I hadn’t intended to prove Darwin wrong that day but - - -
3-way planned out of a Cessna during a “Beach Weekend” – we’d planned on the usual crappy Oregon weather and expected 3 grand. Launch, track and pull. In my fussing over getting an observer in place and belted, I left my altimeter, but hey – I had several hundred jumps and we had a simple plan – it should be ok.
Instead, the pilot got us 6500 when a hole opened. We made up a few points as we climbed, then went. The third point was a cat, me in the middle. We had grips, when the lead jumper suddenly dumped in my face – later reported to be at 1100. Instead of dumping immediately, I started to kick the last jumper off my legs when he was suddenly gone. I started to reach – and learned about ground rush.
I could see the ripples in the sand, sticks, logs. Don’t know how long I froze, but then I threw out – I was flat packing my Sabre in those days. WHACK opening, grabbed the brakes, made a small turn and flared. Had I been pro packing I suspect the ending would not have been as good.
How low? Too stupid low.
I use that story with students when I talk about why I am so intense on altimeters – their use and their problems.
And ground rush can kill. (IMHO) A male pilot is a confused soul who talks about women when he's flying, and about flying when he's with a woman.