The day had arrived. After foolishly agreeing (over a beer or two) that I would try out the favourite hobby of two of my workmates, parachuting, I had arrived at the Black Knights Parachute Centre. It seemed like a great idea over those beers, especially as my Father had done a lot of parachute jumps during World War 2 and I'd listened to his recollections of them from when I was a child. After six hours of training (we were informed that the British Army parachute training takes six months before they are allowed to jump), which mainly consisted of how to land in various directions depending on which way the wind decided to drag you and your parachute, it was time to get kitted up and on the tiny single-engined plane.
On boarding the plane with the other victims, I was excited as it was a time of two firsts for me- This was my first time on a plane, and the first time I had potentially hurled myself to my death from 2,500 feet.
The little plane bumped and bounced across the field, picking up speed until the bumping stopped and we were airborne. As we gained height, the initial excitement rapidly turned into a combination of fear and then mild terror.
We soon reached the jumping altitude of 2,500 feet, which sounds a lot from the ground but is actually worryingly low when viewed from the plane. One by one, people shuffled forwards on their knees towards the hole in the side of the plane and plummeted to uncertainty. OK, not exactly uncertainty- we knew we'd hit the ground, but were uncertain whether this would take a matter of minutes, or (in the worst case scenario) seconds.
Soon it was my turn, and the hours of training kicked in. After the engine had slowed I edged out of the plane and got in position ready to jump. My left foot was on a peg close to the exit hole, my hands were holding the wing strut, and my right leg was dangling in the void. With one end of the static line attached to the parachute and the other attached to the plane, on being given the signal to jump the parachute would open automatically, and I would gently descend onto the centre of the large yellow 'X' marking the landing zone. That was the plan anyway.
The signal to jump was given and, pushing myself off, the descent began. At this point I was supposed to count to five then check that all was well with the parachute. I skipped the counting and went straight to the checking. All was well with the canopy to my inexperienced eye, no twists, oddly-shaped canopy etc. so I set about locating the yellow 'X'. This is the great bit, steering the parachute with the toggles to try and land in the same county as the one you started in.
It feels fantastic to be gently floating back to earth, however the last few feet showed me that the descent is a bit faster than it seems. In these last few feet the ground seemed to accelerate faster than I could get into the correct landing position, the end result being an undignified landing with me ending up in a heap. All was well though, I'd returned to earth uninjured with a memory that will last forever.
