🪂 Sky Diving (1972-73) 🛩

There I Was!

You’d Never Believe It!!

I Thought I Was Going to Die!!!

In November of 1972, a girlfriend named Suzanne telephones me and says, “Hey Barbara, Vicky and I are going skydiving! Would you like to join us?” I don’t know Vicky, but I say to myself, “If Suzanne, out of all the people in the world, can skydive, then I certainly can also!”

Soon thereafter, the three of us are driving out to Elsinore Paracenter on Skylark Field near Lake Elsinore, California – nearly two hours southeast of my home in Manhattan Beach – to try our hand at skydiving.

🪂 Prologue

I met Suzanne on a whitewater rafting trip through the Grand Canyon three months earlier in August 1972. It was the same trip that I first met my husband Stan and his 10-year-old son Dave – three years before Stan and I start dating. [That trip is a story for another missive yet to be written.]

Suzanne and Vicky are stewardesses (or flight attendants, as they are properly called nowadays). Vicky is married to a pilot, who thinks she is crazy to want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. Suzanne and I are both single. My son Mike, who lives with me, has just turned 9 and is beginning to think that I want to make him an early orphan.

🛩 First Skydiving Trip, November 1972

We have to be at the Elsinore Paracenter at 8am for our Basic Parachute Training Course followed by our parachute jump. That means getting up at 5am and meeting at my house at 6am for the long drive. We have been reading up on this skydiving center, which is well-known and is the closest one to us.

A quarter-million skydives have been made there without a fatality since it opened nine years earlier in 1963 – that is, until the three weeks prior to this, when there was one skydiving death there each week! We learn more details during our half-day training session before we take off in our plane to make our first jump.

One of the three deaths was a 19-year-old female on her first jump! [I am 31 years old; Suzanne and Vicky are a few years younger.] The young jumper died after she pushed off backwards from the jump position outside of the plane, instead of going sideways. Her backwards push caused her to go into a spin, and her shroud lines got wrapped around her right arm so her chute wouldn’t open. She could have pulled the other rip cord with her left hand to open her reserve chute, but she didn’t keep her head to do so.

The other two deaths were males who had each made several jumps. One was swept into power lines near the ground and electrocuted; the other one collided with a fellow skydiver while doing stunts during free fall and wasn’t able to pull his rip cord.

Needless to say, this news is enough to make the three of us very uncomfortable about the endeavor we are soon to undertake!

Our training takes all morning. We start out in a classroom and are given all of the verbal instructions on how to skydive. After an hour or so, we move outdoors. We are given coveralls and boots to wear to protect our clothing while practicing for our jump, as well as to wear during our actual skydive.

Next comes the tough part — practicing landing. The parachutes that we will use are the 28-foot Double L, which is a popular parachute modification in the 1950s and 1960s. The two L-shaped cutouts give a forward speed of 8-10 knots and is stable in turns. In order to rotate to the right, you just pull on the shroud lines on the right and vice versa for the left.

That is all well and good during descent, but landing with those chutes is equivalent to jumping off the top of a van going 10 mph. We don’t have a moving vehicle to practice from, so we climb up on a platform of that height and jump from there.

Upper left: Two jumpers landing near us while we wait for our training to begin.

Lower left: Suzanne before she dons her gear, with a bevy of jumpers in the air.

Upper right: Vicky, Suzanne and I in our coveralls, ready to start our outdoor training.

Center: Myself and Suzanne before the outdoor training starts.

Lower right: Vicky mugs for the camera.

The landing that we are taught is to tuck and roll sideways as you hit the ground, letting different parts of your body (feet, knees, hip and shoulder) touch in sequence to absorb the impact. By instinct, whenever I have the misfortune to fall nowadays, I automatically go into my parachute tuck. We practice this roll so many times that I am totally black & blue and sore wherever I hit the ground.

Another drill that a we practice is how to exit the plane, using a mockup. The planes that are flown at the Paracenter are small, six-seaters with the back two rows of seats removed. Four jumpers are seated on the floor behind the pilot and the instructor.

The way you jump is to carefully climb sideways out the plane’s doorway, stand on the small steps facing forward, and hang on to the wing strut while leaning into an 80-knot wind — the pilot slows the plane down for jumping. When the instructor taps on your helmet, you are supposed to push away sideways — not backwards. That instruction is really drilled into our heads after the recent death of the 19-year-old student at the Paracenter.

Finally, we are placed into teams of four for seating in the plane, and we are provided with the remainder of our jump gear — helmets and parachutes. We three girls are kept together, and a guy named Jeff is added to make the fourth.

Upper left: Myself practice jumping off of the high platform with pretend shroud lines in my hands.

Upper right: Vicky, Suzanne and myself with a guy named Jeff who is selected to complete our jump team. We are fully suited up now with helmets and parachutes. Somehow, I manage to score a neato jumpsuit.

Lower left: Suzanne, myself, and Vicky behind Jeff. Jeff thinks he has died and gone to heaven with these three gorgeous chicks!

Lower right: In the plane ready to take off, the four of us are seated on the floor behind the pilot and instructor. I am in the front, Jeff is on the right, Suzanne is peeking over my shoulder, and Vicky is hidden in front of Jeff.

While issuing final instructions, our instructor notices that Jeff seems particularly nervous. When he asks Jeff if he has any questions, Jeff responds, “What happens if my chute doesn’t open when I jump?”

• Note: All beginning jump students are required to exit the plane with the parachute attached to a static line. A static line is a length of cord used instead of a rip cord for opening a parachute — it is attached at one end to the aircraft and temporarily snapped to the parachute at the other. In 1972, a static line is required for the first 10 jumps.

The instructor once again explains to Jeff that if the static line fails to open his main chute, he should pull the rip cord on his left side to release the reserve chute mounted on his chest.

Jeff then asks, “What do I do if my reserve chute doesn’t open?” With that question, the instructor is getting a bit impatient, and he replies, “In that case, just holler Buddha, Buddha, Buddha!”

The last thing to be done before we board our jump plane is to decide who will jump first. This is decided by drawing straws, and Jeff draws the short one. We all board the plane and fly up to 2800 feet, the jump altitude for beginners. The pilot flies us over the beginner jump zone, which is a large plowed field to help cushion our landing. He then cuts his airspeed from 160 to 80 knots, and Jeff reluctantly climbs out on the step to make the first jump.

The instructor taps Jeff on his helmet, and Jeff does a proper sideways exit. However, it is quickly apparent that something is wrong, since his chute doesn't start to open! We can see Jeff frantically pulling on his left rip cord to open the reserve, but … it won't open either! In the distance, we can hear him screaming, “Buddha, Buddha, Buddha!”

All of a sudden, this humongous hand sweeps out of the sky and reaches under the flailing Jeff, lowering him safely down to the earth below. Jeff steps gingerly off the hand onto the ground and exclaims, “Jesus Christ!” With that, the humongous hand 🖐 flips over and squashes poor Jeff into the earth! 😈👺

Pardon the diversion, but these situations need a little levity. We do actually draw straws, but I get the short one — not Jeff – as you can tell from the lower right photo above, where I am seated closest to the open doorway ready to step out of the plane.

Over the drop zone, I climb out, stand on the step, face into the roaring 80-mph wind, hang onto the wing strut with all my might, and wait for our instructor to tap me on my helmet with the signal to push off sideways. After an agonizing few seconds out there, the instructor waves at me to come back into the plane! When I get inside, he explains that the winds have picked up to over 12 knots on the ground and we have to cancel our jump! It isn’t safe for beginners to jump under these conditions.

The winds never die down the rest of the day, and we have to return home without being able to jump.

🚘 Second Skydiving Trip, December 1972

Vicky and I head back to Lake Elsinore a month later to try to jump again. By this time, Suzanne has decided that she no longer wishes to skydive.

It is raining when we leave my house, but we decide to go anyway because the weather in the desert to the southeast is often warmer and more pleasant. We finally turn around when we got close as it is really pouring hard.

🛩 Third Skydiving Trip, January 1973

Vicky and I try again month later. This time, the weather is nice, but it is quite windy when we arrive — even at 8am. Normally, the winds pick up later in the day, which is why we wanted to get here as soon as they open.

There is another factor in play at Lake Elsinore – Skylark Field is a glider airport as well as a skydiving center, and gliders need WIND to operate.

Since we have driven all of this way, we decide to wait around for a few hours to see if the winds will let up. While we wait, I manage to hitch a ride with the pilot of a glider for an hour or so.

The glider has no engine and is towed up to altitude by a powered plane, where it is released to glide back down to earth and land at Skylark Field. It is fun to soar quietly for an hour, following eagles around in the sky and gaining altitude whenever we can catch a thermo updraft.

Unfortunately, the winds never die down today, and Vicky and I return home, thwarted once more.

🪂 Fourth & Final Skydiving Trip, July 1973

On July 15, Vicky and I drive out to Lake Elsinore for our fourth attempt at skydiving. It has now been over six months since our training the previous November, and we are required to repeat the course before we are allowed to try to jump again. More bruises and sores from jumping off of the high platform.

Below (upper left), I show us receiving instruction on how to assume the "free fall position” to stabilize one's body until the chute opens. (Even though we are on a static line which pulls our chute open, we are still free falling for a few seconds before the chute fully deploys.)

Upper left: Vicky being shown how to assume the proper arched body position during the free fall period before the chute opens.

Upper right: Myself waiting to practice exiting the airplane mockup on the ground.

Lower left: Vicky with our instructor.

Lower center: Myself and Vicky waiting to practice our exit moves.

Lower right: Vicky practicing her exit position by holding onto the wing struts of the mockup plane.

While we are waiting for our plane ride, I meet a guy at the Skylark Field who is filming a friend who is skydiving at the same time. He offers to take photographs of me when I jump — how wonderful of him!

On this day, the winds don’t pick up, and I exit the plane correctly. The first thing that I notice is that it is impossible for me to force my body into the proper arched position – I feel totally like a limp, rag doll and there is nothing to ‘push’ against for resistance. I start to go into a slow tumble, but fortunately, there is very little time to get into trouble before my static line pulls my main chute open. (And no, I don’t have to cry to the Devil for assistance.)

It takes about 2 ½ minutes to float to the ground. I am having so much fun pulling on my static lines to rotate my body and see everything around me, that I forget to pay attention to where I am going.

Suddenly, a voice roars up at me, saying, “Jumper in the air, jumper in the air, do a 180!” When I rotate around 180 degrees, I see that the soft drop zone is way off in the distance and the hard, sunbaked desert ground is rapidly coming up under me. I don’t have time to reach the nicely plowed field.

I prepare for my landing by trying to relax so I will be ready when I ’touch down.’ However, I find out that on my first jump, I have no idea when I will really land.

I end up slamming into the hard desert floor — a full five seconds after I think I will — and my body has tensed up by then. Instead of doing my great parachute roll, I hit SMACK with my feet and I am thrown forward, landing HARD on my chest – which knocks all of the air out of me. I have never been treated so roughly in my life!

Once I determine that nothing is broken, I gather up my parachute and start walking toward the real landing zone off in the distance.

Vicky jumps after I do and lands without incident in the drop zone.

The photographer I met at Skylark Field came through with the two photos below of my first jump. He also sent me two photos of his friend who was skydiving that same day—in the nude!—which are in the header at the top of this missive.

Upper right: Vicky and I at Skypark Field.

Lower right: Myself parachuting to earth after my successful exit from the plane.

Upper left: Myself walking away after a very rough landing.

Lower left: My certificate proving that I really made a parachute jump on July 15, 1973. It reads “This is to certify that Barbara E. Ayotte has successfully completed the prescribed course of Basic Parachute Training at Elsinore Paracenter Inc., and on this date made his first Sport Parachute Jump from an aircraft in flight.”

🪂 Epilogue

When I started out on my skydiving adventure the previous November of 1972, I decided that I wanted to make enough jumps to partake in most of the skydiving experiences, and then quit. I knew there were dangers involved, so I didn’t want to push my luck any longer than necessary. I was told that the magic number was 25 jumps — that many would allow me to experience most skydiving thrills.

After I succeeded in my first jump, that was still my desire. I wanted to get beyond the parachute-jumping phase as a beginner, and try out some actual skydiving — i.e., graduate from the static line to the free-falling phase.

When I call Vicky to arrange for the next jump, she tells me that her pilot husband wants her to stop. He tells her that she has proven that she can do it, and he doesn't want her to take any more risks!

So here I am with no one to skydive with me. Both Suzanne and Vicky have bowed out. In the time spent during my visits to Lake Elsinore, I found that skydivers are a breed unto themselves — a little too averse to taking risks for my liking, and not the sort of people I choose to spend a lot of personal time with.

I finally decide that I don't really want to travel all the way to Lake Elsinore by myself and jump alone. Besides, I recently purchased a 26’ sailboat with three guys. I have also been invited to sail across the Pacific from Honolulu in a month on a 63’ sailboat that will be returning from the TransPac race from Los Angeles to Hawaii. There are many adventures other than skydiving to pursue!

🪂 So Adios Skydiving! 🛩

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