Why doing innhopps gives jumpers of all experience levels the sensation of doing their first jump again and again
You wake up at a fjordside hotel in Norway, have breakfast with a diverse, tired-looking group of skydivers. You get into a van, and it drives you to a DZ you haven’t visited before. Out the window, you witness the environment slowly change. You pass through a tunnel, and there’s a sudden shift when you come out. It was sunny on one side, then cloudy on the other. You take notice, but quickly get used to the new reality.
Arriving at the DZ, you gather in front of a hand-drawn map. A barefoot, facial-hairy man named Even explains that you’re looking at the first landing of the day. The map contains a red landing T and highlighted dangers like power lines, water, or stones. A few distances are measured out as a reference of scale, and in the corner, the altitude difference between the DZ and LZ is mentioned in meters and feet. There’s a silent murmur in the group as Even finishes speaking. After a short pause, he asks:
“Are there any questions?”
“What altitude are we jumping from?” another group member asks.
“I just spoke to the jump leader, and it’s right now cloud-free, so we expect full altitude. First load, get your gear ready—you’re on a 20-minute call!”
Thirty-nine minutes later, your subconscious mind asks you a question:
“Where am I, and how did I get here?!?”
What are innhopps?
Landing out vs “hopping in” is kind of a glass-half-empty/glass-half-full definition and is defined by the intention to land away from the DZ. Unintentional = landing out. Intentional = innhopp.
We at The Innhopp Project specialize in that, because we absolutely love to share the sensation of doing your very first jump again. I, who write this article, am Scandinavian, where it’s common to do innhopps, so I’ve been doing them for around 18 years. During this period, I have developed my own pet theory of why it is so exciting.
Why are they exciting?
My theory goes that when we, in a matter of around 20 minutes (the approximate duration of flying from one place to another), find ourselves in an environment different from before, our brain can’t make sense of it and goes on alert—into a heightened emotional state—which also leads to increased neurogenesis (new brain pathways made easier).
You’ve exited the plane, and in freefall, although you’re still focused on the task at hand (surviving), you’ve taken notice of the new surroundings. After pulling your parachute, relieved to have “checked a big box for surviving,” your mental bandwidth is able to take in more of the new reality you find yourself in. Perhaps you’ve been dropped above a desert; perhaps there’s a huge forest under you, a river, a city, or a glacier right in front of you.
Obviously, the main checkbox of landing safely remains. You distribute your bandwidth between looking for traffic, placing yourself in the landing pattern, and taking notice of the new reality.
After landing safely, your heightened alert system can disengage, and even though you’re full of adrenaline, the sensation of relief washes over you. With dilated eyes and a big, fat smile on your face, you begin to fully comprehend your new reality. You’re somewhere else, much different from where you were 20 minutes ago.
“Where am I, and how did I get here?!?”
The Innhopp Project hosts the world’s first innhopp trip in Colombia at the end of February 2026, and three Norway events around fjords and mountains the following summer. You’re invited.
