He and I did some Base Jumping before it was called that. He and I are the only two out of the ten original guys doing that stuff still alive. I'm alive because I quit skydiving off of bridges and cliffs to take up the much safer avocation of flying jet fighters. He is still alive because, hell, I don't know.

Anyway, as I woke up this morning I had to smile from remembering The Flying Pooty Tats. The same basic scenario has and will occur at drop zones all around the world.

Sparta, Illinois, 1978. Crat hangs around the hangar (ha, ha) where we pack our chutes between jumps. Crat tries to take a nap on one guy's chute. Guy kicks the cat out of the way. Drop zone owner's wife yells at guy. Cat pisses on parachute backpack. Guy is pissed (ha, ha).

Two weekends later, owner's wife is out of town. One open can of C-Ration tuna and five minutes later cat is in the airplane cradled in your humble correspondents arms (I had squeezed and shook it on the ground until it had no more piss to pee). The guy with the freshly washed and dried parachute rig is chortling all the way to altitude, but he doesn't have the fortitude to stand up to the owner's wife. (Whenever she yelled at me I just stood and looked at her hooters. Best way to win an argument with a female.)

Up at 10,500 feet the jump door is open. Just as we exit I throw the cat at the guy, cat gloms onto his left arm in terror, and digs in like he'll die if he doesn't (he, he, he). For the next 5,000 vertical feet the guys is yelling in pain and trying to shake Mr. Tom off of his arm. The rest of us are free falling just a few feet (discretely out of range of the cat) away, laughing at Mr. Pisser and Mr. Pissy having one last dance.

The guy finally dumps his chute. Problem solved. Mr. Tom gets sucked off his arm by our good friends Mr. Gravity and Mr. Inertia. The rest of us, still keeping a prudent distance, continued in free fall to watch the cat. Mr. Tom wasn't wearing a jump suit however, so his terminal velocity was a little bit faster than ours. Not much though. I finally opened my chute at 1,500 feet (I was a very bad boy about pulling low in those days.). I then descended in a tight spiral to the freshly planted corn field.

Yes, he landed on his feet.

I will dig through my old books of Kodachrome slides and see if I can scan some pictures.

Next week I'll go off topic with a story about a yapper dog near the Coolidge, Arizona, drop zone in 1981.

LD

ROTFLMAO, the dog is looking at me like I am nuts.

Thanks.............

I would pay a dollar to see those pictures.

quote:

the dog is looking at me like I am nuts.

Well? Call me.

Dan

Pres., TYHC

http://www.RemindsMeOfHueysN.Chickens

Lawndart
That one is original for me but very logical.
I would do exactly the same thing if I had the fortitude to "jump out of a perfectly good ......"!!!!!!!
How about jumping with a shotgun and idulging in a bit of "aerial" skeet on the way down as you freefall? Maybe a 20" coach gun" or one of the old motor guns - double barrelled pistol grip 20ga without a stock and really short barrells?
APB

Be careful you don't get target fixation when you do that.

Dan

Pres., TYHC

http://www.MakeYaGo.Splat

quote:

Lawndart
That one is original for me but very logical.
I would do exactly the same thing if I had the fortitude to "jump out of a perfectly good ......"!!!!!!!
How about jumping with a shotgun and idulging in a bit of "aerial" skeet on the way down as you freefall? Maybe a 20" coach gun" or one of the old motor guns - double barrelled pistol grip 20ga without a stock and really short barrells?
APB

When it comes to piling gratuitously dangerous activities, one upon the other; I try to follow the apostle Jame's advice:

"It is ok to tug on Jesus' robe, but don't piss on his sandals."

lawndart

I would like a video of that .

I would like to try air droping cats on enemy troops .
Just to see if they will shoot them , them=n our boys can shoot them

Johnch