By APF Member, Ryan “Croney” Crone—Edited by APF Technical Officer, Heath Baird.

On Sunday 27 July 2025, I experienced my first high-speed malfunction during a jump at my local DZ. I’m sharing this experience not to dramatise the dangers of skydiving, but to raise awareness, because if just one person avoids a similar mistake after reading this, it’s worth it.

Skydiving is a sport where learning never stops. This incident was a hard but important lesson and I hope it contributes to the ongoing safety culture that keeps us all in the sky.

My Journey Into Skydiving

Just under two years ago, I sustained a traumatic brain injury—a life-changing event that forced me to reevaluate everything. Instead of seeing it as the end of something, I chose to see it as a beginning.

In March this year, I signed up for my AFF course at SKYONE Moruya. I couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful, encouraging environment to learn this amazing sport. Big shoutout to coaches Valérie, Gibbo, Nik and the whole crew at SKYONE.

Since completing my AFF, I’ve clocked 47 jumps—most of them hop-and-pops—with a strong focus on canopy control. I believe what happens under canopy is the most critical part of the jump. That feeling of touching down and sense of achievement has me thinking “hell yeah, I want to do that again” as I walk back to the hanger, it keeps me coming back.

The Day Of The Incident

That Sunday, I was especially stoked. It would be my first jump on my own ICON container with a JYRO low-pack Helium 230 main.

As I was still learning the finer points of packing, I asked a local instructor to help inspect my gear before packing. Together we checked: canopy fabric and lines, brake stows, harness and 3-ring system, RSL and cutaway cable routing, reserve handle and cable, AAD (turned on, green light), chest strap and leg straps.

After the inspection, I resumed my pack job. During the closing sequence, I noticed the bridle was in the wrong position and I released some tension off the pack and moved the bridle to the bottom right-hand side, not noticing that it was routed incorrectly—it was on the left side of the closing loop instead of the correct right side.

Here’s where I made a critical mistake...

Rather than unpacking and repeating the closing process properly, I simply shifted the length of bridle below the closing loop to the other side of the container while maintaining tension and continued with the pack.

At the time, it didn’t seem like a big deal—a small shortcut with big consequences. I did not ask the DZSO to inspect the rig before boarding. I received a buddy check and was given the thumbs up, but the misrouted bridle wasn’t identified.

The Malfunction

We climbed to 8,500 feet. I exited solo after the group ahead, making sure I gave 8 seconds of separation with 80-knot ground speed. I had a stable, clean dive exit and waved off at 6,500 feet.

I threw my pilot chute, and immediately knew something was wrong.

Looking over my shoulder, I saw it trailing in tow ineffectively. My second audible alarm sounded at 5,000 feet, and I realised the main had not deployed. I went straight to emergency procedures. I was under reserve by approximately 3,500 feet. I scanned for other jumpers, located the DZ and flew a clean pattern back, landing safely.

What Happened

After the incident, my rig was inspected.

That’s when the real cause of the malfunction became clear: the bridle routing error during packing had created tension around the pin. As the bridle passed on the wrong side of the closing loop, the main pin could not extract properly, resulting in a pilot chute in tow.

Although I had spotted the incorrect bridle position during packing, I hadn’t checked it properly, unpacked and re-closed the container as I should have. That seemingly small choice—trying to “fix” it without starting again—was ultimately what led to the malfunction.

My Emergency Preparation

Looking back, I’m grateful for the habits I had built leading up to this moment:

1) At new drop zones, I review and practice malfunctions as part of the DZ induction, running through scenarios with the DZSO (although prior to this jump, I hadn’t done so).

2) I received help from both an instructor and the DZSO when I first had my new rig inspected.

3) Before this jump, I had a buddy check from an instructor, checked myself on the plane and was double-checked by another jumper while onboard. All gave me the thumbs up.

On every ride to altitude, I run through EPs in my head, imagining different malfunctions and rehearsing my responses. I locate both handles, rehearse the peel-punch cutaway, pause and then peel-punch the reserve and following canopy checks.

When it happened for real, I was calm. My working career as a breakdown diesel mechanic has taught me to stay level-headed under stress, and that translated here. As soon as I felt no opening shock at three seconds and looked back to see the pilot chute in tow, my training kicked in. I went straight into EPs without hesitation.

Lessons Learned

There’s no sugarcoating it: I F’d around and found out. My training, emergency preparedness and presence of mind helped me walk away safely. But this was a close call and I’ve taken away several key lessons:

1) Never shortcut your pack job. If something doesn’t look right, even slightly, undo and start again. “Near enough” isn’t good enough when your life depends on it.

2) Know your gear, inside and out. Especially if you’re transitioning to new equipment or packing for yourself, double-check everything, ask instructors and experienced packers for guidance.

3) Take full ownership. While checks from instructors and buddies are valuable, they don’t replace personal accountability. Don’t rely solely on others to catch issues.

4) Train for stress. When the malfunction happened, my body knew what to do. That’s thanks to repetitive emergency drills. Do them. Often.

5) Talk about incidents. Sharing this wasn’t easy—no one wants to admit a mistake. But if it helps just one person avoid the same thing, it’s worth every word.

6) Believe in yourself, but stay humble. Confidence is key, but cockiness will catch you out. I’ve been pulled up by instructors before for coming across overconfident. The truth is, I trust myself and my training, but I also know I’m still new. Experience comes one jump at a time.

When I landed safely and walked back to the packing area, I actually laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was one of those “if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry” moments. I chose to focus not on the mistake but on the positive: my training worked, my gear did its job, and I walked away. That’s the only outcome that matters.

Final Thoughts

I can’t promise I’ll never make another mistake. None of us can. But I will continue to learn, stay humble and respect the process every time I put a rig on my back.

Skydiving is a sport of discipline and community. Thanks to everyone who’s helped me on this journey so far and to the APF for giving me the opportunity to share this story.

Fly safe, pack smart, trust your training.

— Croney

Have A Story To Share?

The APF encourages members to contribute real-world experiences that can educate and inform others. If you’ve had an incident, near-miss, or valuable learning moment you'd like to share, get in touch with us.

Together, we keep skydiving safer for everyone.

Thanks to Ryan Crone for his contributions to this article.

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[Photo sources: APF, Ryan Crone, Travis McCartin]