Re: [TizzyLishNinja] Restless Writer
Wild Things
Steve himself was not the only wild creature in his biography. To be fair, his pets were not exactly wild in the true sense of the word, but a couple of them were certainly unusual.
Somehow we both had saltwater aquariums at the same time. Great minds think alike, I guess. Mine held nothing more threatening than a ribbon eel, which immediately committed suicide as soon as I put him in the tank. Steve, on the other hand, purchased a moray eel, possibly one of the ugliest denizens of the deep and certainly carnivorous. The eel had to be fed live goldfish, which I complained about incessantly--those poor goldfish, swimming around, minding their own business, then suddenly dumped into saltwater and gobbled by that hideous eel.
One day, Steve got an idea of how the goldfish must have felt. For some reason he had his hand in the aquarium, and he forgot that he had on his Citadel class ring, which, of course, was gold. The moray eel, with about two functioning brain cells, did not differentiate between the ring and a goldfish. I'm not sure what happened next-Steve was deliberately vague on that point-but I fear the eel did not fare very well once Steve got its teeth out of his finger.
Steve's next pet was Otis, the Vietnamese pot bellied pig. Otis was a baby pig when Steve acquired him, and Steve housetrained him just as one would a dog. He really loved that pig. A pig, however, is one of the most intelligent animals in the world, maybe smarter than Steve. Otis learned to open the refrigerator door his snout, and Steve came home to a huge mess. Otis had pulled all the shelves out of the refrigerator and eaten everything. He also used his snout to push windows out. By this time, Steve had also acquired his golden retriever, Alex, and Alex escaped through the open window. Intelligent Otis was probably trying to eliminate the competition.
Otis's intellectual once got the better of him. Steve had him outside one autumn day when Otis discovered a jack-o-lantern on the neighbor's front steps. Ever curious, Otis examined this foreign object a little too closely and got his head stuck inside. He ran all over the place with the pumpkin stuck on his head.
Finally, Otis got to be too much for Steve to handle along with the dog, so he took Otis to his parents. (Not the pig's parents. Steve's parents.) When he ate a hole in the Morrells' floor, Otis had to go. They sent him to what they term a "pig palace" with others of his kind. Steve went along for the sad farewell, and onlookers claim they might actually have seen tears Steve's eyes. Otis ended up weighing around 300 pounds and growing tusks. Steve's mother was glad that Steve never saw Otis in that state and that his memories were of a cute little pig. Otis died when he was nine, still living at the "pig palace."
Finally, there is Alex, the Golden Retriever. Steve adored Alex. He took him everywhere, including hiking and camping trips. He also considered Alex to be a babe magnet. Steve was walking down the beach one day, trolling for women with Alex in tow, and two bikini clad girls came over to lavish attention on the dog and, by association, Steve. Things were going well until Alex began to show some signs of distress, and one of the girls asked, "What is that white stuff coming out of your dog?" Steve looked at the poor canine's rear, and something alien was indeed coming out of Alex's, uh, rectum. Steve tried to be cool about it and gently tugged at the white material while still trying to keep the girls from escaping. But the mysterious material was not budging. Finally, Steve had to turn his full attention to poor Alex, only to discover that Alex had apparently ingested a pair of sweat socks. Relieving the situation required quite a bit of tugging and downright pulling before the sweat socks were finally freed. When Steve looked up, naturally the girls were nowhere to be seen.
Alex accompanied Steve on hiking and camping trips, as already stated. Unfortunately, during the last trip, Alex began to show symptoms of some major health problems. Shortly after that, Steve was killed and Alex went to live with Robert and Carroll, Steve's parents. Alex is still with us and doing fine, despite getting along in years. I love to rub him and pet him whenever I visit the Morrells. He's one of the few links we have to Steve. When the inevitable happens and Alex joins Steve in heaven, the Morrells plan to have him cremated and to scatter his ashes over Steve's grave. That will be a very appropriate for best friends.
El Cap
Steve went to jump El Capitan in Yosemite National Park, which required a lot of coordination, not just because of the danger, but because the jump is illegal. Steve had to hike to the jump spot, no small problem in itself. There was an issue with his assistants who did his job with dispatch, yet found that he had not brought enough water. Of course Steve didn't care, because he was not hiking back down... More important than the jump hike, there was the coordination of the landing site, a field some distance from the base. As in Steve' s days of urban building jumping, a good getaway van and nerves-of-steel driver were essential. You had to have a reliable person at the site to spirit you away before the authorities arrived. Unlike the building jumps, there was a much longer time between the time Steve and his team split up and time when they had to be back together to make their escape. In this case, Steve relied on an unidentified female who, to her credit, was in the right spot, ready to pick him up. The nerves-of-steel part is in question.
The jump at El Cap is one of the most spectacular BASE jumps there is (probably explaining why Steve had to do it), allowing one of the maximum free fall times of any cliff in the world. Steve used most of it. When he dumped his pilot chute, he had a spinning malfunction. El Cap is so high that it is one of the few BASE jumps where it makes sense to carry a reserve chute. Steve saw the rock pile coming up quickly cut his main and dumped his reserve.
Steve did not have time to prepare for a landing among a pile of boulders, and cracked some ribs and twisted an ankle pretty badly. Some rock climbers helped carry him down. Unfortunately, the getaway driver was so far away, she could not see Steve once he fell among the rocks and she flipped out. This was in the Days of Yore, before cell phones, so she had no way to communicate with Steve or the hike team. She went to a pay phone and called the park rangers to tell them that a Captain Steve Morrell had been killed on El Capitan. She even gave them Steve's home phone number, though exactly why they would require the phone number of a "dead" man is unclear. No nerves-of-steel, perhaps, but no fool either, she apparently fled.
In what was to foreshadow the infamous hike out of the desert in Saudi Arabia (more on that later), it took six hours for Steve to reach the pick up site, where he found no ride home. How exactly he got home is one of the many Mysteries of Steve, but when he arrived, there were two messages on his answering machine (the Days of Yore did include answering machines). The first message was from the park service, which was quite eager to talk to an actual dead man, having tramped all over the rock pile looking for his body. Finally the rock climbers informed them that he was, in fact, alive. They proceeded to charge him, with "Unauthorized aerial delivery of a person without a permit" . A felony would have gotten Steve dismissed from the Air Force. As Steve, the eternal optimist, said later, "If you throw enough money at something, it will go away," and the charges were reduced to a misdemeanor. Time has obscured exactly how this was done. The lawyer cost many thousands of dollars, but "throwing money" at the problem meant that Steve could stay in the Air Force. One version has the charges being reduced to not with jumping off the cliff, but to "disturbing Kestrel nests". Event though Kestrels routinely dive past their nests at over 150 mph, the Federal government believes that baby Kestrels would be disturbed by seeing a human go by at a paltry 120 mph. Another version of the story says this was what the original charge was, there being no real law against jumping off cliffs. As for the Park Service, Steve joked, "We'll have no gravity in this park, young man!" However the Air Force knew about the entire affair because the Park Service had contacted them from the start and the AF decided Steve needed his "wings clipped,' so to speak.
Saudi Stories
After Steve's El Capitan jump, the Air Force decided to cool his behind somewhere, as in somewhere away from the officers who had had to deal with the park rangers. In the old days when his dad was a pilot, the standard place was some radar station in Alaska. Steve's father had several friends who drew this punishment. In the 80's though, there was a better place than mountainous (i.e. lots of cliffs) and now thoroughly modernized Alaska: there was Saudi Arabia. Hot, strict and far away. It doesn't get any better than that as punishment.
How hot is it in Saudi? Well, the Air Force made Steve sign a formal, explicit contract before he left that acknowledged in writing that he understood how hot it was and that he would not ask to come home because of the heat. (Steve said later even that did not prepare him for how hot it was.)
Now there is an important thing to understand about Steve in the 80's. Steve had gone to college with many people from the Middle East. The nephew of the king of Jordon was one of his classmates (his father had been assassinated) and an number of his classmates were children of Iranian bigwigs in the Shah's government. Most were stranded in the US when the Iranian revolution took place (a number of their parents were executed or missing by graduation) Furthermore, by this time Steve had already travelled all over the world, and had a very loudly proclaimed multi-culturalism. "It's not them, it is just their culture" was his often (read: ad nauseum) repeated phrase. Those of us parochial back in the states (including those, who had knocked about much of the same territory 30 years before) who thought this or that group of foreigners were a bit off were just narrow minded and un-cultured. So it cannot be said that what happened to Steve in Saudi did not cheer some people up a bit....
What happened started on the first day he got there. His family Bible was confiscated by the "mutaween" or religious police. It is worth noting that this Bible was tucked as far down in his luggage as a 20's something military pilot who hasn't read it since the last big flight school exam could stuff it. Actually, there are several who believe Steve could not have found it if they had told him to. When he asked later if he would get it back, he was told no, it was already destroyed. These people don't mess around, Steve thought.
This was confirmed a few months later when Steve was invited by a friend to attend an execution. Two men were beheaded (Steve thought it was for drug dealing) He got a great "I attended a double header tee shirt" but admitted privately that it shook him up to see the sword fall and the heads roll. Even more disconcerting was an accompanying execution by stoning of a woman for adultery. The stoning methods were much more modern than the old pick up and hurl a stone of biblical times. The woman was placed in a pit, and a dumptruck full of rocks was backed up and emptied on her. "It's not them, it's just their culture" Steve repeated to himself, with considerably less conviction.
Steve's job in Saudi was flying bigwig passengers in a turbo prop. This was at the time of the first Gulf crisis, when Iran was our enemy and Iraq our friend, al beit a "friend" that accidentally fired a missile at one of our cruisers killing 34 sailors. Steve flew cabinet secretaries and ambassadors up and down the gulf, getting radar locks from missile batteries on the Iranian coast, which qualified him for hazardous duty pay. One day he co-piloted for a Colonel who wanted to fly the Egyptian ambassador to Cairo. Now, flying colonels' are a joke even his father's days in the Air Force. They fly only enough to keep their rating, and so are known for screw-up’s. The colonel wanted to spend time with the ambassador, and assigned Steve to help if he got in trouble flying. He did. He flew into one of the worst sandstorms in Egyptian aviation history. Very quickly the colonel realized he was going to lose the plane without help, so he turned it over to Steve, who had been sweating bullets watching things go from bad to worse. Steve brought the plane down in a howling wind with no visibility on some remote runway, earning a citation, and a friend in high places he would need later.
Security on the base was very tight, so much so that Steve was instructed to check his car or jeep over for bombs before starting it. This was very weird to Steve because his vehicles were on a gated base gaurded by the local military. When Steve pointed this out to his commander, the commander nodded as if to say EXACTLY. Steve got the message.
Steve was by this time less than enamoured with Saudi customs. One night, he met an Irish nurse at a party and offered to drive her home. They got on the road, but had misjudged the time, for the sun was setting and they were still on the road. Why the worry? because the mutaween, who had confiscated his bible were out at that time to start checking cars. No woman, saudi or non saudi are allowed to be in a car with anyone but their husband or brother. It appears that this rule applies all day but that the mutaween only enforced it at night. Steve looked ahead and saw a mutawen roadblock. Steve grabbed a blanket from the back of the car and pushed the nurse down on the floorboard, and covered her with a blanket. Steve got through the roadblock. Some later suggested that the police ignored the obvious lump on the floorboard to avoid a national incident. Steve did not believe it, for by this time Steve's opinion of the Saudi people was very very low, particularly for an avowed multiculturalist.
The problems ultimately centered around a single phrase: Inshallah. This phrase, steve was told meant "If Allah permits" or "God willing". The Saudis used this phrase for everything, and used it to procrastinate worse than a cable TV repairman. Want your airline tickets? "we will have them Inshallah" Need the water main repaired? We will fix it inshallah". Steve came to hate that term, several times almost snapping and grabbing the speaker by the collar and yelling: "I don't want it inshallah, i want it thursday!"
But he held back, after all, "It's not them, its their culture" He also reminded himself that this was a country where literally 99% of the people had been living in tents in the desert just one generation before. Allowances must be made.
What finally broke the back of Steve's multiculturalism was when his car's emergency brake broke. He could pull the brake lever up, but it would not lock. Steve took it to a repair shop that was reputed to be able to handle Steve's brand of car and explained the problem to the Saudi mechanic. The mechanic said that he would fix it, Inshallah. Steve ground his teeth, but said nothing and left. Just before lunch the mechanic called and said that Allah was merciful, he had it fixed. Steve brightened and got a ride to the shop. He paid the mechanic, and hopped in the car. he had actually gone a block before he looked down at the emergency brake. Where the handle had been was nothing. Where the handle went into the floorboard was a neat patch of duct tape. Steve angrily turned around and drove back to the mechanic. When Steve demanded a explanation, the mechanic eagerly replied: Steve had had trouble because the brake's locking mechanism would not work. By removing the brake, he no longer had this problem, no? What finally did if for Steve was the realization that the mechanic was very pleased with himself for the cleverness of this solution, and still was expecting Steve to praise him for his imaginative thinking. Steve said later that right then and there he realized: "Its not their culture, these people are #$!@ messed up!"
You would think that, having been charged with a felony in the States, barely escaping expulsion for the Air Force, being sent to Saudi as a punishment-and all for BASE jumping from a cliff-Steve would have been a little chastened. Alas, no. What did he do as soon as possible after arriving in Saudi? He went looking for a cliff, the purpose of which it does not take a genius to guess. (I must interject here: He sent me a photograph of himself at the bottom of said cliff, looking happy as could be, with this caption on the back: " Me, shortly after making the first cliff jump in Saudi Arabia, a bitching 500 foot cliff I found in the desert!" Actually, it's one of my favorite photos of him. It captures perfectly his personality, his smile, and that devilish gleam in his eyes. Also, the caption in pencil was so very Steve. Did the man ever write with a pen?)
If I'm not mistaken, this must have been the very cliff that almost cost Steve his life but also saved his life in a bizarre turn of events. Near the end of 1988, Steve did a jump from a cliff in the middle of the desert, far from the nearest road. Friends video- taped the entire affair. Immediately before the jump, Steve, ever the macho man, grabbed his crotch, yelled, "Party 'til impact!" and jumped. Very shortly after that, there was a thud, clearly audible on the tape, followed by some pretty loud screaming allllll the way to the bottom. Then silence. The friends at the top of the cliff started yelling, "Steve, are you all right?" repeatedly, probably for several minutes. Finally Steve's tiny voice could be heard from below, "Nooooooooo!" He had rammed into the cliff, shattering both feet and ankles. Later, he showed the video (to me anyway) over and over, finding it highly amusing. Weird.
It took his friends several hours to carry Steve back to their vehicle. At one point, Steve claims that vultures were circling overhead like something out of a grade B movie. By the time he made it to the hospital his feet and legs had turned totally black. The Air Force would surely look upon this latest incident unfavorably, considering why he was there in the first place, so the official story became that he was rock climbing without a rope. I'm not sure which was dumber. ( I knew about the new BASE jumping, but I don't know who else in the States did. It took his family a little while to see through the rock climbing story. Apparently the Air Force either bought it or pretended to.)
Due to his little "rock climbing" mishap, while he was in the hospital, Steve missed his flight home for Christmas. That flight turned out to be Pan Am Flight 103, which blew up over Lockerbie, Scotland. If it hadn't been for his illegal BASE jumping, he would have died in 1988, and we would not have had him with us for eight more years. (As soon as I heard about Pan Am Flight 103, as usual my Steve ESP clicked in and I called his mother and learned, and as usual, that Steve had literally dodged another bullet.) Steve told me later that he thought he could have survived the disaster because he always had his parachute as carry-on luggage, and if he had had enough time, he could have bailed out. However, having just spent eighteen months in Saudi and being the only survivor MIGHT have cast some suspicion him. He was such an optimist, I always thought a fitting epitaph for his tombstone would be, "This is only a temporary setback."
Steve's mother has a great picture of Steve on his military flight home, both feet in casts after surgery to put his feet and ankles back together with as many screws, bolts, plates, etc., as required to create the bionic man, a big smile on his face that clearly says, "I am stoned on pain killers." In fact, he frequently said that he never let anyone forget when he had a dose scheduled-nurses, doctors, custodians, whoever. Macho man could only take so much pain after all.
Return to the Steve Morrell Memorial Page
Steve's close call list.
Steve compiled this list a few years before his death, so it is short several close calls, including one just a week before the freak accident that finally claimed him beneath a perfectly fine, open chute...
Forgive the all caps, he was an aol'er to the end....
HERE'S THE ONES I CAN REMEMBER, THOUGH I'M SURE I'M
LEAVING A LOT OUT :
1983 to 1994 -- 21 DECLARED EMERGENCIES IN MILITARY JETS
(NEVER HAVE HAD TO DECLARE AN EMERGENCY IN A NORTHWEST BIRD)
THESE INCLUDED 4 ENGINE FAILURES, ONE OF WHICH WAS OVER 1000
MILES FROM THE NEAREST PIECE OF LAND WAY OUT OVER THE POND
AND COMBINED WITH A SERIOUS FUEL LEAK IN ONE OF MY EXTENDED
RANGE TANKS, IT ALSO INCLUDES 4 ENGINE FIRES ONE OF WHICH
I WAS UNABLE TO EXTINGUISH BY FIRING BOTH FIRE BOTTLES OFF.
ONE OF THE OTHER FIRES WAS RIGHT AFTER TAKING OFF IN A BAD
SANDSTORM WITH 35 KNOT WINDS AND VISIBILITY AT 1/2 MILE (MADE
FOR A SPORTY EMERGENCY RETURN AFTER I SHUT IT DOWN AND FIRED
THE BOTTLE). MOST OF THE OTHER EMERGENCIES INCLUDED
HYDRAULIC FAILURES, ELECTRICAL PROBLEMS, AND FLIGHT CONTROL
MALFUNCTIONS (ONE OF THEM WAS A MULTIPLE - WHICH ISN'T
GOOD.) THE MOST EXCITING ONE WAS DURING THE WAR WHEN I
LANDED A BIRD HEAVILY LOADED WITH AMMO WITH NO BRAKES OR
SPOILERS (JUST REVERSERS) BECAUSE WE HAD LOST 2 of 3
HYDRAULIC SYSTEMS, HAD A MAJOR ELECTRICAL FIRE (AND ALL THE
PROBLEMS THAT GO WITH THAT)I THICK SMOKE AND MISTING
HYDRAULIC FLUID (WHICH IS HIGHLY FLAMMABLE - PLEASE NOTE
ELECTRICAL FIRE MENTIONED ABOVE) AND AN UNSAFE GEAR
INDICATION ON THE LEFT MAIN). GOT A NICE MEDAL FOR THAT
ONE.
1975 to 1994
MADE OVER 1600 FREEFALL PARACHUTE JUMPS FROM AIRPLANES,
GLIDERS AND HOT AIR BALLOONS, THIS INCLUDED NUMEROUS LOW
PULLS (MOST INTENTIONAL) OPENING BELOW A GRAND AT TERMINAL.
ONE OF WHICH WAS A LOW PULL GETTING CANOPY AT 200 FT RIGHT
OVER THE HANGAR AT 175 FT PER SECOND, GREAT RUSHR I GOT IT
ON VIDEO IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE IT. ITS HOT, IF
NOT A LITTLE STUPID. I ALSO HAVE AN INTENTIONAL JUMP FROM
AN AIRCRAFT A 240 FT (ALSO ON VIDEO). ON AIRPLANE JUMPS
I'VE USED MY RESERVE CHUTE 19 TIMES, BAG LOCKSR STREAMERS,
LINEOVERS, BLOWN CANOPIES, PILOT CHUTES IN TOW, YOU NAME IT
AND I'VE HAD TO DEAL WITH IT AT SOME TIME OR ANOTHER. I
SURVIVED A MEDIUM SPEED (ABOUT 40 - 5OMPH) IMPACT WITH THE
GROUND IN 1979 WITH ONLY A BROKEN BACK, I ALSO HAD A
PARTICULARLY NASTY TREE LANDING IN 1977 THAT I CAME OUT OF
WITH ONLY SCRATCHES, ON ANOTHER JUMP IN 1982 I LANDED OVER
A MILE OUT IN THE ATLANTIC (IN FEB !) WITH NO FLOTATION
GEAR, NO BOAT WAITING OR LOOKING, AND PROMPTLY GOT TANGLED
IN MY GEAR TRYING TO SAVE IT. A 17 YEAR OLD SURFER FINALLY
RESCUED ME AT THE LAST POSSIBLE MOMENT, A LITTLE SIDENOTE
HERER I TRAINED HIM TO JUMP OUT OF GRATITUDE AND PAID FOR
HIS FIRST SEVERAL JUMPS. SHORTLY AFTERWARD HE MOVED TO
OHIO AND MET A GIRL AT A PARACHUTE CENTER THERE, MARRIED
HERT AND NOW THEY HAVE A KID, THAT I FEEL WAS MY DOING IN A
ROUNDABOUT WAY. I MEAN, IF I HADN'T ALMOST DROWNED THEN HE
COULDN'T HAVE SAVED ME, WOULDN'T HAVE LEARNED TO JUMP AND
WOULD NEVER HAVE MET HIS WIFE AND HAD THE KID, COOL HUH?
FATE WORKS TN STRANGE WAYS. THERE ARE NUMEROUS LITTLE THINGS THAT HAPPENED OVER THE YEARS JUMPING THAT COULD HAVE GOT ME BUT DIDN'T. PEOPLE DEPLOYING THEIR CHUTES UNDER ME,
PARTICULARLY UGLY OR DIFFICULT MALFUNCTIONS AT THE WORST
POSSIBLE TIME AND SOME THAT ARE KINDA COMPLEX TO EXPLAIN
HERE.
1982 to 1994
B.A.S.E. OR FIXED OBJECT JUMPING FROM LOW ALTITUDE Buildings, Antennas,
Spans (BRIDGES), AND Earth (CLIFFS).
I'VE MADE ABOUT 80 SOMETHING BASE JUMPS ALL OF WHICH WERE
HAIRY BECAUSE OF THE LOW ALTITUDES INVOLVED (USUALLY JUMPING
FROM UNDER 700 FT AND MANY IN THE 200 - 300 ft RANGE) IN
AIRPLANE JUMPING I'VE ONLY LOST A FEW FRIENDS AND WATCHED
FOUR PEOPLE TAKE IT ALL THE WAY IN. BASE JUMPING IS A LOT
MORE RISKY AND I'VE LOST EIGHT FRIENDS IN THE SPORT WATCHING
SEVERAL OF THEM GO IN UP CLOSE. I DON'T KNOW OF ANY OTHER
BASE JUMPER THAT HAS SUCCESSFULLY USED HIS RESERVE MORE THAN ONCE ON A BASE JUMP BUT I'VE DONE IT NOW THREE TIMES NOW AND ALMOST DIED ON EACH (PROBABLY A 50/50 COMBINATION OF LUCK
AND SKILL). THE ODD THING IS THAT FOR MOST OF MY BASE JUMPS
I HAVEN'T EVEN WORN A RESERVE SINCE THERE IS SO LITTLE TIME
TO USE IT IS USUALLY MOOT, GUESS I CHOSE THE RIGHT ONES TO
WEAR IT ON. THE FIRST TIME I USED A RESERVE ON A BASE JUMP
(1985) AFTER A PILOT CHUTE IN TOW IT OPENED AT 100 FT AND I
LANDED IN A RIVER AND GOT WRAPPED AND PINNED UP AGAINST A
ROCK WITH JUST MY HEAD OUT OF THE WATER AND WAS RESCUED
BEFORE I WAS PULLED UNDER, THE SECOND TIME (SAME BRIDGE BUT
IN 1986) I HAD A SIMILAR ACCIDENT AT NIGHT AND ENDED UP WITH
A MAIN AND RESERVE BOTH OUT, OPENING AT 50 OR SO FEET. THE
ALMOST INSTANT SPLASHDOWN TOOK ME RIGHT INTO THE RAPIDS
SMACKING MY HEAD INTO A ROCK SO HARD IT SPLIT MY HELMET AND
PUSHED ONE OF MY TEETH THROUGH THE SKIN JUST BELOW THE LIP
AND THEN PINNED ME UNDER WATER SEVERAL TIMEST THE LAST TIME
FOR ALMOST TWO MINUTES (WHICH SEEMS LIKE A LOT LONGER WHEN
YOU CAN'T BREATHE) THE NEXT TIME I HAD TO USE A RESERVE ON
A BASE JUMP WAS AFTER DOING A LONG DELAY OFF THE TOP OF HALF
DOME IN YOSEMITE. A SPINNING MALFUNCTION AT LOW ALTITUDE
CLOSE TO THE FACE AND I MADE THE DECISION TO GO FOR THE
RESERVE RATHER THAN BE MAIMED ON IMPACT INTO THE ROCKY
TALUS. I CHOPPED MY MAIN AND DEPLOYED THE RESERVE AT THE
SAME TIME AND GOT RESERVE OPENING AND IMPACT ON A ROCK LEDGE LESS THAN A SECOND APART. I CRACKED ONE OF MY LEFT RIBS
AND SPRAINED MY FOOT AS I IMPACTED THE LEDGE WHICH WAS ABOUT
15 FT WIDE. AFTER AN 8 HOUR HIKE TO THE TOP IT TOOK ME 9
MORE HOURS TO GET BACK DOWN TRYING TO EVADE THE COPS, AS IT
TURNED OUT I GOT ARRESTED ANYWAY FOR "UNAUTHORIZED AERIAL
DELIVERY OF A PERSON WITHOUT A PERMIT" AND "CREATING AND
MAINTAINING A HAZARDOUS CONDITION". EIGHT THOUSAND DOLLARS
LATER I BEAT IT IN COURT. THAT'S THE BEAUTY OF OUR LEGAL
SYSTEM - YOU CAN BE GUILTY AS SIN BUT IF YOU THROW ENOUGH
MONEY AT THE PROBLEM YOU WILL ALWAYS END UP NOT GUILTY (IF
YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME JUST ASK OJ SIMPSON), ON ANOTHER BASE
JUMP I WAS JUMPING A 2000 FT TV TOWER WITH JOHN OWENS AND MY
CHUTE OPENED BACKWARDS INTO THE STRUCTURE AND I WAS BARELY
ABLE TO MISS THE TOWER BY STALL TURNING TO THE LEFT. LUCKY
FOR ME I HAD OPENED AT A GAP IN THE GUIDE WIRES OR I
WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN ABLE TO DO THAT, A QUARTER OF A SECOND
SOONER OR LATER ON MY FREEFALL DELAY AND I WOULDN'T HAVE
BEEN SO LUCKY, ON MY INFAMOUS CLIFF JUMP IN SAUDI ARABIA IN
1988 (A NICE WALL I'D DONE SEVERAL MONTHS EARLIER
SUCCESSFULLY) MY CHUTE OPENED DANGEROUSLY CLOSE TO THE WALL
ALMOST 180 DEGREES OFF HEADING. THE IMPACT BROKE TWO BONES
IN EACH FOOT. LUCKILY I WAS WEARING KNEEPLATES, ELBOW
PLATES, AND A HELMET. MY KNEES AND HEAD TOOK HARD HITS ALSO
BUT THEY DIDN'T BREAK THANKS TO WEARING PROTECTION. 80% OF
HEAD ON CLIFF STRIKES ARE FATAL SO I WAS PRETTY LUCKY
(PREPARED I'D PREFER TO SAY). THIS HAPPENED WAY OUT IN THE
DESERT AND IT TOOK MY FRIEND SEVEN HOURS TO CARRY ME OUT OF
THE DESERT AND TWO AND A HALF MORE TO GET ME TO A SAUDI
HOSPITAL. AH YES, FOND MEMORIES OF THAT DAY. THE GOOD
THING WAS THAT I WAS ONE WEEK FROM SHIPPING BACK STATESIDE
TO CHARLESTON AIR FORCE BASE AND THE AIR FORCE HAD ALREADY
GIVEN ME MY TICKETS. I WAS GOING TO LONDON ON THE 20th TO
JUMP SOME BUILDINGS THERE AND CONTINUING TO THE STATES ON
PAN AM FLIGHT 103 ON THE 21st, OF COURSE I MISSED IT SINCE
I WAS AIR EVACed TO A MILITARY HOSPITAL IN GERMANY TO HAVE
MY FEET REBUILT WITH STAINLESS STEEL PINS AND SCREWS. AN
ODD FOOTNOTE TO THIS, IF I HAD BEEN ON THE FLIGHT I ALWAYS
TAKE MY PARACHUTE AS CARRY ON BAGGAGE. I FIGURE THEY HAD
OVER A MINUTE FROM THE EXPLOSION TO IMPACT. I CAN PUT A
CHUTE ON TN 20 SECONDS, EVEN IN THE DARK. YOU NEVER KNOW I
COULD HAVE BEEN THE ONLY SURVIVOR, WOULDN'T THAT HAVE
CAUSED SOME SUSPICION - THE ONLY SURVIVOR IS RETURNING FROM
THE MIDDLE EAST AND JUST HAPPENED TO HAVE A CHUTE WITH HIM
1983 DAVE FOX (HE FLIES FOR DELTA NOW) AND I CAME REAL
CLOSE TO HAVING A MIDAIR AS STUDENT PILOTS DOING FORMATION
ACROBATICS IN MISSISSIPPI.
1985 VERY NASTY THUNDERSTORM ENCOUNTER IN THE PACIFIC
1988 EVEN WORSE THUNDERSTORM ENCOUNTER IN WESTERN SAUDI
ARABIA. MY COPILOT AND I BOTH ENDED UP WITH BRUISES
FROM BEING THROWN AGAINST OUR SHOULDER HARNESSES.
1991 SURVIVED TWO SCUD ATTACKS WHILE UNLOADING CARGO AND
FUELING UP,
1992 BARELY MISSED HITTING MOUNTAIN WHILE BEING
VECTORED BY RUSSIAN CONTROLLERS IN TAJEKISTAN (SP?)
1994 JUMP TEAM ACCIDENT - SHATTERED LEFT LEG AND ANKLE
1994 HEAD ON WITH THE 18 WHEELER - TWO BROKE RIBS
MISC TRIVIA-- TOTAL BONES BROKEN - 10
-- PIECES OF HARDWARE HOLDING ME TOGETHER - 12
-- BAD SPRAINS TO MY RIGHT FOOT - 4
-- BAD SPRAINS TO MY LEFT FOOT - 3
-- TOTAL NUMBER OF SPEEDING TICKETS - 42
-- NUMBER OF STITCHES - LOST COUNT
WELL I THIS TOOK LONGER THAN I THOUGHT (BAD SIGN, HUH?)
GIVE ME A CALL. IT WAS NICE TALKING TO YOU AGAIN,
MY LOVE ALWAYS,
STEVE
PS - NO TIME FOR A SPELL CHECKF SO PLEASE DON'T MARK IT
UP WITH RED INK OR NOTHING
Steve recounting one of his adventures to his brother... further evidence of his full throttle approach to life... and his high strung sense of humor
________________________________________
Date: Sat, 25 May 1996
From: BounceCity@aol.com
Subject: Beer, adrenaline, and sleep deprivation....
Sorry to be so out of touch, I've been busy, busy, and more busy! Just not enough time in the day for everything. Well, I just returned from the Hang Gliding thing. What a great rush! It started off rather difficult though. I returned from a hard four day Northwest trip last Sunday. I got up early that day in Kalamazoo and flew to Detroit, then to Washington, then back to Detroit, then down to Knoxville, and finally, home to Memphis! Needless to say I was already tired when I landed about 7:30 PM! I wandered out to the employee lot only to discover that my RX-7 was nowhere to be found! I had loaned my car to a FedEx pilot buddy that was in town for training before I left and he had gotten confused on where to park it and put it in the wrong lot! He was off flying a trip and nowhere to be found so I finally had to rent a car for the week! (He's paying for it too when I find him!)
So then I drive back to the house to pack for the hang gliding thing. By now its almost 10 PM and I have to be at Lookout Mountain for class by 9 AM the next morning! I finally get the car (a Neon-ugh!) loaded, grab a beer and the dog and hit the road. I quickly start falling asleep at the wheel. As everyone knows, I don't drink coffee, but I finally had no choice. After my third stop for a large coffee I'm sufficiently wired and the dog seems happy that I'm running off the road less often. After 7 long hours I arrive at the top of the mountain at 6 AM! I spot John Owens van parked next to the launch point. After much arm twisting, he had agreed to join me on this little adventure and after he spent the whole day throwing students out of airplanes, he had made a 6 hour drive from North Carolina, arriving at 4:30 AM himself. I walked over and knocked on the door of his van and had one of those weird conversations that went roughly like this:
"John, open the door"
"Go away Steve, I can't believe I let you talk me in to this!"
"Come on, it will be fun. Look class starts in three hours, and I need some sleep, let me and the dog crash in the van."
"Go away, every time I let you talk me in to something I almost get killed"
"That's not true"
"Yes it is, every time you talk me into to one of your harebrained vacations, it involves a long drive, a death march, no sleep, no food, no water, and we get the crap scared out ourselves!"
"Uh... you're not still mad about that backpacking trip in California are you? [a trip where we ran out of food and water before we ran out of trail] That was over 10 years ago!"
"You want more recent examples?"
"Okay, okay, this trip will be different. What could go wrong? Open the door, its cold out here"
etc., etc., etc......................
Obviously John was still a little edgy from the long drive. Finally, he lightened up, unlocked the van door and I threw my sleeping bag out on a bunk and the dog and I tried to get some sleep. Unfortunately, the coffee had me WIDE awake. The dog slept fine. John was wired too, so about, 7:30 we drove out for breakfast. At 9:00 we showed up for class back at the pro shop on top of the mountain with no sleep. Our Instructor for the first day of class turned out to be a Northwest flight attendant! Her husband is also a pilot for Northwest and, both being avid hang gliding enthusiast, they had just bought a house on top of the mountain. Small world.
Early in class we discovered that only 3 or 4 people are killed each year Hang Gliding. We were shocked. We had serious doubts about the manliness of any sport that only kills that few of its participants each year. More people probably get hurt playing backgammon! Oh well, we could change that, John assured me.
Anyhow, class continued and we finally soaked up the basics and went out to the "Bunny Hill." We were informed that we might want to hire a "caddie" to carry our glider back up the hill for us between flights for $3 a pop. John loudly proclaimed, "No way! What kind of quiche eating man would do that!? WE can carry our own gliders up the hill!". I meekly agreed but sensed that our instructor knew something we didn't. Unfortunately, after we assembled our gliders (a remarkable easy task we discovered) and hauled them up the hill, the winds picked up and we ended our first day of training without getting to fly.
After we left the bunny hill, we drove to the landing zone below lookout mountain. We had rented a 32 foot trailer for the week in the flight park abeam the landing area. After making all the essential food and beer runs to stock the trailer as appropriately as any two skydivers would, we settled back to watch some of the more experienced folks flying down from the mountain land right in front of us.
Then we decided to try the first of our three "tandem tow flights" that came included as part of our instructional package. We were each strapped in to a larger hang glider with an instructor and towed up to 2000 feet behind an ultralight. It was an absolute blast and loads of fun. The dog was enjoying himself immensely also. A very "dog friendly" place, Alex enjoyed running around everywhere chasing hang gliders and stray cats. Everyone found Alex's mohawk haircut amusing although I think it made them wonder about us a little. I think they were envious. None of the other dogs had a haircut nearly as cool. The first day over, we headed back to the trailer for some well earned cold beer.
Day two started off early. Back to the bunny hill for our first flights and a new instructor. Although we both had a learning curve I picked it up remarkable fast. Despite what they said in class, flying a hang Glider struck me as very similar to flying anything else and reminded me a lot of my soaring training in real gliders years ago. I was doing flared landings to a stand up by my 5th flight! The instructors were shocked by my rapid progression and quick grasp of the whole concept. I really feel that for an experienced pilot, it's pretty simple. By the end of day two, sprinting for a foot launch down the hill followed by hauling the gliders back up the hill in the humid 90 degree heat was taking its toll. Despite the long hours I put in the gym, I sure seemed to be using muscles I didn't even know existed. The "caddie" idea was starting to sound VERY appealing. Since John and I are both faithful readers of the "manly manual" neither one of us wanted to be the first to suggest it...
"You look a little tired"
"No, I'm fine, how about you?"
"Oh I'm fine, but if you want to get a caddie, I'll get one also so you won't look bad"
"No, really, I'm fine, but if you want to get one, I'll get one."
"Oh no, I'm okay, really"
"Me too"
Finally, we couldn't stand it any longer and put our egos aside. Only $3 for each trip up the hill sounded like a steal. I wouldn't do it for a hundred. We asked our instructor how we would go about getting a caddie for the next day and he said he'd talk to Suzie about caddying for us. "SUZIE!?" We weren't ready for this. We quickly consulted the "manly manual" and found this to be completely unacceptable. We finally asked the instructor,
"Do any guys caddie?"
"Sure", he said, "why?"
We tried to explain that if we were gonna break down and pay someone to do the manual labor for us like a couple overpaid, lazy yuppies, we'd just feel alot better about it if we weren't making a woman do it, paying her or not. Somehow the thought of getting to the bottom of the hill and handing over the heavy, awkward glider to a woman, and then walking back up the hill unencumbered while she huffed and puffed next to us with the glider on her shoulders was just more than any fragile male ego should ever have deal with. Although the instructor looked at us as if we were a couple of Neanderthals when we said this, we could tell that deep down that he understood. He said, no problem, and he'd take care of it.
On the last flight of the morning, John pulled a muscle in his leg during the launch and we rushed back to the trailer to pack it in cold beer. About 3 PM that day, one of the instructors stopped by the trailer to let us know they were going to have an unscheduled evening class in an hour (with caddies!) if we wanted to go. "Sure" we said, as we tried to hide our beers by sliding them under the table with our feet, "No problem". We made sure we could get caddies and went back out to the bunny hill and assembled our gliders. I had become HANG ONE qualified after my last flight and was now ready to go to the "Big Bunny Hill." HANG ONE meant that I could foot launch, fly straight ahead, do a stand up landing and probably not hurt myself.
John hurt himself again after a few flights and came over to where I was on the big hill, opened a beer a watched. One of the other students was having some problems. When the instructor asked him to do two 90 degree turns after his launch, he got a strange look on his face and said, "Uh... won't I run back into the hill?" The instructor, unruffled, added that these would be reversing turns, not turns in the same direction. John and I looked at each other and smiled. We suspected that this guy might provide some cheap entertainment before the day was out. We didn't have to wait long. A few flights later, he stalled his glider and didn't hear the instructor's whistle blowing (meaning you're slow) till after his glider had nosed over to recover. Pulling in on the bar more, he dove straight into the ground in a way cool, spectacular crash that did considerable damage to the glider. John and I weren't really concerned about this, we had already decided that this guy should have been culled out of the gene pool a long time ago. As it happened, he was unhurt.
By the end of the day, my progress had been fantastic. With some luck I would get to jump off the mountain solo before the week was out. We went back to the trailer to cook some food and drink some cold ones. We had taken up the habit of feeding all the stray dogs and were being greeted by 6 or 7 dogs now every time we walked in or out of our trailer. As long as we were in the landing zone, they seemed to follow us everywhere. Alex loved this, giving him plenty of friends to play with after a hard day of chasing my glider up and down hills.
The next day it was back to the hills. I was still doing extremely well and right before a flight John looked over from where he was prepping his glider and commented that I was being too mechanical and my flying lacked the aggression he expected from a fellow BASE jumper. He was trying prod me into doing something stupid (read that- "entertaining") and I took the bait. Linda, our instructor that day, asked me to try to do my first attempt at reversing 90 degree turns. I did a beautiful launch and immediately threw my weight WAY right and held it. By the time I figured out I had screwed up, I was overshooting the first turn in a BIG way and coming close to running back into the hill. I immediately threw all my weight back to the left, forgot to push out, began slipping my turn. I ended up almost digging a wingtip on landing and tried to plow the field with my face. After I unclipped, I looked back up the hill to see John rolling on the ground laughing hysterically and my instructor giving me a scornful look. Thoroughly humbled, I gave my caddie the glider and forced my scratched and dirty body back up the hill. My training continued for the rest of the day with no major glitches.
At one point, some other students were having launch problems and John (having an army flashback no doubt) suggested to our instructor that she should change her motivational technique. Instead of politely saying "run" John suggested she scream "Run faster you worthless maggot!!!!!!" at the top of her lungs. Fear, sarcasm, and ridicule were time tested and proven methods in the military he assured her. Upon being told this, it looked like Linda was making a mental note to keep a closer eye on what John was smoking out behind the hill during breaks.... Oh well. By the end of the day I was cleared for HANG TWO (pending passing the written test) and approved for making the first of three mountain flights I had planned. HANG TWO means I probably won't hurt myself, any bystanders, or spectators unless they can't run very fast. I went up to the pro shop to take my written tests for HANG TWO and Mountain clearance. I did real well on the tests except for a couple aerodynamic questions I took issue with. In the military, "quibbling" with instructors over questions missed is also a time honored tradition. Since I'm omnipotent, surely, the questions must be wrong or badly worded. I tried to explain to the instructors that the absolute statements made on the test concerning aerodynamics were incorrect. Certain questions were not true if the aircraft was traveling faster than Mach one (or the airfoil had reached critical mach). They didn't seem to comprehend what I was telling them and although I didn't get credit for the questions, I left the pro shop with the smug knowledge that the first time these guys tried to take a hang glider anywhere near mach one they would be in BIG trouble. So much for my attempt to enlighten other segments of the aviation community (sigh). We finished up the day by doing two more tandem tows to 2000 feet and called it a day.
John and I cooked out with some other folks that night to celebrate my upcoming mountain flight. I had finished the hill training in record time. Normally it takes seven days and I did it in four despite being weathered out the first day! We partied late into the night with some other Northwest pilots that going through training also (they had an "airline special" promotion going on all month). We were all doing incredibly well, which just goes to show that Northwest pilots CAN fly sober! The next morning we were all in serious pain with particularly bad hangovers. As John drove me to the top of the hill, I groaned that this might be "stupid". John assured me that he had seen me do plenty of stupid things before and now was no time for me to change. Ah yes, nothing like reassurance from an old friend.
When we got to the top, the wind was tailing and they said I couldn't go. Since I had to drive back that day, I figured that I'd just go buy a couple T-shirts and load the car. Somewhat relieved, I figured it would be a lot more fun without the hangover anyway and I could come back in a couple weeks. We dragged our feet talking to people we'd met and just before I could make a clean getaway, one of the instructors came up and said the winds had changed and told me to grab a glider, harness and helmet and "gear up". I looked over and John was smiling (he was enjoying this...) He said he'd drive back down to the trailer and grab a camera. We both believe in "California rules" which means if it's not on film it didn't happen. By the time he got back I was still assembling my glider and he helped me finish up. As I carried my glider over to the exit point, I wondered out loud why none of the experienced guys have gone off yet. John said it was probably just like the drop zone - throw a student out first and see what happens. (Now I really felt better).
As we approached the ramp, the instructor gave me some last advice - "Just don't do anything stupid and everything will go fine". John started cracking up when he said this and the instructor looked confused, not knowing about our earlier conversation. I felt like saying "Gee...I was planning on doing something really boneheaded but since you said not to, I guess I won't". Right as I was getting ready and making my last checks, on of the experienced guys behind me said something that came out as "feel the wind, BE the glider", although those weren't his exact words. Obviously this guy had one acid trip too many (or maybe he was from California) but after this "Use the Force, Luke" advise I was having some serious doubts about this crowd. Anyhow, it was too late to back out now so I looked around, checked my wingtips and nose one last time, called "Clear" and ran off the edge of the cliff.
The launch went picture perfect. The flight was relatively uneventful except for a minor pitch trim problem with my glider and I had a wonderful flight and flawless standup right dead center in the middle of the landing zone. After I landed, I was breaking my glider down and I looked up to watch another student making his second glider flight. He did real good until he got into the field. I noticed he was flying straight at the large (and high) windsock which was sitting kind of out by itself. Then I noticed he was looking at the trees on the edge of the field and not straight ahead. (I felt an impending sense of cheap entertainment about to happen) Sure enough he flew straight into the wind sock about 10 feet off the ground. (Natural selection is an amazing thing isn't it?). The glider's downtubes got bent up pretty good but the pilot was unhurt (Natural selection sometime tries but fails...).
John arrived from the mountaintop and helped me finish breaking down the glider. By the time we got back to the top, the winds were less favorable for students and I had to get going anyway. So we packed up, drank a beer and hit the road. John and I both had long drives in opposite directions. The biggest risk I took all week was dealing with the holiday traffic all the way back to Memphis. (A Neon at 85 is a hazard in itself) I got back about 6 PM and was going to repack and get ready for the three day jump boogie at the parachute center here but I was so tired I decide to blow it off today and jump tomorrow and Monday.
Well enough about my "adventure of the month". I can't wait to go back and make some more flights. I should head back in about two weeks! It was such a blast. John has to go back to finish up, but his leg might not be better by then so I'll have to go back at least a couple times. I'd like to work on getting my 10 hours of air time so I can apply for my HANG THREE rating.
Next month will be a mixed bag of short skydiving, hang gliding, and scuba vacations (Bay of Fundy with Pat Fitzgerald). I'm hoping to do a backpack also but I may not have the time. Any how, this babbled on forever, so I've got to run. Between vacations, work, and the military stuff, I've been home maybe 3 nights in two or three weeks! I've got a stack of unopened mail almost a foot high! Gotta run and hit a workout at the gym!
Blue Skies,
Steve
Return to Steve Morrell Memorial Page
Steve sent this before he went to the 96 US Nationals, where he was killed in an opening collision. It captures the full throttle approach he had to life....
________________________________________
From BounceCity@aol.com
Date: Tue, 15 Oct 1996
Subject: vacations...
Hi Everyone!!! A thousand apologies for not answering my e-mail lately! I've been busier than the proverbial one armed paper hanger. The first weekend in Oct., I flew to Georgia to make some training jumps with my new team ("Clean Air" 8 man canopy formation speed team). Although it started off slow, it kept getting better and by the end of the weekend, we were cranking out some impressive jumps. Early in the practice, we had a collision and an entanglement between Mike Paolin and I. We both have to cutaway and use our reserves. This was the 25th time I've had to use my reserve chute in 21 years. Yes, never a dull moment.... Overall, the team is performing very well and everyone thinks we are going to win the Gold medal at the National Championships next week. I hope so too. After practice, I flew down to the Cayman Islands for some R & R. (guess I never get enough vacations...). I was planning on doing some scuba diving but the water was still so choppy from the recent passage of hurricane Josephine that most of the dive operators were not operating. The ones that were required a prior reservation and I hadn't foreseen the need for that so we had to look elsewhere for fun. We chartered a hot little 3-man research submarine to take us down to 1000 ft on the "wall" and to explore the wreck of the Kirk Pride at the 800 ft level. Right before we were supposed to depart, the captain of the sub, decided it was to choppy for us to safely board the sub and canceled. For our inconvenience, (and to encourage us to rent their expensive little sub again in the future) they gave us free tickets on the 25 man tourist sub that goes down to 110 ft to explore the reefs (it was still operating). It was a blast. Beautiful scenery and lots of fish to gawk at. I still missed the going scuba diving as we had originally planned. Most of the rest of that day and the next, we sampled local beers at various pubs and killed brain cells on the beach. (We don't worry to much about killing brain cells, we figure we are only killing the "weak" ones anyway...). My flight back from the Caymans was canceled by Northwest so I got to spend and extra day there laying on the beach (damn! I hate it when that happens!). After returning from the Cayman islands, I had to spend the whole afternoon getting ready to go backpacking in the Smokies. I had planned a day of Hang Gliding at Lookout Mountain but the day's delay out of Cayman kind of shot that plan down. Having less time to get ready than I planned for the backpacking kind of put me behind the eight ball though. By the time I got packed and on the road Thursday night, I had to spend ALL night driving to the trailhead to meet my niece and nephew. I never got to stop and grab some sleep like I'd hoped so the first days pack was gonna hurt. I found Bob waiting on me with Beth and Robbie at the designated spot and proceeded to try to get everyone's pack ready. These things always take more time than you'd think but we started down the trail near Clingmans Dome about 1230 in the afternoon for a 3-day, 21 mile adventure. The first days hike was pleasant with my Dog Alex leading the way (he has his own pack and was carrying dog food and beer). The first nights camp was near two streams and we settled in for a cold night. I slept on the ground by the fire. Deer were all over and roaming near the camp. About 2AM I was awoken to a deer standing almost over me looking down at me. I let out a good expletive scaring the deer away and waking everyone up. The second morning began with a hard uphill trek followed by numerous stream crossing and some beautiful forest scenes. We crossed one last large creek on a footlog and make a large lunch. About this time my dog Alex began limping but we weren't sure why. Next, we made the steep uphill march to Martins gap and camped on the ridgeline. The dog was having serious problems but there was little aid we could render him in the wilderness. We had dinner of mostly marshmallows and hot dogs cooked on sticks over the fire that night. It was delicious! That night, after the fire went out, we seemed to be in "deer central" and at least 10 deer walked right between our tents! After an early camp break we began the hike down the Sunkota trail to meet Indian Creek and then on to Deep Creek campground. The dog had a real problem the last couple miles. He kept stopping and laying down. We didn't find out until we got home and to the vet but he had developed heart problems (premature ventricular contractions) and has been a permanent guest of the animal hospital ever since I got home. Today we hope for some good news. Drugs seem to be stabilizing his heart arrhythmia's, and the vet is hoping for a complete recovery. Aside from the problems with my dog, the backpack with my niece and nephew was a blast. They were great and seemed to enjoy themselves immensely. I hope we can find time to do another one in the spring. Right now I'm fixing to run out the door to fly to Providence and Fort Lauderdale layovers. When I return on Thursday, I will have about 4 hours to repack and leave for 9-10 days to attend the 1996 US National parachuting Championships in Arizona. Wish my team luck! Well, keep me posted on what you are up to! I was going to write a longer, more detailed description of the backpacking trip but I'm short of time. Maybe Beth or Robbie will pen one!
Blue Skies,
Steve
