Crazy Larry's Excellent Adventures

Mission 100, Day 5

The evening before we started the record attempts Martin Lemay told us that he would rather put all 100 of us up the air for a nearly completed formation than take the most qualified people and put them up simply to set a new record. A few people had been stood down, and he felt that everybody who was still on had the potential to make it work. We had committed to him, and he was committed to getting as many of us onto the record as possible. Normally at something like this the organizers would be going through the roster with a chainsaw by now cutting people right left and center to increase their chances of success. The "inclusive", rather than "exclusive" attitude was refreshing. It wasn't popular with everybody though, a lot of the participants here were in Perris Valley in the spring we made this years first attempt at a record.

We finally took our first injury today. Mish was trying not to be last for the dirt dive, running and getting geared up at the same time. He got caught up in
his rig with his arms trapped behind his back, tripped, and did a face plant
on the deck. He broke his nose and scraped all of the skin off his chin. He
had to stand down from the first load and was replaced by Richard Bisson. He
also had to pay a case of beer for the first injury, but he called that on
himself, so that's okay.

We met at 6:45 under mostly clear skies, and the group had so much energy we
could have run to altitude. In the dirt dive I did what I had been doing for the last 4 days, making faces at Amanda Hoff, my clone on the far side of the formation. We'd been crossing our eyes, flaring our nostrils, blowing kisses, licking our lips, and sometimes even doing as we were supposed to which was making eye contact and staring each other down. But mostly we were trying our best to break each others concentration.

After a thorough review of the plan, both groups
boarded their planes and we finally went up to do the 41-way skydive we'd
first dirt dived 2 days before. The point didn't build, there were a couple
of grips out, but everything was clean and calm. A bunch of us landed in a
field a couple of roads over from the DZ, and a very kind, very old lady who
reminded me of my grandmother slowed down in her very small car to gawk at
us as we walked out of the field. We quickly talked her into giving us a
ride back and we jammed 5 jumpers and gear into her car. She was so excited
I thought she was going to pee herself.

Traffic on the highway has slowed to a crawl, with spectators lining the
shoulders and set up in the fields on lawn chairs. The sight of 3 twin
Otters parked next to a highway is rare to begin with, and almost unheard of
in Canada. There's also the whole people dropping out of the sky in huge
numbers thing.

We geared up for the second jump, boarded our plane, and we taxied up and
out of the way. Angus Smith suddenly appeared, shoved the door up, shouted "Is
this the right right trail plane"? When we yelled no he slammed the door
shut and scurried away. How the hell do you lose your plane? Only Angus could pull that off. But a moment later, I watched Jean Aitken go running
from one aircraft over to another aircraft. Then she came running over to
our aircraft. Then she ran away and ran over to the third aircraft. By then
she'd been joined by Les from Aerodyne, who led her back to our aircraft,
and then finally over to the aircraft that she'd been at in the first place,
where they finally let her board. Turned out that 28 people had been told to
get on an Otter that on a good day can hold 23, and they had to redistribute
the load.

The second jump of the day, which was a 65-way, went very very well, and
came close to a completion.

While practicing the exit for the third jump of the day, Dave Gransden put
his foot down wrong and tore his Achilles tendon. Shortly after that, he
passed out from the pain, and got a free ride in a brightly painted van
covered with flashing lights. But that's again that's okay, because he called beer on
himself for having injured himself without actually skydiving, and we got a
twelve of beer out of it.

The third jump of the day was our first serious attempt at setting a new
record. It was supposed to be a 101-way. It went well but didn't complete.

My slot is pretty straightforward. I'm in the second row of divers coming out of the left trail aircraft, and even with 8 people in front of me and someone to either side I'm still close enough I could easily stick my hand outside the plane. When the 6-way Base launches out of the Sherpa, the 5 floaters clinging to the outside of the plane drop off, the first row of divers squatting and leaning on the floaters are right behind them, and my row is a split second behind them. My row turns to the left when we come out, and the base is dropping down at an angle directly in front of us. We have a straight in shot to our slots. We have to get there as quickly as possible so the rest of the people in our sectors can start filling in behind us. It's the same slot I've been in most of the week. I have Pierre DalcourtTK, with Martin and his bright orange suit to our right, and some poor guy who lost a bet wearing a neon pink Jump For The Cause jumpsuit across from us. There will be no excuse for us to get lost, everybody in the base is pretty distinctive.

Little Kim is in the middle of the floater line on my plane, sandwiched in between a couple of tall guys and all she can see once she's in position is the side of the plane above the door. As soon as anybody in her line moves she's going to drop off.

Joanne Chantigny from Mile High is flying a tough slot, docking in a whacker line several rows behind me. She's got to fly over from another airplane and has a lot of sky to cover. Cyr is in a similar slot across on the other side of the formation.

After the debrief, we were stood down because of clouds. Again.

I took advantage of the break to track down everybody who'd committed a sin
over the past five days to either collect beer or cash to buy beer.

Everybody paid up without protest and in most cases overpaid the amount of
their fine. I hit Angus up for a 12 pack for showing up at the dirt dive in shorts and a T shirt, without a suit. "But that is my suit!" he protested, pointing out that was what he had been wearing on all his jumps. But he paid anyway. I drafted Johannes boyfriend Steph to run and fetch the beer and ice.
He didn't seem to mind, he'd been hanging around all day and isn't a
jumper, there isn't much to do at a DZ if you don't skydive. By the time he
got back, they were calling us to show up for our next jump.

It didn't go anywhere near as well as the previous one. Full body contact,
combat RW. People diving at it, sliding under it, landing on it, collapsing whole sectors,
even crashing right into it--it wasn't pretty or fun. If nobody died or lost an eye. It
certainly wasn't through lack of trying.

Soon after we landed, everybody was digging into the free beer, including a
bunch of people whom nobody had seen before. When we were called to the barn
for the debrief, they picked up a cooler and started walking along the path
with us. When we came to the fork in the path that headed off to the parking
lot, they turned right, while the rest of us went straight. "NO, come this
way, come this way, you're going the wrong way." They looked over their
shoulders at us and started walking faster as they carried our huge cooler
full of beer towards the parking lot and their car with its tailgate open,
waiting for them to make their getaway. They were quickly surrounded by a
crowd of angry skydivers, and after a brief dispute that was settled by the
fact that we outnumbered them by about 10 to 1, we took our beer and headed
for the debrief.

Turned out they were part of the entertainment Donald had lined up, and part
of their payment was to be in beer. When they asked the girl who was running
the beer table for the "Free Beer" she pointed to our cooler, so they picked
it up and started on their way. Just a little miscommunication that came to
the verge of turning ugly. Don't come between a skydiver and his beer.

Mission 100, Day 6

This is it. We have the Sherpa until noon. If we hustle, we can get 3 jumps in. It has to happen before 12 o'clock today or it could be years before the necessary aircraft and talent can be assembled again.

We met in the field at 6:30 and lo and behold, T.K. Hayes, manager and part owner of Skydive City in Florida, also known as Base-o-matic, was late. He had the good manners to run when he finally pulled into the parking lot. Also late were three members of a 4-way team from the Prairies, but at least the team is
working in unison. After a very quick review, we were off for our first jump. TK had promised free jump tickets for everyone at his DZ if we made it on our first attempt.

A couple of people had been cut, and we were aiming for 98. It went very very well, and suddenly it seemed as if we could pull this off.

I landed out, along with most of the people on the load, and burned it in
downwind all alone into a muddy field as I followed the landing direction that had been designated before we took off. I slid to a stop on my right side, covering my suit from shoulder to waist, as well as my right arm, with mud. As I stood stowing my brakes, I looked ahead at the field across from me and watched
canopies landing from every direction, downwind, upwind, crosswind, and was glad I had landed all by myself in the muddy field.

When I walked out to the road, I thought that one of my lifelong fantasies had come true.
I was met by a tall, blond, spectacularly endowed Amazon. "I've come for
you", she said. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. But she was only
there to take me back to the drop zone. There was a fleet of vehicles
circling about, picking up skydivers from everywhere, including a tractor
drawn hay wagon that showed up with a dozen skydivers aboard looking like
animals at the zoo on display as they were returned to the drop zone. They got a round of applause and laughter from jumpers and spectators alike.

After a very fast debrief and an even faster brief, we went back up with
some changes to the lineup. Again, the dive went well, but didn't complete. When my canopy opened it snapped into a fast 360 degree turn before it settled smoothly on the heading I'd been on when I threw the
pilot chute. Not a good thing when there's that many canopies around but
seeing all those canopies go past made the momentary fear worth it. When I came in to the landing area there was nobody near me for the first time since I got here so I decided to take advantage of
that and do a front riser carve to dive and accelerate the canopy in for my
landing. As I came out of the swoop I realized the wind had picked up and I was now screaming in downwind. I tried to run it out on a downhill slope but it was hopeless. I finally tripped and landed on my left side, skidding to a stop in another patch of mud. At least now I was equally muddy
on both sides of my suit and gear. That turned out to be a typical landing
on that load with most people doing face plants, somersaults and butt slides.
The most popular piece of equipment on the drop zone after that was the Scrub
Brush of Shame. My rigger is going to be pissed at the mess he has to clean up.

We only have one shot left. But it seems that time after time these things come down to the last possible chance, the last load on the last day, that's when people dig deep, focus, and make it happen.

They made a couple more cuts, and 93 of us met in the field for one last dirt dive. Martin looked around, thanked us all for coming, for working so hard, said we didn't need to run through it all again, that we all knew our jobs, lets load the planes and go. We were all smiles as we split into our aircraft groups, and everybody seemed to know that this time, it was going to work.

Our airplane wasn't being used for ferry duty so we lounged about on the grass in the shade beneath the wing on the left side of our plane. The pilot damn near gave us a heart attack when he started up the right side engine without warning us first. There was a mad scramble as anybody close to the left engine crawled away from it in case it started as well.

We went to 20,000 feet, sitting calmly on the floor, sucking on our oxygen tubes. When it was time to get up and get ready, I knelt looking out a window on the right side of the plane in what was the best seat in the house. I had a perfect view of the other 3 aircraft, flying in a tight formation. My job was to watch the other planes, and in case we missed a warning light, to let people know when the other planes were opening their doors, and starting their climb out. When the right trail opened it's door, Stephane Lemay, our cameraman for the US nationals in 2010 could be plainly seen in his bright red suit. In the shadows on the tailgate of the Sherpa I could see Martin's orange suit moving about as he leaned out to check our spot.

Green Light. I could see the floaters on the other 2 trail planes starting to climb out. Time to go.

It's Ground Hog Day.

When the 8 people in front of me left, I dove out, and turned to see the base floating past, solid and stable.  I swept my arms back as far as I could and dove after Pierre as fast as I could. The faster I was where I was supposed to be, the faster the people who were lining up behind me could get to where they had to go. It was building fast, real fast, and clean, with no movement, no waves going through the formation as it grew. I was staring across the formation at Amanda, and her whole side was smoothly coming together, just as if this were simply another dirt dive. I snuck a quick look to my left.... and everybody was on grips!  Straight ahead behind Amanda, everyone was there, part of the formation, flying as a single person. I looked to the right..... and someone was low! It was Slade, about 5 feet underneath us! Fuck!!!!!!!!

I could see the look of fierce determination on his face as he stretched himself out as flat as he could to slow down, and popped up into his slot.

That was it! We had it!

But no. Ahead of me Martin had his neck craned up and twisted over so he could see the line behind me. He was jerking his head as if to say "Come on! Get in here!"

My Pro Trac started to beep in my helmet, it was time for the outer ring to track away, Mission 100 was over.

It was a quiet group that landed and began the walk back. I couldn't understand what could have gone wrong. We had done what Martin had asked, we had believed, we had faith, we had each other, and we were lead by one of the finest skydivers in the world.

In front of me, someone was pointing up, and after a moment of searching, I could see the tiny multicolored rectangle of a main parachute high in the sky, far higher than it should have been. Someone had had a premature deployment, and had never made their slot. His closing pin had been dislodged on exit, leaving him hanging under his main at 20,000 feet.

As bad as we all felt, I don't think it could have come anywhere near the pain that lone skydiver felt as he came in to land all by himself, long after everyone else had left the landing area. I knew him, I had been jumping with him all week long, joking in the dirt dives, and it was his girlfriend that had picked me up and brought me back after I had landed off the airport earlier that day. He's a great guy, and a good skydiver, someone I'd be happy to trust my life to.

I ran into Martin a few minutes later, stuck out my hand, and congratulated him on a very successful event, run under very trying conditions. He looked like he was about to burst into tears. It's good he didn't. I was fighting them back myself, and if he had started, I'd have lost it as well.

At the debrief we watched the video in silence. The formation built fast and clean, everybody lining up, and waiting their turn to take their grips. In between Stephan and me, Nick had taken our leg grips, but there was an empty hole where someone should have been on his leg grip. Everyone was lined up waiting, but the hole remained, the person who was to fill it was a couple of miles above.

There were a lot of nasty things said, but it would be impossible for anyone to beat up on the guy any more than he was beating up on himself right then. He is going to have to wear this until the day a new record is finally set. And when it is, I hope he comes, I'd jump with him anytime, anywhere.

Martin thanked us for our efforts, and we gave him, his family, and his coworkers, an ovation that went on for several minutes. When we were done, he said "You are released."

I've never liked big ways, way too much stress and effort just to make a single point. Until this one I'd always had to be pushed into doing them. I'd far rather grab 3 friends and do some smokin' hot 4-way.

But the next time Martin puts out the call, I'll answer it. I hate leaving a job unfinished.