Jumper Number Two

Abi Cornwall

It was supposed to be simple. Get in the plane, jump out the plane, go home.

A bid to stop my fear of flying.

The training had been fun. 8 of us in ill-fitting jump suits and crash helmets leaping out of a wooden window onto crash mats, like a Japanese game show. As my body dealt with the serious business of survival, my brain was off swimming in denial - completely avoiding what was really going on.

Sitting on the floor of the plane I smiled at my friend who was jumping before me as I listened to the last of our instructions through the head set I was wearing. Something about remembering to use all the strength in your arms when exiting the plane.

'I like that', I thought. 'That's what I'll be doing'.

Exiting. Nice & calm. No drama'.

My brain and body finally caught up with each other as I watched my friend's face on the outside of the plane vanish with the rest of him into the wild blue yonder.

'Oh Christ. What am I doing?' I thought, as I shuffled to the edge of the plane to the door with no doors.

There before me floated thousands of feet of fresh air.

I wish they'd told me how heavy the parachute would be. I wish they'd told me how the wind pushed you back into the plane as you tried to get out. I wish I had used the strength in my arms and leapt rather than slithered.

I wish I had not whacked my elbow on the floor of the plane as I left itâ?¦

The parachute opened (phew) and there I was floating in the sky with nothing but searing pain in my elbow to remind me that this was real.

It is not easy to steer a parachute right and left when you can't move one elbow. I tried to use the full force of my wrist instead, but clearly that was just ridiculous. Round and round I went going further to the left. Realising that I had to land somewhere, at some point, I decided not to panic.

I looked down. 'Beautiful', I thought, unconvincingly, trying to enjoy the experience as much as possible. Tiny cows went about their business below and in the distance, getting further and further away was the big white cross I was supposed to land on.

My head set crackled - 'Jumper number two. You need to steer to the right, repeat steer to the right; you are veering way off target'. Said the Highly Experienced Jumper from his comfy seat in the plane above.

The land was getting closer. Torn between relief at this fact and utter despair I decided on a tactic of manic flapping to get a little bit closer to the big cross. It didn't work. After a few more helpful observations and instructions in my ear from Highly Experienced Jumper, all went quiet.

'Wooohooooo!' I shouted out into the ether in an effort to gee myself up. I had so wanted to be able to describe this as an amazing and life affirming experience.

After a brief spell of feeling sorry for myself, I needed to get practical. I had to figure out how to get the ground and my body to meet in as painless a way possible. The training had been very clear - prepare to land at approx 10 feet above the ground. Trouble was - I was floating over a big green crop field with no idea how high up I was.

Doing a rough estimation in my fear addled brain I concluded that the crops must be at least 7 feet tall (an educated guess based on absolutely nothing whatsoever) and so, I tried to land.

Training: pull quickly and with force on ropes

Reality: Left arm pulled on rope, right arm tugged from wrist.

Training: Parachute slips behind, acting as break

Reality: Parachute shot in front, acting as accelerator

Training: Slowing down, step onto ground as though onto a kerb.

Reality:

There is a special sound you make as your body is whipped through a field of crops from a height, landing on the ground and then dragged a bit further by a powerful parachute.

It is a horrible noise.

All around me was still. Face down in the dirt I allowed a few whimpers before lifting my head to see what there was to see. Not much. Dirt. Crops. Crops so dishevelled by my rocketing body that I'm sure from above I'd created some fantastic crop circle.

I stood up. The crops were not 7 feet tall as I had estimated. More like 4. They came to the centre of my eyeballs, stabbing and scratching me as though they were getting their own back. I sneezed.

I couldn't see a way out, but as my eyes streamed with a combination of hay fever and emotion, I gathered up as much of the parachute as I could (not much) and dragged the rest across the field (more destruction) until I came to a road. I staggered over the fence, yelping in pain as the adrenaline died, my elbow swelling.

The figure I cut as I dragged my sorry body and parachute along the dirt road was not an impressive one. In the distance I saw a jeep - my rescuers. My friend jumped down, shouting about me being alive and was I alright? I nodded as I stepped up onto the car and to safety.

I don't remember much after that. The doctor said, confirming I had broken my elbow, that I was suffering from shock and it was to be expected.

Looking back, I had hoped for a life affirming experience and I got one. And it certainly cured my fear of flying - now I know what happens if you jump, I'm happy to sit down and enjoy the ride!