For years, I have felt drawn to the sky and what populates it: the ever-changing clouds, the diversity of birds and insects, the vastness of all that unused space. Perhaps my fascination with the sky contributes to how skydiving subconsciously came to be on my bucket list. There’s also my healthy thirst for adventure, and what sounds crazier than jumping out of a plane at 13,000 feet strapped to a theoretically competent stranger with a parachute you’re praying they’ll remember how to use?
So when I hear I get to shadow a woman who’s going skydiving, it’s the next best thing to doing it myself. Needless to say, I’m stoked. I will get to go up in a plane with Monica and witness the entire process up close, experiencing everything but the actual jump.
The day finally comes, and it’s the perfect kind of summer morning that makes you believe in the magic of life. I’m high on adrenaline as I make the trek to Ritzville, Wash., giddy with anticipation and guided by my fantastically accented Australian Siri.
I get off the freeway amidst acres of golden fields and find my destination: West Plains Skydiving School. For a place that harbors such an insane activity, it’s unexpectedly unassuming. Some aviation hangars, a small plane, a modest spread of RVs and vehicles, flatness and the open sky for miles around.
Inside the main hangar, I’m met by an enthusiastic employee named Cara, who introduces me to their lengthy waiver. I sign my initials about 10 times, acknowledging that yes, I recognize I might experience serious bodily harm. Yes, I recognize that death is a possibility. Yes, I’m crazy enough to do this anyway.
I then find Monica and her boyfriend, Shane, who are first and second-time jumpers respectively. Monica has a bucket list of things she wants to do that year for her 35th birthday, and today she’s checking skydiving off it. We watch as the skydivers and guides roll out and repack their parachutes for the upcoming dive. There’s a definite professionalism in how they meticulously check and pack their gear, coupled with a casual camaraderie. I’m struck by what an incredible community this is.
Photo By Joel Riner
Monica and Shane go off to meet their guides while I chat with Cara.
She tells me I have to come back and jump myself sometime. I agree enthusiastically, realizing that at some point during the past few hours my desire to jump someday evolved into today.
I find Monica and Shane again as loading time approaches, and I can’t quiet my growing disappointment. Finally, unable to contain myself any longer, I ask Cara if maybe, just maybe, I can jump, too. She grins wide and says it could be possible. She has me sign another form, consenting yet again to my potential demise, while she calls her boss.
The next thing I know, I’m meeting my tandem guide Brian, a part-time employee who has agreed last minute to jump with me, and getting into a harness while being told what to expect throughout the process. I’m strangely calm, excited about what I’m about to do, but accepting it in a matter-of-fact fashion. It’s like it hasn’t registered that I’m preparing to launch myself into the open troposphere.
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Suddenly, it’s time to load up. Monica and I share an incredulous laugh. Wait, this is for real? Am I actually skydiving today? Cara has a hand-held GoPro she sticks in my face as we walk out of the hangar, asking me with a mischievous smile if I know why I was able to go so last minute. I shrug and suggest it’s because they’re awesome, but she jokes that Brian is actually their discount guide. Sure he’s done this a few times, but who knows where –or how– we’ll land? I laugh, their humor alleviating the nervous pressure building in my chest.
I take in the glaring sun, the skeletal steps up into one of the smallest planes I’ve ever seen, and the throng of people beginning to load. We’re all going to fit in this tiny thing? I take hold of the metal handrail and follow Brian up, drunk with the audaciousness of it all. Let’s do this!
Fourteen of us cram in: the pilot and a staffer up front; Cara leaning against their seats with her legs stretched between the two parallel benches; Monica, Shane, their guides, Brian, and me straddling the benches, facing backwards along with two solo jumpers; and three or four more solos sitting on the floor in the back.
We take off, and I’m surprised how similar the sensation is to that of a passenger airplane. I can see out the transparent roll-up door on the plane’s port side, and watch as the ground falls away beneath us.
Photo By David Phillips
While Brian gets us strapped together, I notice the seams of the plane are covered with some kind of adhesive I can’t help but compare to duct tape. A strip of it is loose and dangling above my head, and I wonder if it’s supposed to help hold the seams together: a nice touch of hysteria for some passengers I’m sure. Stickers graffiti the walls, ranging from gear brands to humorous ones about cheating death and jumpers over 70.
The ride up is like a vacuous calm before the insanity. Mentally, I feel oddly at ease, observing everything and somehow not thinking about what will happen once the door opens. Cara nudges me with a grin and nods to my left hand. I realize my fingers are rhythmically drumming my thigh, betraying the reality of how much adrenaline is pumping through my body.
The door opens, my reverie shattered as cool air blasts my face and every one of my senses becomes instantly alive and alarmed.
It’s time. Brian does a few final adjustments, helps me fix the goggles onto my face, and then we start scooting forward. Two solos jump, then a few more. Monica, Shane, and their guides approach the exit.
“Don’t catch your foot on those straps,” Brian cautions in my ear. “Don’t forget to stand and lean back when we jump.”
Photo By Joel Riner
Monica is gone, then Shane, and now it’s my turn to stand before the plane’s gaping portal. Brian grabs the bar above our heads with me strapped to his front, preparing to swing us out. I grip the harness at my shoulders, staring out at the tiny enormity of the world, my heart about to explode from my chest. He rocks us forward once, my stomach dropping as I hover briefly outside the plane, then back inside, forward again, and a thrill rises in my throat, back and then we’re launched out into the naked world.
We fall head-first, somehow both in slow motion and overwhelmingly all at once. The ground is above my head for a moment, and then we stabilize and are positioned parallel to it. I choose to trust I won’t somehow detach from Brian and the parachute, my lifelines, the reasons I’m not dying today.
Brian taps my shoulders, telling me I can stretch out my arms. I take an awkward, screaming gulp of oxygen, release my harness, and embrace the roaring wind. The rawness of its energy is all I’m aware of for a few frozen moments of eternity. The earth remains where it is, neither drawing nearer nor moving farther away. I am simply above it, no longer an earth-bound being but a wild creature of the skies. I am wind. I am sound. I am speed that needs no destination. I am oxygen and exhilarated screams that release and absorb simultaneously.
It feels like only seconds have passed when Brian taps my shoulders again and I grip my harness. He deploys the parachute, and just like that, all is utterly silent and still. The air around me whispers and teases where a breath ago it shouted. Now firmly oriented below me, the land seems more tangible as it gradually develops texture and unfathomable dimension. The circular crop fields are fuzzy and soft; the freeway dotted with traveling vehicles a diminutive streak set amidst so much rolling landscape; the tiny structures of mankind insignificant in the face of so much world.
I close my eyes and inhale the beauty of the moment. I just dropped out of a plane from 13,000 feet. I am drifting on air currents thousands of feet above the earth. This is skydiving. Craning my head back, I marvel at the tenacity of our brightly-hued parachute set against the daring blue of the sky. I exhale, overwhelmingly content and humbled.
Looking down, I locate our destination: a green patch dotted with color denoting the chutes of those who have already landed. Brian intersperses our peaceful descent with tight, swooping turns. All too soon, we’re gliding across the grass and land with a thudding finality.
Photo By Joel Riner
After landing, everything moves quickly. Brian gets us detached and scoops up the chute. I repeatedly thank him and Cara as I reunite with Monica and Shane. We buzz about the experience and laugh about little mishaps. I thank everyone again and wander back to my car in a daze.
As I drive away, I’m overcome by how life works. It was due to a random encounter that I was able to meet Monica, share in her adventure, and have my breath taken away by the spontaneity of a single moment. What a gift.
I never would have imagined the skies could become more sacred to me than they already were, and yet I now find myself ever more aware of them and their activity. They are much more dynamic and alive, laden with opportunity, mystery and adventure. Whereas before I looked to them with awed curiosity, I now feel a draw to join them in their reality so different from my own, to escape my limited perspective and share theirs.
My feet may trod the earth, but my spirit remains in the skies. N
By Abby Owens