South Wales Evening Post reporter Richard Youle recently completed a skydive from 12,500 feet above the Gower Peninsula to raise money for his favourite charity, the RNLI.

Below is Richard’s full account of his experiences as published in the Evening Post and on its website www.thisissouthwales.co.uk. A video of the freefall can also be viewed here.

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We’re in a plane 12,500ft above Gower, and I’m being ushered towards an open door. It’s not a feeling I’m used to.

Wearing a jump suit and trussed up in a tight harness, I’m beginning to feel like Hannibal Lecter during prison transfer as my instructor Simon makes a few final checks.

Another odd sensation is the sight of blue sky all around after the summer that never was.

Way down below is a thick, fluffy layer of cloud. That’s where I’m heading.

The other jumpers look calm, their instructors excited. Another freefall fix awaits.

Simon and I manoeuvre right to the threshold. Gavin, the skydiving photographer, is poised, ready to leap. A sign above the open door helpfully states: “Warning — sudden drop”.

And then, bingo, we start dropping. Very fast.

It had been a long time coming. My first attempt in the beginning of August was postponed due to heavy rain. The following day the wind was too strong, and we were all sent home from Swansea Airport.

So it’s third time lucky, but only after a four-hour wait due to cloud. Rain, wind and cloud — sounds like some terrible funk tribute act.

Waiting, I found out, is a big part of the skydiver’s lot, and for all the right reasons. Conditions have to be pretty much spot-on. Safety is king.

And during my wait I got to hear stories from people like Paul Bailey, who had been bitten by the skydiving bug in a big way.

He was desperate to jump in time to get to the Liberty Stadium for 3pm for the Swans’ home match. Then he would pick up his girlfriend from work before returning on Sunday to Lampeter where he lived.

His weekends, and a big slice of his pay packet, were expended on jumping out of a plane at 120mph-plus. “It’s whatever floats your boat,” he pointed out.

The man next to him reckoned he’d spent £12,000 to £13,000 on skydiving in the past seven years.

He had jumped in the skies above Spain and Portugal, and managed 48 in a week in America. “There’s no other sport like skydiving,” he said.

I heard of other people heading to Russia and gorging themselves in week-long jump fests. For them, it was all about finding the cheapest place to get their kicks, but I thought at just over £20 per jump, Swansea Skydive was pretty good value.

Of course, you need all your own kit for that price, and doing tandem jumps with an instructor costs a lot more.

Before I took to the skies for my chosen charity, the RNLI, Simon, the instructor, told me about his competitive swooping.

This is a skydiving sport where you fly through “gates” as close and as horizontal to the ground as possible. I made a mental note — type in “swooping” and “injuries” next time you look at YouTube.

As the minutes turned into hours, I cursed the endless gloomy weather. Would it ever stop? Would we all evolve one day into grey-faced beings, the colour of that John Major puppet from Spitting Image?

Around noon, our plane arrived from the south coast of England, and shortly before 1pm the sky lightened.

The skydiving adrenalin junkies began to twitch, and there was a definite feeling that things were on the move. Skydive Swansea boss Carl Williams was happy with conditions, and we were given the all clear.

A list on a whiteboard told me I was on the first plane ride, and I would be the first to jump.

I was getting excited, Simon was getting excited — and I was excited that Simon was excited. Excitement aboundeth.

Despite the sense of building momentum, I struggled to perform in front of Gavin’s video camera as we all trooped onto the runway.

Rarely a natural smiler at the best of times, I was busy thinking about the “legs and head back” position I had to get into just before we parted company with the plane.

It took around 15 minutes to get to altitude, although the spectacular Gower views I’d hoped for were still shrouded. But I’d see the peninsula soon enough, after 40-odd seconds of manic freefall.

As we plummeted, my eardrums seemed to heat up — maybe it was something to do with the air pressure — while I waved dumbly at Gavin, who skillfully hovered a few feet away pointing the camera in my direction.

Soon enough the big jolt came, meaning Simon had deployed the main parachute, and as we drifted through the clouds, the airfield came into view a long way below.

There was nothing between my feet and terra firma, except hundreds of feet of empty sky. That was a weird feeling.

Landing was a piece of cake, although I’ll give Simon the credit for that! We walked, somewhat triumphantly I felt, back to the airport buildings where Simon disappeared to locate his next tandem victim.

Comments

Susie Carter (19/09/2008 12:12:46)
Well done, Rich!
Not only for doing the skydive, but also using the phrase “excitement aboundeth!”
Susie.