{"id":1009,"date":"2020-12-18T13:36:26","date_gmt":"2020-12-18T21:36:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/mwenda.com\/teletype\/?page_id=1009"},"modified":"2024-12-06T23:06:38","modified_gmt":"2024-12-07T07:06:38","slug":"stepping-onto-a-small-world","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/mwenda.com\/teletype\/?page_id=1009","title":{"rendered":"Stepping Onto a Small World"},"content":{"rendered":"

There we were, climbing out from the grassy runway at Issaquah on a bright spring day.\u00a0 What was different this time was, I was strapped down in the middle of one of the planes from the Jump Center.<\/p>\n

Karli had pushed for this.\u00a0 That was her, up closest to the door.\u00a0 She\u00a0 insisted on being the first one out, an honor that would normally have gone to the heaviest of us.\u00a0 She had recently absorbed the play “Streamers,” by David Rabe, and today’s adventure seemed connected to an exploration of fear and courage, and a search for identity.\u00a0 Me, I spent all my spare time at Issaquah Soaring anyway, practically next door, and had always meant to try jumping.<\/p>\n

When not thrill-seeking, Karli and I both worked at the Bellevue City Attorney’s Office, a few miles down the road.\u00a0 Karli had started there as an intern, a way to get some criminal trial experience while still in law school.\u00a0 My work was mainly on the civil side, but for a year I also did most of the City’s criminal appellate work.<\/span><\/p>\n

A regular feature of this side job was showing up in Seattle on Friday afternoons, when the Superior Court heard appeals from the county’s municipal and district courts. One of my favorite adversaries there was a nice young public defender named Steve; he and I would get together after work to commiserate about the practice of law and Life In General.\u00a0 One of Steve’s concerns was that his wife might be too much of a risk-taker to be a good candidate for motherhood.\u00a0 The one other person in the back of our plane turned out, of course, to be Steve’s wife.<\/p>\n

Now when you think about parachute jumping, you may picture scenes from the evening news, featuring an old or famous person leaping from a twin-engine airplane, strapped to another person, an instructor.\u00a0 Tandem jumping like this is an innovation that came about later — I think I saw the first tandem jump that was made at Issaquah.\u00a0 For our story, which takes place in the mid-1980s, you need to visualize an old Army movie:\u00a0 each jumper going out alone, the parachute opened not by a rip cord but by a long static line (or “dope rope,” as it is called dismissively), one end of which remains attached to the airplane.\u00a0 This age-old system provided the most nearly foolproof method of deploying the parachute at just the right time; it works for cargo as well as humans.\u00a0 A first jump was always like this.\u00a0 If you later decided that you really wanted to become a skydiver, then for your next few jumps they would give you a harness with a dummy D-ring to pull.\u00a0 If you came back without it often enough (you’re supposed to throw it away) they let you have the grown-up version of the parachute.<\/p>\n

Also, for this story, you should imagine a smaller airplane, a single-engine Cessna.\u00a0 And a bigger, orange cargo chute, providing a more user-friendly experience than the flat round white ones.<\/p>\n

It didn’t take long to get to the drop zone, over the north end of the field.\u00a0 The target, a circle filled with pea gravel, was just on the west side of the runway, and we would jump from only 2,800 feet.\u00a0 Soon Karli was out the door, holding onto the bar conveniently placed along the wing strut.\u00a0 (The pilot sets the parking brake, so you can stand on the tire.)\u00a0 And then she was gone.<\/p>\n

Next, a big circle to get back to the same spot, and then it’s my turn to climb out.\u00a0 I’m not scared, being inclined to trust the equipment, as I would trust a climbing rope.\u00a0 During the morning’s jump school, we’ve been taught how to handle any emergency.\u00a0 We’ve spent time jumping off the top of the playground-size bleachers, feet together, knees bent, eyes on the horizon, finishing with an awkward roll.\u00a0 We can find the Tapewells that will cut away our main chute if it fails to open properly.\u00a0<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>We can find the ripcord of our emergency chute (which will open automatically anyway if our descent does not slow).\u00a0 We have signed a release form <\/span>stating that we assum<\/span>e the risk of a potentially deadly activity.\u00a0 And not just signed it, but copied parts of it out in our own handwriting, reassuring our heirs that we knew exactly what we were getting into.\u00a0 The lawyer in me was impressed.<\/span><\/p>\n

I’m out on the strut.\u00a0 I pose for a picture.\u00a0 Our jump master, Mark, points at me and mouths the word “Go.”\u00a0 I am still fearless, but suddenly consumed by a desire to see both ends of my static line, which is impossible now. I too mouth the word, “Go?” including the punctuation.\u00a0 \u00a0Mark nods and repeats his signal, and I turn loose.<\/p>\n

Things don’t go very wrong, but they go wrong very quickly.\u00a0 The first thing I notice is the bag of my reserve chute, fastened to the harness at my chest, rising up toward my face.\u00a0 I’m not prepared for this, and instead of arching my back and spreading my limbs as I should, I hug my reserve.<\/p>\n

Soon I realize that the bag is not going anywhere, and I let go and turn my attention to other matters.\u00a0 The checklist for this phase is easy:\u00a0 count three, check canopy, grab the steering loops. I had felt the chute open (a pretty benign event with modern-day equipment) and when I look up, the big, rectangular canopy is there.\u00a0 But the lines connecting me to it are twisted, like if you sat in a playground swing and spun around, leaving me flying inefficiently and without much control.<\/p>\n

The realization that your malfunction is a low-speed malfunction is actually quite comforting.\u00a0 I kick my legs around like they told us to do, and after a bit of squirming the lines are uncrossed and I’m ready to steer.\u00a0 I listen for instructions from the handy little radio receiver tucked into the pocket of my reserve chute.<\/p>\n

Except that it’s not.\u00a0 It was knocked from its place, possibly when I clutched at the pack.\u00a0 I later found out that the radio fell and cratered right next to our glider tow pilot, Dave W., providing him with yet another aviation story of his own.\u00a0 Luckily, there’s a backup for the radio anyway:\u00a0 crew on the ground drag big arrows around advising the jumper, moment to moment, which direction to aim in order to arrive at the target.\u00a0 I locate my arrow (a different color from Karli’s) and use the steering loops to turn accordingly.<\/p>\n

With some of the details out of the way, the next part really is fun.\u00a0 What a great view of the whole valley, from the hills all the way up to Lake Sammamish.\u00a0 There’s the whale-shaped pool atop the Holiday Inn, and, across from it, the surplus Piasecki helicopter that lures people onto the airport road.\u00a0 East of the airport there’s the Pickering farm with its barn and oval horse track.\u00a0 \u00a0The view is a familiar one, but seeing the airport between my feet instead of through a plastic window is somehow a very different experience.\u00a0 It’s quieter than flying in an airplane, probably quieter than a glider even, and just more intimate somehow.<\/p>\n

Gravity meanwhile is doing its work, and I’m approaching the field.\u00a0 \u00a0 I can tell that I won’t make it to the target and will land on the runway instead, maybe because of my earlier problems.\u00a0 But clearing the freeway seems good enough — I know I can walk from there.\u00a0 As I get closer I notice that one of our gliders is landing and rolling toward a spot near where I’ll come down.\u00a0 It slows, and stops, and a man wearing a yellow ball cap gets out and walks around to help a passenger emerge.<\/p>\n

“Roger!” I call, for it is he, the person who has taught me, among other things, how to fly.\u00a0 Surprised, he looks all about, understandably puzzled.\u00a0 I call again, from closer now, and this time he looks up.\u00a0 “Feet together!” Roger replies helpfully, an experienced jumper himself, and then, “Flare!”\u00a0 I pull down smoothly on both loops at once and walk onto the ground, like stepping off an escalator.\u00a0 This adventure ended better than it started.<\/p>\n

We grin at each other.\u00a0 \u00a0I collapse the chute and begin to gather it. There will be time for conversation later.\u00a0 Right now, Roger has a student.\u00a0 And I have somebody else’s parachute.<\/p>\n

Notes:<\/p>\n

    \n
  1. \u00a0Fairy tales begin, “Once upon a time. . . .”\u00a0 Sea stories begin, “This is no ****.”\u00a0 Flying stories begin, “There I was . . . .”\u00a0 This one is copyright Scott C. McKee, all rights reserved.<\/li>\n
  2. After a long career, Karli retired from a judgeship in 2018.<\/li>\n
  3. \u00a0The Issaquah Skyport, earlier the Sky Ranch, dated back to the early 1940s.\u00a0 It’s now a shopping center called Pickering Place, named, like many developments, after a landmark that it supplanted.\"\"<\/a><\/li>\n<\/ol>\n

    (Photo by Mark Scott)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

    There we were, climbing out from the grassy runway at Issaquah on a bright spring day.\u00a0 What was different this time was, I was strapped down in the middle of one of the planes from the Jump Center. Karli had pushed for this.\u00a0 That was her, up closest to the door.\u00a0 She\u00a0 insisted on being […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":951,"menu_order":4,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1009","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mwenda.com\/teletype\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1009","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mwenda.com\/teletype\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mwenda.com\/teletype\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mwenda.com\/teletype\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mwenda.com\/teletype\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1009"}],"version-history":[{"count":44,"href":"https:\/\/mwenda.com\/teletype\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1009\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2041,"href":"https:\/\/mwenda.com\/teletype\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1009\/revisions\/2041"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mwenda.com\/teletype\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/951"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mwenda.com\/teletype\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1009"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}