Above: The Moonlighters come together for an attempt at a night big-way record over Aerohio in Ashland. Photo by Brian Raeder.

Big-way night jumping had never been on my radar. I’d heard about it before, but it always seemed just outside my personal risk tolerance—a little too dangerous to justify. Before this event, the largest formation I’d ever done at night was a 4-way, and we exited together as a linked group. I’d never left an aircraft in darkness with the intent to track toward a formation.

That changed when I was invited to join the Moonlighters’ 32-way sequential night jump, set for August 3–5 this year at Aerohio Skydiving Center in Ashland. The goal for the first night was an Ohio 30-way state record, with a world record possible if everything went perfectly. The moment I accepted the invitation, apprehension set in.

Michael Canary oversaw everything from exit to breakoff, while Ebby Boehm handled breakoff through landing. Their teamwork and clarity in roles made a big impression on me. Both men have refined their system over multiple night events at different locations, driven by a personal mission to push the boundaries of what’s possible after sunset—not just in size, but in safety.

And while it’s common for organizers to plan breakoff waves and assign slots based on wing loading, what made this event truly unique was that they designed a specific, individualized flight path for every jumper. Each path factored in the jumper’s opening point, the prevailing weather conditions, their wing loading and the layout of the landing area. It was as structured as infrared flight in aviation—every move prescribed, every variable considered.

The morning of August 4 began with the full event briefing, though a significant portion of it focused on the night jumps. Ebby and Michael explained that the plan was built as a complete system, from the second you left the plane to when you touched down. Even a seemingly harmless deviation could unravel it.

For example, some might decide to pull lower than planned (say, 2,500 feet instead of 4,000), thinking they’d be in open airspace and out of the way. But if other people have that same idea, suddenly you’ve got multiple jumpers converging in the same slice of sky that was never part of the plan. Now you’re in a more dangerous situation than if you’d simply followed the assigned altitude. It was a clear reminder that night-big-way safety depends not just on having a plan, but on everyone executing it precisely.

On our first day jump, I followed my prescribed pattern and scanned for compliance. As expected, not everyone stuck to it, and that left me unsure whether the night jumps would really be as orderly as promised. But on the second jump, canopy flight smoothed out noticeably, and by the third it was like watching a flock of seagulls circling together before merging seamlessly into their landing areas. If we could replicate that at night, it would be amazing!

Another element that set this event apart was the way day jumps mirrored night operations. We wore all the required lighting systems, turned them on before exit, changed settings under the canopy and signaled safe landing to the ground crew after landing—exactly as we would later in the dark.

The lighting setup was extensive:

Sector lights (blue, yellow, red, green) on each jumper, marking the four quadrants of the formation

Chest-strap lights meeting the FAR’s three-mile visibility requirement, solid in freefall, blinking under canopy, solid again on the ground to signal we were safely on the ground

Up-lights mounted on helmets to illuminate the canopy from below

Each light had a specific timing and purpose, and by the time we stood on the tarmac for the first night jump, I’d practiced the whole sequence three times in daylight. My assigned gear-check buddy, Ben Kellogg, was a calming presence and veteran at these events, and that partnership added yet another layer of safety.

I was 10th in the lineup to exit the lead plane, a Twin Otter, with a long way to go to reach the base. I exited with my eyes locked on the jumper ahead, trusting that visual chain back to the center. In the dim light, I expected the base to disappear, but even from about 1,000 feet away I could see it building — thanks to camera flyer Brian Raeder’s powerful spotlight attached to his chest.

Brian was more than just a cameraman. He positioned himself on a fixed radial from the formation center, acting as both a visual beacon for navigation and the source of the video we’d use in debriefs. Under the canopy, the plan worked exactly as designed: jumpers around me turned east, flowed into their landing sectors and touched down without a single erratic move. For the first time at night, I felt utterly safe from exit to landing.

That first night jump didn’t complete the formation, but it cleared away the collective nerves. On the second attempt, the group’s confidence was obvious. We landed convinced we’d set the state record, but video review revealed that one jumper left at breakoff just two frames, 1/30th of a second, before the final dock. In execution, it felt like a win; technically, it fell short.

The second night of the event was lost to cloud cover. Based on our improvement from the first to the second jump, I believe the state record (and perhaps the world record) would have been ours if the weather had held. Instead, no records were officially set.

While the lack of an official record was disappointing, the experience changed my outlook. I’d gone in anxious, unsure if something this large at night could ever be truly safe. I left convinced that it can—with exemplary leadership, preparation and discipline.

I also want to thank every participant for resisting that little voice that says, If everybody’s going right, it’s safer to go left because I’ll be the only one there. That philosophy might feel self-preserving, but it’s exactly what puts others in danger. Instead, everyone at this camp embraced the plan the organizers had created and stuck to it with steadfast commitment. That collective discipline is the reason the event ran as smoothly as it did.

The amount of behind-the-scenes work Ebby Boehm and Michael Canary invested was undoubtedly endless, and it showed in every detail of the operation.

I can’t wait to try it again.

Ron Bell D-26863
USPA Director of Safety & Training