Conquering My Fear of Heights – Part 2

Author © Scott D. Zachary

       As we drove for that hour to the airport, I kept my eyes more on the dark clouds in the sky than I did on the road. I pined for torrential rain. I had intentionally told everyone I knew that I would be skydiving today. I did that so I would have no way out.

       But a nice hard rain would be beyond my control, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it?!

       The sky, however, began to clear somewhat as we approached the airport.

       We entered the airport lobby and asked two fellows, one of whom seemed to be a pilot, for directions to Skydive Kentucky. The pilot pointed toward the next building. “It’s over there.”

       His older cohort asked, “What’s the difference between a bad skydiver and a bad golfer?”

       “Beats me,” I said.

       “The bad golfer goes, ‘Whack! Dang!’ and the bad skydiver goes, ‘Dang! Whack!’  ”

       Not particularly amused, I snickered sarcastically.

       We walked across the tarmac and into Skydive Kentucky’s hangar. I paid the cashier who introduced me to my instructor, Mike Trick. Still grasping for a way out, I tendered, “Sure looks like rain.”

       Mike dashed all hopes I had of cancellation, sporting, “Don’t worry, Scott. We can jump in the rain as long as it’s not lightning. Hitting the pointed tops of the raindrops at 120 miles an hour stings a bit, but it won’t kill us.”

       I felt sick.

       Mike minimized my fear as much as anyone could have. I liked Mike. He was a super-positive, energetic fellow about my age. He asked me to watch a video that hammered home my sole responsibility. Afterward, I signed papers to that effect.

       Mike coached me about the events that would transpire and helped me fit into my harness, snugging it up so tightly that I walked like a penguin. He attached an altimeter to my wrist. “Keep an eye on this,” he instructed. “I want you to pull your ripcord as soon as we hit 6,000 feet. If we drop below 5,000 and you haven’t pulled yours, then I will pull my ripcord. We have a third altimeter on our reserve chute which will pop the reserve at 3,500 feet if the main chute has not been released.”

       I also paid for a videographer to make a video of my jump and to take pictures as well. Before leaving the building, the cameraman interviewed me. His last question challenged, “Are you ready to jump out of an airplane, Scott?”

       Shivering with trepidation, I still can’t believe I rallied, “Let’s do it!”

       I nervously grinned at Bobbie, and she chuckled. “Wait a minute—just in case something should happen, I love you, sweetheart,” and she gave me a big smooch.

       My fear escalated as we taxied down the runway. All the way to 10,000 feet, I desperately chanted, “Give me courage, Lord. Give me strength. Give me courage, Lord. Give me strength…” One of the few things I remember about our ascent besides my terror and continuous praying is the extraordinarily odd cloud cover that morning. The entire sky beneath us, perfectly checkerboarded with cotton ball-shaped clouds, glowed an unworldly fluorescent green. Even Mike, who had jumped nearly 3,000 times, had never seen a sky so strange.

       Jim Moore, the owner of Skydive Kentucky, accompanied us on this one-way flight. He jumped out at 6,000 feet. Sitting between my instructor’s legs, Mike snapped my harness to his with four carabineers. The pilot leveled off at 10,000 feet—hysteria set in! The videographer took a picture of my face when Mike and I scooted into the open doorway. It is not possible for a person to have fright more clearly etched into their expression. Mike held on to the sides of the door, and I dangled outside the plane from Mike’s harness. I tucked my feet under the plane the way he had told me to do when we practiced this maneuver down on the tarmac.

       “Arms across your chest!” he yelled into my ear.

       I crossed my arms. During our rehearsal on the ground, Mike had said, “Once we get in this position, no matter what you say, all I’m gonna hear is ‘Go!’  ”

       Now, in that precise position and the moment here, I instantly became relaxed—extremely excited, but no fear. It was gone. And so was I!

       Mike and I tumbled several times before he stabilized us by maneuvering his arms. Mike deployed a small brake chute to lengthen the time of our freefall, slowing us down from about 180 mph to 120. It didn’t seem that fast; I felt as though we were floating gracefully on a cushion of air.

       The videographer magically appeared in front of us about two body-lengths away as we sailed through the air. He pointed at the camera in his helmet and then gave me two thumbs up. I matched his gesture and followed suit with peace signs and a superman pose for the camera. I was having way too much fun to even think about my altimeter. Mike reached out, clamped his hand around my forearm, and jerked my wrist—which just happened to have my altimeter on it—in front of my face. I looked at the dial, and it registered 5,500 feet. “Oh yeah!” And I yanked my ripcord.

       Relative to the speed that we were falling, the release of the main parachute and its instant expansion made it seem as though we went up, but I don’t think we did. I can confidently tell you that in all my worldly experience, there is not a more peaceful, serene journey on earth than floating out of the sky dangling from a parachute after dropping like a rock from an airplane.

       Mike pulled down on the guide ropes causing us to skirt wispy clouds here and there. Floating through the mist made the experience dreamy.

       “You want to try it, Scott?”

       “Sure!” I spouted. He positioned my hands on the control ropes. I pulled down sharply on the right control and released it, causing us to drop and veer out to the right. Then I pulled down on the left, and we swirled down and out to our left into a puffy cloud.

       Bobbie later said she heard my amorous “I love you, Honey Bunny!” from several hundred feet up. Although she couldn’t see me, her loving proclamation pierced my cloud.

       Mike landed us softly in the pea-gravel circle. Wow, what a rush! Mike released my harness from his, and I stumbled around.

       “How was it, Scott?” asked the videographer.

       “I’ve got so much adrenaline in my system that I’m drunk. I’m drunk on adrenaline!” I slurred, “That was freakin’ fabulous, fantastic, and totally unsurpassed!” as I continued to stagger around in the pea gravel.

       My emotions careened from thrilled to relieved to disoriented to triumphant to just plain dippy, so I asked Bobbie to drive home. As we climbed into the car, Bobbie surmised, “From that silly look on your face, I take it you had fun playing in the sky today, dear.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       I had asked our son Jonathon to skydive with me for my next birthday jump. That day is here; I’m 56 today. Jonathon, who is 28, doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything, and jumping out of a plane is no exception.

       I again jumped with Mike Trick as my tandem instructor. As we ascended to 10,000 feet, Mike and I chatted about skydiving medical missions into remote areas, such as mountainous Pakistan after an earthquake or deep into the Amazon jungle, and then trekking or kayaking out. Unlike our previous climb to jumping altitude, I had no fear—none! Well, that is, until I watched Jonathon and his instructor scooting around Mike and me toward the open door of the plane. Oh, no! I’m jumping out of an airplane—again!!

       I panicked for a few seconds as Jonathon and his instructor jumped. Mike and I inch-wormed on our butts toward the open doorway, and my fear evaporated as quickly as it erupted. We departed the airplane! Mike had trained me on the techniques to maneuver our bodies in the air. Positioning my arms as Mike had described, I twirled us clockwise like a merry-go-round, and then counter-clockwise. The half minute or so of freefall didn’t last long enough. I wanted more! Six thousand feet registered all too quickly on my altimeter. I jerked my ripcord. Similar to my previous jump, we skirted puffy clouds.

       Mike surveyed the sky around us the way I’ve seen navigators in the rear seat of fighter jets do in the movies. “What are you looking for?” I asked.

       “We don’t want to get tangled with Jonathon and his instructor, now do we?” he countered.

       We landed smoothly in the pea-gravel circle. I wanted to do it again! Jonathon said he loved it and would be ready to jump anytime. However, his four-year-old daughter, Remi, cried and cried when we walked out to the plane. We didn’t want to put her through that again.

       Remi topped off that fabulous experience with the cutest little whimsical display. A Shirley Temple replica, Remi bent over double to dip her golden locks in a puddle on the airport asphalt. She beamed a happy smile up at us from between her ankles. “Look at me, Daddy!”

       Remi stood up, her wet hair draping her face. A man walking by gestured, “Now flip your hair back like this!”

       Remi bent over to wet her hair again, and as she stood up, she flipped her whole body backward instead of just her head and splashed down in the puddle flat on her back. Bobbie took Remi to the ladies’ room to dry her off as much as possible.

       Walking to the car, Jonathon and I glanced at each other and grinned.