High above Southern California, John Miller, 77, checked his altimeter. “We’re two miles up,” he shouted over the aircraft’s engines. “This is when everyone begins to get quiet.”
Sure sufficient, the cabin hushed as we reached altitude. Sharron Fielding, 70, squeezed my hand; Ricki Thues, 71, checked that his Santa hat was tied tightly beneath his chin. “Everybody prepared?” referred to as Doug Wuest, 69, their unofficial coach. “Ready, set, go!”
Mr. Wuest rolled up the plane door and, together with three buddies, leaned out of the DHC-6 Twin Otter — 12,500 toes up. Then they let go.
Twenty-four different seniors adopted, hurtling headfirst by means of the sky at 180 miles per hour.
They had about 45 seconds to get into place, maneuvering right into a three-ringed, lopsided snowflake, a formation that made the already daring soar much more difficult. Only two jumpers didn’t handle to connect in time.
