"Get ready."
With that simple command, my heart starts racing. I check once more to make sure my parachute harness is adjusted correctly, tugging at each leg strap, chest strap, then a nervous pat on the handle of my pilot chute, which I have now checked ten times in five minutes. My mouth dry, I nod to Dennis Deis, pilot of the Cameron AX-8 balloon in which we are silently sailing, and he smiles at the two nonjumping and somewhat uncertain passengers who are watching me climb up onto the lip of the basket, 5,300 feet above the just-awakening Ohio countryside.
"500 feet per minute...anytime, Steve" says Dennis, referring to our descent rate, as I stand on the basket rim. Bracing myself with one hand on the burner frame, I look straight down and spot the chase truck, parked next to a group of baseball diamonds a mile below. Even though I have almost a thousand jumps, including over a dozen from balloons, my free hand shakes as I reach back once more, now on pure instinct, and check my pilot chute handle for the final time.
I turn and look at the somewhat pale faces of the passengers, who before the flight said they would be interested in seeing me jump but now don’t seem too sure, then at Dennis, who with a small nod gives the silent order to get out of his balloon. I suck in a deep breath, grin like a mental patient, and with a yell launch backwards off the creaking wicker rail into infinite space.
As I fall away I am locked onto the eyes of the two passengers, now as big as dinner plates, and I see their mouths literally hang open. The deafening silence at the instant of launch is being replaced with the rising crescendo of air as it flows over my body with growing speed. The softness of the atmosphere as I recline on my cushion of air, dreamily watching the seven story airship shrink smaller and smaller, is finally replaced by the strong wind of freefall, and I flip belly-to-earth to locate my target. Checking my wrist altimeter, I see my needle just passing through 4,000 feet, and make a mental note that I have about ten seconds left to play before pull time.
Now I am traveling at 120 miles per hour, a human bullet fired directly at the ground with only a sewn-together piece of technology between life and grisly impact. Even though I have been here countless times, I cannot help staring fixedly at the Earth, thinking a thousand things yet at the same time thinking nothing, merely feeling the incredible, giddy, supreme exhilaration that a human being can only experience when he knows his life is in jeopardy.
2,500 feet. Even though I know I am alone in the Sunday morning sky, I instinctively wave off twice, one of many safety habits ingrained over ten years of skydiving. Reaching behind me for the handle I know is there, I nevertheless experience a surge of relief when I finally grasp it, and I fling my folded pilot chute into the airstream to do its blessed work. Immediately I feel the tug as my bagged main canopy lifts off my back, gently yet firmly my multicolored ram-air inflates, and we glide softly away through the crisp morning air.
A few moments later, after a gentle tip-toe landing right next to the truck, I gather my deflated parachute like a load of laundry and toss it into the cab. Looking up at the balloon where I had only moments before been, now a multicolored dot several miles away, it seems like the whole thing was a dream, it happened so fast. All I can think is, "Wow...I need some coffee!"
Parachuting from balloons is nothing new. The earliest pioneers of lighter-than-air flight also had a fascination with the notion of jumping out halfway through the flight. Jean-Pierre Blanchard, the first professional aeronaut, dropped a dog from his balloon by parachute as early as 1785. Another Frenchman, A. J. Garnerin, a master showman, balloonist and adventurer, perfected the parachute drop, making his first fall October 22, 1797 from just under 3,000 feet. He sat in a basket under a crude but effective 36-foot-diameter parachute and "survived a hard landing...without breaking a single bone".
Daredevil "smoke jumpers," a term which refers to the smoke-filled balloons from which they parachuted, barnstormed America for decades, thrilling crowds by ascending several thousand feet and then "cutting away". These amazingly brave (and incredibly tough) performers had a better safety record than one might imagine, especially considering the fact that they carried no reserve parachute.
In the late 1950’s, Capt. Joseph Kittinger made a series of ultra-high altitude parachute jumps (one from over 100,000 feet!) using polythene helium balloons. These incredible jumps, made using the newly-developed MC3 pressure suit, provided first- hand data about the harsh conditions that would confront space crews upon re-entry, and still stand as the highest ever attempted.
In the 1970’s, both hot-air ballooning and sport parachuting were rapidly evolving. As parachutes got smaller and balloons became more common, more and more jumpers could experience the unique thrill of a balloon jump.
Completely calm and eerily silent, launching from the rail of a balloon basket is very different than most other platforms from which a skydiver can leap. Because airplanes and even helicopters involve noisy, swiftly moving air in some direction, leaving any flying machine with a parachute is immediately a high-speed experience. The stillness and silence of dropping off the balloon basket is virtually unique...without the familiar stream of air flowing over the body, a skydiver cannot maneuver until he falls for awhile and gains enough speed. Jumpers call this zone "subterminal air". Even though a helicopter, and even a regular airplane jump also involve this transition, nowhere is it so pronounced as during a balloon jump. Therefore, a balloon exit is more difficult to do with precise control, and therein lies its real appeal. A balloon jump exaggerates that feeling of gradual acceleration, of being briefly "out of control" while falling helplessly. The steadily increasing speed fills the silence until the wind noise becomes a roar and the jumper can use his body surfaces to fly.
There are additional advantages to balloon jumping. The ride to altitude for skydivers is usually a cramped and visually uninteresting one. Most jump planes are selected for their ability as workhorses, not their comfortable interiors, and few even contain seats. Mostly, jumpers fasten seatbelts attached to the bare floor, where they squeeze together for the ride up. By comparison, the interesting and beautiful balloon ascent is as fun as the jump itself, and the anticipation (yes, even fear) is much more intensely felt as the ground becomes more distant and the moment of truth approaches. It has been my experience that even individuals with thousands of skydives are unusually apprehensive on their first balloon jump, describing the experience of climbing over the basket rail as "unnerving" and "intense," compared with simply diving out an airplane door.
The jumper’s ability to determine the proper (upwind) exit point relative to the selected landing area, called "spotting," is perhaps the most important factor for safe jumping, especially outside a designated drop zone. Most skydivers who fail to land back at their DZ are victims of a "bad spot," and "spotting the load" in a regular aircraft is an important job, as much art as science. Spotting in a balloon is a piece of cake, as the balloon moves precisely with the wind. The jumper can simply select a landing target directly on the line of flight and he knows he can always make it. Even though this makes dropping jumpers with precision relatively easy, balloon pilots have to understand and plan for the fact that it may be awhile before a suitable landing area comes along directly downrange. It is usually better to wait for such a place than ask the jumpers to "try for that area over there" off the wind line, since the jumpers landing somewhere other than planned can tie up the chase truck longer than the pilot wishes, and he has to keep flying.
The jumper who is fortunate enough to know a pilot who will let him fill a slot and jump (as opposed to formally hiring the balloon for a chartered lift to altitude) usually gets a nice, leisurely ride first, and some paying passengers to chat with along the way. It has always been my good fortune to meet pilots who enjoyed the novelty and understood that a professional skydiver with a Master Parachutist (D) license from the United States Parachute Association and good accuracy skills poses very little risk to his operation, and can add an additional thrill for the passengers, ground crew, and spectators. Without such a relationship, jumpers must hire the ride and this can get complicated for several reasons.
There are not very many balloon pilots who will consent to letting someone jump at all. Lack of familiarity with skydiving, liability concerns, and financial considerations are just some of the reasons. It is ironic that what skydivers and balloonists do is quite closely related, yet generally each knows very little about the other, and this is a shame because they couldn’t be more compatible. The fact, however, is that it is generally hard to convince a pilot who has never had a passenger leave halfway through a flight that it is a good idea.
Some balloon pilots fly jumpers regularly, taking groups of two to five (depending on the envelope) to minimum altitudes, dropping, and quickly touching down again to be met by the next group, usually making three to five total "hops" in one flight. At an average ticket price of $40-50 per jumper, a pilot can have a profitable morning and make a lot of friends doing so. While it is a little harder on the balloon to fly this way, most pilots I have talked to say this is acceptable and that they and their nonjumping passengers genuinely enjoy the skydivers. And most drop zones would love to have a pilot who would fly "balloon loads" once or twice a year...with a little coordination between ground vehicles and balloon, it can be surprisingly smooth to lift quite a few jumpers in a short time.
Of course, a pilot must protect his operation, and prevent an under experienced or improperly equipped skydiver getting into his basket. Many pilots are hesitant to consider jumpers because they fear they can’t tell the difference. Some good rules of thumb are:
The main thing to remember is that skydivers don’t want to get hurt any more than balloon pilots do. They are not daredevils any more than balloon pilots, or for that matter, any other kind of aviator. Become familiar with skydivers, by seeking out a local drop zone owner or an experienced skydiving group, and maybe even make a jump yourself. You will be pleasantly surprised to find those who only want "the short ride" can be a real blast to welcome aboard.
For a balloonist’s perspective on balloons and parachuting see Jumping Out of a Perfectly Good Balloon by Bill Whidden, Balloon Life, March, 1988. Editor.
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