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steve1

Scary stories from the old days?

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Steve1, you mentioned about a girl skydiver in the 1970s that kept falling and didn't deploy until she was out of sight...and looked as if she went in, but didn't. I am wondering out aloud about past female skydivers (1950s thru 1980s) that had scary experiences and those who actually went in.

I remember reading in one of the skydiving books about a female jumper on her first solo in 1959 and not pulling either ripcord, staying stable, and hitting the ground. No reason given why she never pulled anything, and she may have had a heart attack while in freefall.

Scott
Gig em, Garland Owls!

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Back in the late '60's, after a hard dock with another jumper I noticed my 1 1/2 shot Capewell cover was open and flopping in the wind. I could not tell if the riser was still attached or not (it was) until I deployed. I was certainly ready to go for the Tri-Conical.

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Airtwardo should get the biggest share of the profit because his stories are the most entertaining of all. Bill Booth has a couple of great ones. And then there's all those other wonderful stories. It would be a shame to have all this history just disappear.



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Well, I thank you most humbly for the complement Steve!:$

...and you're right, it would be a shame for 'history'
to just disappear.


You started what's likely one of the best and longest lasting threads on this website, so... hats off to you for encouraging us all to 'remember'!B|












~ If you choke a Smurf, what color does it turn? ~

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Airtwardo should get the biggest share of the profit because his stories are the most entertaining of all.

***
You wont have to wash your behind for weeks now , Jim LOL


bozo



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

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hey, your 'out' landing story also needs to be in this thread... PLEEEEASE :)



Good Idea!
;)




~Most interesting out landing?

It was about 1976...I had been jumping only a short time, and had less than 100 jumps.
We'd done an afternoon demo jump into John O'Donald Stadium in Davenport, Iowa...a semi-pro baseball field.

We of course had to celebrate our successful jump with several visits to the beer stand at the ball park, as well as numerous quick stops at most every bar between the stadium and Davenport 'International' airport, where our club's 182 was parked with the pilot patiently waiting in the local pub.

Three of us on the load had never jumped into the stadium before, a demo our club did often during the season....so along with 4 fairly large, Mid West corn fed jumpers...we had 3 cases of beer to haul back to the little 'private' DZ located basically in the middle of a corn field in Illinois.

Short on room, and wanting to give the pilot some time to detox...we fortunately decided to pack up before departing on the 40 mile flight back East.

So now it's about 10:30 at night...and we're doing several low level orbits around an area we believe to be the club house and un lighted / un marked grass strip we call home...

The driver says he can't tell for sure, but he's not gonna chance it with all the weight IN the bird...so you guys gotta get out, when you land...park some cars along the strip to give some reference.

At 3500 feet, I step out into the black hole that we think is a cluster of houses and barns on a line with where the airstrip 'should' be...

Three seconds later, I'm hanging under my trusty Papillon...Pitch black out, I'm realizing the winds are significantly stronger than they were sitting inside the plane when I see the small light on the 'target' barn getting smaller and smaller in the distance.

2-3 hundred feet off the deck and and getting backed up at a pretty good clip, I pass over a stand of trees that looks even more ominous than the endless corn fields I've been scooting over the past few minutes...Pulling down my goggles, crossing my legs, and covering my face...I prepare to hang the Pap in a tree.

At the last second, I see that I've just barely cleared the mini forest by 20 feet and slam down backward onto what seems to be a manicured grass lawn...with a small house just off to my left.

Just kinda laying there on my back for a few moments, waiting for the adrenaline rush to subside,
I hear a deep throated "OH FUCK!" right over my head as Tom...another low timer also on a Pap comes swinging by in the middle of a low hook that was initiated 'just a hair' TOO low...

He crashes into / through a little backyard gazebo transforming it into a scattered pile of kindling as he bounces off the picnic table within it.

He's on his back next to the mess he just created, laughing his ass off...when I scared the shit out of him by running up from behind yelling "YOU OKAY?!"


...After field packing the gear, we're beating on the door of this little farm house, to both asked where the Hell we are, and explain about the devastation in the yard. A little old lady finally answers, and is so nonchalant about the two 1/2 drunk 20 year olds in canvas clown suits standing on her porch in the middle of the night...that we get the feeling we've entered the twilight zone!

Old Granny has no clue where our airstrip is in relation to our present location, but puts a call into her daughter to ask if SHE can help...

Just imagine how THAT conversation went, Granny calls ya just shy of midnight to say a couple of 'young fellas' lost their way parachuting and landed in the yard, could you come out and give them a ride to town?

I think 'daughter' was wondering if maybe 'Ma' had gotten into the 'rumitiz medicine' again....until I got on the phone and assured her we were 'real'!!

Belly full of Cake, Cookies, and Ice Tea later...the daughter shows up from town to give us a ride back 'home'.

Ended up we were no where near where I thought we were, about 6-7 miles West...

And Ole Granny was having the time of her life the next day, when the whole club showed up to rebuild her back yard...turns out she was one of those women pilots that ferried military aircraft around the country during World War ll...










~ If you choke a Smurf, what color does it turn? ~

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Airtwardo,
Great story! Tell us another one......Steve1




***

How about another Kaptain "K" adventure?;)


I was in college at the time, home to see the folks and my girlfriend, who was home from another university to spend the Christmas / New Years holidays with her folks... and 'me'.B|

The Kaptain and I, from the same hometown, had flown the 300 miles up from school in a 'rented' University 172 :P... THAT rather interesting trip will have to be a later story...

On New Years Eve day 1977, another jumper buddy and I were scheduled to do a series of small demos around central Illinois to pick up a few bucks, and break up the vacation. These were back yard demos for various celebrations, and a couple into small towns, for community events getting ready for the new year. We would be doing a variety of things like flag jumps, carrying in a bottle of champagne, some roses for an anniversary party...a busy schedule, and the Kaptain would be flying us in the 172.

Everything was going pretty much according to plan, but we're beginning to run later and later through out the day because it's getting harder and harder to just 'leave' some of the parties...with all the good, hot food...cold booze...and admiring woofos...to pack up in the snow, and sit in a cramped 172 with no door, flying to the next gig over an Illinois winter landscape.:S

Keeping in contact with my girl friend all day, whom I'd been with since high school, was getting to be a drain...:|

Her parents, both Doctors, had given 'us' tickets to some New Years Eve party at a private 'muckity muck' club they were members of...not only an expensive deal...but rather important to her that we attend without any complications, since in her parents eyes....well...just imagine YOUR daughter who's enrolled in Med school, hanging with a drunken, dope smokin', motorcycle ridin', hippie skydiver!:ph34r:

Let's just say, I could use all the brownie points I could accumulate!:P

I had already given a revised ETA to her twice as the day went on...The Kaptain and I were to land after the last demo at an airport 15-20 miles from her house, where she would pick me up...with my Tux...so we could join her folks back at their house in time to ride together to the party...

We needed to be ready to go from there at 9:00 pm, which at the start of the day seemed more than doable...:|

At 8:15 I'm calling again from Peoria, having dropped off the other jumper...(45 minutes by air to the strip near her) ...to say I 'may' be a little late.>:(

Getting back in the 172...I found myself having to kneel on the floor up by the panel, next to the Mighty "K"...not only in an effort to avoid some of the wind at the door...but also because I no longer had any ass to sit on after the chewing out I'd just received.:(

As I'm telling "K" how it's lookin' like not only a cold...but also a LONELY night is in store for me...

He just smiled and said, "No worries...I'll get ya there!":)


With the 172 fire-walled all the way, we make a direct path, not to the small airport 1/2 an hour drive from her house...but instead right TO her.

Two grand over the top of my honey's house, in a 'very' exclusive area of town...I bomb out into the icy night air...wondering what the Kaptain meant by~

"I'll let 'em know you're here" ......?!?

Delaying just long enough to get stable, I pull the rip cord...instead of looking UP at the deploying Para Plane...I'm lookin DOWN, following the 172 as it dives out from the wing over it had done as I left.

I'm beginning to get an idea of what "K" was talking about as I watch, hanging in the saddle above, when he does a low pass through the neighborhood...:o

A more accurate description would be, through her yard, past the big bay window in the living room...AT EYE LEVEL!!!:D

As I'm turning on final to set down in the front yard, all the outside lights come on and the whole family scampers onto the deck to watch my 'last' demo of the year!!B|

It's just short of Nine o'clock...as I pose with 'Goldielocks' for a photo 'dad' takes.

My ole buddy... ~ The MIGHTY Kaptain "K" ~ goes over the house doing a wing wag...B|...As I tell my sweetie, standing there in her bath robe...

"Told ya I'd make in time...Hell..you're not even dressed yet!!!":ph34r:










~ If you choke a Smurf, what color does it turn? ~

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And Ole Granny was having the time of her life the next day, when the whole club showed up to rebuild her back yard...turns out she was one of those women pilots that ferried military aircraft around the country during World War ll...



They were called WASPS. I hope to hell that you got her to sign your logbook for that jump!

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These two stories don't actually involve skydiving, but they may still be of interest to someone.

Before I was drafted, in the late '60s, I attended a small college with a guy that I'll call "SS." A few years later we ran into each other again. He was working as a reporter/cameraman for a local TV station, and I was hustling a living doing whatever I could find--preferably involving flying or skydiving.

He called me up one day and asked if I could fly him out to a remote lake, where a boat full of fishermen had capsized and the occupants were presumed drowned. As he told me what he knew of the story, I realized that one of the guys who was lost was an old acquaintance of mine. I agreed to fly SS out to the area, and then do an air search -- hopefully to find a survivor in the woods along the shore (unfortunately, none survived).

There was a local crop duster's strip near the lake, but it wasn't on the charts. I knew "RG," the cropduster, but not all of the little strips that he used out in that part of the country.

I called the local county sheriff's office and they told me to follow a canal that went north from the lake. There was a white building that served as a country store along the canal, and the runway was "...just across from the store." The sheriff would come pick up SS when we landed.

Wanting to be able to fly low & slow, we took an Aeronca 7AC Champ (taildragger) for the flight. We shot some general footage above the lake, then buzzed the dock area to let the sheriff know that we were going to land.

"Right across from the store" was one of the worst-looking landing strips I'd ever seen. It was short, narrow, had small trees growing on both sides, had powerlines across one end--but the store prevented flying under them. The canal ran along one side of it, and the other side went steeply down to a deep ditch. The surface was very coarse gravel.

Dammit, I thought, if that crop duster can work out of that thing with a full load, I can sure get into it!

I set up for it, slipping radically as I crossed the store and the powerlines...rolled out of the slip just above stall speed... lifted the left wing to avoid a small pine tree that was just a little too tall, then hit the brakes...sliding to a stop in the gravel just before the strip ended in a dropoff of several feet. We both had to get out of the plane, lift the tail, and rotate it around the main gear because the strip was too narrow to even think about turning the plane around.

I taxied up to the store, shut off the engine, and said to the store owner (sitting on the front porch), " RG (the crop duster) has a bigger set of balls than I would have ever guessed! That strip is miserable!

The guy yelled back to me, "Well, maybe he does, but RG uses the long grass strip behind the store. That place where you landed is just a gravel pile that the highway department keeps around."

Second story ...

SS called and said that there was a forest fire in another remote area. He wanted to film it for the 6 O'clock news. I called some guys that I knew who flew for the state forestry service and they told me where the fire was and what frequency their planes were using. The guys wouldn't mind the good press coverage.

I rented a Grumman Tiger, so that we could slide back the bubble canopy and film forward and at an angle. As we got close to the area, I contacted the forestry service planes. They said that they were making a single-file run into the fire, and that we could just follow them. We slid back the canopy, got in line, and SS started rolling the camera as we dove toward the fire.

I was concentrating on keeping where I was supposed to be, and on pulling up when we got down to the fire. The forestry planes looked like they were going almost right into it, so we would, too. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement that looked out of place.

SS had taken off his seatbelt, so that he could lean out of the cockpit for a better shot. I reached out with one hand and grabbed the back of his belt, while pulling back on the yoke of the plane with the other. Just at the same time, we crossed over the fire. The hot air rising from the fire hit the plane hard from below, forcing it up, and sending SS and the camera nose down over the side. Fortunately, I had a good grip on his belt, so I was able to pull him back up enough that he was able to get into his seat again. I told him, rather impolitely, to put his seatbelt back on and leave it on ... which he did without complaint. The film turned out rather well!

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Hey Wart,

You ever wonder how we survived some of those days?:P

Sparky



Hell, yes! Here's another quick one ...

I had to fly up to Fayetteville, WVA, to help a friend repair a broken wing on his plane. Since a couple of other mutual friends wanted to go, I invited them along. We ended up with Big John in the back seat of a tri-pacer, along with Duke in the front and a stack of guitars, mandolins, and banjos--along with some luggage--in the luggage compartment. We were gonna make a weekend party of it, and did so.

Got the plane fixed, got the partying done, and couldn't resist the fact that the airport had a supply of 80 octane avgas (couldn't find it most places, older engines crapped up on 100LL, and the MOGAS STCs weren't out yet). Went ahead and filled up both tanks, applying the "we'll make it" principle.

Takeoff roll took forever, but that was typical in that plane. Once off the ground, it climbed steeper than most. That's why the line of trees at the end of the runway weren't to scary looking ... at first. Besides, we were committed at that point.

Finally broke ground and expected the plane to start its usual good rate of climb. It didn't. It wallowed toward the trees ... air not that dense in the mountains to begin with, and it was a hot day outside. Too much weight aboard.

Ok. I'll aim at the very tops of the trees. If we can make it, we'll skim over them. If not, we'll hit the more "cushiony" part of the trees and worry about what happens next when it happens.

The treetops barely slid by beneath the wheels. It was a fairly narrow band of woods, followed by the edge of the New River valley. Nose back down and down into the valley, followed by a painfully slow climb back out. At least we were heading in about the right direction.

Duke, sitting in the front with me, said, "If I didn't know how good a pilot you are, that would have scared the shit out of me!" "Well, if you'd known how scared I was, we'd never have gotten the smell out of this plane."

Looked in the back seat and Big John was sound asleep.

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Made my first jump at Coolidge in 1976. About winter 1977 we had some jumpers come down from Flagstaff to jump. Jumpmasters girlfriend was working on 5sec delays. We watch her go out do her 5 seconds. And wait, and wait for the main. Seems she could not get the pins out of the cones.

About the time we were going Ahh Shitt! we see the reserve come out and inflate, start to jellyfish and hang up on the fire retardant storage tank tiop. Good thing it had a conical top, as when she came to stop, her toes were not more than three inches from the concrete. Her friends get on the ground a couple minutes later and get her over to their cars. She had that deer in the headlight look. After about an hour or so they get her gear off the tank and head back to Flagstaff. I heard that was her last jump. That is about as close to seeing a bounce as I ever want to get.

I was TDY to Dougway Proving Grounds in Utah one Red Flag as a weather observer. Took my rig with me just in case. Went out with a local group in a D-18. Made the mistake of letting what I thought was an experienced local guy do the spot. Did not know that he thought you were supposed to spot from outside the plane. Signals got mixed and the load went out way early. I saw how far out we were and said screw the RW. I was far higher than the 8way. As I was getting ready to pull this jerk tracks under me and pulls without clearing above. Something about watching a deployment direcly above it gets your attention. I do a radical diving right turn and thunder past him by one hell a narrow margin. I dump and head for the DZ, land and have the DZO ask me just what the hell I was doing opening low. The other guy had headed away from the DZ to land. Took him a while to get back, get in his car and leave. Most likely had to dump his shorts somewhere. Damn near as much fun as standing in the middle of the bomb dump with the pin in one hand and Mr. WP Smoke in the other. One of those slowly bite the pin straight and re-insert very, very carefully moments (far, far more luck than brains deals).

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Stupidity takes it's toll...

Did a demo jump with a bunch of scary ragged @rse military loons. Exited over the field and chased her down to 2500' with smoke before waving off and pulling out the pilot chute. Glanced over the shoulder to see one of the military lunatics sitting just above me with a huge grin on his kisser. Held the pilot chute for a second or two until he'd dumped, then let go - Nothing! Saw the pilot chute wrapped around my paw so in a state of terminal rampant stupidity, I rolled onto my back and untangled it before letting it go and rolling over again. About that time my bowels turned to water as I saw the hangars coming up at speed. Didn't even get the brakes unstowed before spearing in between the hangars on the taxiway. Did another two jumps that day before the thousand yard stare kicked in that evening. The military loons got me adequately ratted that evening and that seemed to cure it, albeit with some side effects, ie not taking shirt from them any more, to the extent of screaming and swearing at a dopey senior officer (staff rank) to get his act together while docking canopies.:P

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Been a while since that beery evening at Gilroy's...
You still flying those heavies around Darkest Africa?



Nope. Got on the wrong side of a bonehead and now looking for a real job. Getting a bit tired of being shot at, jailed, bombed, and taken hostage...B|

Got to do the wild beer thang again some time...

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Back in the early '80, we were still jumping Strato Clouds with front-mounted Strong LoPo's. One of our accuracy-crazy guys (and he was very good at S&A, very experienced jumper, too), has started to imitate (as seen on some top-class meet) the technique of putting the reserve container to his back instead of just unsnapping one reserve riser from the harness' "D" ring and letting the reserve to hang on the side (that way you could see the target better). To transfer your reserve container onto your back means you have to cross-connect reserve riser snaps with harness' "D" rings using some kind of cord, and when your main is once pressurized and flying good you have to unfasten your reserve from it's side holders and carefully unsnap it's risers from "D" rings. Then you have to turn it 180 and bring it over your head (between the head and the slider) and let it go to hang there on your back. The problem with this technique is obvious - if you need your reserve any time after the transfer, you can kiss this dimension goodbye.
Some of us used just ordinary break cords to cross-connect the reserve to the harness.
And there he was at 2 grand, opened and flying well, ready to kill another dead center. He did his reserve container transfer alright. Suddenly, the pilot chute shot out from his back and Strong LoPo started to catch air behind him and inflate. It formed-up very fast and his main started to wobble and two canopies started to crash one into another. We, on the ground, were aware of his situation and the show bacame very tense. Then he cutted his main away. Whe he descended closer we could see his hands holding onto those reserve risers. The only thing connecting him and his reserve were two cords and his hands. Those cords were so long that he could hold just the riser ends near the snaps. That was one scarry thing to watch. But luckily, he landed ok and everything was fine. One good thing in this whole incident was that he didn't use break cords but some old suspension lines for his trick of the trade.

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