I believe that's already been provided, by example.
This is long, but it's important.
Eliminating risk: refuse a flight. Preflight and find problems before getting in the air. Reject a takeoff. Wait for better weather. Choose routing to avoid hazards. Keep landing sites available in the event of power loss. Avoid single engine IMC operations. Use longer runways. There are many ways to find and eliminate risk. One must always be asking what it is that one doesn't know yet, and accounting for it.
When I approach a ridge on a fire, for example, I approach at an angle. I approach with an exit planned such that if I'm unable to jettison the load, the aircraft can still escape. Everything is made downhill; water flows downhill, and so do I. I know I can't outclimb the mountain; it outclimbs me. Therefore, I don't try.
When I fly cross country, I know it's much harder to run out of fuel if I don't burn off the bottom half of the tank. This doesn't mean one must keep a half tank on board, but it does mean that there's no law against carrying more than the bare minimum fuel reserve. Reserves aren't there to be used as part of regular planning and operation. Never the less, pilots annually continue to run out of fuel. A four and a half hour flight with five hours of fuel is asking for trouble. Make it a four and a half hour flight with six hours of fuel, or seven...now you're talking about eliminating on possible "risk."
Got known ice? Dandy. Is there some law which says you have to go sucking around in the ice to see how well it works? Of course not. Ever have hot props or boots fail you in the ice? Ever have ice come off your props and put holes in the side of the airplane? Ever have ice build fast enough it interfered with the aerodynamic handling of the airplane? I sure have, and it's for that reason that I strongly suggest one learn from other's experiences rather than insisting on experiencing it first hand. Got known ice? Good for you. Avoid ice that's known, so you don't have to see how well it works. Now you're eliminating risk.
Wearing a parachute? Can you recognize a pilot chute in tow? A horseshoe malfunction? A lineover? A mae west? An end cell closure? Can you stop a spin with a released brake line? What about broken lines? Collapsing a canopy? Getting stable in freefall? Do you know what a canopy out of the pack in an airplane can do or how dangerous it is? Ever performed a PLF? Do you know what to do when you land in water? In a tree? To avoid powerlines? How to collapse the parachute in wind? Release the parachute? Any idea what happens if your leg straps aren't TIGHT when you open that canopy?
Of course...we're told it's a "small risk," and therefore you don't need to know it.
Of course.
Perhaps you do.
Can you imagine never being taught to land in a crosswind. It's a small risk. Probably never need to be able to do that. All the winds here are out of the south...all the runways north/south...don't worry about the crosswinds. Don't worry about draining the fuel sumps...probably never any water in the fuel. Small risk, right? Why get to know your equipment...probably never have any problems, right?
Many Cessna 200 owners and pilots aren't aware of the kidney sumps that are below the fuselage, just below where the wing strut attaches to the airframe (or would attach, in the case of most 210's that lack struts, of course). Many don't even know there are drains there, or the significance of those tanks...perfectly happy and content to not know their aircraft fuel system. The problem is that this system can cause what's known as Fuel Flow Fluctuation. Problem is that the same line which feeds that tank from the wing also serves as a vapor return line, and it's the same tank to which hot bypass fuel from the fuel pump is sent.
The real problem is that the hot fuel under the right conditions can cause a vapor lock in the fuel feed line from the tank, causing the engine to sputter and die. The problem is that the Cessna manual dictates turning on the boost pump, switching tanks, then adjusting the mixture...and the real problem is that doing this without taking the time to know the system can prevent you from restoring power...because turning on the boost pump only makes the problem worse by returning even more hot fuel to that same kidney sump/header tank. Go figure. Many general aviation pilots who fly these airplanes don't know it.
You see, knowing your equipment and your systems is very, very important. Every bit as much with the parachute as it is with your airplane. To not learn your airplane is unthinkable...yet still goes on. Little wonder, then, that pilots are dismissive about learning their parachute system. Take it seriously.
I can't count the number of fatality reports I've read with jumpers who died tugging on a piece of their harness instead of an operating handle. Jumpers who were seen frantically pulling on what they thought was a toggle, D-ring, or other control to open their parachute, but instead had grasped a part of the harness webbing...and they fought with it all the way to impact, and to their death.
I think about that every time I jump. I consciously think about that and reach for, and touch every part of the harness, over and over. I want the very last thing that ran through my mind, before an emergency, to be the one thing that will save me.
About five years ago I'd had a modification done by a rigger to a parachute system, moving the pilot chute pocket from a ROL (rear of leg) position to a BOC (bottom of container) position; a safety upgrade which all new systems now use. I tested the system repeatedly on the ground to ensure that the pilot chute would extract comfortably from the sleeve when it came time to pull, and it did.
I rode to 18,000' in a Caravan, and got out. I did a 2-way freefall with someone else down to 4,500', then broke away. I did several turns, a backloop, a roll, and reached to pull. I grasped the toggle on the pilot chute, and pulled, and it was stuck fast. At this point I was below my usual pull atitude of 3,000', passing 2,500', and stable at terminal velocity. I tried a second time and it didn't work. I tried arching my hips one way for leverage while pulling the other, and immediately found myself on my back, with my chest mount altimeter showing through 2,000'. At this point, 10-12 seconds to impact.
I knew that when not in a stable face-to-earth position, the altimeter wouldn't read correctly...I could be lower. The audible alert altimeter in my helmet was a steady loud whine in my ear and my wrist altimeter agreed. I arched hard, pushing my arms and legs out and behind me, my chest up, and quickly flipped over, now turning head down as I righted myself. I noted I was directly above the ramp in front of the main drop zone hangar, and I got ground rush. This is when everything that was small and far away suddenly blossoms and gets detailed; if you get ground rush you're very low, and I was.
At that moment I had the car-crash experience, when everything slows down, and things became very crystal clear. I remembered all the reports of other jumpers going in, bouncing, dying, with a useless handle or the harness in their hand, and thought to myself "you're that guy." I knew that any further hesitation, any further effort to extract that canopy would result in my death. This was perfectly clear, obvious, no question. I knew I had to let go of that handle and open a reserve. The thought briefly flashed through my mind, verifying that I did indeed have a total malfunction and nothing to cut away, and in that moment I released the handle, used both hands, and pulled the reserve D-ring. The reserve parachute, a bright pink square ram-air parachute came off my back under spring tension, and opened hard and fast.
I had time to check the canopy, release the brakes, and I hit the ground.
I'm not telling you these things to give you a hard time. It's usually far better to learn from other people's experiences than from your own; especially when your own may kill you.
Some years ago following a major fire fatality, a discussion came up regarding the actions of the deceased. When the burnover started and they began running for their safety zone, some made it, some didn't. The ones who made it dropped their packs, their chainsaws, and their gear, and ran for their lives. The ones who didn't were found burned beyond recognition in the 2,000 degree heat, with what was left of their tools melted into their charred bodies. It seem so simple, then...drop the tools and run.
One member of the discussion had been a firefighter for 20 years on the line. He was faced with a similiar problem. He knew the score. As the fire exploded behind him, he caught up with a member of his team running, and the member was being slowed down because he was still carrying his saw...a heavy chainsaw full of gasoline. The experienced firefighter screamed at him to drop it, then slapped him hard and took the saw out of the young man's hands. They ran and made it; they arrived at the safe zone. They lived.
When the experienced firefighter look down at his own hands, he found that he held the saw he'd taken from the junior man. His instinct and training had kicked in...the saw is a lifeline, and he'd clutched it as he ran...just as he'd told the others not to do. He couldn't believe it. That was twelve years or so ago now, I think. Probably not the first time, probably not the last. But it wasn't in an airplane, you say, and what does that have to do with parachutes and flying and risk? Everything.
Human nature. In an emergency, we revert to two things; what we know, and our training. We can't revert to what we don't know, save for instinct, and we train the proper response so we don't follow instinct into an early grave.
We can go through life thinking "it's a small risk, so I won't bother," but it's improper, unprofessional, and inappropriate in aviation. But we're private pilots, we don't have to act professionally...I've heard it before. Not so. Professionalism isn't about making money at what you do; it's state of mind. it's the ability to say no, it's the ability to never perform at the minimum level, it's the drive and desire to seek training, seek a higher level of operation, and to maintain a high standard. Simply believing "it's a small risk" won't cut it, and it's no more appropriate for a private pilot than it is for an ATP.
I've worked a lot of jobs to support my flying habit. One of them was as an armed guard, servicing ATM's (teller machines). I carried over two hundred thousand dollars in cash, in a canvas bag, while approaching the machine. As you can imagine, this would be tempting to nearly anyone. In training, on the range, we practiced with heavy canvas bags, carried in the shooting hand. Or one in both hands. When a buzzer sounded, we had to be able to complete the shooting drill accurately without danger to ourselves or targets representing bystanders, while protecting our lives.
You might be shocked at the number of people who failed to drop the money. First step, drop the money. It's no longer a priority. Empty one's hands, abandon what you knew a half a second ago, because your world has now changed. It's a new landscape. Drop the money. Draw. Front sight on target, trigger pressure, fire again. But what did people do? They struggled, went into sensory overload, tried to transfer the bag to the other hand before drawing the weapon to save their life...very bad.
The saying goes that you fight as you train, and it's equally true that you fly as you train. Before I fly, I always rehearse my way out of the harness or seat belt, out of the cockpit, and out of the airplane. I want to be able to do it eyes closed, in the dark, under water, on fire, whatever. I want to be blindfold familiar with the cockpit so I could find anything on command without having to feel for it...intimately knowing the airplane. Same with a parachute. Know every inch of it, inside and out. Know what it looks like open and closed, and what to do. People buy firearms to protect themselves and then die in a gunfight when they don't know how to release the safety under stress. The same can be said for opening a parachute, clearing a fuel flow fluctuation malfunction, or handling an aircraft fire.
I sat in the back of an airliner recently, going home from a 17 day trip on the road. I was in uniform, and the passenger next to me looke surprised when I withdrew the passenger safety briefing card from the seatback in front of me, and began to read it. "But, aren't you a pilot?" He asked. Why, yes. "Why do you need to read that?"
I explained that no matter who we are, or our background, it's important to read that information every single time, and listen to the briefing by the flight attendant. As I glanced around me, I saw what I usually see...nobody reading the cards, nobody watching the flight attendant. The man seated next to me scoffed..."I really don't need anyone to tell me how to undo my seatbelt."
I explained to him that in an emergency, when the airplane is full of smoke and upside down and he's hanging from that belt, when it's dark and there's a lot of yelling and screaming, the one thing he wants running through is mind is the last thing he did, the last thought he had...and that was practicing locating and undoing that buckle. You may find this silly...but as a firefighter I've been inside enough vehicles with crash victims...cars and aircraft, to know that many people can't even fire out where they are, or who they are, or how to release their seatbelt, for that matter. When the chips are down, you really want to be trained in your system...and that includes a parachute.
I've spent most of my adult life, and a good share of my teenage life too, training for and engaged in emergency situations in flight and on the ground. Often as a fucntion of my employment. I sincerely hope that there are those who are able to learn from others who've been through those situations, rather than having to go out and prove it for themselves. This is just as applicable to wearing an emergency parachute as it is to preflighting an airplane or outrunning a fire on the ground. All involve aspects of human nature under stress, or potentially under stress, and all involve an inherent need to get it right, every time, with potentially dire consequences if one fails to do so. A preflight may not be a stressful experience, but dealing with the aftermath of what's missed most certainly can be, to say nothing of the stress one's relatives and friends may feel after the fact. For everyone's sake, think safety first; find the risk, eliminate it.
Eliminate it with thorough training proficiency, and an attitude toward safety. Never think "it's a little risk." It's not. If it's risk, it's worth taking seriously.