By James Stone

It had all happened worryingly quickly. Just 45 minutes earlier I had turned up in the car at the skydiving club in the Fraser Valley, British Columbia, and now I was sitting in the back of a converted propeller plane, about to exit it at 14,000 feet.

I had been very nervous as Colin and I had turned up but we were relaxed somewhat by the number of other worried faces that were around. In the days leading up to my tandem skydive I think my main preoccupation was the thought of a potentially drawn out and extremely painful death. Now having arrived at the airfield, my main fear was the knowledge that I was about to chuck myself out of a plane, miles above the ground.

We were quickly introduced to our companions for our jump. I had been designated Sandy, a local lad who, he told me, had done more than 100 jumps and had not had any problems so far. "Still, there's always a first time, eh?" he said, winking at me. I was not amused at the thought of being strapped to this man, even less the fact that my life was in his hands.

Seeing as it was merely a tandem jump, and my actual ability to influence events would be severely limited, a 20-minute briefing was considered sufficient to get us up to speed on the safety aspects. And then, having got in to our jump suits, tandem harnesses, helmets and goggles, Colin and I and our partners headed up in to the sky for "the experience of a lifetime".

The plane was tiny and not conducive to a relaxing journey, and I felt sure I would be sick on a few occasions. I kept thinking that I hoped the weather would close in or some malfunction with the plane would require us to head back down, but no. After 15 minutes of flying, the hatch was opened and I proceeded to watch Colin, who had said nothing during the flight, and his guide, thanks goodness, launch themselves in to the sky and fall away. Sandy, looking at my expression, told me we would be fine and on the "two" of a count to three, flung us out of the hatch.

The 30 seconds of freefall has to be the most incredible experience of my life to date. I felt every last one of the 120 mph that we were travelling and tried to remember the advice not to look down but to gaze out beyond the horizon. The feeling of falling through the air with nothing to break your fall was initially terrifying but then quickly exhilarating.

All too quickly Sandy had to give a yank on the rope and we slowed to a comparative crawl as the huge parachute bloomed above us. Now I had time to look down and to think about what I had achieved so far in jumping out of a plane and hurtling downwards. I remember thinking afterwards how odd it was that I was reflecting on the experience while still parachuting towards earth - not a situation in which I would have expected to be in a particularly reflective mood. The descent took around four minutes and we landed, on our feet, to the bemused looks of a field of cows. The ten-minute walk back to the centre was one of the most joyous of my life.