Now this is something I swore I would never do. I was always paralysed with fear even thinking about this. At one stage of my life, many years ago I even went to something similar, and tepidly looked over the edge. It was at that precise moment in my life I knew I would NEVER try something like this. At that time, and it must have been about thirty five years ago, hang gliding was all the rage; the in thing, and I thought I had the guts and nerve to try it. Just standing at the edge and looking over the edge down the cliff of about four hundred feet as enough to put me off for life! As they say in the classics, NO WAY WAS I GOING TO EVEN CONTEMPLATE IT!... WHAT...... Strapping a wing to your back, hmmm..... secured by thin ropes...... and little poles?...... even worse, and leaping off a sheer cliff. Into the wild blue yonder...... and hope against hope you land somewhere safely! Just how stupid must people be to even contemplate this? I asked myself.

Well .... having given you my thoughts on the above, a good friend offered me a free jump. Out of an aircraft.

“And how high will I be?”, hoping beyond hope the wheels of the aircraft would still be on the
ground and the distance to fall would be a mere few feet. Thinking the fall would also be be cushioned by a crash mat. You know the sort of things they use in gymnastic classes.

“Well,” she said, “I have to write about this for my magazine,” neatly dodging the question. “and besides,” she continued, “It'll be great fun,” looking me directly in the eyes.

Now the last time she said this to me we went up para-sailing behind a boat. Again for another
assignment for her magazine. And this time we were at the end of an eight hundred foot tether being towed by a power boat. And I had to admit, it was really good fun.
“I've never done this sort of thing either,” she quickly chimed in as sweetly as she could, as
if to press me into a quick yes decision . “And we'll be tandeming with the instructor.”
This meant I'd not be alone. Pheewwww!
“OK. Lets do it then.” I swallowed hard looking at Dyana. “And when exactly are we going to
be doing it?
“I'll let you know,” she chirped back. Happy in the knowledge that she had a, (and what shall
I call myself), ….. a partner?...... a victim? ........ NO, just little me.

The phone call came through early the following morning, “It's tomorrow,” the voice cheerily
chirped. And I don't know how I felt at that exact moment. Happy, elated, or just a little nervous. Perhaps a bit of all three to tell you the truth. So soon as well. So early the following morning we all set off to the French side airport close to Gran Case. Ready to begin what I thought would be rigorous the training for the jump.

The French instructor, Marc, came out carrying a tiny green tarpaulin which he laid neatly on the ground in front of their office. (I must tell you that their office was a converted forty foot container . You know the ones that shipping lines pack goods into and then load onto cargo vessels!) Back to the plot. Now I'm listening earnestly in case I miss something that may be really important. And the training goes something like this.

French Marc began, “Before we leave ze aircraft you will put your hands across your chest.”
Indicating how the right hand goes to the left shoulder, and the left hand to the right shoulder.
I then have this morbid thought about bodies in coffins, and that is how they are laid out.
“When we are stabilised?” his voice rising in internation, “I will tap you on ze shoulder and zen you make like zees?” uncrossing his hands from his shoulders and stretching them outwards and slightly forwards. “Now you try?”
It takes about three seconds to cross your hands to your shoulders then straighten them into the classic free-fall position. Job done!
“Good,” he said in his French accent. “Now when we leave ze plane we do some free-fall. For about thirty five seconds?” Goodness knows why he keeps making statements sound like questions . Zen I pull the parachute and we fly. I give you the control lines and you steer. OK?.... Now lie down on ze green mat and show me your flying position.”
So down on the tarpaulin I went and demonstrated the flying position. Arms out sidish ways: my back slightly arched and the knees bent, lifting the feet upwards.
“Good,” Marc called, “And when we land, you lift your feet... OK?
“OK.” The training was all over.
And it only took about a minute and a half. Wow, Ready to go. I had butterflies in my stomach. No backing out now. After all, I was now a fully trained parachutist after all. A minute and a half? A piece of cake a we would say in England..... Easy Peasy.

I was clipped into my personal harness and shown where I was to be clipped onto the instructor. All I could think about was that I was in front of him, and that is known as the crumple zone. Gives him something softer to land on in the event of an accident. No safety helmets, steel toe capped boots or anything like that . I was told many years ago that the helmet they give you when you do dangerous sports is only a receptacle to place your bits in that the rescuers can find to give to your next of kin!

So off to the plane. A small single engined Cessna with a rolled up plastic door. Wonderful. No
seats for us, only one for the pilot. The carpeted floor was all we had. And off we went. Down the runway, and..... lift off. Definitely no turning back now! We circled and climbed; out towards St Barts. Then more climbing as we headed out towards Anguilla, another island. Then through the clouds as we headed back towards St Maarten still climbing all the way.
“How high will we be going?” I asked nonchalantly. Trying to hide any thoughts of what I
was feeling.
“Ohh, about four and a half thousand meters up,” Marc said hooking my harness to his.
And looking down, I'm sure he was right. The islands looked really tiny from up here.
“Time to go, we're over ze island of Tintamare.”

And we shuffled to the open doorway, me in front of him . Slowly putting my legs out over the edge of the doorway. And now you just have to look down. And this was the only time I seriously began to question my sense of judgement and above all, my self preservation. Everything I said I would never do was just about to happen. O. M. G.
“We go nowwwww,” he shouted into my ear.

And with that we were suddenly outside the aircraft. The rush of air.... Tumbling..... doing head over heels...... rolling clockwise....... then anti clockwise. Losing my sense of balance and equilibrium totally. Not knowing what was happening. Gripping my shoulders, my arms still in
the 'coffin position'. Accelerating and plummeting towards the earth at what they call terminal speed (no pun intended), of about one hundred and fifty miles an hour. Marc stabilised us. No more rolling or tumbling. The tap on the shoulder, the signal to get into the
classic flying position. Arms outwards, knees bent. The air screaming past your ears. Downwards...... and what a fantastic feeling . Marc had one of these new fangled cameras on his wrist automatically taking photos every so many seconds. Hope you like them.
Thirty five seconds seemed to literally fly by. The islands below getting visibly larger with
each passing second.

The next signal from Marc.... He was about to pull the rip chord and deploy the chute. He
told me we would be decelerating from our vertical fall of one hundred and fifty miles per hour to only twelve. And that would take about six seconds. Yowch! Then we would be flying the wing nearly horizontally. Well! Was I happy to see the wing above us. I felt like letting out a huge shout for joy.

“Here..... take ze lines and fly us. Pull this to go left, and zis to go right.”
And there I was; soaring like an eagle in the sky. Going left... going right...... heading
straight forward..... just one of the most fantastic sensations I have ever had.

Right; I'm in control now! Time to get my bearings ...... yes....... I know where I am. Time to
take the long route home. Why not I asked myself. Turning us south-west towards Isle de Pinel, a place we have swum at. Looks so different and tiny from up here: now more southerly over Orient Beach on the Eastern side of St Maarten. Oh what joy and freedom to be able to do this. Imagining that birds do this all the time. OK... more flying to be done, so gently pulling the chords headed us towards the western side of the island over the Radisson Blu hotel at Anse Marcel looking down on its wonderful beach before turning us back Southerly to the
airport and landing field. I'd done a great big Z shape flying us and had no idea how long it had taken. Such a feeling of elation being up here. And so quiet as well. The landing field was now in sight.
“Let me take over now,”
And I was truly sorry to relinquish the lines it had been so fantastic.

“Because you've flown us so far, I need to get us down very quickly or we will miss ze landing field . So I am going to put us into a big spin. OK?”
“OK!”
the next second we were both literally hurled outwards as we corkscrewed clockwise; dropping
rapidly. I began to feel ill.
“You OK?”
I must have said something because he said, “OK, we go ze oser way now.” and instead of
corkscrewing clockwise, was flung in the opposite direction going anti clockwise. Thank goodness it did not last very long and suddenly we were about five hundred feet above where we should be and dropping straight down in a controlled manner. Excellent.

The ground came up to meet us and he called, “Lift ze feet,” and I willingly obliged.
“we miss ze cow dodoos, yes?” he called as I watched some cows dispersing to different
corners of the field and I looked quickly downwards. Breathing a huge sigh of relief as there was nothing exactly below, but just off to the right! Hmmmm! Imagine jumping out the plane and literally landing in the s - - t. Not exactly written in the script is it!

So; glad to be back on terra firma again. It was over. It was only afterwards that I learnt that
the maneuver he did on corkscrewing he called the vertical death drop and pulled about three G's in centrifugal force. No wonder I didn't like it.



This was undoubtedly one of the most thrilling things I have ever done in my life; and I'm really
pleased I did it. Would I do it again?..... Funny you should ask, I might just happen to be busy on that day...... having my hair done..... or my nails buffed...... or.......
There could be a thousand reasons why I would not do it again. But what a fantastic feeling
while up there. I would recommend everyone to give it a try. At least
once.