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My Birthday Jump

By Neal Graham

You  may recall (or not care in the least), every year on my birthday since 2015, I have swum across some part of the Laguna de Apoyo in one direction or the other…or both…but not this year.  I had to scramble to get a seat on United’s last flight out of Managua on  March 17th, a week before I was scheduled to depart.  Because of cancelled flight schedules and other restrictions imposed by the ongoing pandemic, it was not possible for me to be there on May 25th to swim across the laguna.  So what else could I do?  Shortly after I arrived back in the US, the woman who has cut my hair for more than twenty years said, “Hey, Neal, look at this!”  She held up her smartphone and showed me the video of her first tandem skydive.  It was thrilling.  It was not something I had ever seriously considered, certainly not a “bucket list” item, but I thought, “Hey, if Cinda can do it, why can’t I?  If I can’t be in Nicaragua to swim across the laguna on my birthday, why not jump out of an airplane, instead?”

The next day, I called the nearby skydive facility to make a reservation for May 25th, at 10:00 am.  Skydive Deland is not only within close driving distance from where I live when I am in Florida, it is also one of the premier skydiving facilities/schools in the country.  I made a point to spend most of a day there before my scheduled jump just to observe and learn as much as I could about the possible ordeal I should expect.  As it happened, Cinda and her husband were both on the property that day because their son and daughter-in-law were both scheduled to jump.  It turns out, her son is an experienced solo skydiver and her daughter-in-law was scheduled to make a tandem jump with a qualified instructor.


So today, May 25, my birthday (you know, the one with the “5” in it marking ten years since I was old enough for Medicare), I am on the Interstate that crosses Florida from Tampa to Daytona Beach on my way to the jump site. But wait!  What’s this?  Suddenly the sky turns dark and half way through my trip rain is coming down in torrents.  I think there is little chance I will jump today and that worry is confirmed by a phone call from the skydive facility. They say, “Sorry, not today,” and I quickly reschedule for one week later, June 1st.  Another week to wait…and worry.


Later that day, I called my dermatologist to let him know if we go ahead with the two skin cancer surgeries scheduled during the week, I will be jumping with fresh stitches.  He says, “Nothing doing, my friend. You will not be jumping with stitches. Tomorrow I will do the blue light therapy on your forehead and we will do the surgeries later in the month.”  I was not completely sure what the blue light therapy was all about, but would know soon enough. Time passes…another trip to the facility to observe people packing into the colorfully painted little aircraft, then falling back to earth.  Some of the landings seem noticeably more jarring than others.


So now it’s Monday (again) and I arrive for my ten o’clock appointment an hour early.  Since I had already watched the required orientation video and signed my life away on various consent forms, I am hoping this will get me moved up on the manifest.  It does, but still it is not until 11:00 when I hear my name being called over the intercom instructing me to report to the tandem room to meet my instructor.  As usual, there is no contact with the instructor until this point and then only some very quick and limited information about what will pursue.  I am comforted with the knowledge there are few ways my instructor can hurt me… without hurting himself.  His name is Gabe, and I am pleased to discover he is only a few inches shorter than me (about 6’1″) and probably weighs only ten pounds less. On several occasions, I asked if it would be possible to have an instructor of similar height and weight and each time I was assured that, well, you know…size doesn’t matter.  Each instructor is practiced at jumping with people of various heights and weights.


Gabe is amiable enough and quickly helps me into the harness that he will attach to his own after we are airborne.  Then we make our way past the sign that says, “Only jumpers beyond this point”  along with about 16 other jumpers. Suddenly I belong to a special group.  I learn I will be the only one jumping in tandem (with an instructor) and all the others are solo jumpers, including students.  Also in line with us, and already shooting the video, is Ryan, the videographer for whom I had paid extra to jump just before or after us to record my adventure.  I am feeling a bit self-conscious about being videoed today because the blue light therapy performed by my dermatologist just days ago has left my forehead white and scaly and peeling very noticeably.  Be still, my vanity.


The small, propeller-driven plane lines up with the opening facing us ready for boarding.  The inside space available to accommodate all of us is surprisingly small.  Two narrow, low benches reach from front to back.  We must straddle these benches squeezing in tightly (also front to back) and touching each other from shoulders to midsections.  I sense little or no self-consciousness about this closeness.  It is simply a comradery experienced and shared by jumpers. The benches end just before the opening from where we will depart the plane, leaving room for four jumpers to sit in the floor.


The plane continues its steady climb into the midday sky.  I ask Gabe if he knows our altitude.  He tells me we are at 12,500 feet and we will make our jump from about 13,000.  I think he is equipped with gadgets which allow him to know our altitude and speed.  He also tells me the wind is gusting at 30 mph and a decision is made shortly thereafter that students on board will not jump, but will return to earth on the plane.  Suddenly the door opens and the person sitting in front of me slides forward and assumes a crouching position directly in front of the opening.  Then, with a slight lunge forward, he disappears completely somewhere below the plane and into the sky.  Gabe tells me we are next, that I should put both my legs to left of the bench and he will push me forward…and that is exactly what he does.  He quickly attaches our harnesses and I barely have time to stretch the band over my head that holds the goggles firmly over my eyes.
I have little recollection of when we positioned ourselves in front of the opening preparing for the jump.  Only later, when I watch the video, am I aware that I am looking downward with a worried, almost frightened expression on my face.  Gabe very knowingly places his hand on my forehead, pulling my gaze somewhere higher in the sky.  Then, with a slight push forward, we are tumbling, rolling into space taking a few seconds to find the horizontal, face-down position that will carry us through the free fall.


Yes, the glorious, indescribable, timeless free fall!  Try to imagine dropping at the rate of 120 mph, drifting through layers of clouds while watching the earth come closer and closer and the objects on its surface become distinguishable and take on form and color and purpose.  I surmise I am half way through this adventure of a lifetime.  If I were swimming in the laguna right now, the half way point would put me well into my second hour and half way through my second mile.  How often in that repeated effort have I called upon great cascading symphonies and monotonous, melodious little waltzes and perhaps the choppy staccato of a rapid tango cadence to describe my thoughts, my feelings, my fears, my pain, my exhaustion and my determination.  


But what can be said in this moment in time of the free fall, this moment when all that I have been and done flashes before my eyes, perhaps the longest moment of my life?  In the laguna, I would be thinking of my life and all that has transpired until this point; the victories and defeats, the gains and losses, the loves both lost and consummated…or, perhaps, consummated then lost. I would be thinking about the lives and circumstances of my Nicaraguan friends, of Jose always nearby in the kayak and in my life.  I would think about Jose’s family, his gifted son, Jeremy, who first made him a father and then a husband. I would be thinking about his other son, little Allen (named after me, you know) and how I should not forget to buy a month’s supply of diapers when we get back down off the mountain.  While on the surface of the laguna, I am roughly 650 feet from solid earth below me, the lowest measured point in all of Central America.  But I began this journey at 13,000 feet and am falling far more quickly than I could sink to the bottom of the laguna.  


Suddenly Ryan, with his helmet-mounted video camera, is face to face with me as we seem suspended in time and space.  I smile broadly and give a thumbs up with both hands.  It is only the increasing closeness and clarity of the earth below us that reminds me of the speed at which we are falling.  Suddenly Ryan tumbles into a series of quick spins and I wonder what special effects his movements will produce in the video.  

Then suddenly and without warning, what’s this?!  Whamp!  Whamp!  Is this Tchaikovsky?  Is this Wager?  It certainly is not Strauss.  The chute opens with a severe and punishing jolt that seems, if only for a second, too merciless to endure.  I am suddenly in a vertical position shooting upward in the sky in the opposite direction of our previous downward momentum.  When this upward inertia expends itself, we settle into our slower, windy descent that will carry us to our destination.  I feel considerable pain and pressure where the harness clutches me around my upper legs just below the groin area.  I call out my discomfort to Gabe and he tells me to lift my legs and loosen the harness.  When my efforts to do so are not successful, I decide I must “ride it out” to the finish.  


As the ground comes closer, Gabe maneuvers us into a series of rapid back and forth swings that cause me to feel a bit light headed.  I imagine the purpose of this discomfort is to reduce our speed as we make our final descent.  The ground looms up quickly and I hear Gabe yell, “Legs up for landing!”  I lift my legs into the previously rehearsed  position that allows for a surprisingly soft landing mostly on my rear end.  Ryan is already on the ground filming the end of our journey.  I take a moment to find my balance, re-gather some dignity then stand up facing the camera.  Ryan asks me, “How was it, Neal?” and I rattle on about the events I have just experienced in a way that is somewhat excited, yet characteristically rational. Gabe at some point had already disengaged our harnesses and walks over for a final side by side pose smiling into the camera…and I am thinking, yes, just as I would be posing next to Jose had I just swum across the laguna.  Maybe next year.

The video of the Birthday Jump:

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