Remembering my skydiving years

Me coming in for a landing

Several events have lately reminded me of my skydiving career. Although it's long gone, and it's been four years since I've even made a skydive, it will always be a part of me and of my history. I asked a young man (I've forgotten his name) to take some pictures of me coming in for a landing at Snohomish, the last place I jumped regularly, and he captured this one, which I very much cherish. That was my last canopy, a gentle giant that allowed me to have soft landings and was a little bigger than the smallest ones I ever owned.

When you first start skydiving, your first gear, and especially the main canopy, is quite large, allowing for mistakes without serious consequences, and as you gain skill and proficiency under canopy, you "downsize" until you have a responsive but also more dangerous one. Since I was already older when I began, I wasn't interested in getting too small, but other people I knew certainly did. Some of my dearest friends died from making a critical error when coming in to land.

Although I will always be incredibly grateful for those twenty-five years I spent as a skydiver and instructor, I don't miss them very much any more. These days are spent either outdoors in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, or inside enjoying shelter from the weather and reading a good book or watching a movie. However, the other day while having lunch, I watched a raptor above me, looping and lazily catching updrafts with wings spread wide. It reminded me of how much I loved being up there doing the same thing with my beautiful canopy. Sometimes I would catch an updraft and suddenly would be higher in the sky again, no need to hurry to get down.

And then yesterday I awoke to the news that a skydiving airplane went down in Hawaii, and all 11 people on board died. I've been watching to find the names of those who perished, wondering if I knew any of them. Apparently the plane took off and not long after began to experience control problems, and the pilot headed back to the airport but didn't make it. The plane crashed and immediately caught fire, with no chance for anyone to escape. Usually, if the plane is high enough, more than a few thousand feet up, the jumpers can escape, but not in this case. It just didn't have enough altitude yet. It shocked me to hear of it, and many memories emerged of other fatalities that suddenly took dear friends away.

I've had a few close calls, and even a couple of times had to exit the small jump plane far from where we had taken off, but I have never been close to crashing. That doesn't mean it wasn't always on my mind, with me being ready to bail out if necessary right from takeoff, and remembering how I would breathe a sigh of relief when we reached an altitude that would allow for an emergency exit.

There were three tandem students on that plane, who probably had no idea what was happening. They weren't even skydivers yet, and their families were on the ground, waiting for them to return. What a tragedy. I have learned the names of the tandem instructors and didn't personally know them, at least as far as I know at this time. I have known a few friends who moved from the mainland to become professional skydivers at that drop zone in Hawaii, which is why I thought I might know one or more of them.

The community of skydiving is a small one, with only somewhere under 50,000 current skydivers covering the entire United States, so when something like this happens, I am aware that everyone I knew during those years is following this event and mourning the loss of life, even if they didn't know anyone personally. Of course, the same thing is true of any sport that has the possibility of fatalities, but it's a very special group of us who love to jump out of airplanes.

I stopped skydiving because it was time, but a decade ago I could not imagine my life without that wonderful thrill. However, as we grow older, our priorities change as the years pass. The young woman I was still resides within me, but now I am an old woman who has entirely different interests. My latest challenge is taking yoga classes and trying to maintain flexibility and balance. Tomorrow I will start a new class, a bit more difficult than the ones I've been taking the past few years, and I'm excited to see how I do with it. If I find it's too difficult, I can always fall back to my usual level. Yoga has given me a great deal, and I enjoy seeing the same people every week, commiserating over our challenges. These days, I look forward to the classes every bit as much as I once looked forward to the weekends when I could skydive.

Yesterday I walked seven miles with a dozen or so women whom I've also come to love and care for, on our annual trip to Lummi Island, only accessible by ferry. We had the adventure of the ferry ride, the walk, and an enjoyable time together afterwards sharing a lunch. It might not be as exciting as my earlier exploits, but it doesn't matter: I'm still enjoying life and looking forward to each day as it comes. Today I'll be heading to the coffee shop, as usual, and then going to the movies with my friend Judy. Life is good.

Sometimes we should express our gratitude for the small and simple things like the scent of the rain, the taste of your favorite food, or the sound of a loved one's voice. —Joseph B. Wirthlin

And with that, my morning Sunday post is done, the contemplation I've experienced while writing it beginning to morph into action. My partner still sleeps next to me, my tea is gone, and the coffee shop and my friends there will be assembling soon, and my usual chair will be waiting for me to sit in it. Plus the wonderful coffee that I enjoy so much will fill me with gratitude for all my blessings. That also includes you, my dear readers, who also fill me with joy, knowing you are there, too, even if I will never actually see you, I feel your presence within me. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things. Be well.