Virgin in the Drop Zone
A short fall into enlightenment
Author’s Note: Virgin in the Drop Zone was an article I wrote for the now-defunct Rocky Mountain Bullhorn in Fort Collins, Colorado in the early 00's. It’s the story of my first and last skydiving experience, “first” for obvious reasons and “last” because Cliff Heller, the friend who’d facilitated the experience, wound up dying in a freak skydiving accident (involving a fellow skydiver with prosthetic legs and no depth perception) a couple of years later.
For what it’s worth, this story is dedicated to him. Rest in Slack, Heller.
From the ground, the sound made by an opening parachute is unmistakable. A muffled whoooomm-shooosh from high above. The exploding arc of a multi-hued canopy blooms like a flower, giving your eyes — which had been straining impossibly to follow a dot falling through the sky at terminal velocity — something to focus on. The jumper shifts from bullet-train velocity to looking-for-a-parking-space speed, and person and canopy arc gracefully down to kiss the grassy field where you’ve been standing.
From the ground, it all seems simple.
