Tin Man origin story
Though I first trained in '74, there was a long hiatus before I took up skydiving in earnest. Gear and training techniques had radically changed by the time I resumed in 1998. My re-entry into the sport was via AFF - accelerated freefall training with ram-air canopies capable of directed flight.
By the Fall of '99, I was dedicated and accomplished enough to be in the market for a rig. The DZO wanted me to try out a used rig for sale. I did so on a flight in a CASA - a twin-engine beast of a boogie plane capable of taking 32 jumpers to altitude in each load. The sky would be full of parachutists. Landing pattern discipline was key.
On the ground, the airfield management had dismantled some decrepit hangers, leaving a huge pile of scrap metal at the western edge of the main landing area. This wasn't optimal for having a larger than usual number of parachutists descending with each load. Landing pattern discipline was key.
My first (and only) jump of the day was a fun jump with one other skydiver, a two-way. It was a gas. Everything went fine. Jumpers under canopy were stacking up in the pattern and flying conservatively, as they should.
Relative ground winds dictated that final approach would be from the west. I'm on final approach, flying over the grass strip between the runway and taxi way. Under 100 feet above ground level, a skydiver known to me carves out of the pattern into a slot directly in front of me. She's too close, and her inputs are erratic. The risk of a collision under canopy is too high, and if one occurs, both of us are likely to suffer severe injuries or death.
I elect to shift my flight path, vectoring to the left then correcting to the right to resume course to the main landing area. This takes me over the tarmac, over the drop zone hangar, and over the huge pile of scrap metal...
On my new final heading, I note that my descent rate relative to my forward progress has increased. Some nuance of the relative wind, buildings and objects on the ground. My overflight of the huge pile of scrap metal is going to be close. Pulling my legs up underneath me should give me ~4-6 feet of clearance, however, wind rotation off the closer tree line is pushing me into the path of a pole sticking 12 feet out of the top of the huge pile of scrap metal. Any adjustments to my flight inputs could cause me to drop into the huge pile of scrap metal. Would I clear the pole?
No. I fly directly into the pole. Impact is to my sternum. I flip around the pole and tumble to the ground on the opposite side of the huge pile of scrap metal. The DZO comes running out, scowling down at me. I simply state, "It's OK. The gear isn't damaged." The DZO scoffs, "Well, that's the important thing," and storms off.
I daisy up the lines, gather the chute, and trudge back into the hanger. My favorite instructor from my training days shouts out, "Hey! It's the Tin Man!" The nickname stuck.
I did not jump again that day. A fellow fun jumper who happen to be a nurse told me in a disapproving tone that I better stay grounded til I sussed out the consequences of my ignominious "landing." My muscles and joints were stiff for several days. I had a walnut sized bump on my sternum which took a couple of years to completely subside.
As for the jumper who broke landing pattern discipline to carve in front of me and prompt my flight path change, she got a stern talking to. That was it.
Finally, no, I didn't buy the rig. It had bad juju for me.
I am Tin Man! Hear the flap of my slider as I overfly you!
). I started this thread to park TL;DR posts. I'm something of a loquacious soul, and my multi-paragraph posts aren't always well received in other threads. 
