Today is the day. 4:30, and I am already up. Out the door, and on the road by 5:50. I am not used to being awake before the sun gleams in the sky, but here I am. Because today is the day I chase my "A". Driving down to the dz, I recall all the times I have made this drive, and all the emotions I have felt with each passing mile. The excitement, the fear, the dread, the anticipation, the pride - everything. I watch the sun tinge the sky greenish blue with it's dawning, and I know that I will see the day in it's entirety, from before its' beginning to far after its' end. I walk onto the dz early, and am, as usual, greeted by the regulars (am I a regular now?). I drop my stuff off at the door of Square1, securing my place in line (I am first - I want the Jav Oddyssy and the Spectre). I know I have to get an early start, because I will be packing that newer ZP and jumping it, and if I am to have any chance at getting my remaining 2 rw's in, and then study and take the test before sunset, I can waste no time. This day will be busy. As I sit on the bench, trying to be patient, Jim Slaton walks up. I congratulate him on Quincy, and he asks for my last name. He remembers me from my enquiry about the canopy control class he teaches, and he decides to give me a few pointers. It seems he has (ahem) heard about my downwind landing, and while he knows I haven't landed in any trees, he teases me about that, too. We discuss flat turns, building and tree rotors, and, well, flying straight. He is a sweetheart, and has all listeners in giggles with his antics. Finally 7:30 rolls around, and I get the gear I want. I take it out to the packing area, and begin the journey of packing. I look at this thing, this huge brightly colored monster, and then at the D-bag, wondering if there is any compatibility here at all. I set it out, and try to hook it up. This is not working well. I am, however, determined to not get frustrated, not let the risers twisting up confuse me, to not let my frustration show, so I smile and relax. It works on the ground, too, I discover, and finally I am able to get the Spectre hooked up correctly. I hang it up, and start counting, but get interrupted and forget where I am. Then manage to get the canopy twisted, and all bolloxed up. I take it down, shake it up again, and recount. Someone decides he needs to show me a better way, and I try to stop him, because I am not supposed to be getting any help. And believe me, these hints he's giving me are not helping. I finally get it ready to lay out on the ground, to smoosh out the air, and when I do, I don't do it right, and have gotten it all screwed up again. Back onto the hanger, recounted, and back on the ground the right way. It's taken an hour to get this far. At the rate I'm going, I will be packed by sunset. I lay down on it, sighing. The fabric is so new, it just puffs around me, flattening into my face, and I can't breathe. I get the giggles, picturing myself. The guys to either side of me have hoooked up, packed, jumped and landed by the time I get this far. I am sweating, and it's only 9 in the morning. I finally get it smooshed down. Now to keep it flat when I fold. I get my knees on it, and then my hands are in place. I fold the bottom, then the top, and while some air has gotten in, I have managed to keep it flat enough to squoosh into the bag. I get it halfway in, and there is no more bag. There is all this canopy, and no more bag. I check to make sure it is the right bag for this chute. It is. Damn, I guess I didn't get enough air out. I turn the bag upside down, and decide to sit on it. Finally I can get the top somewhere near closing over, and I begin to hook up the first rubber band. Which, of course, breaks. I forgot to look at them before I started this adventure. I try to hook up the other band, and while it is frayed, it will hold. I get the lines in, and trudge off to Sq.1 to get more bands. I grab a handful, and come back to my bag. It has grown while I have been gone. I learn how to saw off the old band (thanks, Albi), and replace two broken and one frayed. I struggle for the next 20 minutes to get these lines in the proper place, at the proper length, and finally I am down at the container. I get it in the container (stepping on it in the process), and get it closed (again, thanks to Albatross and his mystical magical power closing tool). Viking is there, and when we are looking at this bag, the miracle that I have just taken two hours to pack, we see that one riser is twisted. I take the stupid closing pin out of the stupid closing loop, and take the stupid d bag out of the stupid container. We determine that the canopy is not hooked up wrong, it is simply a twisted riser. So, untwist the riser, replace it along the side, put the stupid d bag back into the stupid container, and take the stupid closing loop and thread it through the stupid grommets. I get the stupid closing pin, and hook it to the stupid closing loop, wrap up the pilot chute, and get it back into the stupid container bottom. I need a nap. It is nearing 10:30, and I have been doing this for the last 2 1/2 or 3 hours. BUT - it is packed. And waiting. So instead of taking a nap, I go find Mark Brown, and tell him I'm ready to do rw #2, and jump my own pack. He tells me I had help, and that this one won't count, and I nearly faint. We manifest for about 40 minutes out, and I go get something to drink. Finally, it's time to jump. I get geared up, and wait for Mark at the plane. He is doing back to back jumps, and will barely make the plane. No time to dirt dive, no time to really discuss body position. But it can't be helped, so I am ready to go knock this out. I talk to Mark about Dove's experience, about mid-air collisions, and he says that mostly it's just bumps, that I should trust him to not hurt me. I tell him I trust him, it's me that I don't trust. He laughs, and says that most rw jumps have a bump or two, and that Dove unfortunately had been more than bumped, she got whacked, and the worst I could get was a bump. I take his word for it, but I guess I still look concerned. He says, don't worry, you'll see. Yeah, I think, that's what I am worried about. But I smile anyway. We board the plane, and I feel the cold fingers of my old friend fear. Not nerves, not worries, no, this I know: Fear has reappeared. I am scared. This is the first pack job - what if it doesn't open? I remember that breathing is good, so I take three deep breaths, and try to deal with the fear. I know where the handles are, I know how to pull them, I know that I will be fine. What am I worried about? Failure. Because in this sport, failure is not an option. Which is why we have reserves. My mind runs in circles. Pat Works is sitting across from me, and Mark introduces me. I don't know who he is, really, but he is another face smiling at me, and reassuring me. I take the comfort offered, and Mark and I decide to discuss anything but jumping. So we talk about my work, about his work. I hear a strange noise in the plane, but it is only the door vibrating weirdly and not an emergency. An emergency exit is not my idea of testing if I can pack or not. I reach out and do the knee check, and feel only a little better as I watch everyone go out the door. It's our turn, and out we go. We don't tumble nearly as bad as last time, even if we are a little steep. Mark shakes his arms, telling me to let go, so I do. I immediately increase the space between us by about 10 feet. Like I meant to or something. Mark smiles, and I smile back. He motions me in, so I cruise, inch by inch, closer and closer, and reach out - and where the hell did he go? I realize I reached and thus backslid, and so this time, I try a little faster and more aggressively, and here I am. I grab his arms, yay - a whole, two handed re-grip. I let go, check alti, and try again. This time, I get more aggressive, and am able to get to Mark fairly quickly. I regrab his arms (another one!!!), and then he is pulling me into him, our faces are really close, and bang! he taps his helmet onto my helmet. Huh? My eyes widen. He gives me the o.k. signal. And smiles. He turns sideways, and I fly into his side, grabbing for his leg grip and arm grip. I get the grips, and a faceful of container. I let go, and he turns the other way. Again, I get the grips, and try to avoid his container. I rake my chin along his container cover. I look at it closely, making sure I have not knocked anything loose. Nope, all's good, and it's time to turn and track. I do, and now it's time to pull. So I yank, heart beating even harder than in freefall, and toss that baby into the air. I am at 4200. .....Well, finally. O.k, I felt that. I look up, knowing that it is above me. It is there, but it is waiting for something. It's dancing to a tune I cannot hear, and don't want to know. It's the teasing tune, I think. And so I wait. And wait. And then I decide to talk sternly to it. Open. open now. C'mon, open already. C'mon.Openopenopenopenopen already. Hello? Mr. Canopy? OPEN RIGHT NOW!!. I am reaching up to get the risers, to shake them like I was told to do when it snivels, when it finally blossoms fully. I get my hands on the toggles, and pop them out. I turn to the dz, and check my alti. I am at 2800. I can't do math in the air, but that was one sunovabytch snivel. Well, I'm open now, I can't even play yet because I am off, so I cruise over and get over my landing area. I have the alti, so I decide to dance a little, swoop and soar through the air, and there is a hawk, riding the thermals. I play with it, I chase it, and he knows I am there. He dives at me, breaks off, and then circles me and the canopy. I can see his eye! He seems to nod at me, recognizing me as some gigantic odd looking bird, and then flies away. I had read about this with someone else, and now it has happened to me!!!! It's time to land, so I set up, and I am right on target. Except I forget that there is light winds, and that I should move my feet when I land. So, both feet at the same moment, then the knees, and then the palms. Up quickly, and start to get the canopy together. But then I hear the whoosh of canopies all around me, so I look up. There are about 20 canopies landing around me, and it is amazing to watch them. They come in from all directions, dropping from the sky, onto their toes, beautiful landings. And then it hits me again, this thing I do. I jump out of planes from 2 1/2 miles in the air, dance through the sky at 120+ mph, ride a canopy, and land on my toes. It surprises me anew. This is the most amazing thing, this jumping out of a plane, the most amazing thing. I trudge back into the packing area, and lay this puppy out. I need water, and I need to take a break. It's about 1ish. I figure out that if I start to pack now, I might get in the air by 4. I take a break anyway. I relax for a few moments, and talk to all the people from dz.com who are there: Steve, Craig, Ken (lurkers extraordinaire), Kimmer, Albatross, Wingnut (he's such a cutie). DZbone, Gman, ltdiver. Viking, who is another cutie. I wonder where Monk has gone, as well as the other folks (Sharkie?) who were hopefully coming. Enough. It's time to tackle packing again. I start at 2:10 this time, and Mark is standing over me, telling me to hurry, get ready, pack. He tells me I have to rush, and I tell him I will take all the time I need, because I don't know how to rush, and the last opening was like 1200 feet of snivel. I tell him to go away already, go jump, and if we can jump, we will, and if not, well, then, there's always another day. He laughs. And leaves. I get this thing packed again, this time more confidently but less prettily. Bits of canopy are showing and kind of trying to escape. I look around me at others' packs, and theirs looks the same. I decide that despite how pretty it doesn't look, it's gonna get into the container, and will hopefully get out of it, too. I shove it in, close it up, and stuff the pilot chute into the BOC. Viking looks at me, and I ask him for the time. He tells me 3:20. I have shaved almost 2 hours off my pack job. Then I wonder what I forgot. I decide I forgot nothing, and go get Mark to manifest for my last two requirements: jumping my own packjob, and my last rw. 40 minutes later, we are heading for the plane. We are with a load of students, and Ed is there, too. He and I talk, and I tell him about this jump. He looks at me, smiles, and nods. You'll be fine, he says. I hope he's right. He hasn't been wrong yet. Mark and I are going to be sitting near the door, and he teases me. He tells me I have to sit on the floor, next to the door. I look at him, tell him no. He tells me it's time I get over my fear of the floor by the door, and I tell him next time. I will not be sitting on the floor by the door today. We get to altitude, and I wave at Ed as we get to the door. This time, I am climbing out, and Mark will hold onto me. Fine, whatever, I just want to get this done with. I climb out, and it is odd, having someone hold on to me. I screw up the count, and Mark pushes his head into my belly, and we are out the door. I arch, hard, and we do not tumble. We make it stable, and let go. One regrip, and he turns sideways. I try to get him, and, having decided to actually be aggressive and come after him this time, I fly really hard at him. I see him drop away under me, and I feel this weird little gasp of the air, and I realize I have gone over his burble. I stop, turn around, and make my way to him a little more cautiously this time. We make it, and we eventually get three regrips on this jump. It's time to pull. I wave off early (5), because of the snotty snivel last time. I tug and toss, and then I am waiting, waiting, waiting. I look askance at it, knowing it will open, wondering when it will, and still it dawdles. I can hear it thinking that it wants a little freefall time, too. Then snap, here it comes, slider down, and I am turning.....I have acheived my first off heading opening that I have been aware of. I find the dz, turn into it, and then get the toggles out and into my hands. I canopy control check, all's well, and turn. I see Clint Clawson under canopy, flying next to me about 50 meters away. He's about 20 meters under me. This is really close. He gestures, makes an across the body motion with his hand, and shouts something at me. I hear "mumblemumble...ay", and I frantically look up to my canopy. I look closely at the lines, the shape, the whole thing. What's wrong? What the hell is wrong? And I can see nothing. I shout what, and hear the same thing ...somethingsomething..ay....and I check again. I think he's telling me to cut away, but it is flying fine, controls fine, but I do another control check, just to be sure. I don't know what he sees, but I am flying fine, and everything feels normal. He smiles, waves, and flies off, going to find someone to play with. Which is, I realize, what he was saying. Come play! So I do, but I have to play all by myself. I turn, dance, spin, decide where to land, check the winds and the alti, and turn again. Somehow I have screwed this up, and I am headed for the square hole filled with water. Well, I know I am going to be off target, but no matter, there are newly mown fields around me. I set up so I am to the left of the pond, and land. A perfect landing, but no-one around to see it. it still counts, though. The truck comes out and picks me up, and I head back. I have passed all the requirements, and it's time to go read the SIM. For the first time. I grab the book, and read through it. I get Wingi to sit with me, and quiz me, and I get most of the answers right. I go pay my fees, and take the test. They grade it, and I have passed, although with a score which challenges my perfectionist mentality. I leave the school, intending to go find everyone and tell them. The most odd sensation. I feel like my feet are not hitting the ground, so I look, just to make sure. Relief, satisfaction, pride, and utter joy engulf me, and I watch the sunset. I have missed the sunset load, but I can watch it from the ground. My mind stretches up and out, and I picture the sunset from the sky. I see the sun, sitting on the rim of the mountains, with the cream-colored moon rising to the east. I can feel the air, softening after the day's heat, gentling itself with the breeze, and I see the velvet blackness of the night begin to claim the land. I stand by myself, in the grass near the school, and turn in a circle. I can see the school, the patio of the bar, the pool, the jumpers in the sky. I see the shadows stretch long on the ground, bringing with them a taste of the darkness of night. I can smell the end of summer, the dry heat here in the desert, the dirtsmell of the fields behind me. I think of all the things I have done, and the challenges I have met. I think of all the moments I have wanted to go home, to quit, to go back to being safe, to be where everything is predictable. I remember the first moment in the sky, the joy, the newfound freedom, in myself and in the world. I recall the times I couldn't see straight, paralyzed by fear, and the times that I just jumped anyway. I think about all of the lessons, the ones obvious and the ones hidden. I have found that I can overcome pretty much whatever comes my way, and this I never knew. I think about all of this, I think about the heart of the matter, and I realize that I am a very different person than on May 6th, when I first flew. I think about all of the support I have received from you, and I say a thank you prayer. For without you, I would not be here, and not holding the paper that says I am a skydiver. Without you, I would not have found this joy, this satisfaction, this freedom. Without you, I would not have learned about my limits, and moved past them. Thank you. For without you, I would not have learned to fly. The adventure continues. ciel bleu- Michele "What of the dreams that never die? Turn to your left at the end of the sky". ~e e cummings~
