded.

A big storm blew through just after dark, the landing areas will be wet in the morning when we start doing 4 plane formations.

"I only have 2 things left to do today......

I hadn't even stepped completely into the building at Parachute Montreal and I heard someone calling my name. It was Alain Bard from GO Skydive, and standing next to him was Ben Stephenson from Skydive Gan. Ben was on the base 5 years ago in Burnaby, and spent a week going out the door with TK (tent killer) Hayes and the rest of the people in Base-o-matic. That was the nickname for the group of fast fallers that provided a stable target for the rest of us to dive on.

I talked to Martin Lemay, the main organizer for this party, and asked how many people they were expecting. I was surprised when he said "One hundred and ten." I thought they would have been doing well to get 80. He went on to say that only a week ago they had 90, and were looking everywhere they could to try and find qualified people to fill it out to the targeted 100. Suddenly all the people who had been either hanging back to see if enough people would register, or trying to get time off work, started to call. If we get enough people show up, Martin even talked about getting another plane to add to the fleet of 3 Otters and the Sherpa. He said he'd steal one if he had to. This is looking better and better all the time.

By late afternoon people had begun to trickle in, and tent city was quickly filling up. Gravel had been poured in a large part of the area that used to be for tents so they could park RV's and trailers. There's not a lot of room left so it's going to get pretty cozy.

Since I figured I'd spend enough time in the air over the next 6 days I felt no need to do a jump, and instead started handing out cold beer to anybody in tent city who was interested. I don't think anybody said no thank you. Kim and Mathieu arrived late in the afternoon, with the RV pulling a trailer with their car on it. Tiny little Kim was driving, perched atop a couple of cushions so she could see over the dashboard. It was an early night, and earplugs were in order to sleep through the noise of the traffic on the highway just across the parking lot.

Mission 100. Day 1

"I only have 2 things left to do today, and the second one is To Fuck Your Widow!" 

That's the greeting I called across the packing mat to Brian Forbes. He shouted the last part back in unison with me. It's the punch line to one of his favorite jokes. 

We had a 9 o'clock start, and as we met on the creeper pad (in jumpsuits, no exceptions, no excuses), it was like a joyous family reunion. Everybody was greeting all the old friends they hadn't crossed paths with lately, and we were all running about shaking hands, hugging, and shouting greetings. But Martin Lemay quickly got down to business. he laid out the plan for the week, then Mario Prevost delivered a safety briefing. It was all pretty standard, except for how they were going to handle loading the Sherpa.

A Shorts Sherpa is like a stretched Skyvan. It will hold 34 jumpers, and needs a runway longer than is available at Parachute Montreal. The plan was to ferry us over to another nearby paved airport with 2 twin Otters, which would drop us off to load the Sherpa, and then the Otters would return to to St. Esprit to pick up the load they would carry to altitude. Martin asked us to be patient while they worked the kinks out of the system.

At the end I stuck up my hand to ask what the beer rules were. Several infractions were outlined, and in light of the expertise I had gained in the subject at the P3 camp, Mario appointed me Beer Cop for the entire event.

We were separated into groups, and got to work. I was in a group led by Mario, and he explained we would be doing a series of one point skydives, building formations similar to what we would see later in the week. At this point they were probably evaluating a number of people to see what they could, or could not do. When he asked for people to fly base and be a target for the rest of them, I stepped forward figuring I'd have plenty of opportunity to dive later. One guy showed up at the dirt dive without a suit, and I gleefully imposed a fine of a twelve of beer. "Nobody told me to bring my suit!" he protested. Serge turned on him and said "Be on time for the dirt dive, with your suit, no exceptions, no excuses!" We did learn a few things in California this spring.

The first jump took a while to lay out, and we were the third group to be ferried over to ride the Sherpa. We left St. Esprit at 10:45. The Sherpa was just departing with a load when we arrived, so we found the only patch of shade on the airport to await it's return. When it got back, it had to refuel, and so began the slowest refueling I have ever seen of any aircraft. We waited so long it our patch of shade that we had started to speculate about whether the pilot even knew we were waiting for him. Finally somebody walked down to see what was going on, just as the process was completed. We finally boarded the plane at 12:30.    

But in the end, the ride was worth the wait. We took off with the huge rear door open, and when the pilot started down the runway we suddenly found ourselves sliding towards the opening as the slack was taken up on the belts securing us to the floor. I was at the very back and in a brief moment of panic as the aircraft lifted off I thought the pilot was trying to dump us out the back and pour us in a stream down the runway. As soon as we hit the ends of our belts I looked around to the wide eyes of the rest of the load, and I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only one who had thought they were going to slide right out that door. The plane ride is usually pretty boring. After our heart rates returned to normal we enjoyed the view out the door as we climbed to altitude.

Our skydives went well, they quickly had the aircraft cycle and refueling problems worked out, and the rest of the day went smoothly. Except for when the guys who were exiting directly behind us flipped over and landed on the base shortly after an exit. But even that was a soft hit, and we almost flew through it before we dropped grips.

After the day end closeout, I wound up talking to Michel Lemay, and he explained the basic plan for the next few days. The 30 way base was pretty much set, and they would be jumping together as they locked in their mental pictures, and got used to dealing with any of the small problems that came up. The rest of us would be practicing building the helixes and the arms coming off of them. There would be a lot of repetition, and by the time we start the record attempts, "It will be like Groundhog Day." Instantly I knew what he meant. In the movie Groundhog Day, Bill Murray keeps repeating the same day over and over and over again, until he knows everything that could happen that day, and how all the events could influence each other. We'll be doing the same, repeating dives, sorting people into their perfect slots, and working out everything that could happen so everybody is ready to deal with any glitches in the air.

“High Expectations are the key to everything” Sam Walton

Canadian Record 2010. Take Two.

In March of this year a whole bunch of Canadians descended upon Perris Valley Skydiving in California in an attempt to set a new record for the largest all Canadian skydiving formation built in free fall. We spent 10 days proving to ourselves and anybody else who could be bothered to pay attention that we had the talent to pull it off. But talent is only a starting point. There simply weren’t enough people in attendance to break the previous Canadian record of 59 set on June 24^th 2006 in Burnaby Ontario. There were several reasons for that, but the fact is that even if 100 qualified people had shown up it’s extremely unlikely it would have had a successful outcome because of weather. We spent a lot of time sprawled on the packing mats napping and reading, or in my case, firmly ensconced in a booth at the Bomb Shelter Bar and Grill getting this Blog set up.

Which leads us to Canadian record 2.0, properly known as  Mission 100. Parachute Montreal in St. Esprit has organized another run at setting a new record, timed to coincide with Canada Day. We’ll be doing 3 days of practice jumps followed by 3 days of record attempts. I have no idea whether or not there will be any more people showing up for this attempt than there were for the one in California, nor do I care. For six days I won’t be at work, I’ll be hanging out with my friends, and skydiving my ass off.

Kim and Mathieu are bringing their RV, and Philippe and Josee will be staying in it as well. Kim, Matt and I shared a room in Perris valley for 2 weeks and it went well, but we each complained about the other two snoring, so five was starting to sound a little crowded. I’ll be staying in my tent but taking advantage of the cooking facilities in the RV. 

I’m also going to take full advantage of the fact that for the first time since I started skydiving there is going to be a major event held in my neighbourhood. St. Esprit is just a couple of hours away, and I don’t have to cross the US border to get to it. The truck will be loaded even more heavily than when I used to go to the World Free Fall Convention. I’ve got 2 coolers, 2 rigs, 3 cases of beer, 2 bottles of Vodka, 4 bottles of wine, a bottle of Baileys, fireworks, a portable gas bar-b-q, a bug zapper, and a canister of helium. I know what you’re thinking: that I’m not bringing anywhere near enough booze. But I’ll be in Quebec, where every grocery store, corner store, and gas station, sells booze. It’s easier to get your hands on alcohol in Quebec than it is to get food. 

The last record in Burnaby was the first big-way I attended, and the first time I was on anything bigger than a 20-way that was successful. I spent 3 days diving like hell and flying like fuck, following Christian out the door and trying my best to ignore the streams of skydivers coming out of the other two planes. Every time we took off I did the math to figure out just how much was being spent on each attempt. "Okay, this time we've got 62 people, times 38 dollars each, which comes to..... ! Holy Crap! Please Lord, don't let ME be the one to fuck this up!" In the end I did my part, I flew my slot, despite my terror on every jump I didn't get cut, and we set a new record. 

I formed friendships at that event with people from all across the country, and a lot of them will be in St. Esprit next week. The parties during the event were great, and the party the night we set the record was of epic proportions in it's drunken excess. Skydivers aren't known for their restraint, so you can probably see what's coming.