I would consider myself to be a current skydiver even though I recently got back to jumping after a five-week break. I remember thinking the previous day that I should publically remind myself that I'm not as current as I was a month ago. I forgot to do so. It might have been a mistake, but like so often before only my ego was punished for my blunders.
I was back home, jumping at the DZ where I did my first freefall skydive 14 years ago. The conditions were typical for Scandinavia this time of the year: wet and cold with strong winds. I had most of my layers on which created that annoying Michelin-Man stiffness. The skydive was uneventful based on a Finnish standard but AMAZINGLY AWESOME on an American standard. Because of the strong upper winds, we opened far away from the landing area and had the chance to briskly fly in a straight line over the city in our approach to the DZ.
Maybe it was the loosened elastic band on my slider keeper that hindered me from reaching it, or perhaps it was the multiple layers that limited my movability. Probably both, nevertheless I was not able to grab it and attach my slider to it. At approximately 2000 feet, I gave up and tried to keep the collapsed slider down with the back of my head. In retrospect, this is where I should have decided to bail on my swoop and land like a belly flyer. I failed to make that decision.
I like to do my approach and landing pattern with my hands on the front risers and make my landing pattern full speed. I knew I had the highest wing load, so it was no surprise that I didn't see any canopies on my way towards the swooping area. Except for some paraglide sized monsters, but they don't count. I slowly started my turn, looking around to check for the blind spot that had been behind me. I ended up doing a 900-degree turn. As I flared out, I saw a shadow in the corner of my eye. It was a canopy, and it should not have been there.
As my canopy fell to the ground, I turned around, and I saw my friend landing right next to me. He is an experienced skydiver, and I have made hundreds of jumps with him. Where the hell did he come from? And how was it possible that I did not see him?
I did not have a camera with me on that jump but based on his video; the following conclusions can be made. We approached from the same sector, he was lower than me, he made a 270-degree turn, and I almost crashed into him before my last rotation.
It seems like he had been flying below and right behind me. His canopy probably kept me hidden from him. I was not able to see him because he was in my blind spot. What I can't wrap my head around is why I was not able to see him during the first part of my turn. Where he was, is where I always look during the first part of my turn. Was it the slider that got me distracted? Was it me being uncurrent that made me less capable of processing all the information? Did his blue canopy somehow get camouflaged into the background? Did he turn at the same time and therefore always stayed one step ahead of where I was looking?
Some years ago, I made a promise to myself to be more prone to bail on my swoops. If something weren't right or just didn't feel right, I would bail and do a normal landing. I have failed to live up to this promise several times. A world champion once told me that he always knows exactly where every other canopy is. I was impressed by his title, but his claim seemed ridiculous to me. We all make mistakes, especially when we assume that we have full control. That danger of assumption is the one thing that has gotten me into trouble over the years.
We all do this. We all know better, sometimes we even preach caution to others, but when we are in that situation we so often just do it. We accelerate and pass the car, even though we can't properly see the oncoming traffic. We cross the road in a rush because we are in a hurry. We have unprotected intercourse with that truck driver who introduced himself as Trevor; he made us feel special when he said he had never done anything like it before. We do it because we have done it several times before and gotten away with it, the risk rarely materializes.
I'm glad my friend is one of the coolest skydivers around. I have never seen him lose his temper, except that one time when there were too many dogs at the fireplace. There was no screaming or pointing fingers, no desperate claims that "I saw you the whole time!" We had a calm discussion concerning the chain of events and walked away with the sense that we learned something from the experience. But did we really?
Lately, I have gotten the feeling, that there is a slowly growing trend in the skydiving community to create an environment where everyone can and should own up to their mistakes. Being that guy who raises his hand in acknowledgment of his error is on its way to becoming the new black. This is an excellent development, but it does not come without concerns.
It is easy to fall into the trap of taking responsibility for one's mistakes only in order to polish the newfound Ego of Humility. Without a doubt, it is a good start, but if that is the end of it, it is as hollow as a filtered Instagram picture. Owning up to your mistake is the easy part; altering the pattern of your decision making is the big challenge, and the only element that actually matters.
We need to stay true to the principles that we post on social media and the promises we make. If we only talk the talk but fail to learn from our close calls, we will keep making those same mistakes. Eventually, we will run out of luck, and the odds will claim its equilibrium.
After several weeks of pondering I tried to come up with some conclusion to the event, you can read about them here.
Unfortunately I did not have a camera with me on the jump, but here is the view from my friends angle.
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