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steve1

Scary stories from the old days?

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That I understand. Just turned 40 and feelling the pain of my teens and 20's suck! I still think about doing stooopid shit and on occassion the idiot in me convinces me that I can still pull stoopid shit off. I am just glad that my beat up body refuses to agree with me and my idiot more often then not;)

MAKE EVERY DAY COUNT
Life is Short and we never know how long we are going to have. We must live life to the fullest EVERY DAY. Everything we do should have a greater purpose.

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That I understand. Just turned 40 and feelling the pain of my teens and 20's suck! I still think about doing stooopid shit and on occassion the idiot in me convinces me that I can still pull stoopid shit off. I am just glad that my beat up body refuses to agree with me and my idiot more often then not;)



Hey Catfish.......next time we bump into each other at Mesquite watch the way I walk. Stoopit is as stoopit does.


bozo
Pain is fleeting. Glory lasts forever. Chicks dig scars.

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I was just wondering if anyone had a scary jump story from way back when? Steve1



Several problems here:
1. Hard not to incriminate others against their wishes . I'm pretty certain I'll never be president, but I've an acquaintence or two that might have a shot at elected office.

2. Memery fades and fuzzes and sometimes the places and dates get skewed a bit.

3. Most of you wouldn't believe it if I told the truth compared with the tales I've heard about me at dropzones.

This thread does make good reading ... but leaves me with more questions than answers.

Sport Death
Zing Lurks

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This isn't exactly a jump story, but it's definitely a scary story from the old days. And it may not be in good taste, but here goes anyhow....

Back in the early 70's there was probably more drugs being used by jumpers when it came time to party than today. Being your basic redneck I was never part of all that, but a lot of my old pals were.

At any rate there was an old Idaho jumper (now deceased) who was at home and he decided to try some LSD. He also had a bad case of diahrea, so he headed for the nearest toilet. About then he started tripping out.

He had been gone for a long time so his wife started a search for her delinquent husband. She walked into the bathroom, and there was her true-love with his pants down around his ankles, doing a huge, panoramic, finger-painting on their bathroom wall.....with poo poo. Now if that isn't a scary story I don't know what is!....and it's supposed to be true[:/].....Steve1

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more stories, more!

my favorite thread here... keep it going.



The really scary thing is that most of these stories are true.:)




You just cant make this shit up. Whats even better is the best stories will NEVER be told.


bozo
Pain is fleeting. Glory lasts forever. Chicks dig scars.

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Years ago there was a magazine about jumping called Spotter, published somewhere back east. Around the mid-70s, the magazine started a feature called the "Funky Frapp." They solicited stories about frapping (bouncing, or Going in). dEd Dugan promptly rounded up a bunch of photos of actual bounces, sent them in and posed the question to the editors, "Do you see anything funky about these?" They were never published ... the Funky Frapp column disappeared.
Somewhere in a box of skydiving stuff is a photo dEd gave me of a poor fellow whose brain squirted out his ear on impact. The carcass is next to some desert brush, the brain about four feet away ... with a thought ballon that says, "Shit ... that's the last time I hum it with Zing."
Zing Lurks

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Years ago there was a magazine about jumping called Spotter, published somewhere back east.


I was associated with the Spotter for virtually all the years it was published. Dan Poynter created it as a Northeast Conference newsletter when he was director and it was first published in Orange, then moved to Strong Enterprises in Quincy, MA., where Dan worked and produced the first edition of his Parachute Manual.
It was initially mimeographed (remember mimeographs? :P) and special subscribers would occasionally get their issue firmly held closed by 97-10 stitching. Later, it was printed, sometimes even with a color cover, and attracted contributors such as Pat Works. It ceased publication in the late '70s as the volunteer staff drifted away. (Poynter had moved to California years before Spotter's demise.)
I remember Funky Frappe, and don't remember why it was dropped. The office files, a real treasure trove of neat old articles and pictures, lived in the rafters of Pepperell Skydiving Center for a long time but aren't there any more. I'm hoping they got moved to one of the old 18-wheeler storage units at Pepperell but haven't had a chance to look.
I have a reasonably complete collection of back issues and Poynter, a packrat with a big house, says he has all of them.

HW

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back in the 80's, there was a big boat competition event and this skydiving demo team was invited. Tree guys exits a small Cessna, the chief instructor flying a Parafoil lowers a *big* flag, held down by a heavy sandbag. As the team turns for the final approach, the chief instructor flies very close to the edge of the forrest that was surrounding the stadium. The trees where very high, giant pinetrees. Suddently the sandbag is caught by a branch high up in a pinetree, he immediately recognizes what the problem is and slams the brakes. The Parafoil turns on a dime, around the tree top, fast, faster and BAM... He slams into the tree, feet and arms all ready for the big "hug" :) Now he finds himself standing on this branch amazingly high in the air, hugging the tree. The crowd looks in amazement. The boat competition continues, an orchestra plays up, time passes by. Then the Fire department arrives, but as it turns out the ladder is long yes, but... not long enough. Then it starts to rain - a'lot. Anyway after some hours he finally got down only having a few scratches, but the pride was heart a little bit more than that.

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Not sure if this story is true or not so I think it might possibly may be an urban legend or something.

About 16 years ago I heard a story about a group of skydivers (possibly a 4 way) doing RW without any altimeters

Apparently they used the orange trees in some fields below as rough reference to their altitude, they figured that as soon as the oranges came into view it was time to open their canopy's

It seemed to work very well until one day the oranges got picked of all the trees & they all went in :S

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