Oh No! My Altimeter is Broken: Tales from a Crazy Skydiving Student
Jump C-2, for the second time. Jump 7. It had been nearly two months since I had last jumped due to weather. This time I was with Andy. I was excited to fly with Andy. He was a newly minted AFF instructor, and he had done my ground school and talked me down on radio, so I trusted him.
This jump was uneventful except for the fact that I had a few more nerves than usual, given the long break between jumps. Thankfully, I got to the dz early, stalked the wind board, reviewed the SIM, and got a great refresher from Andy before gearing up and getting on the plane.
This time, I was waving off and pulling lower than ever before, at 5,000 feet. I was nervous to deploy at such a low altitude (I know! I know! It's really NOT low). I spent my time on the ride up to altitude reviewing the dive flow with Andy and noting specific altitudes--my decision altitude, my hard deck.
And then I jumped, Andy taking grips on the inside of the plane. My exit felt mushy, but I knew that was just the experience of being on the hill, so I flew my body through the transition, avoiding the temptation to have happy feet or go swimming.
I got stable, did my circle of awareness and practice handle touches, and then I just fell, stable, belly to earth.
I grew alarmed as I watched my altimeter tick off thousands of feet. It was moving in the wrong direction. What on earth--my altimeter was broken! These were the thoughts I was having as I passed through 5,000 feet, locked on, yes, but not really processing the information, not waving off.
At 4500 feet, I realized that broken or not, I needed to pull. I was steadily losing altitude. I reached back to pull and found Andy's hand back there.
We pulled together.
For the first time, I didn't laugh when I landed. Yes, I was elated to have made it safely back to the ground. But I was pissed at myself for not pulling my own parachute by myself. I was disappointed that I wasn't yet ready to be on my own in the sky, that I would need to keep my training wheels for a little bit longer.
So, my altimeter wasn't REALLY broken. You see, I always watch it on the way up to altitude, when it works clockwise. On the way down, it runs counterclockwise. Something so simple as numbers moving in a different direction was enough to confuse me in free fall. I am learning that I have a limited amount of things that I can focus on and pay attention to in the high speed environment of the sky, in those precious sixty seconds.
What did I learn from this jump? If you think your altimeter is broken, pull!
Jump C-2, for the second time. Jump 7. It had been nearly two months since I had last jumped due to weather. This time I was with Andy. I was excited to fly with Andy. He was a newly minted AFF instructor, and he had done my ground school and talked me down on radio, so I trusted him.
This jump was uneventful except for the fact that I had a few more nerves than usual, given the long break between jumps. Thankfully, I got to the dz early, stalked the wind board, reviewed the SIM, and got a great refresher from Andy before gearing up and getting on the plane.
This time, I was waving off and pulling lower than ever before, at 5,000 feet. I was nervous to deploy at such a low altitude (I know! I know! It's really NOT low). I spent my time on the ride up to altitude reviewing the dive flow with Andy and noting specific altitudes--my decision altitude, my hard deck.
And then I jumped, Andy taking grips on the inside of the plane. My exit felt mushy, but I knew that was just the experience of being on the hill, so I flew my body through the transition, avoiding the temptation to have happy feet or go swimming.
I got stable, did my circle of awareness and practice handle touches, and then I just fell, stable, belly to earth.
I grew alarmed as I watched my altimeter tick off thousands of feet. It was moving in the wrong direction. What on earth--my altimeter was broken! These were the thoughts I was having as I passed through 5,000 feet, locked on, yes, but not really processing the information, not waving off.
At 4500 feet, I realized that broken or not, I needed to pull. I was steadily losing altitude. I reached back to pull and found Andy's hand back there.
We pulled together.
For the first time, I didn't laugh when I landed. Yes, I was elated to have made it safely back to the ground. But I was pissed at myself for not pulling my own parachute by myself. I was disappointed that I wasn't yet ready to be on my own in the sky, that I would need to keep my training wheels for a little bit longer.
So, my altimeter wasn't REALLY broken. You see, I always watch it on the way up to altitude, when it works clockwise. On the way down, it runs counterclockwise. Something so simple as numbers moving in a different direction was enough to confuse me in free fall. I am learning that I have a limited amount of things that I can focus on and pay attention to in the high speed environment of the sky, in those precious sixty seconds.
What did I learn from this jump? If you think your altimeter is broken, pull!