A Heightened Chance of Death

"I'm here to tell you that BASE jumping is the most dangerous thing you will ever do in your life," Aiello told the class. "I personally have seen seven of my friends die doing this. I've known at least 15 other people who died while they were BASE jumping. Right now, a BASE jumper dies somewhere in the world about once every three weeks.

"Why is it the most dangerous activity there is? Because we take what is essentially a tent, throw it in the air and expect it to work every time. That's not going to happen.

"So, what happens if you die at Bridge Day? Well, obviously, that sucks for you. But also . . ."

Aiello's cellphone rang, and he walked out of the room to take the call. The students sat still, stunned into silence. Loughlin leaned forward in the center of the front row, turned to a friend sitting next to her and widened her eyes into an expressive, this-teacher-is-intense look. Then Aiello walked back into the room.

"Sorry about that," he said. "So, anyway, if you die at Bridge Day, you're going to have thousands of people watching, and you will be responsible for traumatizing them. I was at an event in Colorado four years ago where a guy hit the ground at terminal velocity with 8-year-olds watching. . . . Believe me, that's not a pretty sight.

"If you're going to make a jump tomorrow, this is the kind of stuff you have to take responsibility for. The only way to make a safe BASE jump is to turn around right now and go home. Otherwise, you might die or get hurt. So if you're going to stay here, accept that."

Loughlin fidgeted in her chair, but she stayed seated along with all of her classmates. Satisfied that he had conveyed the risks, Aiello proceeded with the technical aspects of his lecture and played a 40-minute video of previous Bridge Day jumps. Loughlin watched, captivated, as one jumper after another stepped off the plank and dropped into the wind.

* * *

Storm clouds settled over the New River Gorge before dawn on Saturday, and weather forecasts predicted rain and 20-mph winds. Jason Bell, coordinator of BASE jumping at Bridge Day, steeled himself for disaster. If severe gusts made jumping impossible during the legal, 9 a.m.-to-3 p.m. window, he would have to contend with mutiny.

Jumpers had traveled to Bridge Day from at least 30 states and 10 countries. They had paid a $75 registration fee, rented or purchased expensive equipment and exhausted vacation time. Bell, an avid jumper himself, knew that neither bad weather nor a mandate from the state police would stop them from jumping. At Bridge Day in 1989, a rainstorm flooded the landing area and 50 people elected to jump anyway. They landed on highways, railroad tracks and trees.

"Bad weather could make this a safety catastrophe," Bell said. "And that's stupid, because it doesn't have to be that way. We've been backed into a corner here with our six little hours."

Bell had spent the last five years pushing state and local lawmakers to open the bridge for year-round jumping, or to at least extend Bridge Day to a three-day event. Three jumpers have died since the inaugural Bridge Day in 1980. The annual festival already generates more than $1 million in six hours, Bell said, so why not triple that economic boost over three days? Jumpers could pay West Virginia for the right to launch from the scaffolding underneath the bridge. They would jump without disturbing traffic or distracting drivers. Then they would land on the shore of the river, pack up their parachutes and go home. "We're BASE jumpers," Bell said. "We only harm ourselves."