Autumn 2008
Fall From Above
Foliage season from a whole new perspective
Story and photographs by Alden Pellett
Yesterday was easy. I spent the day clipped into the floor of a little Cessna plane by my rock climbing harness, hanging out the door, 10,000 feet above Lake Champlain, photographing jumpers as they fell away from the plane.
The hanging didn't bother me. I had hung off cliffs thousands of feet off the ground before, when rock climbing — a sport where falling is the opposite of what you are trying to do. Today is different.
I will be jumping. The faces of others arriving to jump at Vermont Sky Diving Adventures in Addison run the gamut: the slightly scared but smitten boyfriend trying to please the adrenaline-junkie girlfriend; a very frightened Marine (who ultimately fails to leave the plane); the fully addicted jumper nervous that he might only get to jump once; a farmer who just likes to escape the barnyard; and the crowd of those who, on a whim, wanted to see what it was like.
On the small airfield nestled behind livestock barns, our little group clambers into the plane that only has a seat for the pilot. Everyone else sits on the floor during takeoff — strapped in with seat belts. Yesterday I was required to wear a parachute while shooting in case both my safety lines failed. Today I'll be hooked onto the instructor after we're over the jump zone. Since I'll be attached to the instructor, I don't get my own parachute. I feel nervous without it.
We get the signal from the pilot that we'll be jumping in two minutes. My heart rate picks up. Experienced jumpers recite their own little mantra or perform calming rituals; I try to take deep breaths and slowly release. I get clipped onto instructor Mike Millstone, my new best friend, who holds my life in his hands.
This time, the roar of the wind seems worse as the door opens. I swing my legs out onto the wheel strut, hugging my arms to my chest, as instructed, so as not to allow a vice-like grip on anything when exiting. I look straight down at the tiny barns, wire-like roads, cars only half a millimeter long, my shoelaces flapping straight out to the side like flags.
Suddenly, we're gone from the plane — hurtling down — and my eyes shut uncontrollably as that heavy feeling of dropping on a roller coaster ride takes hold.
We rocket earthward to terminal velocity, and my brain catches up with my body. I put my arms and legs out in proper form. Eyes open, I realize this is damn fun.
All of Lake Champlain lies below. Mike urges a try at the spin-turn he had shown me on the ground. Pushing against the air resistance, we turn one way, and then the next, enjoying a 360-degree view of the landscape. We surreptitiously keep an eye on the altimeter on our wrists. The meter is the one reminder that this new way of life will end one way or another if we forget to pull the cord.
Five thousand feet and we pull. The canopy billows out and we yank around, then gently coast above the orange patchwork farmland. Surrounded by the Vermont countryside, with no scratched plane window in the way, there is a deep feeling of serenity. Nearby Snake Mountain glows orange with the changing season and the setting sun.
I steer the canopy, knowing Millstone is there if I screw up. For extra fun, we do a 360-degree turn, g-forces pulling. Below, the airstrip nears. Other jumpers walk out to watch. Our plane has beaten us back and is there, waiting, as we coast in for a smooth, soft landing.
Multimedia: Free Fall
For an assignment, Editor Mary Hegarty Nowlan told Photographer Alden Pellett to jump out of a plane. And he did. These photos and short video will make you feel like you're there.
