Skydiving in Maine with Dad
I had done this before. Just last August I had strapped myself to a man I had met only an hour before, boarded an airplane and, at 11,000 feet, willingly scooted my butt toward an open door before jumping, with absolutely no reservations, out into the clear blue sky. So why? Why, this time, was I awake at 1:30AM the night before wondering what was making me temp the fates a second time? Why, this time, did I feel my blood pressure rising and, with it, butterflies rising up from my stomach threatening to escape? What was different about this time?
Perhaps it was that the temperature in Maine on July 21 had reached almost 100 degrees in the shade, and that the still night air had brought little relief. Possibly. The biggest variable, however, was that this time I would be jumping out of “a perfectly good airplane” with my 75-year-old father, a/k/a “Big Joe”.
The morning of July 22 dawned with the same “take no prisoners” heat as the day before. At 10:00 Dad and I would be meeting up with my 2 sisters at the Skydive New England airstrip and dropzone in Lebanon, Maine. Today we would be jumping from an altitude of 14,000 feet. 11,000 feet was, apparently, for sissies.
On arrival we checked in, watched a short video about the safety features of the harness system that would attach us to our jumpmasters, and signed all the necessary liability releases saying that, essentially, skydiving in general wasn’t for sissies and that if we died we wouldn’t sue. Lucky for us, Skydive New England has a near safety prefect record, even in terms of minor injuries.
Our biggest concern that day would be the heat index. Apparently when it’s hotter than, well you know, there is something that happens that affects lift, making conditions too dangerous to fly a plane, an essential ingredient in a successful jump. That’s how my dad explained it anyway; so it had to be true.
Happily, however, our names were called and it was our turn to laugh at gravity. We met our jumpmasters and the videographer who would provide the amazing videographic evidence of Dad’s first flight, earning him big-time bragging rights with the boys at the coffee shop, the gym, and his other haunts.
It took just a few minutes to strap us into our harnesses and load us onto the twin-engine Otter that would take us to 14,000’ where we would get about a minute’s worth of respite from the heat, literally.
In addition to Big Joe and the sisters, there were a couple of first-time jumpers along for our ride. One looked as if he might be wondering what his breakfast would look like splashed all over him and the poor guy he was strapped to, and the other (the girl, go figure) was cool as a cucumber and shared laughs and high-fives with the sisters and SNE crew during our ascent.
Upon reaching the appropriate altitude, they rolled open the big door and we all felt the rush of cool air fill the small cabin. It was about 50 degrees at 14,000 feet, and it was time. The first to go out the door was the nervous guy in front. Dad had a front row seat to watching him tumble backwards into the sky, terrified but apparently resigned to his fate, and with the contents of his stomach still intact. Next up (or out, as it were) was Big Joe. As my 6’2”, 195 pound father confidently squatted his way toward the open door strapped to Luke, who just about matched Dad pound for pound and inch for inch, I thought about my mother waiting at the dropzone, far below, for her husband of 53 years. She was more nervous than the rest of us put together. Luke and Dad paused for a few long moments at the door of the plane. They were going out face first and although Dad’s toes were still perched barely inside of the plane, the rest of his body was most definitely outside of the aircraft. Dad would later tell us that these very windy moments passed in slow motion and the only anxiety he felt was from waiting for Luke to get ready and let go. He was ready and couldn’t wait to plummet toward the earth at 120 MPH. He didn’t even blink.
I remembered my first freefall as my dad jumped out of the plane, and I was happy that he was getting to experience the life-changing rush of this adventure. And then it was my turn. Scott, whose chest I was tightly strapped to, gave me the signal and suddenly it was all about me. Dad was on his own. I didn’t even look back at my sisters. Having discussed it earlier, my options were face first, like the last time I went, or backwards. The latter making it possible to do backflips out the door. If I only had a minute, I wasn’t holding back and backflips sounded like crazy fun.
We flipped out the door of the Otter with nothing but a couple miles of breathtaking, heart pounding, space between us and the earth. It was a rush of freedom, adrenaline, cool oxygen, blue skies and living in the moment, with no worries about sticking the landing, at least not yet. After a minute of freefall Scott let me pull the ripcord to release the parachute, and suddenly life became very quiet. As we floated the last mile or so I picked out the blue and purple-pink parachutes of my Dad and one of my sisters, who had somehow passed us.
After a gentle landing and monstrous hugs all around, we took some happy photos and got our bearings before stripping off our harnesses and untangling the dreadlocks that had been wind whipped in my sister’s hair. Big Joe was elated. He was higher than I had ever seen him and happier even than he had been on the days that his 3 daughters got married and became ‘somebody else’s problem’.
Dad bought a round of smoothies at The Ripcord Café, and we settled in to watch the video of his jump. He smiled from ear to ear as he watched himself tumble and fly. Even now, several days later, he’s still grinning and gushing about how much he loved it. Apparently, we are all going again next year.
The video went up on Youtube and Facebook, and he’s carried it around showing it to everyone he sees. Maybe next year he will be able to drag along some of the coffee shop boys. But right now, my dad is my crazy, cool, adventurous, happy and young 75-year-old superhero, and my mom can stop holding her breath. That is, until next year.
-Deb Conway
1-800-UGO-JUMP
Skydive New England, LLC
Tel:(207) 339-1520
Fax:(207) 339-8865
