Fast trip to a new high: skydiving on his 50th

ORANGE - My husband, Bill, was turning 50, and he wanted to do something he had never done before: skydive.

I did my homework and discovered Jumptown, a haven for skydiving aficionados and first-timers and the nickname for the Massachusetts Sport Parachute Club. Its instructors are certified by the US Parachute Association, and its fleet includes a full-time 21-jumper Super Twin Otter and a four-jumper Cessna 182.

I made the arrangements and paid the $220 (Jumptown is a not-for-profit club run by an elected board of directors). There was no way I was going to join Bill on his jump. Ziplining last year in Hawaii about 30 feet off the ground had been scary enough for me.

Bill was incredibly cool on the drive to Orange, not fully appreciating that he was about to experience a 60-second free fall from 15,000 feet, followed by an eight-minute parachute ride.

Jumptown was hopping with students and instructors. After signing safety waivers, Bill gathered with about five other students to learn the ins and outs of skydiving from instructor Peter Kramer. That took about 10 minutes, since all Bill needed to do was go tandem - and do exactly what he was told.

Kramer showed them the harness, which had four strong metal hooks that would hitch them to their instructor. "Any one of them is strong enough to hold you," he said. They would also don soft leather helmets and goggles.

Kramer demonstrated the proper skydiving position - arms crossed over your chest, heels lifted, knees bent to your back, making your bellybutton the center of gravity and the "leading edge" toward earth as you fall. Any other position, he said, would create turbulence.

While Bill was putting on his gear, we chatted with Sean Johannessen, a weekend instructor from Vermont who jumps every chance he gets. He has been jumping for seven years, and said skydiving had changed his life.

"It forces you to develop perspective," Johannessen said. "It helps you to overcome fear and come through to the other side. The sport is extremely addictive." After his first jump he signed up for a camp to learn accelerated free fall, an intense four-day, $1,400 program.

Before long it was time for Bill to head off to the plane. He slid into his seat with Kramer behind him. The tandems boarded first because they leave the plane last and their parachutes open at a higher altitude.

At this point Bill said he still felt cool - straddling the bench, hearing the plane's engine, and being aware of Kramer strapping himself to him.

Then, at about 10,000 feet, reality set in. "All of a sudden I became aware of a lot of anxiety," Bill said. "When I looked down and saw how high up we were, I couldn't believe I was going to jump out of this airplane. It makes ziplining look like a joke. I actually didn't know if I could do it."

His anxiety worsened. "It was scary enough with the door open when you were strapped into your seat belt," he said. "But then the instructor told me to slide down the bench, get up in a crouched position, and walk toward . . . the opened door. At that point, I really didn't know if I was going to be able to skydive. I was gripped by abject terror."

Part of the problem, he said, was that he couldn't see behind him. He couldn't process the fact that Kramer was tethered to him in four places and that Kramer was packed with a parachute.

"All I could see was what was in front of me, and my legs and my sneakers," Bill said. "When it was time to leap out of the plane, I also had nothing to hold on to, which made it all even scarier."

So he shut his eyes, jumped, and looked again about four seconds later. "It was terrifying. My mind just couldn't process what was going on," he said. He was falling toward earth at between 130 and 140 miles per hour with the cold wind whipping all about him. About a minute later Kramer motioned to him to pull the ripcord to open the parachute, which they wound up opening together. After that, some of the panic subsided and Bill started looking around. "I had been told not to look down, but instead, to look up and all around me," he said.

For about eight minutes, their rainbow-colored parachute drifted toward earth as I waited below. I talked with other students, including a nurse who had wanted her whole life to skydive and an actuary who was jumping for his second time. "I assess risk for a living," he said with a laugh.

Bill landed on a huge strip of earth with his toes pointed, knees bent, and a wide grin on his face. "I still can't believe I just did that," he said.

Johannessen commented, "He'll be on a high for the next three days."

Debbi K. Kickham can be reached at debbikkickham@hotmail.com.