December 31, 2024. Perris, California. We’re on our way to 16,500 feet, and I’m in the left trail Skyvan, right-rear floater, on our second-to-last attempt at a 101-way formation. My slot is A-3, at the five o’clock radial, on the extreme outside. After takeoff we detach our seat belts, and I do a complete pre-jump visualization from exit to landing. I’ll do it twice more, at around 7,500 and right after we go on oxygen at 12,500.
At 10,000 feet, plane captain Larry Henderson gets our hands in the middle. He smiles at everyone, and he tells us to be safe and have a great skydive. Two deep breaths. Fist bumps.
It takes about 35 minutes to altitude. At the two-minute warning we raise the benches and do our final handle checks. When the red light goes on, we open the door. At the green we get in position. The last diver looks out the co-pilot side window for the base to leave the lead plane. His arm comes down. I’m off. The first few seconds of freefall as the exit frame comes into view is always ultra-cool. It’s raining jumpers all over the sky. It never gets old.
I locate the base and fly over to my quadrant, and make a shallow turn toward my radial to begin my approach. I’m docking on Angela Bates and she’s rocking it, on her way down. I’m lined up behind her, confirming the helmet colors of the lines next to her and trying to stay right on my heading, just off Dan Brodsky-Chenfeld’s yellow streamer in the base.
Here’s where talking to myself actually makes sense, and being in freefall I don’t have to worry about looking like some weirdo in my hometown, the island of Manhattan. Look in the middle. Kate Cooper-Jensen’s mantra on my brain: “Bad things happen if you’re not looking in the middle.” Get closer, match the fall rate early. The formation is building. I’m right behind Angela now and I see her dock. I close in and take a breath. Don’t look at the grip, I warn myself for the umpteenth time. When I’m on, I say to myself, fly, fly, fly—you’re in the base. Look for your doppelganger under the grips. After what I guess is three or four seconds, I see the kicks coming at 6,500.
I backslide out, and I pick up the jumpers in my tracking group. The breakoff is so smooth when the formation is going the way it’s supposed to. Halfway away, I turn on the jets. Look left and right, I see good separation. Just around 3,200 I wave off and deploy. Good canopy. Hands on rear risers, I check for traffic. Release the brakes; then I collapse my slider and make a gentle turn toward the landing area.
Oddly enough, I’m not thinking about it being a pretty good skydive. I’m still talking to myself and watching for canopies. My group is allowed to land in the main area. I check the arrow and enter the pattern for landing to the north. Downwind, then base, then final. I’d been sticking the landing all week long, but this time, I stumble running it out.
When I get back to the tents, my packer says it looked complete. I said it looked pretty good from my slot, too. But you never know. I’d been on a 75-way where there was whooping under canopies, only to find out two were out.
A short time later in at the debrief, it was an incredible feeling to see the video stopped with all 101 docked.
I got my P3 100-Way patch. It’s smaller than my Star Crest Recipient 8-way patch from 1970 and the double X 20-way patch from a few years after that. The size of the patch is inversely proportional to the size of the skydive.
Doug Garr D-2791
New York, New York