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Fear of Falling Comes Through Inexperience

As you might know, I've always enjoyed heights. So I have tried many high-flying activities such as skydiving, hang-gliding, and paragliding. But one thing I had never tried was bungy jumping. It's not that I had been avoiding it; there is just nowhere near Seattle where it can be done. The closest place that I know of is Nanaimo, BC, which takes several hours to get to. And I didn't want my first bungy experience to be off a crane at the state fair.

When I began planning my trip to New Zealand, I decided to seek out my first bungy jump from the man who started it all, A.J. Hackett . He's the Kiwi who adapted a Pacific Islander custom and popularized it as an adventure activity. His company is still probably the most respected name (for excitement as well as safety) in the business, and it operates out of Queenstown on the South Island.

Once I arrived in Queenstown, I found that A.J. Hackett operates four bungy sites:

The Kawarau Bridge - The original bungy site, 43 meters (141 ft)
The Ledge - Over downtown Queenstown, 47 meters (154 ft)
Skippers Canyon - Over the Shotover River, 71 meters (233 ft)
Nevis Highwire - The highest of them all, 134 meters (440 ft)

I really only had time to do one bungy jump, so I scoffed at the idea of starting small and went right for the Big Kahuna, the Nevis. It is so named, not because of the similarity with the word "nervous", but because you jump over the Nevis River. The bungy platform is suspended on cables that cross the canyon 440 feet above the river. Just getting to the platform involves some bravery (and a harness), since you travel on a little cable car across the enormous drop.


The bungy platform, suspended

It was a sunny day, and a group of about twenty jumpers rode in a Hackett van up to the jump site. The ride itself got quite scary at the end, as we drove up a very steep hillside, often with only a foot of clearance between the van and the drop. All the jumpers had "NJ" (for Nevis Jumper) written on their right hand in magic marker, and their weight in kilograms written on their left. The bungy operators decreed that we would jump from heaviest to lightest, so I knew I had a while before I jumped.

Six at a time, we were ferried across to the bungy platform on the cable car until everyone was there. By that time, a few of the first burly guys had already jumped. Inside the bungy platform, there was a strip of plexiglass on the floor, through which you could look straight down at the drop and watch the jumpers plummet. Tension was pretty high, and some were too nervous to step on the plexiglass.


The view through the plexiglass

I was pretty calm myself. Not being afraid of heights, I was rather enjoying the view from the bungy platform. Also, the emotional energy level rose as jumper after jumper was hauled back up and began exclaiming about how cool it was. Each jumper arrived back on the platform high and shaky on adrenalin with bloodshot eyes, but otherwise no worse for the wear.

One guy and one girl (separately) were strapped in, walked to the edge, and simply couldn't jump. They were given a temporary reprieve and sent to the end of the list.

By the time it was my turn, most people had jumped. I had been able to observe so many successful jumps that I was hardly anxious at all. I was shepherded to a chair, where they strapped my legs to my harness and the bungy cord. Then, they helped me shuffle toward the edge, since my feet were bound together. As you can see in my photo, the spot from which you jump is a small, two-by-two shelf sticking out from the main platform.


Me on the tiny platform

As I shuffled slowly onto the tiny shelf, I was quite worried that I would fall. Which is silly when you think that falling is just what I came to do; but for some reason I was afraid to fall by losing my balance. The bungy operator urged me further out onto the shelf, and I stood looking down.

Way down.

The river was a tiny stripe that I could cover with my hand, and suddenly I was struck by an overpowering sense of disbelief that I was going to jump off into this abyss. It wasn't fear or hesitation - I didn't really have time for that - just total astonishment. The moment stretched on in my mind and what I saw was burned into my memory.

In real time, I stood there about a second before the bungy operators gave me the countdown. I lept, in the end trusting that the rope would catch me.




As I expected, I don't remember the first few seconds of freefall. (At times like this, your body suffers from sensory overload and you lose awareness - but not consciousness - briefly. It happened to me before when I was learning to hang-glide.) Fortunately, I came to while I was still falling and could observe the rock walls of the canyon screaming by as the river rushed closer.

I reached the bottom of the rope and was jerked somewhat as I began the first bounce. I flew up for a while, twisted at the top, and fell again. As I rose a second time, I reached for the ripcord as I had been instructed, and pulled it. This released my feet and I hung from my harness in a more comfortable sitting position.

The bungy operators let me bounce a few more times, as I enjoyed the silence and beautiful view. Finally, I heard a clunk and they began reeling me in.

Back up on the bungy platform, I relived my jump excitedly with the other adrenalin junkies. I cheered on the girl who had chickened out before, and she finally screwed up the courage to jump. Sadly, the guy who had hesitated before gave it two more tries but was never able to jump (and didn't get his money back).

Afterwards, we headed back on the van to Queenstown. I had expected the bungy jump to be enough, but I watched the video they had taken and I actually liked it enough to buy it. I also bought my pictures so I could post them here.

Despite all the adrenalin-inducing activities I've done in the past (and will do in the future), this bungy jump will always stand out when I remember that starkly clear moment as I stood on the platform.


"Fear of falling comes through inexperience" is A.J. Hackett's motto.

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