It’s embarrassing to admit that my biggest fear before I did a sky-dive was that I would have an accident. I’m not talking here of person-meets-ground-at-speed type accident but that of the bodily function kind. I have wanted to sky-dive as long as I can remember but have been somewhat inhibited by the cowardly streak that runs through me like lead through a pencil. All my life I have had a recurring nightmare where I am standing at the door of a plane, about to realise my sky-diving dream but finding my overwhelming terror prevents me from jumping and I return to the ground in shame. So I allowed the dream to stay just that, a dream; if I didn’t place myself in that position then I would never have to learn whether or not I truly had the guts to do it. But that’s no way to live your life. Here I am, travelling round the world and, if I am not going to take exceptional opportunities when they are offered, I may as well have stayed at home. I finally needed to know the answer. My question was not ‘do I have the courage to jump out of a plane?’ but ‘do I have the courage to overcome my fear of failing?’

New Zealand offers countless opportunities for adrenalin junkies including bungee jumping, rolling down a hill in a big see-through ball (zorbing), heli-skiing, being catapulted across a deep canyon on a swing and of course, sky-diving. As surfers, it was important that we could see the ocean when we jumped so we chose a sky-dive from Fox Glacier on the west coast of the South Island where there are glaciers, mountains and ocean.

The night before the sky-dive we found a beautiful little spot to wild camp and watched the mountains, glaciers and river turn pink as the sun sank in the sky. With our hands wrapped round a steaming mug of tea we watched tiny dots in the sky jump out of a plane and plummet earthwards at 200 kilometres per hour. The evening was so clear that we could hear their whoops and voices once their parachutes opened and they were floating serenely towards land. Tomorrow that would be us.……

The morning arrived bringing a special gift of azure skies. Breakfast was impossible. My stomach was doing somersaults. I don’t remember much about arriving at the airstrip and the instructions we were given. My heart rate was so elevated that my fight or flight instinct was operating at full capacity. My emotions ranged from tearful, to adrenalin fuelled, to the almost overwhelming urge to run as fast as my legs would carry me to anywhere that wasn’t here.
We were fitted up with jump suits and the process of what would happen on exit from the plane, including how signals would be given, was explained several times to make sure we had fully grasped the ideas. I’m tall and skinny so I was paired with big Rod, twice my size and Chris, large and brawny was paired with little Rod. On arrival at the teeny-tiny plane we practised our exit and shown how we would dangle from the plane for a few seconds 12,000 feet in the air while the camera mounted on the wing took our picture. Dangle? (Rising panic.) No one had previously mentioned there would be dangling and a good job too — it may well have been the grain which tipped the scales to an absolute refusal.

There were no seats in the plane and with the four of us sat on the floor, tucked tightly into one another, it was more than a little claustrophobic. Little Rod had entered first followed by Chris, then big Rod and me last of all, rammed tight up against the see-through door. This arrangement allowed the two instructors to rig us up while the plane gained altitude. It also meant I was first out. It seemed to take forever to get to 12,000 feet and if I asked once I must have asked twenty times “are we there yet?” like some impatient child. Kind, Big Rod soothed me with calm chatter and pointed out features of interest in the glacial, mountain landscape below. I asked Rod if anyone ever refused to jump. “Not very often” was his answer. I also asked if he’d ever known anyone to wet themselves. He just laughed.

And suddenly it was time to go. As Rod yanked open the door I almost yelled “don’t open that, it’s dangerous!” Nothing, and I mean NOTHING could have prepared me for how I felt when that door was opened; the furious, tumultuous roar, the violence of the wind and the intensity of terror. And suddenly, there I was, dangling. The smile that we had been instructed to give for the camera was impossible due to the violent flapping of my facial skin, feeling like it would be sucked clean off at any moment. Then falling forwards with snatched glimpses of plane, mountain, plane, sky as we tumbled over and over. We had been told to keep our eyes open, against the natural human instinct to shut them tightly when faced with such overwhelming sensations. I had totally lost all ability to tell which way was up when I felt the tap on my helmet which signalled assuming the spread, arched back, sky-dive position. 0 to terminal velocity in six seconds meant that I must now be travelling at 200 km an hour but it felt like I was floating.

Something happens in those first few moments of falling from a plane. The human soul is stripped bare and becomes all that is simple. If you could extend those moments, then every single answer to life’s complications would become clear. I can only describe it as the feeling of utmost purity; a feeling so primeval that words are inadequate.

We had chosen to jump from 12,000 feet so we would have 60 seconds of free-fall. Before jumping I had thought that the moment the parachute opened would be one of profound relief but ironically when it did so I remember thinking “not yet.….….”. It is also interesting to note that when the parachute was deployed it seems as if we had only been falling for about 10 seconds, a common time delusion for first time sky-divers apparently. Everything goes extremely quiet once the parachute is opened and the air roar ceases. Conversation was now possible and Rod asked me what I thought. I could only utter one word over and over and that not of the variety I could repeat in front of my mother.

Tandem skydiving necessitates landing and sliding on your backside with your legs out straight in front of you with the ground coming at you very fast. Once stationary Rod detached himself from me but I didn’t move. I don’t know how long I sat there on the grass, still wet with the early morning dew, in some sort of trance and grinning like a maniac.
I finally knew the answer to my question.

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In other news… It seems that time is running out for me in New Zealand. It has started snowing occasionally, which I find quite depressing at times, so I’m thinking of packing my stuff to head for warmer climates, beaches and palm trees. If I do, then I will definitely be back next summer to do some travelling instead of just working. What do you think?

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Today I was indulging in my favorite pastime when arriving in a new place, which is getting lost while walking aimlessly around looking at things! I just flew into Christchurch, by the way. Anyway, so I was walking down this street and I saw something which I found really funny (maybe it’s just me, though?) and I had to take a picture of it! It kind of reminds me of walking down a street somewhere in Asia. Quite charming, really! Do you think it’s funny as well?

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