Sky high fives
Last year I turned the grand old age of 40. It was brilliant, jumping on a plane to celebrate in Ibiza. Talk about contrasts: today, I’d be jumping out of one!
Bzzzt bzzzt bzzzt
For the birthdays that end in zero, I try and make them memorable. For 20, we went to super-club Ikon & Diva (!), for 30 it was The Running of The Bulls, and for 40, my subtle hints - I WANNA DO A SKYDIVE - weren’t left unheard by mi familia!
Fast forward 14 months, to 07:45 on a Sunday morning. It was a dark October morning, shaken by thunderclaps and illuminated by lightning flashes, as my alarm sounded D-Day. This was ‘Stranger Things’ type weather; not the type you want to see when you’re due up there later, 15,000 feet up there later. Slightly nervous, I checked my phone for weather updates.
To the uninitiated; it’s fair to say the weather’s an essential cog in the skydiving machine, and one I’d been burnt by a fair bit. Today was the eighth date I was hoping to jump, with the previous seven vetoed by ‘weather not suitable’ alerts. So it was kinda surprising to not have had one so far… the birthday skydive was seemingly on!
Getting in the car was officially the closest I’d got to jumping. The previous being a 05:30 alarm for an 08:00 jump, only to be denied by a cancellation text at 05:22 (we ended up going for a sea dip that morning, just to justify the early start).
And they’re off
With Salisbury in the route map, we set off in the dark. On the road, the weather had unbelievably got worse. Monsoon level showers battered our windscreen, as window wipers hit hyper speed. Driving against the drizzle, the heavens slowly began to clear, as Vecna’s black-red skies transitioned to blue. I was hyped… God was on our side!
We finally arrived at Go Skydive (via a few wrong turnings, fields and pot holes), I was surprisingly calm, as we parked in a field, literally opposite a plane firing up its engine to take flight. In the distance I could see likeminded thrill seekers kitted up in the gear, ready to board their transport into the skies.
Checking in at the reception, before heading towards another part of the camp: I got into my jump suit, goggles and all. A guy called Alex entered the room. Dressed in a jump suit like ours, he was leading the training. The quick version went like this:
When jumping out the plane, make sure your feet are behind you;
Hold your arms at right angles when free falling; and
Lift your knees and straighten legs when landing.
Even I could manage them instructions… let’s do this!
No plane, no gain
With the final waver signed for my tandem skydive; I met the pro I’d be strapped to for the entire descent. Result, it was Alex the trainer! He reckoned I was probably their most patient jumper ever, given those seven reschedules. Asking if I had any key questions, I panicked: “What if my trainers fly off? Can we go and get them?” One frown later, we were boarding the plane.
The plane was tiny. It couldn’t have been more than 10ft wide; definitely the smallest one I’d ever been on. Inside there were two benches in parallel to each other, with six first-time jumpers, their pros, and three apprentices - 15 men in total. Great - I was sat at the front, meaning I was jumping first!
As the propellor fired up, it was surreal looking out the window to no runway, instead just green grass whizzing past as we accelerated through the bumpy field. The takeoff was amazing; we soared into the sky at about 140mph, with our ascent getting steeper, all I could think of was that scene in TDKR, where Bane hijacks that private jet. Thankfully, Salisbury was clear of villains this weekend.
A rollercoaster in the sky
Infiltration free; we climbed above the clouds. The roller door opened; exposing us to the windy altitude. A tap on my shoulder, followed by a thumbs up and high five, indicated it was time to shuffle towards the opening. At almost 3 miles high, I sat on the plane’s ledge; legs a-dangling, as I began to lean out. Sh*t was getting real!
A million things went through my head: What if my clips broke? Would a tree break my fall? What if we hit a bird? What if I landed in a swimming pool? What if? What if? What if? Too late, before I knew it, we’d jumped…
““ARRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHAAAAWWOOOOOOOAAAAAHHHHHHHH!””
Honestly, I did not anticipate the screams that fled my soul, as the sky stretched my face behind my head. As my ears popped and eyes watered, I couldn’t imagine many have hit a 125mph freefall with so much grace! It felt like being on a rollercoaster with no seatbelt.
Our parachute-less hurtling towards earth lasted about 60 seconds, before Alex pulled the cords and we were dragged back into the clouds, affording us a clear view of the miniature-like model village below. I remember thinking things look completely different from above! I worked out a cathedral spiral to avoid, and that was about it.
Alex started manoeuvring a few manic spins into our eventually peaceful descent! I asked him if he could remember how many jumps he’d done to date. He confirmed this was number 4,057, helping him on target for the most tandem jumps in the UK this year… so I was in good hands, but tried to spare him of my mid-air small talk all the same!
Touchdown
As the world below became a bit more recognisable (and closer), Alex signalled to raise them knees and legs as we closed in on landing. We approached the ground at pace, which made the landing on to the soft green grass all the more surprising - more so considering this was the bit I’d feared the most.
As I lay on the grass - legs both intact, and no trainers lost - looking up at the skies I’d just survived, it was until others started landing, that we realised our achievements. The tandem mandem celebrating in unison.
As we headed back to base camp, and got changed out of the jumpsuits, we were each handed a certificate of congratulations, that read: Now you’ve completed your tandem skydive, what’s next? Good question, with nine years to mull it over… watch this space!
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