June 26, 1999.
Mile High Parachuting.
Jump 1.
A rather warm sunny Saturday in Arnprior, Ontario.
Nervous energy moves throughout a group of lads of varying origins, ages, and occupations. They have congregated at this small airport with one goal in mind - to jump solo out of an airplane for the first time.
The skittish herd was greated by a trio of instructors ('Turtle', Eldon, and Cyr) and ushered into a classroom to learn a pair of mantas needed to complete a IAD (Instructor Assisted Deployment) jump. The first being the dynamic exit - "Have you got my pilot chute, left foot, left hand, right root, wingtip. Arch-thousand. Two-thousand. Three-thousand. Four-thousand. Check-thousand." The second being a cutaway and reserve deployment - "Look. Reach. Pull. Look. Reach. Pull.".
Throughout the morning of lessons we were prompted to repeat these mantras, louder and louder. Drilling home these distilled steps. Nail these, let gravity do its thing, and everything will be ok.
Following the classroom was the hands on training: chucking ourselves from the mockup of the Cessna C-182 onto a thick mat, learning the art of PLF, and the (soon to be dreaded) hanging harness...
We were walked through the process of identifying if a canopy could be landed, and if not, how to perform the physical actions that paired with the reserve deployment mantra. While hanging in a retired old skydiving harness, a picture of a canopy in some form of (non-)malfunction would be placed over our head. If judged to be a malfunction, we would be coached through the process of cutting away and deploying the reserve. Even if the canopy was land-able and we cut away, we were praised for making ultimately the right decision (if in doubt, cutaway).
After the first handful of passes, Cyr (a former Canadian Airborne Regiment NCM) took over. The tranquility of this sleepy country airport was shattered with a cacophony of yelling and shaking.
The first to fall victim went complete deer in headlights, plummeting to his virtual death.
Calm.
Repeat the cutaway process in a slow and controlled manner.
Success.
Set volume back to 10.
Success.
The seeds of stress inoculation are taking root.
My turn comes and goes like the others. One of mine was a good canopy chop due to line twists. When in doubt ...
Spring, 2002.
Skydive Chicago.
Jump 115.
Stoked after a successful dive out, chase and dock on a 4 way formation, I deploy typically high at 3500 feet.
Line twists during the opening. No big deal.
Then a turn and dive. I'm on my back and the wind noise cranks right back up. Big deal.
Back to that day with Cyr, instinct kicks in and I'm under a reserve.
Too this day, I credit the reserve pack job of the SDC rigger and the training at the hands of Cyr with saving my life. MileHigh drilled home the need to completely banish indecision and aggressively execute the needed corrective action in a stressful training environment. They had this in place before we ever set foot in the plane.
Today.
Vancouver.
A few hundred jumps more.
So what does this have to do with a paragliding blog?
I ask, how many paragliding schools (or national associations for that matter) require reserve training before high mountain flights?
I suspect you will quickly discover the same as I -> nada. Excuses abound.
Incidents occur - even during student training. Not having the foreknowledge to properly execute a reserve deployment greatly reduces the ability to respond.
Reserve training needs to be done in a recent, relevant, and realistic manner. At the very least that means a hanging harness with induced stress. Before feet leave the mountain.
It might save your life and enable you to share many of your own PG Sky Birthdays to come.
* Sky Birthday - a skydiving term for the day of your first solo jump. The day you were born a skydiver.
Mile High Parachuting.
Jump 1.
A rather warm sunny Saturday in Arnprior, Ontario.
Nervous energy moves throughout a group of lads of varying origins, ages, and occupations. They have congregated at this small airport with one goal in mind - to jump solo out of an airplane for the first time.
The skittish herd was greated by a trio of instructors ('Turtle', Eldon, and Cyr) and ushered into a classroom to learn a pair of mantas needed to complete a IAD (Instructor Assisted Deployment) jump. The first being the dynamic exit - "Have you got my pilot chute, left foot, left hand, right root, wingtip. Arch-thousand. Two-thousand. Three-thousand. Four-thousand. Check-thousand." The second being a cutaway and reserve deployment - "Look. Reach. Pull. Look. Reach. Pull.".
Throughout the morning of lessons we were prompted to repeat these mantras, louder and louder. Drilling home these distilled steps. Nail these, let gravity do its thing, and everything will be ok.
Following the classroom was the hands on training: chucking ourselves from the mockup of the Cessna C-182 onto a thick mat, learning the art of PLF, and the (soon to be dreaded) hanging harness...
We were walked through the process of identifying if a canopy could be landed, and if not, how to perform the physical actions that paired with the reserve deployment mantra. While hanging in a retired old skydiving harness, a picture of a canopy in some form of (non-)malfunction would be placed over our head. If judged to be a malfunction, we would be coached through the process of cutting away and deploying the reserve. Even if the canopy was land-able and we cut away, we were praised for making ultimately the right decision (if in doubt, cutaway).
After the first handful of passes, Cyr (a former Canadian Airborne Regiment NCM) took over. The tranquility of this sleepy country airport was shattered with a cacophony of yelling and shaking.
The first to fall victim went complete deer in headlights, plummeting to his virtual death.
Calm.
Repeat the cutaway process in a slow and controlled manner.
Success.
Set volume back to 10.
Success.
The seeds of stress inoculation are taking root.
My turn comes and goes like the others. One of mine was a good canopy chop due to line twists. When in doubt ...
Spring, 2002.
Skydive Chicago.
Jump 115.
Stoked after a successful dive out, chase and dock on a 4 way formation, I deploy typically high at 3500 feet.
Line twists during the opening. No big deal.
Then a turn and dive. I'm on my back and the wind noise cranks right back up. Big deal.
Back to that day with Cyr, instinct kicks in and I'm under a reserve.
Too this day, I credit the reserve pack job of the SDC rigger and the training at the hands of Cyr with saving my life. MileHigh drilled home the need to completely banish indecision and aggressively execute the needed corrective action in a stressful training environment. They had this in place before we ever set foot in the plane.
Today.
Vancouver.
A few hundred jumps more.
So what does this have to do with a paragliding blog?
I ask, how many paragliding schools (or national associations for that matter) require reserve training before high mountain flights?
I suspect you will quickly discover the same as I -> nada. Excuses abound.
Incidents occur - even during student training. Not having the foreknowledge to properly execute a reserve deployment greatly reduces the ability to respond.
Reserve training needs to be done in a recent, relevant, and realistic manner. At the very least that means a hanging harness with induced stress. Before feet leave the mountain.
It might save your life and enable you to share many of your own PG Sky Birthdays to come.
* Sky Birthday - a skydiving term for the day of your first solo jump. The day you were born a skydiver.
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