The Epic Disaster
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The alarm on my watch sounded at 3:30am and stirred all that slept on that eventful morning. I slowly opened my eyes and just as my senses adjusted to the surroundings, I heard the dreaded sound of raindrops on the rooftop of the van. We knew that the weather forecast was not the most suitable for an early morning BASE jump from a 1200' antenna in the Ohio backcountry, but Steve was in town and Joe had been trying to get his "A" for years now. It seems as if most disasters start out this way - first by rationalizing why you should do it, and then by justifying why you did it. This was to be a momentous jump for all on the load, and by the end of the day, none of us ever could have ever imagined the outcome.
Steve had lost one of his legs due to cancer in his teenage years, which would make this antenna jump a special one for him. He had jumped at Bridge Day last year and then at the Perrine during a BASE jumping instructional course. His accuracy was impeccable and I knew he would be able to safely perform the rigorous climb to the antenna top. I was excited just thinking about how he would pull himself up each ladder rung.
Joe and I had climbed our first antenna in 1994 only to be turned away due to winds blowing straight down the guy wires. After being away from BASE jumping for several years, Joe seemed determined to jump this antenna and he happily drove six hours to meet us at the site. He had recently experienced similar weather disappointments while climbing other antennas, so the thought of jumping a tall antenna in the middle of nowhere seemed promising. Besides, the antenna rested on the land of people who had given us verbal permission to jump several years prior.
After hearing the rain, we continued to sleep for several more hours with hopes that the weather would clear. By the time we awoke, blue skies were beginning to appear in the distance. Despite the late effort, we decided to attempt the early morning ascent and jump. Time seemed to drag along slowly and we hadn't even reached the base of the antenna until 8:00am. Even though it was getting late, we knew we had permission to jump and we continued on. Since this was the first antenna jump for two of the three on the load, gearing up and preparing for the climb took longer than expected. Steve was busy preparing his safety lines, as he would have to clip a caribeaner to the ladder rungs during rest periods. Joe and I were trying to capture some ground video before we started to climb. You could almost smell the adrenaline in the air.
As with all antennas, the first 100' is typically easy until fatigue sets in. Steve's climbing was slow but steady as he leapt up each rung and rested between ascents. He was using his upper body strength to climb while neatly placing his only foot on the narrow ladder rung after each hop. The antenna shook with each hop on the ladder rungs, which caused a small amount of concern to me early on.
Everything seemed peaceful as we climbed past the 300' mark. A few minutes later, the landowners came outside and starred at us from below. I sensed that we were somehow intruding and asked our ground crew to talk to them to see if our jumping was still welcome. When the ground crew spoke with her, she exclaimed, "you all are trespassing...you're not allowed up there!". Then she hastily ran back inside her house.
I was quite surprised that her opinion of our jumping had changed so quickly. I mentioned to Joe and Steve that we should either race to the 700' level and quickly jump or just climb down, because she might be upset enough to call the authorities. Steve quickly rationalized that it would take him more effort to climb down at this point, so we continued on with our slow, but sure, progress. Deep down inside, I knew that we needed to get off this antenna one way or another, but I couldn't leave my friends. I knew that I could have climbed quickly to a safe altitude and jumped, but leaving them behind on their first antenna jump was not an option. I quickly climbed to 700' in order to rest on a small ledge and keep an eye out for further trouble when I noticed a police car circling around the antenna. He pulled up near the antenna base and began a short conversation with the landowner. Immediately, visions of Rich S. telling me about a similar incident flooded my brain. Rich had once told me to take a short delay and fly as far away from the antenna as possible if I ever encountered a situation such as this. By this time, I had already performed the normal fifteen self-pilot chute checks and was ready to leap if necessary. Just then, the police officer shouted at us on his bullhorn, "this is the Clay County Sheriff...you are trespassing...come down from the tower immediately!”. We knew this was for real and I quickly dispersed our ground crew to the van. I rationed that if we jump, the sheriff would immediately drive to our van to await our arrival.
Joe and Steve were still at the 530' level, far below me, so we had to communicate via radio to decide what to do next. I began to sweat at the thought of getting arrested on an antenna that we had permission to jump. Would my argument that we'd received verbal permission in the past hold up in court? I decided not to find out and informed Joe and Steve that we should all jump. Besides, it didn't matter how we got down, as the crime had already apparently been committed. The sheriff shouted up at us again, "jumpers on the tower, start coming down immediately!". I slowly made my way down the ladder as our ground crew was just reaching the van. I wanted to wait until they could make it out of the area so we could meet at a prearranged location two miles away in two hours time. As I approached Steve, I noticed that Joe was understandably nervous about trying to outrun the authorities. I rationed that jumping down was safer than climbing down and if the sheriff chose to pursue us, then we would not run. Steve was meticulously preparing his handheld pilot chute, to which I promptly whispered to him, “Dude, now might be a good time to learn to go stowed”. Since we were all packed slider up, we knew a jump from 530' would be seriously pushing the limits for this tower jump. We had no choice but to jump.
I agreed to land close to the tower and sheriff in order to pick up Steve's crutches. My feet hastily pushed off the small railing with the only fear that I was coming closer to the sheriff. My canopy seemed to take forever to open with the low airspeed and I pumped the brakes during opening to get full inflation. Of course, after I landed close to the tower, my canopy suddenly decided to fall upwind into a fence I had carefully avoided thus far. I wondered what else could go wrong as I made my way to the tangled mess. The sheriff was only a few hundred yards away over a small hill. After several nervous seconds of carefully plucking out what fabric I could reach, I decided time wasn't on my side and I ripped the remaining portions of my canopy from the fence. I grabbed Steve's crutches, threw my gear on my back, and ran to the area where Steve and Joe were planning to land far from the antenna. Joe went next and had a 180 off-heading opening, but quickly turned it around while coming only a few feet from a guy wire. Steve then jumped and landed uneventfully near the woods next to Joe. With no sight of the sheriff, all three of us ran deep into the woods. Little did we know that thoughts of a successful escape were soon to be questioned.
The woods were thick and hot. Insects and spider webs quickly found their way onto every part of our bodies as we attempted to hike away from the antenna. At times, we would all stop in silence and listen for sounds of barking dogs or people following us. It seemed like a scene right out of a movie, complete with sweat, adrenaline, and fear. We thought Steve might have a difficult time carrying his gear and hiking through the woods, so we took turns carrying his stash bag. He could have easily carried it himself, but it made things a little quicker for all of us. Steve had done some amazing things in the past with only one leg, such as climbing Half Dome in Yosemite National Park and surviving a plane crash several years ago, and here we are urging him to give up his gear. Offering assistance only made Joe and I feel a little strange.
After an hour and a half, we had only made it less than a mile from the antenna. Progress was very slow in this untamed land. It has been some time since the jump and we rationed that the sheriff had probably given up by now. Just then, a faint voice on the radio sent a chill down my spine. It was our ground crew and van driver. She told us that the sheriff had caught up to her and we must all turn ourselves in immediately. Until that point in time, everything we had done to escape was perfect. It was very disappointing to realize that we would eventually have to turn ourselves in, especially since they now had our driver and my van in their possession. Steve and Joe decided it was time to meet the sheriff. I, however, could not accept the fact that I would have to turn myself in. I wondered off into the deep of the woods to think of the ramifications of my future actions and to find out from the others of the consequences. Could I lose my job (I had a government security clearance), my house, or more? I became upset at the whole sport of BASE jumping and the fact that we have to sneak around just to live our dreams and jump. My brain was flooded with emotions. I sat down in the middle of a grassy field and rested.
Steve and Joe found their way to the nearest road and were eventually driven to the sheriff by a local neighbor who had heard of the manhunt. They were told we would be fined $89 each for a misdemeanor trespassing charge and released, only if I turned myself in also. In situations such as this, it is easy to think only of yourself. I could have made my way from the antenna to safety, but I would also be leaving my friends and van. Deep down inside, I knew that I would have to turn myself in, but I wanted to think things through before doing so. Minutes turned into hours as I sat in the field listening on the radio to the other jumpers' pleas for me to give up my location. I did not respond. Why aren't people more understanding to the calling of a BASE jumper to a tall antenna? What is it that drives us to sometimes break the law and risk our lives for a quick adrenaline rush? What harm had we done to the antenna in the process of living our dreams? Why do they cheer when we jump in Europe, but arrest us when we do so here in the USA?
I made my way to the nearest road, stashed my gear, and began walking. A quick call on the radio, providing my location, sent a deputy after me. Before I knew it, I was resting comfortably in the backseat of a police car (hey, case of beer!). At first, I tried the silent treatment, which didn't go over very well with the deputy. Once we reached the others, we were immediately informed that we would be arrested, taken downtown for booking, and we would have to appear in court three days later. Our stomachs began to twist worse than a line-over malfunction. I knew that cops worked in this manner in order to catch their man, often sugar-coating the real punishment. It was now my turn to tell our side of the story.
I quickly informed them that we were previously given verbal permission to jump and the sheriff acknowledged that he was also told this by the land owner. He noted that the land owner did not own the antenna and we were misinformed. We also explained why we chose to jump and rationed that our quickest way to turn ourselves in was through the woods to the nearest road. When told of how an arrest would affect all of our jobs, the officers met once again privately to decide our fate. I was asked to provide a business card proving my government employment. I frantically searched my wallet and eventually found one resting in an unfamiliar rear pocket. The officers then exclaimed, "since you were provided verbal permission to jump and your jobs could be lost as the result of an arrest, you are free to go". Silent cheers could be heard amongst our group. We all jumped in the van, peering back at the antenna with a grin as it faded into the horizon.
Several miles down the road, we began to talk about what happened in the last six hours. The jump had developed a special bond between the three of us that we'll share for a lifetime. Steve and Joe will surely remember their trip to Ohio and their first "A". When I look back at that mysterious day, I remember that I learned three important things. The first lesson was to always trust your instincts. If it just doesn't feel right, don't jump. There will always be another day. The second lesson was that the truth always produces a better outcome. Both officers began to understand our passion for jumping and why we were on the antenna to begin with once we truthfully explained the situation. The third lesson is that for us to continue to enjoy our sport, we all need to fight to maintain currently legal sites and to open up new sites. This can successfully be done with the help of the CJAA guidelines and every BASE jumper's support.
And a promise is a promise. I sent both officers a copy of my BASE jumping video shortly after this epic disaster. (c)2010 Vertical Visions. No unauthorized duplication permitted.
