Newport BASE jumper Ian Flanders dies pursuing his passion

Matthew Blank met his rock-climbing brother Ian Flanders in 2004 at Rockreation in Costa Mesa.

The two enthusiasts began climbing together and became partners in the sport when Blank realized Flanders was an excellent person with whom to suffer.

“Climbing is the kind of sport that is fun to have done, but not to do in the moment,” Blank said. “When you’re freezing your ... off at 2,000 feet and have a day or so to summit, you want someone who is humorous.”

For the past 10 years Flanders and Blank, both 28, have been climbing, sky diving and BASE (Building, Antenna, Span, Earth) jumping around the world.

“It’s not a choice,” Blank said. “It’s like breathing air.”

On Tuesday, Flanders was killed in Kemaliye, Turkey, when his foot snagged in his parachute cords, and he fell to his death.

Hours before, Flanders sat on a chairlift, suspended by cables stretched between two cliffs. A river curled around a rocky shore 900 feet below.

Flanders, Blank and two others had scouted the jump the day before, checking weather conditions and wind speeds to minimize the risk. After a 90-minute hike to the “exit point” — or launch site — the group used laser measurements to double-check height calculations. It was a beautiful day.

One by one, the four men stood up on their chairlift seats and jumped into the void between the mountain walls of the canyon. It was the first round of wing-suit jumps ever attempted in Turkey.

They spread their arms, and the suits’ fabric unfurled along their upper bodies, catching the air and slowing their descent.

When the first man landed in the river and made it safely to a rescue boat waiting below, the next sprang off his chair to follow.

Flanders took the third leap, followed by Blank.

At the bottom of the canyon, they enjoyed breakfast, chatted, then packed their gear and headed back up for another round of jumps. This was the recipe for a good day of BASE jumping: jump, rest, repeat.

On his third and final jump, Flanders stood up on his chairlift and turned his back to the canyon wall. He purposefully fell backward into the open sky, tumbling through back flips for the first seconds of the drop. Then, mid-flip, he released his parachute.

“He did these rotations that he’s done a thousand times before,” said Blank, who lives in Costa Mesa.

Blank began checking his gear, getting ready for his own jump, when he realized he could hear the parachute flapping for an unusually long time.

“I thought, ‘Oh, that doesn’t sound right.’”

Flanders had got his foot snared in the bridle, a smaller piece of the chute that deploys to help pull the larger canopy out of its case. The parachute deployed, but one side was constricted by the tangled cords.

Blank watched from his suspended chair as his friend struggled to free his foot. The lopsided parachute set Flanders on a spinning course toward the ground. Eleven seconds passed. Blank jumped after him, but rescue crews were already pulling Flanders’ body out of the water when he landed.

After years of working with search-and-rescue and military operations, Blank said there was no question about what was happening once things began to go wrong.

He said when his friend hit the ground, “It was incredibly loud.”

But still, Blank said his mind wouldn’t let him believe the worst.

“I wasn’t sure if he hit the water first and then the rocks,” he said. “It’s hard to tell from 900 feet.

“I thought, ‘OK, that was serious. He’s probably not coming out of that. But I thought he’s possibly seriously injured in the water.”

Flanders was drawn to BASE jumping upon first sight when the duo attended the 2005 Banff Mountain Film Festival, which showcases adrenaline-packed mountain-based sports.

“The thing about rock climbing is the descent,” Blank said.

He said the path off the mountain can be harrowing, and when the two saw they could just fly down to their car after a climb, they were sold.

They immediately went to Skydive Perris and told instructor Karen Lewis their goal was to BASE jump.

She said she’d never forget the day she encountered to two young, enthusiastic climbers who wanted to know how soon they could get going.

“I said, ‘Slow down. We will get you there, but it will take awhile,’” she said.

Lewis has been skydiving for about 18 years and started getting into BASE jumping in 2006. After a short skydiving class, Lewis continued to mentor Flanders and Blank as they got deeper into BASE jumping and had maintained a friendship with them both.

“When my husband and I talk about them it’s always Ian and Matt — they’re kind of one entity,” she said.

Flanders was estranged from his family — he didn’t talk about his childhood much — and lived in Newport Beach and Costa Mesa for the past 10 years. He worked as a sleep disorder technician, a lab manager and medical supplies salesman during that time, but it was his friendship with Blank that seemed to be his Southern California anchor.

“He spent Thanksgiving with me and my family became his family,” Blank said. “Even my brother is his brother.”

Lewis said Flanders was the more laid back of the two, though he still pursued adventure.

“I never saw him as one to act crazy or make a crazy decision, even through all those times BASE jumping,” she said. “He wasn’t recklessly eager.”

She said there aren’t a lot of women in the sport, and even though she has put BASE jumping on hold while she has two young children, Flanders would still call her to chat.

“Here I was, a thirtysomething woman with two kids and not BASE jumping, and he still valued talking to me and getting my opinion,” she said.

Sean Chuma, 35, from Twin Falls, Idaho, had known Flanders for five years and had BASE jumped with him. He is proud of the life his friend lived.

“All us BASE jumpers understand the risk when it comes to what we do,” Chuma said. “The reason we do it is because our passion is that deep. It’s an expression of ourselves and an artful way of expanding the boundaries of humans.”

To Blank, risk is not the focus for most who maintain the extreme-sport lifestyle. He said for most, there is no choice.

“There are two ways you can live your life,” he said. “You can do what other people expect of you — you can follow the path you’re not motivated to do. The other way is do what you want to do. You can’t run from yourself — from who you are.”

The two made a living BASE jumping, skydiving and climbing, often shooting video for a variety of companies and products.

He had high praise for his late friend’s authenticity.

“Ian was the most genuine person I could imagine,” he added. “No way was he going to live a life that’s not true to who he was.”

Shepherd writes for the Los Angeles Times.

Lopez writes for Times Community News.