It was my Cat B jump. I felt less nervous and more relaxed in freefall. I had this skydiving thing down--jump out of the plane, do some practice handle touches, fall stable and belly to earth, practice turning. Lock on, wave off, pull. And although I looked the wrong way when I turned and my turns were muted because I had two instructors hanging off of me, freefall went well, and I passed.
And then the canopy opened. I looked up, happy to see a square and stable canopy and no malfunctions, although there were some line twists I had to kick out of first.
And then my radio squawked. I was instructed to do a controllability check, which I did after unstowing the toggles and flaring. I pulled left to turn left and pulled right to turn right, making sure that I was looking when I turned to avoid canopy collisions.
My radio squawked again. "Bobbi, go to your holding area."
I looked down and around me but I literally could see nothing that I recognized. Everything looked like a giant brown and green patchwork quilt, with varying shades of brown and green. If there was an airport down there, I couldn't see it.
"Bobbi, go to your holding area." This time, Andy, my instructor on radio, sounded even more insistent.
Because I had no idea where my holding area was located from my vantage point in the sky, I did the only thing I could do. I talked back to Andy in my head. "If I knew where my holding area was, I would go there." And then I played with turns and flares.
Finally, Andy gave me directions to help me navigate to my holding area, which I did. Then, I entered my downwind at a thousand feet, turned on base at 500, and turned final at 250. The landing pattern on that jump was runway to road, my least favorite landing pattern because it is the narrowest with the least outs. I headed for the fence, narrowly missing some rocks, landing a good fifty feet from the fence, sliding in on my butt.
And then Andy was there, yelling at me. He instructed me to go to the wind board so we could talk about my landing. He told me to control my canopy rather than letting it control me. I realized that I had relied far too much on Andy to get me safely to the ground, a practice which limited what I learned on that jump and, if continued, would make me dangerous to myself and others, would make it hard for me to be successful as a solo student off radio or as a licensed skydiver.
I had tears in my eyes as we talked. I was disappointed in myself for performing so badly. I was disappointed in myself for putting so much faith in the radio and for not being as prepared as I could have been. But mainly, I was disappointed in myself because in looking for the holding area, I forgot to look down, straight down, beneath my feet to help me get an idea of my actual location in the sky.
So, how did I learn from this jump? I realized that there is no GPS I can use to help me navigate to where I need to be in the sky. With the help of my boyfriend, I studied aerial photos of the dropzone, looking at them from various altitudes, practicing finding different common landmarks that we use to navigate our way back to our airport. I also learned to stalk the wind board, listening to every instructor who goes to the table to talk about the landing pattern, to ask questions about check points and crabbing and what to do if my canopy feels too floaty on final, my fears of gliding longer on final than planned because of my light wingloading.
The next time I jumped, I found my holding area on the ride up to altitude and then again in free fall right after exit, and finally, I headed straight there right after opening BEFORE my instructor on radio told me to.