Now here's how you take a dive
By Wendy Soloduik

Staff writer Wendy Soloduik took the plunge at the Cookstown Airport recently.

This is part one of a two part series on the personal account of staff writer Wendy Soloduik's recent skydive in Cookstown. Read next week's edition of The Scope for the second part.

"If riding in an airplane is flying, then riding in a boat is swimming. If you want to experience the element, then get out of the vehicle." -

Anonymous

Recently, the opportunity to skydive was presented to me. Although my friends thought I was crazy for even considering "jumping out of a perfectly good airplane", I saw it as a chance to take a risk and fulfill a lifelong wish. Without hesitation I agreed, and made the arrangements to attend Skydive Toronto in Cookstown on a Friday.

The weeks leading up to my jump were fraught with anticipation and worry. Nightly, I would dream about how I thought skydiving might feel - the wind on my face, the coldness of the atmosphere, the butterflies in my stomach - but I kept my negative thinking to a minimum. I had made a commitment, and I wasn't backing out.

Friday morning, I found myself driving to the Cookstown Airport slowly. I was thinking that I should have kissed my son one more time that day, or left a note for him to read when he was older, just in case. Shoving my fears aside, I pulled up to the hanger.

As it turned out, the weather was what was to be feared that day, and after telling the pilot to 'standdown' several times, the owner of Skydive Toronto Inc., determined that no one would be jumping that day. Heavy winds and dark clouds were to blame. The good news, however, was that there was an opening the very next morning, and I booked the space, not knowing if I would, in fact, be coming back.

The alarm went off on Saturday, and much like a man might feel on his final walk from his cell to the electric chair, I trudged down the hallway for take number two.

This time, the weather was cooperating, and I knew that it was happening.

Since I had completed all of the require training, just the jump was in front of me. As they strapped me into my gear - jumpsuit, harness, helmet, goggles, and gloves, I was thinking "I'm insane. This is crazy. I'm a mother for God's sake", but my protests found no voice, and soon, I was walking towards the plane.

Now the plane is a whole matter unto itself. It was a Cessna, and it wasn't much bigger than the one I remember my Barbie having. But somehow, their was room for all involved, including the pilot, my jump master Lucas, and the video guy Chad. I didn't require much space, as I was rolled into the fetal position (not really) awaiting take off.

Now the plane was taxiing down the grassy runway. The ride was smoother than I was expecting, but nonetheless much different from a jumbo jet on pavement. "Here we go," Chad whispers as the plane's wheels leave the ground.

Now, anyone who's ever skydived can tell you this is the commitment zone. The point of no return. You've signed the waivers, you've gotten into the ridiculous jumpsuit and strapped goggles onto your head. You've even withdrawn your visa from your wallet to make it happen. And this is it. There is some comfort in knowing that three other people are willing to "risk their lives" to see that you get this experience.

The plane is only at 500 feet when I realize that I am going to have to exit the aircraft through the same door I came in through, except this time there will be no earth to set my feet upon. I'm getting scared.

By the time we hit 6,000 feet, I am reminded that this is where I'll have to pull the cute, that will save Lucas' and my life. I look through the small window. The farmlands beneath us are very, very small now and I think, "geez, we'd of already fallen for 4,000 feet before this" but as of yet cannot picture what that height will look like.

We are now over Barrie as we approach the 8,000 foot mark, and the plane is turning back, this is the time that we'll make our final ascension to 10,000 feet.

I was quite comfortable by now in the small plane, and was struggling not to blurt out "no, no, this is fine. Let's just have an air plane ride today." Instead, I found myself moving into a kneeling position in front of Lucas, as he hooked me into his gear - including parachute, thank God, before the pilot leaned over to open the door.

Now this is the part that cannot be explained. You can watch the mandatory video, you can hear about other peoples experiences and you can prepare yourself mentally for "the big moment" but nothing, and I mean nothing, can prepare you for that door opening.

One minute you're in a quiet little plane observing the fall colours, and the next minute wind and noise and fear are rushing all around you.

I'm told to move to the edge of the door. The video guy is already outside of the cockpit. He is hanging onto the wing, waiting so that he can capture the moment. Possibly my final moments.

I stick my leg out of the plane, and the wind takes it. I struggle to move my foot back onto the wheel, and then set my other foot beside it. Lucas tells me to cross my arms over my chest - hey, isn't that how they barry people? - and he pushes my head back to rest on his shoulder.

On the count of three... one, two, and we're out.

Falling, twisting, unaware of earth or sky. Screaming. And then I remember the arch position I am supposed to assume. "This is very, very, important."