Airborne!! - Night Jump

Today is a beautiful day with temperatures below zero and mostly clear skies.  New Year’s celebrations are over and we are having a day of rest and reflection.  I know that I began this blog primarily with descriptions of the early days on the prairie, but there are a series of events that keep coming to mind occurring when I was a new medical officer, a Captain (or Flight Lieutenant), in the Canadian Armed Forces:

Tuesday, April 01, 1969
Dear Aunty Jean,
We made our first night jump this evening.  We had just accomplished two daytime jumps from the C-130 Hercules (remember that we had already made 5 jumps from the Otter aircraft).  After supper, we prepared for the night jump, one more step on the way to receiving our airborne wings!

The night was clear and cold, about minus 20, as we gathered in the hangar to don our parachutes and deal with our other equipment.  I donned my main and reserve chutes and then attached my rifle, snowshoes and pannier to the lanyard.  The purpose of the 22 foot lanyard was to lower our equipment below us, after having ensured that our canopies had opened properly.  Hopefully there would be a bit of a breeze and we would drift enough to avoid landing on top of our own equipment.  We also checked each other to ensure that every item was properly stowed and secured.  Then, we marched out to the Herc.  I was to be number one out of the plane, a ramp jump out of the back in this case, and I took my position and strapped into the starboard side bench.  As we approached the drop zone (DZ) at  1500 feet,  we prepared for the jump.  The jumpmaster bawled “stand up - hook up - check your equipment - sound off for equipment check – stand in the door!”  I shouted (it is noisy in the Herc with the doors and/or ramp open) “Number 1 OK!” and listened as the others sounded off one by one until everyone was accounted for.  I watched as the jump light turned from red to green, and when the sergeant shouted “Go!”  I found myself flying through the dark night air, swinging down beneath the open canopy which is the first thing that you check.  Then, I lowered my equipment on the lanyard and began to enjoy the view.

It is impossible to properly convey the beauty of a night jump.  The full moon reflected on the snow covered fields below and the parachute canopies lit up like so many white dandelion seeds drifting through the air as we floated silently earthwards.  One could see the lights of Brandon and Rivers and myriads of lights amplified by the smoke and steam from the farms below as well as the canopy of stars glittering from horizon to horizon.  The air was crisp and clear and it felt good to be alive!  (It seems that when one is in danger, adrenaline heightens situational awareness, implanting these images and sensations forever in memory).  Since we jumped from 1500 feet above the ground (AGL), the ride down was longer than usual.  I imagined that the first aviators would have experienced the same feelings that I felt tonight as I drank in the view and felt the excitement welling in my body.  The Herc rapidly flew on and, in the relative silence, I could hear my fellow jumpers chatting as they tried to avoid colliding with each other in the air.  One of the chaps had been issued, unbeknownst to him, a camouflaged chute and it appeared to him at first, because of the dark areas in the canopy, that it was full of holes or had malfunctioned.  But his panic subsided when he ascertained that he was descending at the same rate as the rest of us.

Since depth perception is pretty well gone at night and we were dropping into a snow covered DZ, it was necessary to assume the landing position that was drilled into our heads fairly early on.  After what seemed to be an eternity, I hit the ground  The landing was gentle as I had landed in and was submerged inside a four or five foot snow bank.  At first, I couldn’t see a thing but quickly burrowed out from the drift.  Looking up I could see many moonlit canopies, small at first, but then rapidly growing larger as the next sticks of soldiers gracefully and silently descended amongst us.  One must be vigilant and prepared to move quickly in order to prevent being struck by someone’s equipment, or worse, by another paratrooper.  We field rolled our chutes and made our way through the snow drifts to the DZ shack, happy that our night jump was out of the way.  There were no injuries or other mishaps, much to our collective relief and we rejoiced as our camaraderie grew even deeper after what we had experienced.  That makes eight jumps, so only two more and we will have our wings!!

With love,

Olaf


I will relate to you later about how I arrived at this particular adventure - the night jump – and other events that occurred later.