No guts, no glory!

February 10, 2007

Yesterday morning found me perched on a two foot by two foot square metal platform poised precariously 500 feet over a raging river, the only thing between your humble correspondent and eternity a rather large rubber band. Yes friends, I was about to bungee jump.

New Zealanders are bonkers for adventure sports, and Queenstown, South Island, where I found myself wobbling, is the capital of it all. Name an adventure sport and they hazard it here. Go on, name one. Well, hamster wrestling isn’t the first I would have thought of, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they do that. Along with class 5 white water rafting, canyon jet boating, rock and ice climbing, river surfing, paragliding, hang gliding, skydiving, aerial swings, mountain biking and the luge. Almost daily they seem to come up with new ones – such as piloting yourself in a wire-guided jet powered aircraft. And of course, there is bungee jumping. Did you know that it originated here in Queenstown before spreading its elastic tentacles around the planet? Of course you didn't. I’m sorry I asked.

Walking down the main streets of Queenstown you are deluged with stores offering you their unique brand of peril. “Face the fear,” the signs read, “the ultimate jump”, “freefall into paradise”, “twist and turn through narrow canyons at breathtaking speed”, “incredible ground rush”, “don’t look down”…” I selected among these with care. It had to be maximally impressive to others, provide a permanent DVD record of my exploits as proof for the skeptical, and – most important – involve zero actual risk of bodily injury to your precious correspondent. Bungee jumping fit the bill nicely.

The bungee options were several. Karauru Gorge has history going for it. It was here Mr. Hackett invented the sport, and the jump is from a 19^th century rail road bridge. Also I loved hearing the Scottish girl at the counter pronounce the consecutive “r”s in Karauru – sort of an extended purr. But the bridge looks kind of rusty, and perhaps they haven’t bothered to replace the rubber bands in the last two decades. Mostly though, the drop is only 40 meters or so. My operative theory is that only the first and last meter really count. Once you step out into space you are just along for the ride. And most serious falling injuries only occur in the final meter, right? I was quite sure that I would never want to do it again, so I figured if I started with the absolute biggest I could confidently check bungee jumping off my life’s to do list once and for all. That would be the Nevis jump, with a drop of 134 meters, one of the world’s highest. In Walkabout units that is fully 4/10ths of an Empire State Building.

It turns out that my theory of the first and last meter misses some of the psychological nuances of the thing. There is a part of me (one that I will always cherish) that balks at jumping from the equivalent height of a 50 story building. This quickly became evident when we arrived at the jump site.

The whole ordeal takes place at Nevis canyon, 45 minutes out of Queenstown. They outfit you with a harness that goes about the legs, shoulders and chest, and give you a brief briefing, the only part of which stuck with me is that there were absolutely no refunds available, under any circumstances, none, absolutely, none. Surprisingly, the question has come up before. The cost of a jump is not inconsequential – some $250 New Zealand dollars. Of course, New Zealand dollars are worth less than real dollars. I’m not quite sure how much less since one of Walkabout’s travel tips is to never be quite sure of the exchange rate. It makes spending your children’s inheritance much more fun. If cost is an issue, there is a cheaper alternative that involves collecting your own rubber bands. But it is time consuming and the results may be unsatisfactory.

After getting harnessed up I decided a brief stop in the restroom was in order. Though confident of my own fortitude, I was less sure of my bladder’s. I made nervous small talk with the fellow in the urinal next to me – “Ever done this before?”, I asked. “No, its my first time.” “That’s remarkable – you’ve never urinated before! Well, you seem to be getting the hang of it nicely.” As an experienced hand, I left him with the suggestion that he zip up. It would look better on the jump video.

While on the subject of sanitary facilities, I must say that New Zealand has some of the most varied and innovative urinals I have encountered in all my travels. I know you are expecting me to suggest some trenchant if improbable theory for this, but I confess I am at a loss. I would solicit readers’ suggestions, but I am afraid of what you might come up with.

The Nevis jump is made from a metal pod, a sort of cage, perhaps 12 feet by 12 feet, suspended by cables 500 feet over a dramatic canyon. You reach the pod by a small cable trolley, itself an experience to test the bowels of lesser men. Once in the pod, you can watch the plummet of those doomed to go before you through clear floor panels. I more sensibly followed the advice of their marketing campaign: “Don’t look down!”

When my turn came, they ushered me into a chair which – though I am admittedly no expert– looks like it was borrowed from a gynecologist’s office. With my legs up in stirrups, they put additional straps on each and then bolted them together. Apparently some genius decided the thrill of the jump could be enhanced by doing it in leg irons. I was then asked to inch forward onto the aforementioned tiny platform. I now know what it feels like to walk the plank.

Up to the last I expected a reprieve – that they would tell me I couldn’t jump because my VISA account had been blocked. You see, though Kathy is half a planet away she has iron control of all credit card charges. When her computer screen flashed a charge titled something like “Hackett’s Quite Risky and, Frankly, Irresponsible Bungee Jumping, Inc.” I assumed she would be on it like white on rice. One of the primary benefits of a wife is to give you a graceful way out of doing things you know you really ought not be doing in the first place. Inexcusably, Kathy dropped the ball on this one. Shame on you Kathy, leaving me to rely on my own judgment – not one of my long suits. Fair warning – next week I’m contemplating a visit to the Christchurch Poisonous Snake and Toothy Crocodile Petting Zoo.

By the way, if you are ever scheduled to bungee and concerned that you might back out, you could try what one English fellow in our group did. He brought along his wife and two daughters, ages 5 and 9, to watch. There’s a fellow who didn’t have any real options, unless of course he was ready to spend the next 10 years hearing his daughters tell everyone “our daddums was going to do something ever so brave, but then he went all wobbly”.

The important question, of course, is “why?” Why did your valiant correspondent feel the need to put himself on that ever so small platform over that ever so high canyon? Here’s the thing. The world is very large, and the range of experiences open to all of us is vast. But once you start caving in to your fears it can become very small very quickly. Clearly, just because you are afraid of something isn’t itself a reason to do it. Particularly here in Queenstown, New Zealand, there seem to be a lot of people who do frightening things for the adrenaline rush. They are fear junkies, and as much captives of their fears as those who stay away from anything that makes their hearts flutter. That’s not what I am advocating. Your reasoning mind needs to be in charge and it is quite reasonable to avoid things that are dangerous and unproductive. Frequently fear is a good indicator that something is not a good idea. But if there is something your reasoning mind wants to do, and you have carefully evaluated the risks, you need to confront the fears that get in the way. Whatever your fear is, be it commitment, rejection, failure, public speaking, flying, or any of the myriad others we share, it should be addressed head on. By bungee jumping I had the opportunity to prove to myself that I was capable of confronting a deeply held fear and overcoming it. And that is good practice for other more important parts of my life.

So I stood at the end of that platform and jumped off and out in a wide swan dive that caught some air and actually looks rather good on the video. I’ll post it on this website if I can figure out how. They were truthful – the ground rush during the eight seconds of free fall was incredible, though about eight seconds more ground rush then I care to experience in my lifetime. And the best part is I never have to do it again.

The only problem is that I am having flashbacks of standing on the small platform and leaping into space. I’m concerned that I may have post-traumatic stretch disorder. (Get it? You see I experienced a ‘traumatic stretch’ since bungee cords are elastic. Oh never mind, sometimes I wonder why I even bother… )

Your faithful and intact correspondent,

Walkabout Dave