Journeys and Star Gazing

I was 22 and a bit bored and the idea crossed my mind – why not jump out of a plane? So I looked up a telephone book & found this club called Ripcord and I rang them. They told me the cost for a lesson and a jump. I had enough money. And they said the training was only 30 to 45 minutes.

The little plane was on the ground and I had to learn how to step out of the door, put my foot on the wheel and then slide my hands along the metal strut supporting the wing, and extend my body until it was parallel to the ground far beneath me. Then let go.

It was pretty simple. In theory. On the ground. Then he told me that I had to do it alone. No instructor jumping with me to hold on, just me and the parachute.

I remember being in the aeroplane, hardly believing where I was or what I was about to do. The instructor was the pilot. The absurdity of the situation struck me, and I began laughing almost hysterically. I was packing shit. Big time. Yep, freaked out

I had to count to ten. If my chute didn’t open automatically I had to pull the ripcord on the chute attached to my chest. Hopefully.

Foot on plane’s wheel, stretching my arm along the strut. Making my body parallel to ground with wind blowing across my everything and the noise of the propellor blasting every thought out of my head

I let go.

The parachute opened.

Phew!

Now I was floating above the earth. In the distance I could see the Sydney Harbour Bridge. I could hear the wind whistling around me.

I discovered that by pulling the parachute cords one way, I could turn and spiral through the air. Then I pulled them the other way.

I was dancing in the sky.

Eventually my feet touched the ground. My body rolled onto the ground. I wanted to kiss the earth. I was alive after dancing in the sky.

Never again.