Static Line Skydiving in Malaysia: all you need to know

Skydiving is one of the most common things I see on people’s bucket lists, and I totally get why. It’s terrifying, expensive, and wildly impractical, but can be fun and life-changing at the same time.

I say life-changing because plenty of jumpers I met claimed their first jump changed their lives. Many even said it became an addiction.

It had been on my own bucket list too, for quite a while. The initial dream was to do it in New Zealand, the land of extreme sports, but I was spectacularly broke when I traveled there in 2012, so the idea remained exactly that: an idea.

Many years later, I finally decided it didn’t matter where I did my first jump. Snow-capped mountains would have been nice, but jumping out of an airplane in Malaysia still counted as jumping out of an airplane.

After some research, I realized I had two options: tandem skydiving and static-line skydiving.

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Tandem vs static-line skydiving

Which type of skydiving is right for you?

If your goal is simply to experience skydiving and enjoy the views, tandem is the clear winner because you don’t have to worry about a thing other than how you look on camera.

Static-line skydiving makes more sense if you genuinely want to learn the sport.

Personally, I had zero intention of becoming an advanced skydiver, but after watching a video of static-line skydiving, I immediately knew it was the one I wanted.

The extra bragging rights outweighed everything else. It just looked so badass!

Besides, it’s not often I get to have a skill most other people don’t. Usually, it’s the other way around.

Can you skydive solo on your first jump?

Surprisingly, yes.

I did my static-line jump with no previous skydiving experience. However, there are still safety requirements. These vary slightly between operators, but generally include:

• Age requirements. Some places may require those over a certain age to prepare a declaration of fitness from their doctor.
• Weight restrictions and fitness level.
• No serious medical conditions that could affect safety.
• Ability to understand training instructions and emergency procedures. People with learning disabilities may still be allowed to participate on a case-by-case basis.

Choosing a skydiving center in Malaysia

At the time, I chose a skydiving club in Segamat, Johor called Hawk Skydive, which had been operating for decades and had trained both civilian and professional jumpers.

How much does static-line skydiving cost in Malaysia?

I paid a total of RM1,300. My package included:

• Ground training
• Equipment
• The jump itself
• Certificate and licence after completion
• Raw and edited videos (optional)

If you’re planning a jump, it’s best to contact operators directly for updated prices and requirements.

DAY 1: Ground training

Before training started, we had to sign waiver forms acknowledging the risks involved.

As with any extreme sport, the organizers won’t be held responsible for anything unfortunate that happens to you — or whatever’s left of you.

Fair enough.

We also had to provide our personal details for a routine background check with the state police department. This was to ensure that none of us were aspiring aircraft hijackers.

After that, we were given a handbook titled “MALFUNCTIONS”.

So basically, they have an entire book dedicated to things that could go wrong during a jump.

How reassuring.

The class took about 6 hours. We learned about the parachute and how to operate it. We learned about altitudes, wind directions, and landing techniques. But mostly, we discussed possible malfunctions and how to deal with them.

After the classroom session, we practiced jumping from a stationary plane on the ground. The aircraft “door” was less of a door and more of an open gap in the side of the plane.

The process looked simple enough, at least in theory:

1. Sit near the opening.
2. Slowly exit the aircraft and stand on a small platform below the wing.
3. On the jumpmaster’s command, jump backward in a facedown spread-eagle position.
4. Count out loud while waiting for parachute deployment.

The purpose of counting was to know when to start panicking executing emergency procedures should the parachute fail to open. Ideally, it should self-deploy by the count of five.

DAY 2: The actual jump

The next morning, we gathered early, hoping to start before it got too hot. However, we weren’t given clearance to fly because it was too misty. If it rained, we’d have had to postpone everything until the next day.

While waiting, we practiced jumping again from the stationary plane named The Great Old Lady. It was the same plane we’d be flying on later.

The aircraft was so tiny that each flight could only accommodate four people: the pilot, the jumpmaster, and two jumpers.

By 9 a.m., we were finally cleared to fly. The jumpers were paired up and the heavier person in each pair would jump first. My partner was a guy called Kirshen.

Fortunately for me, he was much bigger and taller, so he’d be jumping first. We were assigned to the sixth flight. Out of the 16 jumpers, only two were women.

During the flight, three cameras would be used to record the jumps: one mounted on the jumpmaster’s helmet, one attached to the wing of the plane, and another on a drone at the landing site.

Something went wrong

When the first pair jumped, we all looked up and watched. They were but tiny dots in the sky.

Our instructor stood on the runway with a walkie-talkie, giving instructions to the jumpers. Everything seemed to be going fine.

And then something unexpected happened.

The first jumper went the wrong way and suddenly was too far out to make it back in time for landing. He was losing altitude fast. Soon, we could no longer see him behind the trees and buildings.

The instructor told him to find a safe place to land, then sent a guy on a motorbike to search for him.

The rest of us dared not say anything. We only watched in horror.

The very first jumper of the day had made a terrifying, possibly fatal mistake. Was that an omen or something? A glance at the other jumpers’ faces told me we were all thinking the same thing: shit just got real.

Luckily, the guy was okay. He landed in a field not too far away. Apparently, he had hesitated a few seconds too long before jumping, and on a moving plane, every second counts.

As a result, he ended up too far from the landing strip. Not exactly the confidence boost the rest of us needed.

Needless to say, the jumper received an earful for his mistake.

And then it was my turn!

The other jumpers did fine, thankfully, and before long, it was my turn to suit up.

The suits were made of thick canvas to protect us during landing. Kirshen and I both chose orange jumpsuits, despite their resemblance to the kind you might see in another sort of facility.

The crew helped me with my parachute backpack, goggles, helmet, altimeter, and walkie-talkie, making sure everything was snug and secure.

I felt like I was being sent to war.

Slowly (not for dramatic effect, but because the jumpsuit was slowing me down), I made my way to the plane and took my position behind the pilot.

When the plane took off, I closed my eyes and tried to hammer into my brain that this was supposed to be exciting and that I should enjoy every moment.

Just as I was beginning to convince myself, my eyes fell on the altimeter and I realized we were getting higher and higher.

That was when I suddenly stopped thinking altogether.

My mind switched off and drifted into some sort of vacuum where thoughts floated by without really registering. I didn’t even look when Kirshen jumped.

In a zombie-like daze, I moved toward the door/opening/whatever next to the pilot.

He took my hand and made me grip a handhold above my head. Then, he made a sharp turn, the kind that tilted the plane sideways.

If you were on a normal airplane and looked out the window, you’d see either all sky or all land, depending on which side of the plane you were on. I saw all land.

It just felt very different looking not out a window, but through a wide gaping hole that seemed more than happy to chuck you out if you weren’t holding on to something.

The jump

The jumpmaster then patted me on the shoulder, signaling that it was my time to go.

I struggled to even get my legs into position. With the wind coming from both the front of the plane and the propeller, plus the heavy backpack weighing me down, it proved more difficult than I had expected.

I looked at the jumpmaster, who said something I couldn’t hear over the loud roar of the wind and engine. Then I saw him mouth, “Go”.

I jumped, hit my head on the wing, and while my mind was still trying to process what had happened, the parachute had already deployed. I hadn’t even had time to open my mouth and count to five.

The walkie-talkie then crackled to life, giving me step-by-step instructions on what to do.

I looked below and saw the tiny roofs of houses and buildings. There was a swimming pool on a rooftop, looking about as big as a Band-Aid. And beyond that was nothing but vast blue sky.

I had to wonder if I was really doing what I thought I was doing. At that point, I realized this could either end well or very, very badly. I was in no hurry to find out which.

The landing

Time passed in a blur and before long, I had to prepare for landing. Again, my instructor guided me through it all.

At one point, he told me to head left towards the landing strip. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “Hello? I said go to your left, not your right!”

It took me a moment to realize I had mixed up left and right…again! I probably should have warned the instructor about my total lack of coordination.

I landed hard on my butt, though thankfully on grass instead of gravel.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as I had expected. The fact that I had landed in one piece already felt like a huge achievement.

My instructor asked me to stand up if I was alright, since I was too far away for him to see me properly. As I got to my feet, I noticed the drone hovering above me, so I gave it a little wave.

I had landed at least a hundred meters off target, so they had to send a pickup truck to fetch me and my parachute.

Lunch and certification

Free lunch was served while we waited for the instructors to prepare our certificates and licenses.

While eating, one of the guys told us about his previous jumps. Apparently, he had done quite a few, and when he wasn’t jumping himself, he often came by just to watch.

He said this was the first time he had seen a jump day with no injuries at all. Usually, there would be cuts, bruises, broken bones, or at the very least, sprains.

He himself had once impaled his leg on a sharp wooden fence during landing. He ended up in the hospital and spent months in a wheelchair. All I can say is I’m glad he didn’t share that story before we did our jumps.

After lunch, we had a certificate-awarding ceremony.

And lastly, we took a group photo with The Great Old Lady.

Final thoughts

With the license, we had the option to sign up for another jump immediately.

When I said no, the people at the skydiving school looked visibly disappointed because they seemed convinced I would end up as addicted to the sport as they were.

So, I backtracked and said, “Not today!”

The truth was, I was just super glad I had come out of it alive, and I definitely wasn’t about to tempt fate a second time.

The next day, they posted a video of us on their YouTube channel:

My friends were amazed. Heck, even I was amazed. Some of them said they got heart palpitations just watching the video. When I watched it the first time, I couldn’t believe my eyes either. I really did that?! 

Somehow, in the video, I managed to look calm and composed, although, I can assure you, I felt anything but.

Would I do it again?

Tandem skydiving, maybe, but nothing solo, especially after hearing all the horror stories.

Looking for more adrenaline-fueled experiences in Malaysia? Check out my roundup of adventurous things to do around the country.