March/April 2008

Free Faller

Skydiving instructor Don Jaget shows people how to take the plunge.

By Ben Swenson

From 13,500 feet, Hampton Roads makes quite a sight—a seamless landscape of waterways snaking around crowded subdivisions and cultivated fields. With my feet dangling out of an airplane’s open door, however, the region’s beauty was lost on me. Instead, I experienced an overload of sensory stimuli up there: the force of the wind, the chill of the altitude, the faint recognition of familiar landmarks so far below. But all of these were afterthoughts, my attention completely consumed by the abyss before me.

There might have been a three count, but I don’t remember. I only recall a back-and-forth rocking, a gentle nudge and then the feeling of falling toward the ground I had departed 10 minutes before.

Don Jaget, the person strapped firmly to my back, provided great consolation during the tandem jump. Jaget is a seven-year and 5,000-jump veteran instructor at Skydive Suffolk.

After exiting the airplane door, Jaget and I spent about a minute in free fall—holding the familiar belly-down, spread-eagle position—and barreled toward the earth at 120 miles per hour. I remember noticing what was not present during that rapid descent: the feeling of butterflies in my stomach that I so often subject myself to on the steep hills of the region’s roller coasters. I had been nervous about that feeling, and my wife suggested I take an extra pair of underpants just in case.

But free fall is only a fraction of the jump; a minute after exiting the airplane, Jaget deployed the parachute, and the fevered pitch of free fall quickly, though not jarringly, transitioned to the easy glide of coasting through the sky. Still, the four-minute sail under a brightly colored canopy (the name for the top of the parachute system) happened at a brisk clip, but its relative ease compared to free fall allowed for a better look at the rapidly approaching ground below.

After positioning our descent toward our appointed rendezvous with terra firma, Jaget let me take the parachute’s reins. Betraying my naivety, I tugged halfheartedly, as if the canopy was attached by some delicate threads that might break if subjected to the power of my strapping, 5-foot-6 frame. Nothing happened, Jaget chuckled, and I got the picture. My second attempt was not so feeble, and we traced a semi-circle through the sky.

I gladly surrendered the controls back to Jaget and followed his instructions for the landing—namely that his feet, not mine, should touch the ground first. Finishing a jump felt like more of a swoop than a collision. A few seconds before touching down, Jaget pulled down on both toggles, which are essentially brakes, narrowing the angle at which he encountered the ground and making it possible to walk out of a jump. Although this is admittedly more difficult when another person is strapped to one’s belly, Jaget managed our landing remarkably well.

For the rest of this story, see the March/April issue of Hampton Roads Magazine, currently available on newsstands.