As we all know, time sometimes feels non-constant.  Depending on the
situation, three minutes can feel as if it went by in the blink of an eye.
At other times, three minutes can drag on into an eternity.  When, lurking
at the end of three minutes is a total unknown, time drags on more slowly
than you can possibly imagine.

In three minutes you will be on the ground, one way or another.  In three
minutes you could have an uneventful landing.  In three minutes you could
break a leg, break your back ... again.  You could hit power lines, trees,
a building.  In three minutes you could be dead.  The weight of the
unknown is crushing.  The panic rises in your chest and into your throat.
Your breath rasps but you fight it under control.  You try not to think of
the possibilities but they keep creeping into your thoughts.  You make
decisions, trying desperately to not let the panic distract you from
thinking clearly.  In just three short minutes ...

On Thursday September 11th, I had another no radio landing.  I had showed
up at the drop zone for the 9/11 memorial boogie.  It was going to be a
big weekend.  John "BJ" Fleming and myself were going to become the first
blind skydivers to ever jump together.  The pressure was on, and the
excitement was high.  When I heard that there was a sunset load getting
ready to go up, I grabbed my gear.  Everything was in place.  I had a
radio man on the ground with people keeping an eye on him.  I had my
TimeOuts set.  I walked through an exit on the Casa, an aircraft that I
had never jumped before.  Radios were checked, everything was ready to
go.

We discussed exit order on the way to altitude, not the best time, but we
would get it sorted out.  I wanted to be in the middle of the pack so that
I wouldn't be short or long on the spot.  I agreed to follow the first
six-way of belly flyers out the door. People commented on how dark it had
gotten.  I began to think that maybe I should abort.  "I'll just walk up,
tell the pilots to radio the ground that I am riding the plane down.  No
problem."  Of course, I didn't do that.  At 13,000 feet we got ready.  The
first group went out the door.  Someone checked the spot for me and gave
me the OK.  I grabbed the bar, spun around and stepped backward off the
tailgate.

The freefall was totally uneventful.  I didn't even do style work.  I just
did some lazy 90 and 180 degree leg-turns.  I seemed to be having trouble
hearing my left Timeout, my pull side.  Not a problem.  I heard the 7.5K
Timeout on the right side and started counting.  If I turned my head to
the side so that the wind would push the left side of my helmet against my
head, I could hear the left TimeOut.  At 4K it went off.  I waved off for
a couple of seconds and deployed.  There was the typical few seconds of
silence on the radio, which always makes me a little nervous, and then I
could hear Larry.

"Dan, I can't tell which canopy is yours.  It's too dark.  Give me a left
turn."

I did.  I was a little nervous, but figured he would figure out which
canopy was mine before too long.

"Dan, give me a right turn.  Dan, kick your legs.  Dan, I can't see you."

I turned.  I kicked.  I began to feel the first twinge of fear.

"Dan, give me a left turn.  Dan, I still can't find you."  Dan, kick your
legs."

I turned.  I kicked like a madman.  I thought, "Not again. This cannot be
happening again."

"Dan, I can't find you.  Dan, kick your legs."

I now knew that I was in serious trouble.  I had been under canopy for a
bit shy of a minute.  If he hadn't been able to spot me by now, chances
are I was off the DZ and he wasn't going to see me.  I could feel the
panic starting to rise, clawing it's way up from the pit of my stomach.  I
began the routine.

"Ok, half breaks.  Slow right spiral.  Too fast, slow it down some.  Keep
it together man.  How long has it been.  A minute?  Longer??  What's that
sound?  Turbines.  That's the Casa.  Is he looking for me?  Doubt it.
He's damn close though.  Hope he sees me.  How can I use this.  He's
just
above me and a little to the side.  He must be in his pattern.  Is he
down-wind, cross-wind, or on final?  If He's down or cross, I'm screwed.
I'm way off the wind-line.  Assume he's on final.  If I turn and head in
the same direction, I'll be heading toward the DZ.  Is that a help?  Don't
know.  Let's hope for the best.  A little right.  Straighten her out.
Little more right.  Hold it there.  How long has it been?  Bring it down.
Half, three quarter breaks.  I'm panting, stop it!  Get your head
together.  Where's the goddamn ground!!!!  This is it.  I've burned my
nine lives.  I'm not going to make it this time.  It's happened one too
many times now.  We aren't going to make the record jump.  I'm gonna get
hurt bad this time.  Where's the fucking ground!!!  COME ON!! COME ON!!
Just let it be over already.  No ground sounds.  No crickets.  I've got to
be close though.  PLEEEEEEZZ.  Just don't let me hit anything.  Then ....

I'm laying face down on the ground.  My mouth is full of dirt.  It's
absolutely quiet.  The landing wasn't bad at all.  Nothing hurt.  I didn't
even knock the wind out of myself.  I just lay there for a while.  I
didn't know whether I wanted to cry or laugh.  I started flexing muscles
to see if anything was broken or out of place.  Everything felt fine.

I got to my hands and knees, spitting out clods of dirt.  I stood.
Nothing hurt.  "Where the hell am I? The swamp?  No, too firm.  It's damn
quiet.  There are tall weeds, but it doesn't feel like corn stalks."

I gather up my gear.  "Well, what now?  Which way do I go.  They have no
idea of where I am."  Larry was talking for most of the time.  He said
they were out looking for me before I even got down.  I hadn't heard
anything from him for the last 20 seconds or so, so he either stopped
transmitting or we went out of range.

I heard a car behind me.  Must have been 150 or 200 yards away.  I waved,
but didn't expect much.  I started walking in that direction.  I
definitely seemed to be in a field of some kind.  I didn't encounter any
trees on the way to the road.  One or two more cars drove by but I figured
it was probably too dark to see me yet.  They weren't driving slow so
didn't think they were from the DZ looking for me.

I slipped down a steep embankment and quickly crawled back up the side.
I
realized that it must be the drainage ditch on the side of the road.  I
scrambled back down the side, across and up the other side.  I was on
blacktop.  "Well, it should be a lot easier to find me now.  I wonder
which way I should walk."

A car approached.  I held up my hand and waved, thinking I might here one
of my friends.  The car stopped near me and a voice I didn't recognize
said, "Hey, looks like you missed the target a bit."  I snorted and said,
"Yeah, can you give me a lift back to the drop zone?"  He replied, "Sorry
man, I've really got to get home.  Sorry."  And he drove off.

I could hear the Cessna up now.  It was circling but he was well short of
me.  He'd never see me.  I started walking down the roadside.  Another car
passed but didn't stop.  Finally, a third car stopped.  "Hey there, you
are a bit far from where you need to be, aren't you?"

"Yeah, can you give me a lift back?"

"Sure, hop in."

I easily found the door, opened it, and piled in with my gear.  I
explained that I really needed to get back quickly as since I was totally
blind, the folks back on the drop zone would be going crazy trying to find
me.  I don't think he really knew what to say at that point.  He asked
some of the usual questions but I wasn't all that talkative at the moment.
A van passed us going slow and we thought it might be someone from the DZ.
He stopped and got out to talk to the other driver.  It was just a
concerned DZ neighbor out looking for a skydiver they thought they saw go
down near by.  Trent, my savior, got back in and we continued to the DZ.

WHEN WE PULLED IN< I hopped out and was immediately greeted by a few
tearful friends.  I managed to shake Trent's hand and thank him for the
lift, and quickly headed into the building to drop my gear.

After dropping my gear and answering the obligatory questions, I went down
stairs to the bathroom.  I rinsed out my mouth, splashed some water on my
face, and stood there trying to pull myself together.  As I exited the
bathroom Larry was there.  It was an emotional moment.  I know how
frustrated I was during the descent.  I can only imagine how frustrated he
must have felt, knowing that I was out there heading for God knows what,
and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

It turns out that the winds aloft had really picked up and the pilots
realized it when they saw their drift after the first couple of groups
went out.  They tried to compensate for the later groups, but it was
too late for me.

When I spoke to the pilot the next morning, he put the pieces together and
realized that he had seen me during his pattern.  He was on his cross-wind
and had no idea that it was me.  I don't know if he even realized that
there was a blind jumper on the lift, a definite mistake on my part.

It looks like my days of solo jumps are pretty much over.  I don't think I
will get back in the air without another skydiver with an air-to-air radio
on, to talk me down if we are off DZ.  I am getting too old for this shit.
I can't imagine that my luck will hold out through another no-radio
landing.  I will get back into doing RW and will always have one jumper
with air-to-air.  It might limit my jumps a bit, but I'd rather not have
to go through this again.

Flare when you hear the crickets.