A literal leap of faith
Adrenaline junkie? Not me. No way. That said, I did leap off a mountain. It went something like this: We’re on a chair lift heading up 1475 feet (450 metres) to the top of Bob’s Peak in Queenstown.
We’d taken the gondola – the steepest in the southern hemisphere just by-the-by – and now we were heading higher still to the luge track.
Pretty outdoorsy for me but hardly adrenaline-filled.
As we reach the top, I see three paragliders about to take off on tandem flights. The thought of being in their shoes, tethered and ready to jump, makes me giddy and not in a good way.
But a few seconds later, they run, they leap, and they’re away, flying. And that moment, that literal leap of faith, just hits me.
And suddenly I’m all emotional and my daughter and husband say, ‘‘What the . . . Are you OK?’’
It doesn’t take much to set me off, I’ll grant you but, nevertheless, my reaction even took me by surprise.
So I tell them I think I’m going to have to do that.
‘‘Do what?’’ they ask. Jump off the mountain, fly down, meet them at the bottom.
They are gobsmacked. As I said, I’m more of a cup of tea and a lie-down sort of person. Extreme sport is for the MacGyvers of this world. And yet, it feels like a done deal. I’ve decided. Gotta do it now.
There was plenty to put me off. A half-hour wait – lots of time to change my now whirring, jittery mind; the cost $239 (a bargain when you look back on the experience but a high price for the impecunious).
So I pay, sign my life away and await my pilot, Dan Roborgh, who shows up with a massive backpack – our lifeline – and a well worn and worn well patter.
‘‘First time? Me too,’’ he says. The gag is supposed to put me at ease but whatever, I’m already committed to the hilt.
So I wave my family goodbye and head up to the launch pad.
But the wind isn’t right (cringe) so we head higher up (like, what?). It’ll be more stable at the top launch pad 15 minutes walk/canter up through the bush.
At the plateau, Dan says he’ll do three checks. I’m expecting some sort of practice run through what will go down, safety briefings etc, etc.
He lays out the canopy, chooses one side to launch off then decides against it (help!) and decides on the other. Then he’s got me in the harness, tells me to lean back once we are flying, asks me if I’m nervous (I’m, like, yeah, man. I’m bloody terrified.)
He does the final check (wait, what?), then he’s saying: ‘‘When I say run, you run, OK’’, and suddenly we’re running and then we’re leaping off the mountain and then we’re flying.
Flying and blubbing. I’m crying like a cry baby again and Dan thinks there’s something wrong. Through quite embarrassing sobs, I say I’m really good, don’t worry about me. You just fly this thing.
He’s done this more than 9000 times all over the world.
He reckons it’s that first lift as you leap off that keeps him doing it. And I know what he’s talking about.
So we fly over the top of the mountain, wave at my family then cruise over Queenstown.
For 12 short minutes, we are flying. Dan chats away and I’m kind of listening but mostly I’m gulping it all down, moment by moment.
A lot of things went rushing through my head. Big life stuff. I guess that happens when you’re in what feels like a perilous position, fraught with danger and jeopardy, total faith in Dan and our canopy notwithstanding.
I think what originally set me off when I saw those paragliders take flight was this overwhelming sense that, as utterly cliched as it sounds, life is short whichever way you look at it. Even if you live to be 100, there’s not enough time, right? So it’s worthwhile doing some extremely exciting stuff while we’re here. Having danced with an intensely scary illness a few years back, this mantra has great meaning.
Run, leap, fly. That’s one for the memory bank. $239 Queenstown 9300 Because flying is cool. Extreme, but worth every tremble.
Cost Where Why Fear factor