Stomach is already skydiving
Ever since I
watched the first Power Rangers movie in 1995, I’ve always wanted to skydive. Okay,
I know how weird that might sound, but hear me out. The film opens with the six
power rangers leaping from an aeroplane (not in their costumes but given the
colour-coordination of their jumpsuits, they may as well have been), and it was
this scene that inspired me to want to do the same.
Alongside a few
fellow members of the tour group and with Sian’s support, I geared up and sat
in a tiny aeroplane as it swiftly climbed 16,500 feet above the Fox Glacier.
Sat firmly between my tandem instructor’s legs as he bound both our harnesses
together, I had never been so terrified in my entire life. Every time we
climbed a thousand feet, he showed me his wrist watch which confirmed it. Every
reading made my heart sink deeper into my gut. And the air became increasingly
freezing as we ascended, while the views became more incredible: a snowy
mountain range, including the Fox Glacier, until we were above the clouds that
drifted at their peaks.
About to walk the plank... or wing
The instructor
Mike pointed out Lake Mathieson on the far horizon (a lake that perfectly
mirrors the land above, which we hiked alongside the following morning), though
at the time I was more concerned with what was – or wasn’t – beneath the plane
than the views. That’s not to suggest I didn’t soak all of it in. In fact,
being so afraid, I made a conscious effort to. I was in the moment, rather than
just wishing it away, which actually surprised me. I knew it was a
once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and that whether I was to enjoy it or hate it, I
had to give it my all by embracing it.
That said, when
those dreaded words came – “when I open the hatch door, stick your legs out and
make sure the backs are touching the bar underneath the plane and then lean
your head back on my shoulder” - it might amuse you to hear that I felt like
jumping off a bridge. But before I was able to ask him if I was in the right
position, or secretly waited for some sort of countdown, while my legs trembled
like they had never before, we were already out of the plane. There are very
few words to describe this sensation, other than I fell out of an aeroplane at
a height of 16,500 feet and into a vast open space, hurtling towards the earth
at an incredible speed.
Inside I'm screaming
For starters,
it was literally breathtaking. I tried to scream but nothing came out. I felt the
ice-cold air fill my mouth, flare open my nostrils, and try to force my helmet
from my head. Of course I held onto my harness for dear life, but a 70-second
freefall soon came to an end, and remarkably felt more like 7 seconds. Once the
chute opened, it became calmer and obviously slower. With the frustrating sound
of the wind now gone, I was able to have a casual conversation with Mike while
we drifted slowly down towards the seemingly-miniature land below. But while
the parachute descent was naturally calmer, whenever he took a deep turn or circled
towards a small cloud, I can’t stress how much my stomach flipped. Imagine
going down the steepest road in a car or the scariest rollercoaster and dial it
up to ten million – that still wouldn’t sum up this feeling. It was a feeling
of horror mixed with exhilaration. Every time someone asks me how it was, I emphasise the level of fear I experienced while doing it. But that’s not me being at
all negative about the dive – that’s actually my way of selling it. We don’t watch
horror films or endure rollercoaster rides because they don’t scare us – the fear
is part of the fun. Simply put, I only wanted to jump out of a plane because I didn’t
want to. I wanted to experience that physical reluctance and the super-adrenalin
that comes with it, as well as the ridiculously-epic scenery.
Unforgettable
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