Feet On The Ground (part 1)

It's not a fear of heights, it's a fear of falling. And really, it's not a fear of falling, it's just a fear of that sudden stop. Standing on that short rock ledge in Kakadu (or more aptly, sitting and quivering) was terrifying. So why was I going to New Zealand, whose apparent philosophy is "Find a good bridge and jump off it"?

Caving, with its abseils and ladder climbs, was not so easy for me, but I managed to keep a stiff upper lip, look straight ahead and the rocks, and force myself to do it with no outward signs of fear. I even forced myself to look down. But, even though I was dangling from my crotch, I was aware of my relative safety. More importantly, it was nice and dark. Clearly, things needed to be turned up a notch.

That notch happened to be about 12,000 feet. Welcome to skydiving. I'll spare you the gritty details, but just know it involves slipping into a sexy flight suit, tying yourself into a complicated gimp harness, being strapped to a strapping young lad [tandem dive], and being hauled into the cargo of a remarkably small plane.

We sat on our instructor's laps during the trip up, where they grope you all over to check and recheck your harnesses. Under other circumstances, I probably wouldve popped a stiffy, but I'm sure you can understand my hesitation at the moment. I did however enjoy a small fart in his lap. It wasnt really nerve-racking; I never trembled or cringed. It was excitement and anticipation with a trace of anxiety. At the right height, they open the cargo door, scoot to the edge, and dangle you over the edge with nothing to hold on to, where you have just enough time to think "The fuck am I doing?..." before you're unceremoniously tossed from the plane. With no form and no stability, you tumble, doing essentially a cartwheel in the fetal position, giving you the briefest look at the plane already starting to escape you before all you can see is rushing ground.

I expected to be terrified, falling at almost 300 miles per hour to a particularly hard ground below. Even the clouds we dropped through looked like thick solid concrete until we slipped right through without feeling its touch. Perhaps I might even be awed by the scenery, a pristine national forest on my left, and the gorgeous blue sea to my right. With almost a full minute of freefall to ponder, I certainly had time to consider this, but to be honest, my all-consuming thoughts were "My hands are cold" and "I really hope my bracelet doesnt rip off". Famous last words, I suppose.

Luckily, it never came to that. With a few thousand feet to spare, he popped open the parachute, and I got to enjoy braking from 300mph to about 20, with all that force concentrated in my crotch. The harness really gave me bruises on my inner thighs, making me look like the slut I probably am. But, despite being remarkably high up, my fear of heights remained suppressed, and I got to enjoy a leisurely visual tour of the area. I even asked him to do a few spins for me, which he happily obliged, though I begged him to stop after about 5. I dont know what happens when you throw up at 2,000 feet.

What I do know is that falling from 12,000 with stuffed sinuses leaves you fully deaf in one ear for about 2 days. Popped ears and all that shit. But I didnt have time to worry about that, I had to go pilot a plane.

An hour after I came down, it was time to go back up. This time, I'd be behind the stick of my own acrobatic airplane. Sure, there was a pilot behind me, preventing me from killing us both if need be, but he spent most of the flight with his hands on my shoulder. Creep. Anyway, I donned an even sexier flight suit, and an objectively unsexy flight helmet, and let him take off. Then it was my show. Though instructed through the headset, he never showed. It was up to me to make our little plane loop, stall, barrel roll, fly upside down (and sideways), and other things that involve breaking fundamental rules of Newtonian physics. We skimmed the tops of the clouds I'd plummeted through so recently. Oh, and the Cuban Figure 8, which Wikipedia describes as "5/8s of a loop to the 45 degree line, 1/2 roll, 5/8s of a loop to the 45 degree line, 1/2 roll, 3/8s of a loop to level flight." I'm still not sure, but it was damn fun.

Before landing, I was feeling good. In fact, I was feeling great. He asked me if I wanted a scenic trip back, or if I wanted him to show me a few particularly tough tricks. Tough choice. A corkscrew, a reverse cuban 8, a hammerhead turn, and god knows what else later, I was definitely ready to land. I'm not sure what happens if you throw up at 2,000 feet.

Our two next little sojourns were closer to the ground, but technically not on it. First was the glacier walk. After a tramp through a temperate rainforest, you kinda find yourself on a giant ice flow. Wonderfully juxtaposed, but slightly unnerving. Brilliant ice formations, storybook backdrop, and fun company. But I think what I'll remember the most about it was the sheer futility of the guide's job. Despite our wearing of boots and crampons, the ice was still considered too steep and slippery, so the guides were sent out early in the morning to cut innumerable stairs in the ice with picks and chainsaws for our lazy use. But, since this is a moving ice flow, in an area well above the freezing point, the stairs would shift or melt away, and need to be recut the next morning, every morning. Seriously, I did not envy them.

Our other sidetrack was a swim in Kaikoura. But, we get to choose between two sidekicks: dolphins or seals. Since I had already swam with dolphins in my childhood, I decided to give fur seals a try.

Clearly, I had been spoiled by the Great Barrier Reef. Despite a two-layered wetsuit, I was still freezing my ass off in the southern New Zealand waters, which lie far too close to the Antarctic Circle for comfort. And I desperately wanted for gloves. But, the ceaseless torment was more than made up for by our swimming companions. The playful scamps would dash right between us, up and around, even jumping over our heads. They would hide behind us, or even right below us, and blazing off when they knew they were caught. The dark clumps of kelp were especially fun to play hide and seek in, and some would come within inches of your face and stare deeply into your eyes. There was no denying the intelligence behind their gaze.

Our bus driver mentioned we may have "a moment" with the seals, but mine was downright bizarre. While many of the seals would swim right up to you, they would just as quickly dart off. This one stayed, nose to nose. Then, it tilted its body down as if to dive, but stayed up. It began scratching itself with a flipper. Then, it began to rotate, spinning around in place a foot in front of my face, scratching and holding eye contact the whole time. I honestly think it wanted me to scratch its back. However, we were warned to not touch the seals, so I kept hands-off. After a few seconds, the seal got bored, and swam off with a palpable disappointment. But, that's his problem. No disappointment here, just elation and mild hypothermia.

I looked forward to what awaited me at the adrenaline junkie headquarters known as Queenstown...