primetime

Giving someone the "tough love speech" is never easy. Here are my rules: 1. Make damn sure you know what you're talking about before confronting someone else. This means experience, knowledge, canopy skills, and yes, jump numbers. 2. To soothe their bruised ego, throw in a story about one of your own near-death experiences. 3. Make them understand that it's nothing personal--you are only giving them the tough love speech because you don't want to be on their ash dive. 4. Report them to the DZO / S&TA / CI / local skygods only if they refuse to listen to reason, or if you are certain that they are in imminent danger of hurting others. 5. Give them the tough love speech twice. After that, they're on their own. 6. Most importantly, if they act like a total douche bag when confronted with the error of their ways, walk away knowing that you can sleep at night with a clear conscience. That being said, most people react poorly when critiqued on their skydiving skills. I've saved a couple of lives, but I've also lost a couple of friends. And sadly, IMO about 95% of all tough love speeches involve relatively inexperienced people learning how to swoop their canopies. As the saying goes, "There are old pilots, and there are bold pilots, but there are no old, bold pilots."

12 WFFC attended Quincy 1994-2001 Rantoul 2002-2004, 2006 Jumped the Boeing 727 jet multiple times, including naked. Ten years later, made the second (official) load from the Perris DC-9. Organized a 36-way out of a Hercules C-130. Partied like a rock star and made hundreds of friends. Had sex in freefall with a beautiful woman. Jumped demo rigs and tiny canopies for free. Watched people die. Learned how to live. That’s the short version... RIP and BSBD to all of the WFFC brothers and sisters who are no longer with us. For me the list includes: Beezy Shaw, Chris Martin, Bruce “Buddha” Berger, John Appleton, Mariann Kramer, "Sparky" Lang, Pops from the Hellfish Gang, Johnny Gates, and Todd Jacobson. Sorry to those I forgot. Long live the Convention.

The day 8-8-08 was considered the luckiest day of the century in China. Thousands of superstitious Chinese got married that day because of the luck factor. But for Lynn and I and a few others, it was the worst day ever. I've got so many great stories starring Todd that it will take the rest of my life to tell them all (or even remember them). As for the stories that are unsuitable for public consumption, I guess I'll have to save them for when we're sitting around the bonfire and tipping back a few beers.

Three years ago today Todd cutaway from this dimension and tracked off to the great beyond. It's still hard to believe that he’s gone...when I think of the drop zone on Lake Wissota, he's the first person that I think of. As stated in earlier posts, Todd was a big fan of naked jumps. One day we were doing an 8-way formation load from two Cessnas for Amy Plagge's jump #400. Todd and I were in the chase plane, and Amy was in the base plane. On the way to altitude, Todd and I talked about how we should have done a naked 8-way. Then, just a few minutes before jump run, we decided to do just that. We both removed our rigs, stripped off our jumpsuits, and then put our rigs back on just as the door was coming open. Talk about last-minute planning. It was awesome seeing the looks on the faces of the four people in the base when Todd and I came swooping in buck naked. Bob, the guy wearing the camera helmet, tried his best to keep Todd and I out of frame and just film the 6-way. It was one of the funniest jumps I've ever been a part of. Blue skies, Todd. We all miss you. This dimension is less exciting without you.

This thread has some of the craziest and stupidest ideas ever... Where do I sign up ?!! Here's my idea for landing w/o parachute: As someone else stated, the only two solutions are increasing the wing or decreasing the payload. First, go on an aggresive diet to decrease body weight. Then have both arms and legs amputated and replaced with lightweight composite prosthetics. You could lose another ten pounds with additional surgeries, removing all unnecessary organs...10 or 12 feet of small intestine, appendix, spleen, pancreas, 1 kidney, 1 lung, 1 testicle, etc. Viola! The wingsuit pilot's weight has just been cut in half...literally.

I used to be a dragger. Now I walk the bag to the rig. You can keep the lines just as tight, it just takes a few hundred jumps of practice. On rigs that have been dragged across the packing floor for years, I've seen friction damage on the bottom of the risers, right where the smallest ring is attached. Scary! As stated above, not dragging the rig makes even more sense when a wingsuit is attached.

+1.5 (adjusted for inflation) Keynesean economics = aircraft spin recovery. Genius.

I agree, Keith. Someone with "no fear" whatsoever is someone I don't want to jump with. I guess it was just my attempt at humor while letting the 20-jump-wonders know that their debilitating and overwhelming fear will abate as they progress in the sport.

Here's what I used to tell my students: You are terrified on your first twenty jumps, and when that feeling is gone, you'll spend the rest of your skydiving career trying to get it back. Hence big-ways, BASE, and high-performance canopies, et al.

I just did my first emoticon, which I swore I'd never do. Is that a case of beer?

I will never forget what it was like as an up-and-coming jumper. Those first few hundred jumps are the most amazing journey in the world. Just surviving the freefall, deployment and landing isn’t enough. You also have to survive the clash of attitudes and personalities that exist on every DZ. Having a thick skin helps; dedication and a hunger to learn helps more. The experienced jumper didn’t owe npgraphicdesign an explanation. However, he could have said, “Sorry, we’re working on a specific skill set on this jump.” It would have diffused the whole situation. No feelings hurt. End of story. No thread on dz.com. If I had been the experienced jumper, I would have added, “You can catch up with us on the next jump, and we’ll make a hot 3-way.” I like making lifelong friends—I’m kinda funny that way.

+1 1/2

I don't like to wear rings when I skydive. I got a finger trapped in a line on opening once, and it hurt like hell. If I had been wearing a ring, I probably would have lost the finger. As far as those necklaces with closing pins, I think they look cool enough, but one time I saw a guy's necklace fluttering behind his neck in freefall, and I wondered what the odds were of that damn closing pin snagging some lines on opening. Anything can happen up there, no matter how slim the odds. A woman died in Europe a few years back because her deploying reserve became entangled in her shoelaces. And then there's the woman at a dz near me who jumped topless and snagged her nipple ring on exit--ouch~!

Another good DZ in Germany is Skydive Nuggets in Leutkirch. It's about a one-hour drive west of Munich. They have a sweet Pilatus Porter. www.skydive-nuggets.de Happy fallschirmspringen!

I made two jumps where I did a fly-by of a hot-air balloon under a high-performance canopy. The first time, I made my pass about twenty feet above the top of the balloon. On the second jump, my flight path took me right past the basket. It must have been too close for the pilot, because he shook his fist at me and then fired up the burners--right as I swooped past. I could feel the heat on my face, and I imagined having to chop my canopy because the end cell was on fire. If you get an opportunity to swoop a balloon, stay away from the basket unless you have permission from the pilot...

My previous posts memorialized the life of Carl Adams. This post elucidates what he meant to me on a personal level... Carl was my first friend in the skydiving world. He would often let me stay at his house when I had nowhere else to go. When I first met him, he was the perfect role model. He was a devoted husband and father. He had a steady day job as a manager at the company owned by the DZO. On weekends, he was raking in money hand-over-fist at the DZ—he was the only tandem instructor at the airport, and he owned his own tandem rig. He was also highly skilled in 4-way and 8-way formation skydiving. He owned a house in the country, which was full of his skydiving trophies and his racks of horns from trophy bucks. He owned numerous vehicles, including a Tempest muscle car that he was always tinkering with in his garage. He even owned rental property in a nearby town. He had everything I hoped to have one day. Carl was one of the best skydivers that I ever had the privilege of jumping with. It was in his DNA—literally. His father had been a veteran jumper at the same skydiving club. As a child, Carl was a “DZ rat,” a parachute-packing prodigy and a constant presence on the drop zone. His father bounced right in front of him one day, living only long enough to say a few words. Despite that, Carl made his first jump on his eighteenth birthday, which took a tremendous amount of courage. Ten years or so after meeting Carl, I had fulfilled most of my goals, becoming the man I am today. Unfortunately, during that same time period, Carl’s life regressed into a downward spiral of substance abuse and legal troubles. He eventually quit jumping altogether, and I never got the chance to tell him how important his mentoring had been to my growth as a skydiver, or as a person. From the first day when I attended my static-line class at ISPC, Carl took me under his wing. During my first freefall jump, I remember him cheering me on from inside the Cessna. Two-and-a-half months after my first jump, I attended WFFC 1994 in Quincy. When it came time to conquer the Boeing 727 jet, Carl was so worried about the pin protection on my POS rig that he made me borrow his spare. He was always watching out for me like that. Carl and I attended Bridge Day together three years in a row (1995-1997). The first year, I had a meager 200 jumps, and Carl had over 2,000. To me, he was a skygod. If it weren’t for his coaching, I probably would have eaten high-speed rocks on the gnarly NRGB landings. The nightly parties at the hotel near the bridge were legendary. I wish I could share some of the stories, but the statute of limitations hasn’t run out quite yet (LSD). I’ll never forget Carl’s first antenna jump, because he wouldn’t let me. He and I had been equally eager to do our first B.A.S.E. jump from a radio tower. Then on Super Bowl Sunday, I got a telephone call at five o’clock in the morning. Carl was calling to brag that he and Todd Jacobson had just made antenna jumps from the 1,200 foot Wheeler tower. Carl’s voice was happier (and louder) than I have ever heard another human voice before or since. I was so jealous that I hung up the phone. In the early to mid-nineties, Carl was the first canopy swooper at Skydive Wissota. He was flying a Sabre 150, which at the time was the smallest canopy on the DZ. Using trial-and-error, he taught himself toggle hook turns (TWY). Later, he graduated to front riser carving turns with long turf-surf landings. He had no one to teach him how to swoop--everyone in the sport was learning how to do it together. The rest of us could only watch in awe...until years later, when we all owned small hot-rod canopies and knew how to swoop them, with differing degrees of success. When I first earned my tandem rating, Carl had already logged over 1,000 jumps as an instructor. He taught me many techniques, safety and otherwise, for taking whuffos along on 2-mile-high carnival rides. It was a secret thrill for me to be doing tandems alongside my role model and mentor. BSBD, Carl. I will never forget you. I became the man I am because of your mentorship and your friendship. I think that you would be proud of me. If there is a heaven, I know that you are swooping your parachute through the pearly gates, and bagging eight-point angels with your bow and arrow. answer key ** DZO = drop zone owner (duh) DNA = deoxyribonucleic acid ISPC = Indianhead Sport Parachute Club WFFC = World Freefall Convention POS = piece of shit NRGB = New River Gorge Bridge LSD = long story, dickhead (what did you think I meant?) BASE = bridge antenna span earth TWY = toggle-whipping yahoo BSBD = Blue Skies, Black Death

Two years gone, but not forgotten... In the early years of Todd's skydiving career, he was also one of the DZ's primary pilots. On weekdays, he often had to fly one of the Cessna jump planes to the mechanic's shop in a nearby town. On such occasions, Todd would invite me along for a free jump and some memorable aerobatic maneuvers. During one of the transport flights, Todd said to me, "I'm going to break my record for most barrel rolls!" He ripped off about twenty spins, pinning me to the floor of the aircraft. Then he said, "Now I"m going to break my record for most loops!" We did at least five or six loops in total. After we landed, Todd told me that he wasn't supposed to do loops because a Cessna is not rated for negative g-force, and the tail could snap off. Good to know. Another time, Todd climbed onto the step of a Cessna and shut the door behind him. He was wearing his camera helmet, as usual. Then Todd hung onto the wing strut for dear life while the pilot performed a barrel roll with the airplane. It was stupid and dangerous, but it made for some incredible video footage. He used to play the video at the DZ every weekend, but only after the students and whuffos had left for the evening. RIP and BSBD

Five years gone, but not forgotten... One of my favorite Sparky stories took place on Halloween 2003. I had rented a Superman costume for the occasion, complete with chiseled upper body muscles. At the last minute, I had to work, so I borrowed the costume to Sparky. The only problem was that Sparky had broken both of his ankles the previous weekend in a landing gone bad. Not letting his hobbled condition stop him, Sparky went bar-hopping with the rest of the skydivers--as Superman on crutches! He was the life of the party that night, as the pictures I saw later can attest. As Sparky wrote to me in his suicide note, "Dying a natural death is for pussies!" I agree.

When Todd burned in, I searched the dz.com forums for posts written by him under his profile name "L.O." At the time, the posts were too painful to read. Now, almost two years after his death, I have finally gotten around to reading all 446 of them. It was a truly amazing experience, sort of like time travel, as if Todd was speaking to me from the grave. He had me laughing, crying, and gnashing my teeth at the cruelty of the universe. Thankfully, due to Todd's offbeat worldview, I was mostly just laughing. Here are a few classics: Question: Will you jump Easter Sunday? Todd: It's on the weekend right? Question: Have you been hurt jumping? Todd: I hit my head kinda hard once. Nothing a month in an induced coma didn't fix. Question: Death is overrated. Who has been there and back? Todd: No bright lights. No flames and pitchforks. Just dead a little. No bigs. Question: Is skydiving an extreme sport? Todd: The sport is mind-bendingly extreme. Of course for me, the drive to the end of the street is extreme. Question: When did you stop being nervous? Todd: I feed on the fear of others. It's fun. If you're not afraid, you'll wreck my day. Question: What should I do if I experience a side-by-side? Todd: Promise God you will start your CRW training as soon as you land safely. Question: The doctor said I can't jump anymore. Todd: I don't have a spleen, my leg and wrist are held together with screws and bolts, and I have four plates in my head. So why can't you jump anymore? Question: I can't believe I went five months without jumping. Todd: I spent sixteen months off because I couldn't walk. My first jump back was intoxicating like a good drug. Never take it for granted that you can skydive. It can be taken away so easily. Question: After twenty years of jumping, I'm bored. Todd: This is not boring. Sometimes I wish it was. Let us know when you bowl your first perfect game. Question: What are your thoughts on farting in the airplane? Todd: The only time I hold back is when everyone on the plane has more jumps than me. Viva la fart. Question: Are you an exhibitionist? Todd: I consider skydivers my brothers and sisters, so they don't count. Question: I had line twists on my first Mr. Bill. Todd: Good job surviving. Question: Where do you want to travel the most? Todd: Anyplace with a nice DZ. And finally... Todd: I am drunk, and take no responsibility for this post. It may be the truth, but I know it can never be.

Unfortunately, Carl took his own life. He hadn't jumped at all in the last few years. That's enough to make anyone suicidal.

Here's a photo from Bridge Day 1996. Carl is having a last cigarette before jumping from the 876-foot span. Bridge Day typically takes place the weekend before Halloween, and many people dress in funny costumes. Carl decided to dress like Brett Favre that year. He even had an official Green Bay Packers helmet, which is sitting on the ground next to him. In my opinion, the bright yellow football pants were a bit over the top. In the background, you can see me making last-minute rigging adjustments to my parachute. Gear fear sucks. I had 400 jumps and two B.A.S.E. jumps, and I thought I was invincible. Luckily I had Carl there to babysit.

Carl Adams died at his home on Sunday, May 23, 2010, at the age of 45. He was a skydiver and B.A.S.E. jumper without compare. His father was a parachuter, and Carl grew up at the drop zone (Indianhead Sport Parachute Club/Skydive Wissota). As a child, Carl packed parachutes for money. He made his first jump as soon as he was eligible, on his eighteenth birthday. Carl went on to accumulate more than 3,500 skydives. He was the first tandem instructor at Skydive Wissota, and its only one for more than five years. His friendly personality was perfectly suited for dealing with nervous first-jump students. He was also a static-line instructor and master rigger. On several occasions, Carl traveled to the World Freefall Convention in Quincy, Illinois, where he logged jumps out of everything from helicopters to a Boeing 727 jet. He also had an abiding interest in B.A.S.E. jumping. Carl attended Bridge Day three years in a row, from 1995-1997, and he logged numerous B.A.S.E. jumps from radio antennas. On the ground, Carl was an avid outdoorsman. He enjoyed fishing and bow hunting for deer. He was also fond of restoring classic cars, such as his Pontiac GTO. My deepest condolences go out to his family and friends, especially his mother and his daughter. He was taken from us too soon, and he will be sorely missed.

Todd Jacobson died one year ago today. My monthly postings have been cathartic, but also painful to compose. It is time to move on, hopefully with a sense of closure. I will still post a comment or funny story every year on August 8th. Someday, I would like to find a way to give back to the sport that Todd loved so much. Perhaps I could put together a memorial boogie or swoop competition, maybe even a scholarship fund for poor student skydivers. Todd would have liked that. I send my deepest condolences to Todd’s widow Lynn, a great woman who deserved more time with him. My heart also goes out to his extended family, to his friends, skydiver and whuffo alike, and to his ex-wife and two children, Skyler and Alex. Luckily, Skyler was old enough to have glorious memories of her father. Alex, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Hopefully, when Alex is older, he will have the opportunity to hear some stories and watch videos of his father’s skydiving exploits. Like Todd, I also hope that his children give skydiving a try someday; it’s definitely in their DNA. Todd was truly one-of-a-kind. He made me the skydiver I am today, and the one I hope to be in the future. He was the best friend I ever had. I will never forget him. Postscript – In the early 1990s, when Todd and I and the rest of the skydiving world were first learning how to swoop our canopies, Todd and I made a bet. Whoever died first, the survivor was mandated to piss on the grave of the one that “burned in.” This wager became infamous at our home DZ. Based upon Todd and my antics under canopy, others would adjust the odds and debate the outcome. Sometimes I was declared the front runner, but more often than not, it was Todd who was considered the “safe bet.” And now, though the wager is over, the winnings have yet to be collected. For some strange reason, no one will tell me the location of his gravesite.

It’s hard to believe that Todd no longer exists, that his body has been immolated and his ashes separated, half buried in an undisclosed location, the other half scattered in freefall. I can still picture his smile, his goofy laugh, and the way he’d scratch his head when he was thinking hard. I remember his infectious enthusiasm for the sport, and the funny sound effects and hand gestures he’d incorporate into his stories. It seems illogical to be shocked by his death. He lived a very full, but very dangerous life. Todd used to tell a story about a dirtbike accident when he was sixteen years old. He claimed that a tree branch went through part of his head, and he “flat-lined” two or three times in the ambulance (Todd-speak for “heart stopped”). Sometimes before a crazy stunt, he’d bring up the incident, saying, “Hey, I can do this. I’ve already been dead once.” Todd was utterly convinced of his invincibility, despite evidence to the contrary. I was on the ground when he made his first B.A.S.E. jump, from a 2,000 foot radio tower. He almost died three times on the jump, nearly hitting the same guide-wire in freefall, upon deployment, and during landing. He also had numerous close calls performing hook-turn landings. In 1998, he had a traumatic landing accident. One of his toggles came untied on his Jedei 105 on final approach. Todd bounced hard enough to snap a femur, crack some vertebrae, and shatter his pelvis. During exploratory surgery, the doctors removed his pancreas and god-only-knows what else. They also drilled holes in his head to relieve the pressure. He was in a coma for two weeks. I was in Todd’s room the first time his mother visited after he awoke. She said to Todd, “That’s it now, right? You’re done skydiving.” I will never forget Todd’s response. He said, “I will get back in the air as soon as possible. I will never quit skydiving until the day I die.” I went through the rehabilitation process with Todd. I watched him learn how to walk again. When he took his first steps and fell down on his face, I started laughing. The physical therapist looked at me like I was a monster. I told her that if she knew Todd better, she’d understand. You see, the accident had profoundly altered Todd’s personality. It was such a visible change that us skydivers called it Old Todd and New Todd. Old Todd had been cocky and egotistical, making many enemies in the sport. New Todd had a poor memory, which caused him to brainlock, and he sometimes had difficulty finishing his sentences. But in other ways, New Todd was an improved version. He became more tolerant, more humble, nicer to strangers, and more helpful to students. Most importantly, New Todd was a safer and more conscientious skydiver. About the only holdover from the old version was Todd’s inherent distrust of whuffos (even more than most of us). And of course, New Todd still liked to swoop canopies. He was addicted to speed. Some people said he had a death-wish; I prefer to think of it as a life-wish. Todd had more metal in his body than most foreign cars. And in the end, it was the high-speed landings that got him. It seems ironic, viewed in light of his first bounce, that on the jump on which he perished, he once again lost a toggle, this time while trying to perform a rear-riser landing. Todd’s death should be a teaching moment for other high-performance canopy pilots. Rule #1 of swooping: toggle security is paramount. DO NOT DROP A TOGGLE ON LANDING!!

When freeflying was in its infancy, I told Todd that they would build a 100-way head-down formation someday. He said I was crazy, and that I didn't understand the aerodynamics of flight. At the time, the head-down record was an 8-way or 10-way. Guess what, Toddley? They did it! They built a 108-way in Chicago. It feels good to rub it in, even if you can't defend yourself!