Trust From Above

Editor’s Note: Uff Da  or Uffda? That’s Minnesota-speak for dismay, surprise, oh no, oops, and other more colorful expressions.

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I remember my first jump as a paratrooper.

I was the first one to “stand in the door” of an aging 1950s era C-119 still being flown in 1969. It seemed like an eternity waiting for the jump master to see the green light from the navigator and finally give me the boot. Suddenly I was weightless for another eternity watching the canopy of the chute unfold above me. What an amazing sight!

Being a paratrooper involves taking chances, throwing caution to the wind, having an outsized sense of adventure, feeling invincible, having trust in the guy who packed your ‘chute, trusting the strength of the nylon lines and the silk fabric, trusting your government, and trusting that you will definitely have a close encounter with God.

My most memorable jump was actually the second one. Why the second? Because I was distracted during the first. I was distracted by checking to see that the canopy had deployed and then being distracted by the panorama of the horizon from eleven hundred feet in the air. What I didn’t notice was the ground coming up suddenly from below. BAM! Uff da! And that’s why the second jump is so memorable.

Jumping ahead, so to speak: For my first night-time jump out of a more modern C-130, I was fully outfitted with two parachutes and a field backpack full of provisions. I was feeling pretty adventurous jumping by the light of a full moon.

My parachute had been rigged and strapped to my back where my backpack would normally have been. An emergency parachute was strapped to my chest. The backpack was strapped to my legs below my waist. I could hardly walk.

To land without the weight of a forty-pound backpack pulling me down, I had to release the backpack from my knees to fall at the end of a tether, thereby having it hit the ground before me. My descent was slowed considerably without the weight of a backpack strapped to my legs.

Unfortunately, the backpack landed on one side of a barbed wire fence while I landed at the end of the tether on the other side of the fence. BAM! Uff da! Normally I would have landed on my feet, but instead, I fell unceremoniously on my hip. I was twenty-years old and in excellent physical condition, so I got up, dusted myself off, and carried on.

It turned out that the cartilage had been damaged. Thirty-five years later, I was diagnosed with arthritis and I had what was supposed to be a routine hip replacement. I’ve never experienced arthritis in my left hip, in either of my knees, or in either of my shoulders. So it was definitely the hard landing on my hip that had caused the arthritis. Well, after eight surgeries I hope to be able to walk without a limp, without my cane, and without chronic pain. I’m getting there.

I’m often asked why anyone would willingly jump out of a perfectly good airplane.

Two answers:

First, anyone who has flown in a C-119 and heard the cacophony of a plane that rattles and vibrates that violently, would tell you that it’s probably safer to jump from the plane than to try landing in it. And what’s the second reason? Because it’s the most fun you can have with your clothes on.

Copyright © 2025 by Richard Wolfgramm