First things first, shoot over to the Draytek support site and download the latest firmware for the device. I was running 3.3.4.1 from November 2010 and 3.3.7.3 is the latest, released in October 2012. Note that the release notes for 3.3.7.3 recommended upgrading to 3.3.5.2 first if you’re running an older firmware as the web user interface changed between releases, and using 3.3.5.2 as a stepping stone is the  approved upgrade path. You can download older firmwares, including 3.3.5.2, from the Draytek FTP server.

With the shiny new firmware freshly installed I dug about in the Bandwidth Management menu options, knowing that either bandwidth Limit or Quality of Service would be what I wanted.

Bandwidth Limit is used, from what I can tell, to dedicate a maximum amount of bandwidth to an IP on the network. I want almost the opposite of that, and so after further digging I worked out that it was Quality of Service that I needed to investigate further.

QoS can be used to ensure minimum service levels for various applications (or rather, protocols) and is commonly used in conjunection with VOIP on the 2820Vn. In my case it’s a much simpler problem to solve – traffic to all IPs other that lifeline should take priority, but lifeline can use all the bandwidth if nobody else is. To create this formula I edited the Class 1 Class Rule and added a rule that matched all IPs within the range 192.168.10.2 – 192.168.10.254 (which is everything other than lifeline). This rule matches any Remote Address, any DiffServ CodePoint and any Service Type. I named Class Rule 1 “Preferred” and saved it. Back on the QoS admin page I setup the WAN1 rule and enabled QoS in both directions. I allocated 95% bandwidth to “Preferred”, 1% each to Class 2 and 3, and left 3% for Others.

My testing showed that this setup worked perfectly for the scenario when any other host on our network (wired or wireless) required bandwidth it was diverted from lifeline until it was no longer required, at which point lifeline maxed out the link again. No more lagging YouTube videos or slow web pages!

I went back and added some additional rules to handle remote access into my network, namely the web applications that I use to manage the downloading, and SSH. These rules include lifeline in the preferred pool for those protocols only. Connecting my laptop to the iPhone’s LTE showed the desired effects when coming into our network too.

With how easy QoS was to setup and configure on the Draytek it makes me regret not looking into it in more detail sooner. Furthermore, when the NBN gets lit up on my street I’ll be looking to Draytek for router options (though I do love using pfSense).

I’m sure it’s a topic that I’ve written about before, but in the interest of not polluting my current views, I’m not going to re-read any of my writing, or direct you to. I want to investigate it now (as a purple belt with a single brown stripe who’s been training for about 8 years).

Many grapplers will tell you about the walls that they hit during their career where they feel like progress has stalled and the grind isn’t worth the gains anymore. It might be following a belt promotion or unrelated, but it often starts with a day away here and there that turns into a week off the mats, which devolves into a month and then it’s Christmas and you’re commenting to others about how you’ll be back next year. I’ve seen it happen numerous times, to various types of characters with a multitude of daily pressures and stresses. It’s a common occurrence around the blue belt promotion in Brazilian jiu-jitsu, which is considered the first significant coloured belt. This belt is often earned after two or three years of training and the effort required to achieve it is often compared to a black belt in a more traditional art like karate or taekwondo. It’s a big deal, and for some, it provides a good opportunity to exit the sport with an accomplishment in hand. I’ve heard it thrown around that 50% of the grapplers who get their blue belt don’t begin working towards their purple the next day, which seems about right to me.

Like anything, 8 years is a long time to devote yourself to any pursuit, be it sports or otherwise. BJJ is no different. How many people do you know that have played football for 8 years, or cricket, basketball or any other sport? None of my friends outside BJJ have consistently devoted themselves to their sporting endeavours as much as I have to BJJ, that I can think of. I know a few climbers but at best they get up a wall or outside once a fortnight. It’s not a critiscism – life gets in the way, as they say.

And I think that’s an important thing to remember – life gets in the way of everything. Unless you’re training BJJ full time (and that would mean you earn a living teaching, most likely) then you will have work, family and a myriad of other things jostling for your time, and in many cases, getting it.

My advice, for what it’s worth, is to always remember that BJJ should always be providing you with a challenge and equally rewarding you for attempting to solve its puzzles. Note that I believe the rewards should be attached to the losses as well as the wins and in many cases it’s not even an on-the-mat reward. My biggest reward last year was a sorry drive home feeling like I didn’t represent myself accurately and let my ego get in the way. That led to a conversation and a cleansing of sorts, which is now blossoming into a mutual respect on and off the mats. It was a serious growth in my character and one that I attribute to BJJ alone. It wasn’t a new technique; it was a genuine growth realisation. Ask me about it some time.

If you’re not getting the love from BJJ, maybe it’s a good time to take a break. Think of BJJ like a relationship – maybe you’re just not that into her anymore, even though you really want to be (on some level). Maybe a few months apart will reignite the spark or maybe it’ll prove to you that space is a good thing.

BJJ still challenges me and rewards me and it’s because of this I’m certain I’ll be back after my son is born. That’s certainly a time I want life to get in the way. When I do come back, I know I’ll see you there Daniel.

You think a little love is all you need, but love is such a small thing can’t you see?
I think you’ll find it sits in a book and changes the words that you read.

Over the years I’ve seen my coach and my club change a lot, and this is a good representation of how jiu jitsu itself is constantly growing and evolving. My very first lesson at The Academy resulted in my learning a basic armbar from mount. This is jiu jitsu 101 – a really basic movement that you’ll learn within the first few months.

Skip to 2:00 to see Rorian Gracie demonstrate this basic armbar, the way I first learnt it.

Except nothing in jiu jitsu is really basic; other than your understanding of a technique. As a result, I’ve seen this attack change over the years, and the way it’s been taught by my coach has evolved. The way he was taught seems so ancient and ineffective compared to how we’re doing things these days. I don’t think I’d enjoy training anywhere near as much as I do if I was at a club that didn’t grow as the sport grew.

This embrace of change has meant we try out lots of new things, and most of them are great. For example, our gradings (affectionatly called “Smash Sessions”) have changed format several times and now settled on a style that people love. It brings the affiliate clubs together and is an event everyone looks forward to. Everyone’s on the mat and everyone rolls hard, and we all love it. The old way of doing a grading was very systematic and very planned; now it’s much more free-flowing.

But not everything that changes I enjoy. A few months back a new practice (new to our club; not new to jiu jitsu as a whole) was trialed, and in my opinion, failed. The “running of the gauntlet” is a practice whereby new innitiates are welcomed to their rank. Two lines are formed and as the graduate walks through the passage they’re whipped by everyone else’s belts. It reminds me of American college hazing, and it’s not something I can relate to.

This isn’t our club, but you get the idea:

As a senior rank I took the opportunity to set an example, and partook in the exercise but specifically protested by lightly tapping the gauntlet runner on the back. Some people followed suit but too many for my liking took the opportunity to actually try and hurt someone. A free shot and a cheap shot.

That’s the exact opposite of what I want to get out of jiu jitsu, and to be honest I was embarrassed for our club. As an expectant parent, I was thinking about how I’d feel if my child was wanting to join a club that did this kind of thing. I later heard that there was serious protest from the women in our club too, who declared that under no circumstances would they be running any gauntlets. I can understand that, and considerin the serious gender bias we have towards men I’d like to see us lower as many barriers to entry as possible, rather than raise more.

Although there were rules around the process (don’t hit the face, no wild wind-up swings) these were largely ignored. Although most people showed some restraint and control it wasn’t always the case.

I don’t want to hurt my training partners; they’re people I genuinely care about (even the ones I don’t like ;) I don’t want to perpetuate the myth of the martial arts psycho. Or even worse – the bully.

A day later I spent half an hour on the phone with my coach after he invited me to discuss what I thought about the gauntlet. I told him everything I felt, and at the end of it he declared that it wasn’t something he saw the club doing again.

Was I just being a pussy? Maybe. I joke that if I wanted to hurt people I’d have started kickboxing instead, but there’s always some truth to every joke.

For me, there are two take away points here that are worth highlighting. Firstly, as the owner of the business and (now) an Australian black-belt champion, Adam is under no obligation to consider my opinion, but he did. I appreciated that a lot. I feel like it’s “my” club and he certainly reinforced that. Secondly, it’s important to note that unless we try new things we simply won’t advance. If we didn’t try new grading styles we wouldn’t have the awesome Smash Sessions we have now, and if we didn’t adapt our techniques to consider new grappling styles or trends then we wouldn’t advance jiu jitsu. Making the decision to try new things means you also run the risk of making mistakes. You can’t be scared of making mistakes, but you have to be able to admit them.

Making mistakes and learning from them is jiu jitsu. Nobody does jiu jitsu better than Adam Metcalf, and The Academy of Mixed Martial Arts.

Unfortunately it’s hard to fit all that I want to do into the time I have available, and that’s meant that my gym membership has been dormant for probably close to a few months. In our household we typically have the family money cover health and exercise related expenses, and whilst my membership is only $25 per fortnight, it’s money that I was wasting. It doesn’t come out of my weekly allowance, which I spend on things like coffee, comics and Lego, so I don’t feel it personally.

Inspired by Nat and Lisa‘s hockey team, I now fine myself $15 every Saturday if I don’t lift during the week. If I want to avoid the fine all I have to do is a few sets in the gym and I not only get the exercise benefit, but I save myself some cash.

Twice in the last two weeks I have had the distinct pleasure of dealing with Emily J in Personal Loans. Initially she helped me activate and draw down on a personal loan and just now she has helped me update the account from which repayments against that loan were being withdrawn. On both occasions I was greeted with a cheerful and emphatic welcome. In fact, her manner on my most recent phone call caused me to suggest that I had dealt with her previously and she was able to confirm that I had indeed spoken to her last. She clearly made an impression on me. At all times Emily kept me informed of the process and talked me through what she was doing. I interacted with her in real-time by emailing additional supporting documentation when I would have expected “please go away and call us back later” from a lesser agent. She proves that efficiency and warmth are not mutually exclusive. At the end of each interaction she asked if I had any further requirements, but I understood her to be genuinely interested, and not merely following script. If I needed more help, she wanted to be the one to provide it.

I asked how best to identify her and she said that Emily J in Personal Loans would be sufficient. Please investigate my history with the ANZ if that is not the case as I very much would like to see Emily’s work acknowledged.

An Australian accent is rare in customer support these days, and I applaud ANZ for recognising that short wait times and friendly staff are a necessary differentiator. It has never been easier for consumers to switch banks, and many times a decision to do so will be as a result of a direct interaction with a staff member. I’d expect that the feedback line of a major corporation is very much aware of this. The increasing availability of interstate and international banking options make it so easy for a consumer to jump from bank to bank, and in fact it was a disappointing interaction I had with a competitor several years ago, combined with positive interactions with your West Perth branch that caused me to become a customer.

Emily’s attitude today reminds me that I made the right choice.

I sincerely hope that Emily is utilised by the bank in a training role, where she might be able to help guide and influence customer support staff.

I’m happy to discuss my feedback further. If possible, I would like confirmation that this was received and an indication as to how this feedback will be used.

Thanks,

Matt Lambie

This email was sent to ANZ’s feedback moments ago. Upon reading back over it, I couldn’t help but see I’d written a blog article as much as I’d written a feedback email.

Update: a few minutes after sending the first email I received another email from ANZ’s West Perth branch following up on a meeting I had with Mathieu and one of their account managers. Seriously ANZ, you’re kicking some major ass right now. 

I thought that maybe an autoupdate had run or something, but I still have iOS v4.1.1 installed.

I’m going to try and find a micro USB cable and use Greenpois0n to restore it again tomorrow, but it’s a worry.

Has anyone seen this before, or has anyone got an alternative ideas?

Update 5th April 2012

After spending more than an hour attempting to jailbreak and upgrade the ATV2, I gave up and plugged it back into the TV. I thought that it would be worth while checking if I could SSH into the device, even though all signs pointed to it no longer being jailbroken. Amazingly, SSH worked just fine and whilst I can’t work out how to restore the menu items, I did find a way to boot into XBMC directly, so whilst that doesn’t solve the initial problem, it solves it well enough. My ATV2 now boots into XBMC by default, which is what I ant 99% of the time anyway.

Belts in Brazilian jiu jitsu are coloured from white to blue, then purple, brown and finally black. There are other belts beyond black, namely a red-and-black belt, and a red belt, but they’re so rare they may as well not exist. The five coloured belts are what most BJJ practitioners are familiar with and will encounter.

Each coloured belt has a number of tips (coloured stripes of fabric) that can be applied to show staged progression from one colour to the next. A white belt can gain up to four blue stripes before grading to a blue belt; a blue belt can gain three purple stripes before grading to a purple belt; a purple belt can gain two brown stripes before grading to a brown belt and lastly a brown belt can gain a single black stripe before grading to a black belt. Tips are not always issued, and instead students may jump from a single coloured belt to another, but that’s not as common.

Grading sessions at The Academy have never been used to determine a student’s position, but rather I’ve seen them as proof or evidence that a student is worthy of the next level, be it a tip or a new coloured belt. I haven’t heard of a student being asked to grade and then not passing, but it may have happened. If you’re asked by Adam to grade it’s because he believes you’re at the bottom of the next level.

When I graded through my white and early blue belt ranks, the process was much more formalised than we see these days. There was a formal syllabus and a student was required to demonstrate each move separately, be it a transition, sweep or submission. Upon reaching the full coloured belt, a student would demonstrate all the movements from the previous tip-gradings that led to the full belt. The grading for my blue belt comprised of me sitting a white-1, white-2, white-3 and white-4 grading back to back. They took a while.

Of late though the grading formats have changed. It has a much more laid-back, “Brazilian” approach. The mats are bursting at the seams with students of all rank and ability. As many as 15 pairs of grapplers take up a space usually reserved for half as many combatants, and all around the edge of the mats sit the overflow people awaiting their next roll. The expansion of the AMMA empire means that grading nights draw the satellite and affiliate clubs also, providing a lot of new people and new challenges. This is the part I like most about the current style of gradings - affectionally names “Smash Sessions.”

Typically during class if there’s a new person on the mat they’ll be a beginner. We do get visitors from other clubs, or people travelling through Perth, but the majority of new faces I see at The Academy are people wanting to try BJJ for the first time. At a Smash Session, all of the new faces have grappling skills too.

For each four-minute round a specific goal might be set or restriction applied. For example, you might be required to demonstrate a specific armlock or sweep, or only submit your opponent with a choke, or only attack from the mount position. The black-belts will typically wander between the pairs of grapplers, half observing the matches for the required moves and half acting as protective barriers – it gets cosy on the mats with so many people fighting for space and “senior belts always have the right of way.”

A discussion was raised online about increasing the frequency of our grading nights because of their popularity. At the moment we have them about once every three months. My opinion on this is that if we have Smash Sessions too often, be them grading nights or not, the appeal and fun will fade. We’ll have people justifying to themselves “it’s OK, I’ll go to next month’s session instead” if they have the option. I don’t want to see Smash Sessions become so regular they lose their charm. I also don’t see the affiliate clubs, some based as far away as Bunbury, making the trek to Perth every month. As I said, it’s these clubs attending that I like the most.

My vote: keep the sessions every three months, or introduce an additional event to partly cater for people’s desires. My current thought, which I might develop further: a whole-day event (maybe on a Sunday, or maybe over a weekend) where multiple coaches run multiple “streams” or sessions. Think of it as a BJJ conference. The goal would be to cross-pollenate between clubs and schools, and even styles.

If you train at The Academy, what do you think about the current grading sessions? What are your memories? If you train elsewhere, how does your club grade its students, and how do you feel about that?

Going back through my history, I had blood drawn a week ago without issue. The pinprick was nothing a grown man should even acknowledge.

About 6 weeks ago I had my binary tattoo applied, and for those of you that are ink-free, I will explain the process. A needle goes in an out of your body between 250 and 500 times per second. They start with a small needle and trace an outline, then the artist moves to a bigger needle for a heavier outline, and finally the pattern is coloured with the largest of the three needles. I think it feels like a razor blade is being slowly pulled through your flesh, but I’m also melodramatic (and want the girls to think I’m tough).

Last year most of the team at The Frontier Group took a flu vacination. I knew I’d need to set an example, and even though I was a bit worried, I honestly didn’t feel the needle enter my arm.

Even further back is a few trips to the dentist, where I’ve had several injections. My close friend Emma, even with her skill and ability as a tooth fixer, can’t overcome my apparent mutation. According to her I have an unusual cluster of nerves in my bottom jaw. I’m an X-man (OK, I gave myself this title). This means that if she needs to numb me up she uses a few different needles and a few different anasthetics, and even then it’s the laughing gas that works best. More importantly though, none of the needles she gives me are really any concern.

And then we have the stitches I received in my head when I cut it open on the guttering as we hung decorations for our engagement party. The anesthetic the doctor gave me was supposed to sting, but I didn’t flinch. Maybe it was no problem because my mum was with me. If she was holding my hand, it was because she needed comfort, honest.

I guess my question is, how much evidence do I need before I reassess the situation and realise that in fact, I’m not scared of needles anymore? What else am I looking at with my life, and saying “that’s how I felt yesterday, so that’s how I will feel today”?

What do you take for granted, because that’s just how it is, even though you’re facing a mountain of recent evidence that suggests the opposite?

At 14,000 feet, all you have is air.

Have you ever held your hand out of a moving car and let if float and glide on the cushion of air? That’s the best analogy I can offer. Others compare skydiving to lying on a half inflated air mattress, but I think the car comparison is closer, even if you’re body alignment is different.

My journey from ground to sky and back to ground, safely, began about 10 years ago, when my mother planned to buy me a tandem skydive as a gift for my 21st birthday. My interest in skydiving existed before then because I had to politely decline the present – it wasn’t how I had planned it in my head. I knew in myself that the first time I jumped from an aircraft I would not have anyone strapped to me, doing the hard work. My life and the experience would be in my control. Mum was disappointed and returned the gift, but she understood.

Fast forward to late 2006, where I declared quite publicly that 2007 would be The Year of the Challenge. I reached a lot of goals in that year, but skydiving still eluded me. Fast forward again to January 2012, where I walked into Skydive Express’ offices in Leederville, and after much convincing, was allowed to sign up for their Accelerated Freefall Stage 1 (AFF 1) course.

I say convincing, because the person I met with gave me all the reasons under the sun for why I shouldn’t partake in the AFF 1; it’s dangerous, it’s expensive, it’s for people who want to become skydivers, not those seeking a once-off thrill. His expectation was that a guy in jeans and a t-shirt, wandering into their office during the day might not have the capacity to afford skydiving lessons. I see what he means, but it was also a little presumptuous.

The course was spread over three distinct training sessions – 3 hours on Wednesday after work, 3 hours on Thursday after work and a few hours on Saturday, the morning of the jump. We learnt about safe aircraft exit procedures, basic aerodynamics, emergency procedures and when to engage them, flying the canopy and most importantly, how to land the parachute. There was a good mix between theory and practical lessons, and every step along the way our actions were refined or corrected. Getting on the aircraft I knew that even if I suffered from sensory overload I’d be able to simply rely on my training and go through the motions. I was confident.

On Saturday morning I arrived at the dropzone in York at about 7:45AM. We were strapped into harnesses suspended from the ceiling of the large hanger-like space that serves as the preparation area and club house. One of the difficulties we were trained to expect are line twists, where the canopy deploys fine but the parachute lines are twisted underneath. This is not a malfunction, but you do need to clear the lines before you can remove the brake toggles and fly your parachute. You do this by spreading the riser straps (the seatbelt material that connects your harness to the lines) and scissor-kicking your legs. It’s easier than it sounds, when you’re a few feet above the ground. After this training we went through our exit procedures on the mock aircraft shell a few more times and learnt how to perform a Parachute Landing Roll (PLR). We were ready for the exam.

In order to pass the course and jump a single rig we would need to answer a 65 question exam. I got all the questions right except for the question about how much time you need to leave between drinking alcohol and jumping – I said twelve hours and it’s only eight. I also told the instructor I hadn’t had a drink for a month and currently considered myself s non drinker; he didn’t care and pointed out that if I left a 12 hour window he’d be happy. A flick of his pen and I was cleared to jump.

If I hadn’t shown control and understanding I may have been cleared for a tandem first jump, which still qualifies as AFF 1, but that wasn’t ever going to be OK with me.

There were three other guys doing the course with me at the same time: Vernon, the 39yr old painter/plaster who works off shore on an oil and gas rig, Jesse, the 18yr old locksmith who was a little shy and reserved, but keen to jump, and Robert, who (I think) was in his late 20s, works in a law firm and was born in Vienna. We all got on fine, but as the course progressed, Robert seemed to have more trouble than the rest of us. Don, our instructor, rode us all pretty hard. He was like a drill sergeant, which is exactly what you want if you’re heading into battle with gravity. I personally liked his teaching style, but I was on his good side because I was paying full attention, doing all my homework and asking for clarifications where I needed them. I wasn’t late to all the sessions, playing on my phone and saying I understood when I clearly didn’t.

As it happened, we all passed our exams and Don cleared us to jump AFF 1 solo. It was about 2PM on Saturday and Vernon and myself hopped into jump suits, were given helmets and altimeters, and told to get ready. Jesse and Robert were going to be on the next load.

… and then the wind changed. As a student I can only fly in 15 knot winds. The parachutes we jump travel with 15 knots forward velocity, so if we’re landing into the wind (as you always should) in theory the parachute’s forward velocity would be cancelled by the wind, and the parachute would descend on the spot with zero forward ground speed. If the wind is 10 knots, then the parachute lands at 5 knots ground speed (which is about 10km/hr). Those who have completed the AFF programme and have an A class license can jump in 20 knot winds, and those with B and above can jump in 25 knot winds. All it takes is a little gust and our plans are put on hold.

The wind didn’t clear for the rest of the afternoon, so Vernon and I removed our flight suits and the four of us agreed to jump at another time. Jesse, Vernon and myself were keen to come back the next day, but Robert couldn’t make it. Don said that if there was three of us, we could all load into the Caravan with two instructors each and jump on the one load. This sounded perfect.

Sunday morning Vernon, Jesse and I arrived at the dropzone just after 7AM, ready to ‘dive. We were put through the exit drill once more, and loaded into flight suits and given our gear again. I was partnered up with Jonesy and Mark, who were going to be jumping with me and guiding me back to the ground. After a few gear checks, we strolled out to meet the plane. I’ve since learnt that skydivers are called “meat bombs” by the pilot.

On the ascent Jonesy suggested I close my eyes and visualise the jump, from start to finish. I have used a similar technique before stepping on the the mats and competing in jiu-jitsu competitions, and I find it helps to prepare me for what’s about to come.

Vernon was the first to jump, and as he went through his exit procedures and appeared to be sucked from the airplane it finally hit me – shit was about to get real.

Mark told me “move to the door” which was the indicator that it was my turn to jump. I started my exit, placing my left foot on the edge of the open doorway, sticking my head out, then sticking my arms out and checking in with Mark. Jonesy was already outside the plane and both of them had a firm grip on my shoulder and thigh straps.

“OK” said Mark, which meant control was passed back to me. I set the exit cadence with a clear “horizon, out, in, arch.” Then gravity took over and I was freefalling.

I was arching, but not enough according to Jonesy who gave me a shake – the sign that I needed to arch harder. I did just that, and straighed my legs too (he gave me the two-finger sign infront of my face).

Holy shit – I was actually skydiving!

I checked the ground, and checked my altimeter, and saw I was at 12,000 feet. Just as we’d trained for. The first 15 seconds had gone by on a flash. I started my practice pulls, which demonstrate to the instructors that I am capable of depoying my own pilot ‘chute. I reached and held the position, and when Mark tapped my right arm I executed a practice pull. I then reached and practice pulled again. The guys were happy with my practice pulls, which mean the formalities were over and we settled into the part of the dive I had most been looking forward to.

At 5-second intervals I was to trained to check the ground and take a mental image of what it looked like at this height, and check my altimeter to confirm.

“Ground; alti; 9,000.”

I couldn’t actually call the heights out, but that didn’t matter. I just needed to show to my minders that I was going through the motions.

“Ground; alti; 8,000.”

“Ground; alti; 7,000.”

The next check was the most important, and last.

“Ground; alti; 6,200…. 6,000.”

I held my last check for a second longer and watched the needle pass over 6,000 feet exactly. I waved both hands above my head and indicated to the instructors that I was preparing to deploy my pilote ‘chute. I reached, gripped and threw and began my count.

“One thousand… two thousand…”

And with that, the canopy had deployed. There was no need for the rest of the count:

“Three thousand, check, four thousand, five thousand, six thousand, check canopy.”

The “check” part of the count is to prevent pilot ‘chute hesitations, which occur when you don’t deploy the pilot ‘chute far enough away from your body and it is sucked back in the vortex you’re creating. It ends up resting on your back, not doing its job. With the “check” you roll your body, disrupting airflow and dislodging any sneaky pilot ‘chutes. My deployment was fine, and the canopy was “there and square.”

I checked the canopy as I’d been trained – there were no line twists, the slider had fully descended and the end cells were inflated. I was almost a little disappointed that everything went perfectly, and I didn’t need to employ any of my training. Almost.

I released the brake toggles and pumped the brakes twice. The parachute sped to full drive and I started to scan for my Mark’s canopy. It was my job to follow Mark’s blue and dark grey canopy until I saw the white targetting arrow begin to move, at which point I knew Jonesy was on the ground and ready to bring me in.

I couldn’t find Mark at first, so I turned 90 degrees right and spotted him. I then kept pointing my canopy at him. Mark had deployed a second after me, whereas Jonesy deployed really late and had spiraled to the ground, trying to get to the targeting arrow as fast as possible.

Jonesy did a good job, because before I knew it he was at the arrow and guiding me in. The helmet radio crackled but was a huge distraction; I knew Jonesy was talking but didn’t know what he was saying. I stuck to my training and pointed my parachute the way he directed me.

I was getting closer and closer to the ground, and then saw Jonesy leave the arrow and grab the batons. These are used to guide the parachutist in for the final 200 feet. I must have been up too high at this point because I passed over Jonesy’s head! I remembered that the process is come in on half brakes and don’t attempt to flare if you lose your TA, so I did just that.

But in the last second I heard Jonesy in the radio yelling “flare, flare, flare” so I did, and landed safely and softly. Then I fell on my ass.

He came running over to me, checked I was OK, and we threw a few high fives and fist bumps. We’d done it! Jonesy showed me how to gather up a parachute, and I got to take the proud walk back to the club house with my spent ‘chute over my shoulder. At least I looked the part.

On the way, I saw Jesse land and collected Don. We had all landed safely and began to debrief with our instructors. Jesse’s mum was there and captured a few photographs of the team – I’ll post them as soon as I get them.

I went through my debrief with Mark and Jonesy, and they said they wanted me to follow the arrow faster, but other than that, they were happy with the jump and passed me. I was now ready for AFF 2!

Vernon and Jesse have been bitten by the bug too, and the current plan is to do a second (and maybe third) jump in just over a week.

I made some new friends and tested my mettle in extreme conditions, and feel amazing. When people ask me how it was, I say “life-changing.” And that’s downplaying it.