OUT ON A WING: SKYDIVERS PERFORM A LEAP OF FAITH

CHARLESTON -- You sit crammed into a small, single-engine airplane, looking at the utter fear (or is it excitement? anticipation?) on the other passengers' faces.

As the plane leaves the ground, everyone knows that it's a one-way trip up.

As the plane climbs to 3,200 feet, butterflies fly madly against the walls of your stomach. Your fists are clenched, your legs are rigid and your heart is in your throat.

Just before the door is opened, you see the bumper sticker affixed to the inside that reads in big, blue letters, "100 Percent Adrenaline."

The jumpmaster taps you on the shoulder, and you begin your ascent to descend.

As you approach the doorway, the wind traveling by the plane at 80-100 miles per hour hits you squarely in the face. You look past his shoulder to see the patchwork of the farm fields below, the ribbons of roadway and the Lego-sized structures.

You can no longer hear the roar of the engine; just the voice of your jumpmaster, telling you to get out of the plane.

When you climb out onto the metal step, the wind hits you in the chest like a burst from a tornado. By that time, the adrenaline in your veins could fuel your body to resist the awesome force of the terrible Kansas twister that transported Dorothy to the Land of Oz.

On the ledge, you run your hands up the strut of the plane just as they showed you on the ground and step off, dangling thousands of feet above the ground.

When the jumpmaster gives the signal, you let go.

After you actually get out of the plane and turn loose of the wing, it's an easy ride. For daredevils, thrill-seekers and adventure-lovers, there's a skydiving club in Charleston waiting for you to climb aboard.

But hours before the plane ever leaves the ground, potential jumpers sit through a four-hour-long orientation session in the training room of the Cape Girardeau Police Department.

"I've only had a couple of people go through the training and not actually jump," said Ian Sutherland, a jumpmaster with Southeast Missouri Air Sports. "But most of them are ready to go once the plane gets up there."

The orientation centers around a videotape demonstrating proper and improper technique from putting on the gear to getting out of the airplane to landing.

Right off the bat, Sutherland begins with statistics most potential jumpers do not want to hear.

"Only 37 people died last year in parachuting accidents," he says. "Most of those were the result of human error which was avoidable."

That, he says, is why the jumper should be mentally prepared to execute necessary procedures before, during and after the jump.

"You only have a few precious seconds to decide what to do not even time to think about it," he said. "That's why your mind has to be able to take over and do what's necessary to correct the malfunction."

The jump is controlled, in that the jumpmaster secures a "static line" to the floor of the plane that opens the jumper's parachute. If the chute were to fail, the jumper wears a backup parachute which he or she is taught to deploy.

Sutherland said that there are two types of malfunctions: fast and faster. Some can be corrected; others must be dealt with by cutting away the parachute and pulling the reserve.

"Never cut away a good canopy," Sutherland said. "But if you're going to cut it away, do it and do it completely.

"It won't do you a darn bit of good to cut away the canopy and not pull the reserve," he said. "You'll hit the ground just as fast."

When the in-class training is complete, the students travel to the Charleston Airport in Mississippi County to complete the final phase of training before the jump.

It starts with "plane orientation," a process of getting to know the aircraft from which you will be hurling yourself, thousands of feet above the ground.

The plane the club uses is a single engine Cessna, with only a pilot's seat. The jumpers sit on a carpeted floor area behind the pilot.

While still on the ground, jumpers get in and out of the plane, as they would do before taking off and while in the air. This is repeated so that jumpers feel comfortable with the process, and hopefully won't hesitate to do so when the plane is airborne.

"When we're over the jump zone, you've got to get out of the plane quickly," Sutherland said. "The longer you dilly dally around, the farther from the airport you're going to land."

The Southeast Missouri Skydiving Club supplies the gear, parachute and radio equipment.

Once out of the airplane, the jumper immediately hears the voice of a second jumpmaster on the ground, telling them to check the canopy. Then the jumpmaster will "talk the jumper down," advising them of which toggle to pull, which way to turn and when to flair the parachute to land.

But, if the radio equipment were to fail as it did when a reporter from the Southeast Missourian hurled herself out of the small plane jumpers have been taught enough on the ground to know how to operate the parachute themselves.

(It's amazing how enterprising a person can be, dangling in the air at 3,000 feet with only the birds to consult with.)

Sutherland has been a certified jumpmaster and instructor since 1975. He made his first freefall jump from an airplane in the early 1960s in Washington, D.C.

Skydiving is not the least expensive hobby in which one can become involved. The orientation, gear and first jump costs $100, plus $30 for an extra insurance policy that lasts the duration of the jump.

Subsequent jumps are charged by the Southeast Missouri Skydiving Club the owners of the plane and equipment.

"I'll have a class whenever I have enough people who are interested," Sutherland said. "We'll haul them in, show them the video tape, lecture and practice for a while, load them in the airplane and go."