Luke Oliver

I think this is kind of where I’m at now.

First published in ASM, 4 May 2005

The plan was simple – a one point skydive.

To set a world record, you need the place, the time and the people. Of all the people in the world who could do the jump, World Team 2006 assembled enough of them in one place at one time to have a go. 441 applicants were selected; the dates were set, and the place was Udorn Thani in Thailand.

Simply getting there was an exercise. With Americans forming the bulk of the 38 countries represented and having to travel literally halfway around the world, Bangkok was the meeting place. Registration, and collection of the uniform and accessories took two days. World Team likes to look like a team – and having distributed hundreds of Royal Blue helmets, warmup outfits, gloves, bags, we all started to look like it.

Getting from Bangkok to Udorn Thani took the better part of a day. Whilst jumpers took the King’s Airbus in shifts, our baggage traveled by road the night before; everything made it, we rolled into town on time, and settled in for the campaign. A day “in the classroom” at our destination outlined the detail – and if you thought you knew it all, this was a good day to shut up.

World Team

World Team does more than meet every so often and have a crack at a world record. The loose coalition of participants stay in touch, and have more than a passing interest in world events – and an outstanding relationship with the gentle people of Thailand. Indeed, World Team 2006 was dedicated to the benevolent King Bhumibol Adulyadej, sixty years after his ascension to the royal throne. It came to light that after the horrific Tsunami that afflicted Thailand and nearby countries, World Team members made a contribution that built eighteen houses and a fish farm for afflicted Thais.

That said, when World Team does meet to jump, they skydive – and skydive well. Organiser and Dive Director BJ Worth – former IPC chief, four way world champion, and Bond movie stuntman amongst other things – did not assemble this team to have some fun jumps and a few cold ones at the end of the day. Safety was the stated priority – and it was more than a casual reference. And two world records to add to World Team’s already impressive record were second on the list.

Aircraft

Hercules C-130 transports. 80 jumpers plus camera and support in each plane. Far more comfortable than 100 or 120 in each plane… 24,000’+ exit height. Spare rigs in each plane – who knows when a minor gear problem might scrub an attempt? Having AAD equipped spare rigs in each aircraft may have made the difference.

You couldn’t ask King Bhumibol or Air Marshall Bunchauy for much more.

Oxygen

A simple system: medical grade oxygen, medical hose, a constant pressure delivery of about twice what we needed, and a helmet fitting to ensure it stays connected for the ride to height. These fittings were promptly discarded after the first few jumps in the interest of simplifying proceedings – whip-style injuries from stray hoses occurred, hoses trailing upwards from people in formation were common, and a stray oxygen hose coiled around a deployment system on exit resulted in an instant canopy at 24000 for one participant. Better management of hoses by individuals proved the successful formula.

Radio

For the first time, exit control is in the hands of the skydivers. A super floater still leaves early in case of radio failure; otherwise, a full twenty-five radio-helmet equipped jumpers in the formation hear the exit count from Craig Gerard, and synchronise their exits accordingly. Gerard is also using his mic to call in waves of skydivers - ensuring the base is at the correct fall rate, it builds sequentially, and picks up speed before the next wave gets called.

Breakoff plan

“Every man for himself” is not a high-percentage strategy in this game. Some clever thinking and computer graphics revealed the plan: waves of skydivers, departing at regular intervals, commencing at 8500’ with the option to lower that to 7500 if required. The first waves tracked longest and lowest; the later waves tracking shorter and higher to give the completed break-off plan a “wedding cake” type effect.

The first wave left at the sign of pilot chute extraction from the centre, and did not track as we know it: rather, a “tracking team leader” assumed a flat and angled body position which all members of that team could follow in close company; not too steep, not too flat. The outer persons on the tracking team pulled – in this body position – halfway through their journey, providing a little extra space for that team to fan out and find their own space. The fifteen camera fliers had their part of the plan. Effective it was, without incident throughout the event, although camera flier Wendy Smith could argue that point.

If, during the course of the skydive, you wound up under the formation with no chance of recovering, you were to dive below the formation and track away. Many of us thus subsequently experienced the rare pleasure of tracking from 16,000’ without really wanting to.

Landing

The airport itself – a 10,000’ strip – formed the centerpiece of our landing area. Whilst congested at times, there were very few problems finding clean air for an approach. The handful of folks who executed high performance landings generally only got to do so once.

AAD

Wearing an AAD is compulsory on World Team, and every AAD manual will warn you of the dangers of using one in a pressurised aircraft. In spite of all the precautions, one of the Hercules did get pressurised for descent after a load was called down – the flight crew correctly assuming that their talking cargo required oxygen – but then rapidly depressurised as knowledgeable skydivers discussed this with the flight crew.

As a result, four Vigil units promptly fired in the plane, and over thirty early model Cypres 1 units shut themselves down, demanding a trip to the factory to be checked for impossible pressure sensor readings. Airtec promptly dispatched a suitcase full of Cypres2 units with an engineer, and everyone with an AAD problem received the loan of a Cypres2 until the issue was resolved. The next night, some forty reserve containers were opened and closed in the hotel lobby and the problem put to rest.

Titan

Roger Allen from Alti-2 brought along a truly special piece of kit: Titan. This evolution of the altimeter is modular, comprising a processing unit, pressure sensor, GPS – and as well as audible warnings, a heads-up display that can be commanded to relay height, location and fall rate amongst other things.

Its primary use through the attempts was to provide an instantaneous readout of fall rate to Craig Girard, who could then sequence the key docks within and on the base. Despite his confession that on at least one occasion he forgot to reference it, it proved invaluable in co-ordinating the attempts. Girard’s radio was also connected to the audio track of freefall photographer Henny Wiggins, and the resulting audio/video is compelling viewing.
Skydive Design

A seventy way base, with rows and rows of “whackers” chained to them has formed the model for recent world record attempts – and now, we were just making a bigger one.

The plan was brilliantly summarised late in the presentation:

1. Get on
2. Get out
3. Get in
4. Get a record
5. Land safely
6. Party til dawn
7. Go home

Alpha team

World Team does not put its best foot forward. No-one expects to build the record at the first attempt – although a good proportion of believers on World Team think it can and should be done. Instead, the best of the best of the best sit on the bench, waiting for injury, tardiness or poor form to provide them with an opportunity – often getting a two-minute description of their job prior to a 45 minute plane ride. Finding their new slot amongst the 400 with appropriate timing and precision is demanded. Forty of the Alpha team had over ten thousand skydives: to be an Alpha is to be amongst the elite: and they did their job.

As Girard said: “If we give everyone a second chance, will we build a record?”
And then, we went skydiving…

Natural fall rate earned me a slot on the outer edge of the base for the warmup jumps, where we dirt dived the first test of the combined technology – a one hundred and thirty something way. No choice but to put disbelief aside and get out and get on. Three jumps after that “warmup”, our “drill” dive was 220. Less than a week later, we put four hundred skydivers out of the planes on two occasions – no plans to complete the formation, but drills to ensure we all understood the plan.

The PA system gets a continual workout, and deadlines are met with casual professionalism. One exception – a base member, five minutes late to dirt dive a 178 way – redeems himself by shouting 177 beers at the end of the day. But it is the sound of the first Hercules spooling engine number one that raises the heartbeat and puts relaxation aside. The 415 players move to the concrete apron; five lineups for five planes, twenty rows of twenty skydivers in exit slots. As the Hercules pull up, tailgates gaping wide, we plug our ears and scramble for our cold, hard steel seat for the ride to height.

Depending on the wind direction, it can take ten minutes to taxi. The Hercules take off sequentially, and become a precise echelon: the Thai Air Force has a job to do, flying tight formation for the next hour and keeping us close enough to do our job whilst their propellers whirl raggedly in the thin air. This has not been done before; not at this height, this formation, this many skydivers.

In the belly of the beasts, we wait; noise and helmets keeping communication non-verbal at best. Those with radio helmets – five per plane - enjoy the odd giggle as the system remains in test all the way to height. The solitude, amongst the usually gregarious crowd, helps us focus – and heartrates rest until the tailgates open once more, in formation, at height and twenty five kilometers from the spot.

The skydives themselves were fabulous. Two minute freefalls, outstanding performance pressure, an ocean of suits and the edginess that comes from being where no team has been before. Slowly, the dives got better and better as everyone got used to finding their place in the sky before they got to their grips; the video reviews changing from a swarm to a cohesive mass that shrank to the correct size.

There comes a point in every project when the job needs to be done. On February 8, it felt like everyone woke up and said to themselves “Crap! We’ve only got a couple of days left! We’re missing valuable party time!”. With that in everyone’s minds, and without deviating from the usual routine, World Team 2006 attended the airport that day and smashed the existing Guinness World Record three times. 370 skydivers in formation on load one, 399 on load 2 – with the 400th grip coming as the first pilot chute reached bridle stretch – and then, despite a slightly lower exit height, the magical FAI Record of 400: held officially for 4.25 seconds.

The party which followed the judge’s announcement lasted roughly three days, hangovers barely clearing before we joined every other skydiver in Thailand for a safe and fun 960 way mass drop over Bangkok’s new and unpronounceable international airport, Suvarnabhumi.

In the end, the plan was good. The formation remained structurally unchanged, there were no collisions under canopy, and whilst there were a disproportionate number of injuries – shoulders from exits, turned ankles, and one broken pelvis from a power line collision - everyone came home.

We turned one point, and claimed two world records. Cool.

What next?

Amongst the magical numbers, there’s substantial interest in a 420 way, but no-one really knows yet. The technology in the formation can be extended, but there are other issues. Without bailout oxygen – and the substantially increased risk of fire as a result – formation loads can’t go much higher. With square canopies, breakoff can’t be much lower. More, smaller aircraft would get everyone out of the plane quicker – but increase the risk of aircraft trouble preventing a full attempt. Statistically, it is hard to make it safer. And it would be difficult indeed to surpass the efforts of the organising team and their legion of assistants.

But there remains a lot of room for the skydivers to get better;

and this record will, in due course, fall like all those before it…

Australian Representatives

Gary Nemirovsky

“To say that World Team is an experience, would be an understatement, but it’s not until some time after the event that you get to appreciate it for what it is. In the midst of extreme length of time spent waiting around aimlessly on the ground, you do get to hang out with some cool people and experience things that some folks only dream to….”

Michael Vaughan

“A truly amazing and unique experience in many ways - A Dream come true!”

Luke Oliver

“What the !@#$ was I thinking”

Ian “Igor” Flack

The 400way World Record is without doubt a highlight in my skydiving carreer.World Team ‘06 conglomerated in Thailand to build a 400way, however the World Team is by far & away much larger than those people flying in formation. World Team is the greatest gathering of incredible individuals (from staff, skydivers, airforce, camera crew, volunteers, supporting people, the list goes on…..) all with brilliant attitudes & a constantly wonderful smile, all together in the same place, at the same time. The team spirit & camaraderie was second to none! The 400way World Record was (but) one fantastic part of World Team ‘06 & I thank everyone involved in the whole incredible adventure.

Grant and Julie Nichol

For Grant and I, this was our 5th World Team, and once again it was an unforgettable experience. Catching up with old friends, making new, and combining the talents of skydivers from 30 different countries. All considered, it was pretty amazing that we made the World Record in so few jumps. The opportunity to jump out of 5 x C130 Hercules in formation could well have been a “once in a lifetime experience”. It was made possible by the Royal Thai Airforce, who allowed us to take skydiving to another level.

Jon McWilliam, Dave Loncasty, Sas DiSciascio, Geoffro Abrahams and Terry Murphy also represented Australia at World Team 2006 but have seemingly lost the ability to write.
Sidebar:

“Comfort Eagle” (Cake)

“We are building a religion
A limited edition…

Sidebar: the ’00 jumps

The first 100 way 1986

The 200 way 1992

300 took some getting; 2003

In 2006, 552 skydivers, officials and support staff combined to build a 400way

49 people have been on five World Teams; a small handful have been on the 100, 200, 300 and 400 way records.

Sidebar: Statistically speaking

441 skydiver registered

15 camera fliers

3 documentary team

21 support staff

71 accompanying persons

76 females

9,310 years in the sport

20 years in sport average (44 max, 3 least)

2,222,850 jumps between us

4,800 jump average

Many folks have been keeping their eyes on digital photography with a view to skydiving for some time. Historically, Digital Cameras have suffered from four problems – the relatively low resolution available, an inability to fire the shutter remotely, latency in processing the image and getting it to a memory card – and, of course, lenses.

At the APF conference in Cairns, I outlined a goal for digital photography in a skydiving situation. Six to twelve megapixel resolution, a remote release, able to burst several shots in a short timeframe and a choice of lenses – or at least one wide one! We are much closer to these ambitions now – although several other considerations, such as cost and weight, moved into the spotlight. Several manufacturers, including Canon, Nikon, Olympus and Minolta have all shipped cameras that meet the grade.

I bit the bullet and purchased a Canon 300D – a “sweet spot” in the marketplace for just this job.

Megapixels

The Canon 300D has a six megapixel (6MP) resolution. Describing megapixels is like comparing apples with bedheads – each manufacturer has a different way of puffing up the number to suit their marketing. In this instance, the 300D has some 6.5 million pixels, of which maybe 6.3 are used in producing a high resolution photo.

Sounds good. However, even ordinary 35mm has a greater resolution. Measuring images in terms of the number of horizontal lines that can be resolved, simple negative film offers about half as many lines again – and nearly four times the information that the 6MP shot contains. Slide film (colour positive) is higher again.

There are a multitude of other factors involved – the sharpening algorithms within the camera, recording into JPEG format loses quality immediately and so on – so good rule of thumb is that this 6MP product will shoot images that compare favourably with 35mm negative reprints at about 4×5 (100mm x 125mm). Want really high quality? Matching quality with a large-film camera (4×5) will require 210 (yes, two hundred and ten) megapixels. Depending on the manufacturer’s discussion of megapixels, somewhere in the 12 to 20MP range lies the camera which will outrun traditional 35mm film.

At the other end of the scale, compare the technique of lifting stills from MiniDV. Worth noting that the cameras which claim “megapixel stills” may well do that – but they don’t do so when recording to video. Performing the mathematics – capture size, video interlacing and so on – a digital video grab has about 0.6MP, and horrid colour saturation. It’s just not in the hunt.

Canon EOS300D Digital Still

Image lifted from MiniDV

Canon EOS300D Digital Still, detail

Image lifted from MiniDV, detail

Getting shots off in a hurry

Firing a traditional 35mm camera is easy. Exit and lean on the switch – it’ll keep rolling until you’re out of film. Digital is different – at some stage, it has to commit the image electronically – and this takes time. This latency is our major bugbear.

Although the 300D can fire 2.5 shots per second, it can’t maintain the rate. Nonetheless, it does much better than compact digital cameras by employing a “buffer” – a small cache of very high speed memory which holds around four shots. Once this buffer is full, there’s an enforced delay whilst it writes it to the memory card. The trick to getting lots of shots? Don’t fill the buffer!

Having a high speed memory card is the other part of the puzzle. Size is not everything; speed is. I purchased a SanDisk UltraII card, which my research indicated to be the fastest available – although leadership here is a moving target. 256MB will hold around 70 shots.

In terms of quality, the highest quality possible is called “RAW”. It’s uncompressed, and there’s an incredibly sexy piece of software (Adobe Photoshop RAW) for manipulating it. It’s also slow, largely because of the image size. It’s only suitable for Skydiving if you know you’re doing shot selection – RAW is completely unsuited to “spray and pray” burst photography.

So, most of us will use a high-speed Compact Flash card (“CF Card”) and the highest resolution JPEG quality in freefall – and once you understand the “take four shots and wait” rule, you can do very nicely. 33 shots in a seventy second freefall is my personal best.

Lenses

Good news: the 300D uses “All* Canon EF lenses”. If you have an investment in existing Canon lenses, you should be in good shape – match the red dots on the lens and body, and away you go. The asterisk, of course, indicates not all – there are numerous issues with non-Canon EF lenses, such as those made by Sigma, so don’t assume your collection will be immediately compatible.

The Canon EOS 300D is also marketed in a package form, including an 18-55 lens. This is the first of a new generation of digital-friendly lenses – branded as “EF-S”, I kid you not – and indicated by the presence of a white square as well as the red dot. General feel of the quality of this lens is not high, and it was in fact described to me as “a $25 lens” by a photographic professional.

Bad news: these lenses won’t give you the same shot that an 18mm lens will on a traditional SLR…

Because of the smaller size of the sensor (analogous to the film in a traditional camera), lenses need to put the information in a smaller package. This results in a specification called the “Focus multiplier”, and it will remain until someone builds a sensor comparable in size to 35mm film. Canon are in the same boat as most manufacturers here.

Equivalent lens sizes

Digital lens Traditional lens

16mm 26mm
18mm 29mm
22mm 35mm
24mm 38mm
28mm 45mm

To get the equivalent of a 17mm traditional lens for a Digital SLR, you’d need a 10mm lense. The Canon EF-S 10-22mm ships later this year, budget an extra $1,000 or so – because I think we’re all going to want one.

Image Captured using EOS300D

Image taken from MiniDV video, Sony PC101, 0.3x Diamond Lens

Getting ready to Skydive

Mounting

If you’re already using a Canon EOS for stills, it’s a straight swap – and you already know how to use most of the SLR features. You’ll sigh in relief when you see the rechargeable battery pack - although it contributes to the digital being some 50% heavier than the traditional EOS300. Nervous about your investment? An additional bungee might help.

The Electronic Shutter release

Unlike most other digital manufacturers – and indeed other pro models in the Canon range - the 300D utilises the standard 2.5mm stereo jack popular in the EOS range. Your existing stereo switch should work - Full marks to Canon.

Focus

Most digital cameras have a two-step switch – get focus, take shot. Given that our bite or tongue switch only takes the shot, locking off a manual focus with a rubber band or the ubiquitous gaffer tape does the job.

Away you go. It really is that simple.

Workflow

At the end of your skydive, you have a series of digital photos. You can’t simply give the customer your memory card as you would give them a can of film - What to do next?

Your options include:

1) Budget time for reading the images into a computer and writing a CD-ROM.

2) Put them into a computer and manipulate them using Adobe Photoshop or similar. Print them on your own inkjet printer, using the expensive paper.

3) Take the memory card to a Fuji Image Plaza or similar, where they have a self-serve machine for selecting shots and printing them on their half-million-dollar imaging printer.

4) Use an online service to image your photos and have them returned by post.

There are opportunities for retaining some more of the customer spend here. Images can be previewed on a TV or computer screen, and then printed in-house or shipped out to a processing house. If the customer elects to purchase just video not stills, it may be an opportunity to capture the stills sale after the fact. Some online services allow you to post photos against your account and a customer-specific PIN, so they can log on and make purchases later.

Want more? look at the EOS10D – higher price, weighs as much as three traditional camera bodies, but a nine shot burst. Still hungry? The EOS20D has 8.5MP, five frames per second, and a 23 shot burst. It’s heavier again. And costs more, of course. And don’t forget to check out the Nikon D70 – similar features, but similar limitations and an infra-red remote instead of a simple switch.

All that said: results indicate the 300D is good enough.

If you’re jumping for fun or with other skydivers, digital photography may now be for you – but if your camera flying is mainly Tandem video, you’ll need to come up with a workflow as simple for you as changing a can of film. The camera itself is fast, simple, and instant gratification. And yes, it will be obsolete by next year. So what!

Disclaimer: This article is published in the interests of education, and does not constitute a recommendation. Buyers should perform their own research before making a purchasing decision.

I do. I’ve always believed that freefallers and canopy pilots should be afforded the same treatment as rock stars and Formula One drivers. 100 extremely fortunate people had the opportunity to live like one, for one precious week, in Bali, August 2004 – as with a frenzy of last-minute activity, jumpers from 17 countries converged on Bali for “100 Ways over Bali” (locally, “Seratus Citra Bangsa”).

It’s been thirteen years since the last Bali Boogie – which one Edy Christiono regarded as far too long. Edy – with nearly 3,000 jumps, thirty years in the sport, and a member of the current Indonesian FS record – set to the task. With Bali’s tourism industry in the doldrums, it was his dream to make a spectacle no-one would ever forget – a one hundred person skydiving formation, unheard of in the Asia/South Pacific region, and set in Bali itself - revitalising the Boogie along the way.

His work breaking ground with the government, airlines and local business was continuing when a tragic plane crash claimed the lives of all six people on board – pilot Johann, and five jumpers - including Edy. A man of boundless energy and enthusiasm, Edy left behind his students, competitors and club members in addition to Nina and two children. To his compatriots in Bali, the Hundred Way suddenly became the impossible dream.

Businesses rallied, Jibut and the rest of the organising committee stepped into the breach, BJ Worth paid a flying visit to garner commitment, details were thrashed out and incentives provided. It is to their credit that the evening before the official start, the front bar of the Bali Hilton was stacked with Skydivers. The numbers, and the talent, was there to make the 100 way a success – but by no means a certainty. The success of the event now depended on us.

Culture shock

This was not ordinary skydiving. Ordinary skydiving is not out of a military Hercules C-130 transport. It does not include oxygen for exits over 20,000 feet. It does not include a hundred and sixty officials lining the airport boundary. And it certainly does not include shutting down an international airport so skydivers can land safely on it. And my version of skydiving does not include a 5:30am wakeup call. Despite these departures from standard practice, we had a go.

After safety briefings and dropzone inspection, we split into 30ish way groups to familiarise ourselves with the aircraft, drill our exits, and practice our docks. Gearing up, we took to the “Herc” for the first time…

The battery cart to start the Hercules is the size of a 4WD. The Auxiliary Power Unit has more power than most dropzone aircraft. And with all four engines running as we emplane, the heat and noise is overwhelming – the event would not have made it to the end of the taxiway without the onboard airconditioning. Over 100 skydivers emplane, take their seats on the uncomfortable steel floor, lower tailgate raises into position – and the upper portion of the tailgate slowly cranks into place, closing with a Thunderbirds-like “clang”.

It’s not hard to liken the Hercules to a Submarine. A small handful of portholes offer very limited vision to a select few able to rise and inspect. In terms of driving the Herc, it can’t be hard – with only three settings (“OFF”, “TAXI” and “FLY”) it seems that actual flight is engaged with the aid of the trim lever alone. Only movement on the altimeter provides actual evidence of flight. There’s certainly no accounting for seven crew on the upstairs flight deck, seemingly all doing something. Flying well within its limitations, a steady 1500fpm climb tops out at height, and the tailgate reopens, like the dawn of the new day.
Designation Shorts CS-7 “Skyvan” General C-130E “Hercules”
Crew 2 5 to 9
Passengers 22 92+
Engine: 2 x Garrett TPE331-2-201A 4 x Allison T56-A-T5
Engine Type: Turboprop Turboprop
Engine Thrust: 535 3,200 kw
Thrust, total 1,070 12,800 kw
Weight, empty 3,355 36,363 kg
Weight, Max 6,577 70,500 kg
Cruise Speed (Max) 324 600 kmh
Length 12 30 m
Height 5 12 m
Wing Span 20 40 m
Climb rate, initial 1,530 1,900 fpm
Range, max 1,075 8,320 km

The views from the plane were stupendous. A massive dormant volcano provided a flight hazard at seemingly any height – and an active volcano provided a spectacular backdrop to jumprun. The cloud formations, an international airport directly below us, and up to twenty five rows of skydivers sprinting four abreast from the belly of the beast… Skydiving doesn’t get much better than this.

A couple of big thirty-odd ways later, it was time for our first presentation to the public. Before takeoff, we were advised we’d be landing at a massive park in the city – impossible to miss, a large, grassed area with a huge spire in the middle. Sounded like fun! After sneaking a look at around 9000’, I changed my mind. Distinguishing between parks, rice paddies and proposed landing areas suddenly took on a higher difficulty factor. Not much we could do now, however – and although the Herc was visually spotted, no-one could complain about the spot all week. Odds on that the park would be large, obvious, and downwind once open.

What I hadn’t counted on was a large black bird, directly in my flight path away from the formation. And at 1800’! And massive! As I got closer, I could see it was nearly 3m across, and hovering there. A little bit closer, and Paul Osborne and myself could see it more clearly. And the string, tethering it to the ground. They love their kites, the Balinese. The bigger and higher the better.

It would be nice to say the demo was without incident, but these were not ordinary skydives. Several people clipped the trees at the edge of the arena having set up too deep for what was, in fact, a massive arena. A Russian Lady was hung a tree briefly before falling nearly 3m onto a collection of motor scooters, a fall drawing massive “ahhs” from the crowd and requiring hospitalisation. And the Indonesian Flag Jumper had a bad day, his flag on display but upside down.

Time for our first official engagement: presented at the Governor’s mansion to a range of officials. One of the most lavish dinner spreads I’ve seen was on offer, as well as a taste of exotic Balinese dancing. In one of the most bizarre cultural clashes I’ve ever seen, some hundred-plus skydivers were treated to a spectacular meal – and not a beer in sight. This would clearly have helped as the head of the Indonesian Air Force took to the stage and belted a few tunes in a manner which brought a tear to Dave McEvoy’s eye.

Standing in the food selection arena, I was approached by a gentleman whom I did not recognise – but his dress indicated that he sat at the head table, and was possibly one of the public speakers. Friendly, he offered excellent English descriptions of the meals on offer, and then:

Him: “Where are you from?”
Me: “Byron Bay, in Australia”
Him: “Oh. I’m Sorry.”

For a moment, I was taken aback. What sort of humour is this? Then I realised. He WAS sorry. For the infamous bombing, and the Australian fatalities that occurred there. And he was secure enough to freely apologise, on behalf of his country, in a simple fashion, for the sins of a crime he did not commit.

Aussie ingenuity solved the “dry” evening back at the Hilton – and shaking off a massive hangover, we fired up the next morning. Another day of sector jumps, refining our skydiving, and trialling Dr Ben Massey’s Oxygen system. The hard floor of the plane was the equivalent of an epidural block on every load, and if you bump into Randy please buy him a beer - noting my discomfort, he hook-knifed his stealthily acquired cushion in half and donated it to my tender backside, thus earning a permanent space in my list of all-time skydiving greats. A good day, but conditions required that we brought the last load down. I don’t like landing in aircraft at the best of times – but when your altimeter has read 19,000’ at one stage and the dirt dive is a 102 way, it’s a little harder to take.

One of my Sydney friends books a wakeup call – and, as insurance, sets the alarm on his phone and gets an early night. Body clock akimbo, he rises to his phone alarm, showers, grabs his gear and heads to the lobby. It’s still dark when arrives – although probably not in Sydney, where his phone is set! He headed back to his room with two hours to kill – and started by cancelling his wakeup call…

By now, the locals had integrated their revenue opportunities into our security area. A food stall appeared, a range of skydiving t-shirts and accessories, and Bintang – precious Bintang – was suddenly on ice ready for the last load. Most of the locals knew little English – but by now, they had learned to wish us “Blue skies” and “safe landings”. It was also time to assemble a serious attempt at a big way.

A good dirt dive, and good exit rehearsal. The vibe was good – and at just over 20,000’ we pumped out another 130knot exit. Making good time to my sector, I had astounding visuals of the base dipping and turning – and so many others turning with it, in a whirlpool of red and blue. BJ later described this as “the biggest big way zoo” he’d ever seen – although, thankfully, he withheld that description until later in the week, and instead asked us to expunge the dive from our minds. It was not without some trepidation we took to the air again – this time, a 99 way, the symbolism of Edy’s dream coming true without him

It was about this time we realised just how important the 100 Way was to the Indonesian people. Not 99, not 101 – they were all hoping for a 100 way to fulfil the dream. And the beginnings of performance pressure were there – there was time up our sleeve, but so many skydiving dreams have been foiled by weather, aircraft or beer. And we knew it was difficult – no-one could recall a 100 way being built from a single aircraft.

Another attempt then. This form of skydiving is not about heroics: it’s about 100 people being 100% for one minute. On this occasion, we were not; and I had the rare experience of flying unattached in my slot, matching fall rate and hover control for over 10,000’ of freefall. I’m ready for the wind tunnel; and the team are building to 76… 78… closer.

With weather frustrating our efforts, we were fortunate enough to have the last load “off” and split into large groups for a “conventional” 14000’ exit. The dropzone once again: Kuta Beach. High tide, complex rotors aided by an offshore breeze, and thousands of spectators complicated the landing, but we all made it home – except for the flag jumper, who landed in the water despite chopping his flag. The poor folks retailing at the airport were left with warming Bintang – and the retailers at the beach cleaned up. We did not; a blue light escort led our busses through traffic to our next formal dinner.

Dinner tonight was at the Hilton itself – the ballroom was thrown open for us, the marriage of cocktail dresses and Tevas was complete, and another spectacular dancing display. Breaking into country groups for an impromptu stage presentation, Jason Cooke (XLR8, Force) led a rousing rendition of “Waltzing Matilda” which did Australia proud. Deciding to get an early night, I completely missed the “sleep in” call.

There were four people at breakfast at the regular hour next morning, including BJ Worth, who graciously and freely spoke at length. With a couple of hours up his sleeve, BJ then disappeared to pursue his new passion: armed with 3CCD camera and long lens, he stalked the confines of the Hilton pursuing the wildlife. BJ Worth: Extreme Bird Watcher!

Refreshed and confident, we dirt dived a 99 way in good spirits. And built it, if only momentarily. Now, for a hundred way attempt. Diving the plan, we exiting the Herc, built it, and held it for fourteen seconds. A testament to everyone’s work was that no-one could confirm it was complete until the video review; usually, someone will break visuals and scan to sense completion – but no-one seemed to know for sure. The video told the story; the photos suddenly match the raft of promotional t-shirts and clothing, the windblades showing the formation plan are now accurate. Three TV networks and countless reporters grabbed their scooters and raced back to their offices, with the tidbit that only four countries had previously hosted a 100 way or better.

Accomplishment, relief, satisfaction; I’ll add cockiness to that. We could have done anything. Talk of three points, three figures began to circulate. The military began preparations for their presentations; A full Bird Colonel was evidenced making preparations for the arrival of the Generals. Rumours of champagne. Certainly no time for a beach demo tonight – but time for one victory jump back onto the airport. I don’t need to phone a friend - Herc jumps don’t come along every day!

Twenty odd white sector and red sector players dirt dive a giant zipper, offering Hazel Black (Hong Kong) the opportunity to unzip it (not my idea, I assure you). Setting up in a two way base next to me, Theo Mendagi – a mustachioed Indonesian skydiver since the seventies with a tragic family history. In 1986, three of his brothers – skydivers Robby, Alfred and Chris – were amongst eleven killed when a jump plane crashed. Theo continued jumping, against the advice of his two remaining brothers, and with his skydiving wife sired two more jumpers in daughter Pingkan and son Petre, Petre performing freefall video during the week.

Ready, set, go, and we’re back into that 130 knot rush. I dock on Theo’s leg, we build the zipper easily, and Hazel unzips it in style. The next segment of the zipper flies through the line, and the next, and the next… and before we know it, it’s breakoff time. I release the grip, have a good track towards the beach in a gorgeous sunset, I deploy safely, and ten seconds later, the sweet scent of champagne turned to ashes in our mouths.

I recall scanning for canopies, and spotting a malfunction further upfield – my roommate Sas, as it turned out, being repaid for the praise he heaped upon his main the previous night without touching wood. I saw the blue flashing lights underneath me as I headed back over the runway, thinking that if that’s the response to a malfunction I should chop this and get a lift back. But they weren’t investigating a simple malfunction. The headcount showed our missing man, confirmed our fears, and no amount of waving away would deter the TV cameras.

Despite the Indonesian’s best efforts, dinner was flat. And there would be no jumping the next day.

Things moved quickly. Next morning, Theo’s memorial service was a well-attended affair – not least by the media – and the grief of his family and friends was evident. Pallbearers slowly walked his coffin to the emplaning area where the Air Force provided a guard of honour; and then, to the interior of a waiting Hercules, where Theo and his family were flown to his home island for the burial.

The newly formed Cookie’s Surfing Tours opened for business around 10, which gave us just enough time to convince the Hard Rock Hotel to open the bar briefly. A fabulous afternoon of swimming, massage and surfing followed – it was great to catch up with so many old friends and make some new ones.

A sensational dinner – now, we are being served complimentary Bintang with dinner! But too much Bintang is barely enough, so we cajole the bus driver into stopping at convenience stores for more. A 50/50 choice: I head for the right hand store, and do well; the Russian crew, never keen to heed advice, take their rupiah to the store on the left. A Muslim store. No alcohol. Well, “Bintang Zero”, which I’ve never tried and am unlikely to. They work it out eventually.

At the request of the Indonesian Aerosport Federation (FASI), we recommenced jumping. The challenge was accepted and won, and the Indonesian community were indeed proud and thankful. Theo’s family provided a wish that we would remember him always, but move onwards and upwards, taking solace in Theo’s own prophetic words – “jumping is something I love, and dying jumping is not a tragedy”. There was clearly no point leaving the Hercules idle.

The Indonesian jumpers withdrew from the big ways, joining the local boogie jumpers and seeking to set a new Indonesian formation record in Theo’s memory. Ears, shoulders, and Bali Belly robbed us of some of our participants, leaving us with numbers in the 80s – sequential big ways, anyone?

These dives were a lot of fun. A little less pressure, a high degree of confidence, and the promise of some special pictures engaged us all. It led to some humour, too – building 17 way lines from the base, we were intrigued by our Russian base anchor’s angry assertions that his next in line was placing too much tension on him. How he could tell that the other 16 of us were doing a perfect job we couldn’t work out!

Sixteen of us shed jumpsuits and donned our favourite shorts and shirts for a beach jump. I would have gone with a lot less, but considerations for local customs and values took precedence; I treated the jump as a “Dressed rehearsal”.

You would travel to Bali for this jump alone. The pilots once again found some extra height, a tailgate exit – and I joined a not-so-exclusive crew of people who screwed the exit count during the week Despite the lack of jumpsuits we styled; third point a magnificent round right over the beach, high and handsome, followed by an extreme swoop onto the sand and Bintang.

The First Lady of Lombok had also put in a request, and we ferried the Herc to that beautiful island. With the plan slightly confused, we wound up

(1) Landing at Lombok
(2) Immediately taking off from Lombok
(3) Dirt dive in the plane
(4) Exit, achieve dirt dived goals
(5) Pack
(6) Presentation to dignitaries, gifts, lunch
(7) Return to Bali
(8) Land in plane
(9) Take off
(10) Next jump…

It was weird; but it didn’t matter.

Dinner at the Hard Rock Hotel - Bintang, night clubbing and a fabulous series of parties back at the hotel.

The camp finished with a three-point 82 way, and one last jump onto the beach. Last out, last pass, high fives from the flight crew on the way out, and diving to the formation. Didn’t get there; we broke off high. Mick Hardy is taking pictures, Ebone is leading a three way gaggle out to sea, and I’m trying to put some pants on before we land.

The last night was at the Kartika plaza. A spectacular Balinese dance and pantomime, all you could eat, and the last formal outing as a group. The Chief of Police spoke warmly and bluntly – Bali is peaceful, multicultural and a great tourist destination – and they kicked the butts of all the bombers inside twelve months.

To close out the night, the windblades were auctioned – many of which are headed for Australian dropzones – and raised enough cash to fund the purchase of two AADs for the Mendagi siblings.

It would be understating the cause to call the event professional. The Indonesian Olympic Committee, the local Harley Davidson Owners Association, The Hard Rock Hotel, The Hilton Hotel, The Police (FKKPI)… the effort that went into the event was incredible.

We came looking for a slice of paradise; the people of Bali fed us the whole cake.

Thank you: BJ and Bobbie Worth, Grant and Julie Nichol, Daniel Lee, Craig Trimble, Cheryl Robertson

The author, with one million rupiah:

This may well be an apocrophyl tale; the book where I originally read it is out of my collection, and now out of print. But it’s too good a story not to repeat. The details will be incorrect, but the situation is around the place…

It’s time for the Chief Executive (CE) of Sony and his entourage to review the results of his design team. The MiniDV format has taken off; consumers across the world love the battery life, the compact assembly, and the excellent picture quality. Confident that they have a winning formula, the CE is keen to make a statement by bringing the next camera to market in a ground breaking tiny form factor. Today, the team presents its work:

Team Leader: As you can see, this new prototype uses the latest technology from our laboratory. It is very small, yes?

CE: It is small. But not small enough.

TL: But sir.. see the compact new battery design, more powerful than the last in a smaller package? the thin preview screen, reinforced by the latest alloys?

CE: I asked for a small camera. You must build a smaller camera!

TL: Sir.. we have pioneered new technologies - building a circuit board that wraps around a corner… a new loading mechanism which does away with a whole subassembly… even our switches are arranged to minimise space…

CE: (snaps his fingers)
(an aide brings a bucket of water to the boardroom table)
CE: Watch!
(he drops the prototype camera into the bucket)
CE: See? Bubbles! You are wasting space! You can build a smaller camera!

The next prototype became the PC1…

First publication “Australian Skydiver Magazine”, 2003

You don’t have to go back to far in this sport to the point where air to air video was a pretty amazing thing - 8mm and 16mm cameras mounted atop helmets, with the results sent for processing after the weekend’s jumping - on a rush job, you could be reviewing your skydive as early as next weekend. Today - thanks to miniaturisation and consumer electronics - debriefing the load one jump whilst climbing to height on load two is commonplace.

Even better miniaturisation has seen full-fledged cameras such as Sony’s IP7, small enough to slip into a shirt pocket. It’s pretty much a take-anywhere technology, and easy in the palm of your hand. But what if you’re looking for that special shot? Want to be a fly on the wall? An eye on the strut? You could put a camera out there - gaffer tape is pretty foolproof - but it might be smarter to just put the lens out there…

Leo Baker is a seasoned intermediate RW competitor who “gets” cameras in a big way. He’s also got the Electrical Engineering knowledge to make things work - and Jaycar electronics have the bits. He compiled a short shopping list for me:

Cat QC-3488 Bullet Style Camera with Panasonic CCD Sensor
This /is/ a camera - the leads attached are for power, and video - it has its roots in security installations. Just plug it in to anything that can record video, and away you go! It has a 380 line resolution - perhaps not quite up with today’s best cameras, but very serviceable - and a lens angle of 70 degrees, so it’s reasonably wide. Colour saturation isn’t a great as you get with a conventional camera - and worsens after a cold ride to height if mounted externally.

But you do get flexibility - for $329.

Next, you’ll need to get power to it. A sealed lead-acid battery has the “oomph” to drive the camera, 100mA required; Jaycar offer the following, which is well in excess of requirements for $24.95

Cat SB-2480 Sealed Lead Acid Battery 1.3 Amp Hour 12 Volt

A recharger, if you don’t have one, is essential:

Cat MB-3517 12V charger
…another $32.95

You’ll also need wire to hook the two together, and connecting lugs and so on - the Jaycar dudes are really helpful here.
Tim Bates has the best idea I’ve seen so far - using Category 5 Ethernet (Computer network) cabling allows a positive locking connection with ready made cable lengths. Alternatives include “cannon” style connections, like a microphone.

Most Sony handicam equipment has the ability to record video from an external source - check your manual, in any case.

The video lead may need to be adapted to meet the camera; this can be as simple as a

Get a couple of rolls of this
Cat NM2810 Gaffer Tape
At $13.50 a roll, it doesn’t sound cheap. But it will do the job if used correctly.

OK. Connect the whole lot together, plug the power (etc)

I’ve mounted this camera on struts, bicycles and shoes; clipped it to risers, dangled it from pergolas. It can go anywhere.

Thanks to Tim Bates and Leo Baker

POPS are the “Parachutists Over Phorty Society”, which tends to be well represented at dropzones and boogies wherever they go. Criteria for membership is to have done one skydive - a tandem counts as a skydive, as always - and be over forty years of age.

Saturday, October 19 - at Toogoolawah, Queensland, for the Skydive Ramblers “Equinox” boogie - I was conducting a briefing for a couple of jumpers intent on completing their first nude skydive safely. Manifest used the PA to see if I could meet a video commitment at two waiting planes for a formation load.”Yes” is the only answer to that question… Archie Jamieson had his camera, and offered me a choice of plane - a generous man indeed. I elected to take the Skyvan, we discussed breakoff, the doors closed, and away we went.

For a big job like this, careful planning is my watchword. Pre-empt it with lots of careful considerations. Discuss it. Dirt dive, a lot, watching the formation build - who is on aircraft heading, where are the congested quadrants, where is the sun likely to be, etc. And I take /lots/ of ground footage, looking to make a production afterwards.But instead of this style of preparation, I assembled my camera helmet on the way up… The good news is that at least a ground shot was taken - by a lady POP who remains nameless to me, but I’d like to see her credited - and forwarded by Andrew Snow. Onya Snowy

It was a beautiful thing to film.

This is easily my biggest video commission - and I’ll take this opportunity to publicly thank Archie for making it so easy for me. And there’s definitely beer in it, but 32 doesn’t go nicely into a carton, and I’ve decided to do it individually. So: POPS on the load, I owe you a beer. Demand it from me next time the bar is open. And thanks for the skydive.

In which I discover a susceptibility to bee stings and get a chance to manage it.

It’s Friday, June 1, 2001. I was driving to Bendigo to visit on business. I’d already stopped once to get a coffee on the outskirts of the city, which did its legendary thing and demanded a trip to a “comfort station” about 20kms from Bendigo proper.

Having availed myself of the facilities, I walked back to the car, noticing an untied shoelace on the way. I leant on the door sill to tie up the shoelace, and straightened up. An excited buzzing noise greeted the movement, and I froze - feeling movement on the back of my neck.

I did nothing - yet the buzzing intensified. Then came the sting. That pissed me off, because last time I was stung (when I was about 10) my foot swelled a little - getting hit in the neck might give me some grief Saturday. I watched the bee circle away to the ground - probably equally pissed off, and doomed having left its barbed sting in my neck. Annoyed, I figured I’d get some ice on it in Bendigo.

I started the car, drove off, and checked the time; habit. It was 11:36AM. I drove about sixty seconds further down the road to the edge of town when I realised there was a really nasty taste in my mouth - a dryness and a sour tone - and my tongue felt BIG. My toes were tingling, so were my fingers, and as I took my left hand off the wheel to flex it I saw some red splotches on it.

I did a first aid course eighteen months ago. I figured it was time for some first aid.

I turned the car around. I drove back into the heart of Axedale - which is not a big town at all. Didn’t spot a doctor, but my breathing was now getting difficult - I did another U-turn, and drove to the police station.

11:38AM.

Exited the car; phone, keys. Went to the door, knocked, no answer.

Knocked again, no answer.

I felt the onset of panic; the taste was no better, my breath was getting shorter, and I really wasn’t feeling well; the body intrinsically knows when it is threatened, and it had run a large flag up the flagpole with “Threat” written on it. Whatever the bee sting had done, it had also pushed my body’s button for “Asthma”, and years of practice have taught me that panic doesn’t help asthma. Remaining calm is paramount.

Calmly, then, I rang the number for the police listed on the sign in front of me. I can still read the number - this is a good sign, tiredness or intoxication sometimes affect things a little.

The phone has no network signal, and beeps away cheerily.

With some dread, and knowing the result, I dial “000″. Same result.

I could hear myself struggling to breathe, and was nearly overcome by the desire to take my shoes off and scratch my seemingly swollen feet. Some of my calm deserted me. Whatever it is in my system, it was FAST and it was EFFECTIVE.

Perhaps stupidly, I forget the car phone kit, usually good for extra range - and indeed, the silent phone I keep in my briefcase which operates on a far better network for country travel.

However, next to the “threat” flag is now another one labelled “urgent”; and someone was rapidly unfurling the one labelled “panic now”.

11:39AM.

There are no humans to be seen anywhere. But back towards the public toilets is a hall, perhaps a kindergarten, where I thought I heard kiddie’s voices earlier.

Pretending to be calm, I walk slowly and in some haste the 50m across the park to the hall; feeling a little like the walk home from the Adelaide Oval hill after a full day of cheer.

Knock, no answer.
Rattle the doors, no answer.

The pins and needles have spread to my face; my cheeks and tongue feel numb. I am no longer calm, or in control; I desperately crave the company of another human being, preferably one with some first-aid knowledge.

The takeaway is only 40m away, across the road. There will definitely be someone there. I stumble to the road, and pause, leaning on a post that is ill-suited to the purpose but very convenient.

Look left.
Look right.
Look left again.

There’s nothing coming, which is almost sad; waving down a car might save me a few metres of stumbling.

I set off, straight across the road. Halfway, good…

About three quarters of the way across the road, my legs stopped working properly. I told them to walk forward, but they would not.
Could not.
Did not.
They were busy doing their own thing, in a rubbery sort of fashion.

With sinking recognition, I realised that this failing coincided with my ability to keep my eyes open, and think.

Having never doubted I would get help - having decided to do so - all I felt was sorrow.

What a dumbass way to die.

…

Someone is patting my cheek. “You OK mate? You OK?” I hear.

Man, what a stupid question.

I can’t breathe, I’m too tired to open my eyes, I’m sweating by the gallon, and lying in the middle of a country road in an expensive and now ruined suit.

But I am aware again. And I am breathing, although every intake is an exercise in discipline and effort. Asthma was never this bad.

Some good Samaritans moved me to the side of the road and called an ambulance. Someone knew the coma position, and placed me in it; this was bad, because it made breathing more difficult, but good, because seemingly they knew what they were doing. I went with it. I could hear, but it was too hard to do things like communicate.

The ten minutes that the ambulance took to drive the 21kms from Bendigo was an eternity, and I guess I kept drifting in and out of consciousness; it’s not clear at all. Someone did offer a Ventolin puffer; I assume I asked for it. I had a go at it, but it didn’t help. Someone took my car key from my hand, also; I didn’t want to let them have it, but I wasn’t in any shape to argue.

Never has an ambulance siren sounded so sweet.

The paramedics arrived, gave me a fat hypodermic filled with adrenaline and an oxygen mask. They waited for things to settle down a little; and from the needle, I had the feeling that things would improve. Eventually, they drove me to hospital. I think I threw up, unprompted, in the ambulance, in some sort of bizarre gratitude for services rendered.

The afternoon is a haze of hypodermics (which I hate), electronic monitors, oxygen and sleep. They shaved bits of my chest to attach electrodes, and left a cuff attached to manage my low blood pressure. Imagine my joy when they woke me up to ask when I last had a tetanus shot - and then gave me a booster for the scrapes and abrasions I collected when I fell.

Once, on awakening, it took me a few seconds to work out where I was; two friends swam into focus, smiling and caring. It was a rich feeling indeed. I vaguely remember my first appointment came to visit, too; business ain’t all business some days.

An overnight stay was probable, but in the evening, I was released into the care of a doctor friend (also a skydiver) who works in the Bendigo hospital. I slept about ten hours that night, eleven the next, and remained groggy for the next few days.

I now have to carry a single-shot Adrenaline syringe (EpiPen) around with me, and will live in terror of bees for the rest of my life. The reaction should I get stung again will probably be even quicker. It has a evil partner in my occasional asthma, and the reaction itself (”Anaphylactic Shock”) kills within the hour.

I’m a bit grateful to the people of Axedale, and I’m a lucky boy. It’s a bizarre world we live in.

If you’ve spent any time at all at my site, you’ll notice that clouds feature prominently. Even the strip on my home page showing Vern and Mik performing an AFF stage 5 has clouds everywhere. But jumping through clouds is not something that is endorsed by the Civil Aviation Safety Authority (CASA) or the Australian Parachute Federation (APF). What’s going on here?

Well, a few things are happening.

Firstly, the operational regulations state that you need to be able to see the target prior to exit. They also state that the parachutist should not enter cloud during any part of the jump. That was the case for everything you see here. I may or may not have other images taken where that wasn’t the case: for the purpose of this exercise, that doesn’t matter.

Secondly, this particular regulation is ignored, seemingly at will, by various operators around the country. Enforcement of the law is by luck of the draw.

I’m certainly not saying I’ve never jumped through cloud. I have, and on a number of occasions I’ve done so willingly and deliberately. Once, I was punished by the DZSO of the day to the full extent of his jurisdiction. But that was a mistake on my part. More later.

I have also, at that same dropzone, been cautioned for a similar offence.

I have also, at that same dropzone, been part of a load/loads that did so deliberately without any comment being made.

At a different dropzone, I legitimately exited the plane through blanket cloud for a sixty person formation.

I later exited that same plane at a place where it was illegal, and almost all the Australian Parachute Federation staff in residence. Dozens of us jumped for hours, and again the next day, jumping and tracking through cloud, load after load after load. The APF allegedly made little comment, other than to say “we didn’t see any of that” well after the event.

When it got too wet to jump, we jumped in the rain out of a helicopter. It was fantastic. But that’s another story.

In my instructional role, I regularly show students how to perform AFF Stage 2. Part of this is the viewing of an official APF video, which I then discuss with the student(s). In this video, the student enters, then deploys in, a bloody big cloud.

Different circumstance; different people on duty. And a casual observation, backed up by evidence time and time again: money talks.

My point is, there’s next to no enforcement when it suits operations to do so; but it’s still illegal.

Why not jump through cloud?

You can’t judge how thick cloud is reliably. The incident I was punished for, I’d estimated the cloud was 1500′ thick on exit - it was nearly 4000′.

You can’t accurately triangulate a spot visually if you can’t see the ground nearby. GPS can, and very well: but the pilots need to know what they’re doing, and communications need to work. I’d never spot Mike Mullin’s King Air - he does a far better job than I could, rain or shine.The incident I was punished for, the pilot had a vague idea, but communications were poor: my manual spot had us all landing by the pit, but we were substantially deeper than I’d planned.

You can’t see other air users. I’ve seen enough casual airspace users putt-putting across the sky around deployment height to know that it’s dumb to take the chance. Skydivers can and have hit planes.It’s not healthy.

Finally, as a freefall photographer, I don’t like what all that moisture is doing to my camera equipment.

Anyway.

Enforcement

Self enforcement doesn’t work. Neither does the enforcement of the APF. Enforcement by CASA won’t work either, for the reasons detailed above. I don’t know the answer to enforcement.

I do know that protocols and procedures for jumping through cloud safely exist.

What is the problem?

People are electing to break the law regularly, and we haven’t distributed the practices for doing so safely - instead, we’re too busy mumbling about enforcement.Enforcement is so haphazard that we won’t stop people doing it.

What is the solution?

Don’t know. Maybe rapid deployment of these procedures will have miscreants doing so safely whilst we attend the bureaucratic aspects.

I think jumping through cloud will happen, legitimately and safely, if eventually. And as you can see, clouds creates fantastic visuals, and the experience of freefalling into cloud is a rare sensation. But I don’t think I’ll bother doing it deliberately again until it’s legally endorsed at the DZ I jump at.

There’s been a frenzy of discussion following the defeat of World Chess Champion Garry Kasparov by a machine, namely a purpose-built IBM Chess computer named “Deep Blue”. Kasparov defeated an earlier incarnation of Deep Blue last year, but the programmers and strategists who provide the logic and the cunning for the project have been busy; and new technology virtually doubled the machine’s processing ability.

Spectators followed the rematch in huge numbers, both in the auditorium and on the Internet, incredulous as the match seesawed: a win to Kasparov, a win to Deep Blue, then three drawn games, and the decisive sixth match giving machine victory over man. But does it actually mean anything?

First, understand that this was always going to happen. Mankind built bicycles and motor vehicles that could outrun him; boats that carry him over oceans fast than he can swim; calculators that add faster than he can. It was only a matter of time before the sheer computational ability of a machine was able to calculate more possible outcomes of a chess match than its human counterpart - after all, computers mastered Checkers (Draughts) on the same board some years ago.Secondly, understand that Kasparov was not walloped; of the three games that generated a result, the stronger suit - the white pieces - won each time.

It’s widely acknowledged that Kasparov made a very human error of judgement in conceding the second game, and a basic error in the deciding game which his electronic foe seized upon. This, on top of a last-gasp escape by Deep Blue in the fifth game described as “miraculous” by observers. It was victory to the computer by the narrowest of margins.

Deep Blue is not sentient; it is not aware of what it is or does. It is an unfeeling, relentless, blindingly fast chess automaton. All it can do is play chess, and this model even needs a human to move the pieces and input the opponent’s moves. But it doesn’t feel pity, or get tired; it does not wander or deviate from its strategy of planning ahead and seeing every possible move. It does not offer a draw to the opposition when one is not warranted; it does not make mistakes - your single false move guarantees defeat.Deep Blue felt no joy at becoming the first entity to defeat Garry Kasparov in match play.

Chess computers can be beaten. With the basic style of play being one of acquisition, the simple strategy of preserving a positional advantage whilst exchanging pieces is generally adequate to beat the retail models at lower levels. Their mechanical nature and lack of conversation skills means beating a chess computer seldom gives the same reward one feels in defeating a human opponent.

But Deep Blue is different; the sheer scale of processing power involved puts it a full order of magnitude ahead of the other electronic “grand masters”, and the sophistication inculcated by its tutors gave it a devastating endgame. Kasparov claimed that Deep Blue “was engineered to beat me only”, which is a strange sort of point for him to make: if you’ve been world champion and unbeaten for fourteen years in match play, that strategy makes a certain sort of sense. It does, however, invite the thought that other chess professionals may have more success by not playing as Kasparov would.

It will be interesting to see if Deep Blue’s creators respond to the gauntlet thrown down by Szusa Polgar, the elder of three Hungarian chess playing sisters. A result in favour of humanity might provide ammunition for my argument - that, in his attempts to be as un-Kasparov like as possible to frustrate the machine, Kasparov may well have beaten himself. And the future history of chess championships will probably show that although Kasparov was the first human champion to be defeated by the King of Computers, he was, paradoxically, the last human to conquer one.