Sky Diving

I woke to the horrible sound of my alarm. My alarm clock had slipped off my bedside table and so I had to make a tough decision, either block my ears and wait two minutes until the alarm subsided or wrench myself out of the comforting warmth of my bed and get up and turn it off. Eventually the harsh sound drove me into the cold to turn off the alarm, giving me a thorough wake up, and that’s when I remembered today was the day I was going to sky dive the Great Gorge.
I slipped on my sky diving suit and checked all my gear, my watch, my breakfast (an apple and a muesli bar), my water bottle and most importantly, my skydiving kit, three kilograms of titanium steel, some strong woven material and hardened plastic fibre, my most precious and valuable possession.
I strapped my skydiving kit to my back and walked quietly to the front door. I opened the door and stepped out into the brusque, cold morning air. From there I ran along the track and up a verdant hill, all frosted over, I delighted in the freedom I found roaming these hills, just me and nature. For awhile my mind wandered, but then again it found purpose and I headed up hill, a hard hike, to the Great Gorge.
By the time I reached my destination I was puffing hard, I liked to think it was caused by lack of oxygen at that great height that I had achieved, but I don’t think I was quite high enough for that to qualify as an excuse. I gulped down a large mouthful of water from my drink bottle and then I slowly and charily assembled and then put on my sky diving kit making sure I double and then triple checked every strap.
I walked to the edge of the Great Gorge, and I was met by a sheer cliff. The other side of the gorge was below me in the distance, not easily recognizable to the untrained eye, for it was very foggy on the other side. I took a deep, deep breath, I shuffled even closer to the edge and now adrenalin was running through my veins. I was having second thoughts, what with the fogginess and all, but I had come all this way, up a huge hill. Really, now that I think back, at that moment with the vast expanse of free sky and a challenge to land on the other side, I couldn’t have turned back.
I was excited and yet very scared at my objective which was to cross the Great Gorge, if I made even the smallest mistake I could be skydiving straight into the opposite cliff, or to far onto the other side of the gorge to perhaps a bad landing place. I remember looking straight down and feeling queasy, I had never attempted anything like this before, and then hardly before even I knew what I was doing, I jumped off the cliff into a dive, hands out straight like superman, I was flying.
For a moment I was lost, I was on top of the world, just me and nothing else, flying, the cold air rushed up my arms and past my face, it was absolutely exhilarating, I had never done a dive as high or as stimulating as this. Then my mind focused on the difficult task ahead, landing.
For a while I did not lose much height for I was gliding on strong winds, then all of a sudden, I lost height rapidly, something had gone horribly wrong. I then reached up onto my back, to feel my sky diving “wings” and realized I had not taken of my wing covers, which explained why I was not gliding properly. My brain raced, but the deadly fear of my situation cleared my mind.
First I unzipped the left cover which I fumbled again and again because my hands were so cold and then finally I got the cover off, however I did not have time to watch it fall. I was panicking, the worst thing I could do, but the ground was just getting closer and closer and no matter how furiously I tried I couldn’t quite pull open the zip. I was now also leaning at an angle because of the added weight of the right hand cover and all I could do was scream in utter frustration. Then the zip finally worked its way along until the right hand wing cover slipped off but it was too late. I was plummeting to earth and I couldn’t think, my eyes were watering so much I couldn’t see, I remember giving up, I stopped struggling, my mind collapsed at the awaited death and all went black.
The next thing I knew I was in hospital, aching all over but apart from that I was fine. What had happened was that my dead (unconscious) weight had slipped down the skydiver so I had been held only by my well done up straps. This had apparently caused maximum drag on the wings of the sky diver and I had landed, comparatively softly and spectacularly feet first into the soft foliage of a bushy tree as if it were all planned and my skydiver was a parachute.
The reason I was picked up was because a party of bird watchers had come to film the hatching of a certain eagle, so not only was I saved but I got to see for my self the footage of my fantastic landing and the birdwatchers, though they missed out on their eagle, all said they couldn’t have asked for a better show, just between you and me, I planned it all. Also just incase your wondering, although I have sky dived from cloud topped mountains and across desert plains. I have never again attempted to skydive across the Great Gorge.