Bungy Jumping in New Zealand
By Thomas Kaminski
"Ahh - me?" Within a split second, his heart refuses all blood supply to his head.
"Ahm, yeah - I am John." His shoulders are slowly starting to move towards the deck, his eyes on a desperate search for the person I was addressing. All eyes are on him now, but nobody volunteers to take his place.
I am showing him my biggest smile: "Gidday John, what’s your weight? You look pretty much like a 90 kilo kind of guy."
John checks the back of his hand. "91 kilo," is all he can get out. Now I’m really smiling.
"Well John – today is your lucky day. I’ve got your bungy on – you’re next!"
The atmosphere changes immediately. People start to talk again and I can even hear a few giggles. Sure, John would rather see me die a long and painful death, but for the rest of the people I am closer to God than the pope – at least for the next 5 minutes.
Maybe I should introduce myself: Hi, I’m Thomas, and I’ll be your bungy instructor today! You’ll find that I’m quite a nice guy: When you’re standing on the platform with weak knees and flatout panic, I’ll put my arm around you and give you lots of encouragement: "Relax," I will say, "don’t worry, you’ll love it" - and: "look up, mate, not down to that rock that looks just as if you’re gonna hit it..."
I’m pretty good at giving encouragement – I worked for five years as a social worker in Germany. With streetkids – they don’t get encouragement by the truck load.
But that was long ago. Now, I am standing on a bridge close to Queenstown, a picturesque mountain resort on New Zealand’s South Island, and one of the most beautiful and natural places that our planet has left to offer. And on my side is John – from Canada.
John is the personification of an all Canadian lumberjack: He has about 4 inches on me, and a body like Sly Stallone – there’s not a gram of fat in his 91 kg. His petite (and a little shy) girlfriend is standing about 100 foot away, just in front of the sign which says "Height: 92 metres". This is not quite correct: The actual height of the bridge is only 74 metres – I guess the availability of measuring devices must have been limited when the sign was originally mounted. But 92 sounds a lot meaner than 74, and once on the ledge and ready to jump, those 18 metres don’t make a bloody difference...
John has regained his composure, and the colour is slowly returning to his cheeks. John is cool. While he is sitting down, he grins at me with flaring nostrils and big white teeth. John is the unchallenged champ of Testosterone Island. The boy has still no idea what he got himself into...
While I am wrapping the towels around his ankles (which will prevent the straps cutting into his leg), I make a remark about his sneakers, with only a trace of concern in my voice. It takes about five to six seconds, and I can literally see the light switching off in his eyes. "Is there a problem with that?"
I tell him ("I’m honest with you, mate..."), that we had a few occasions, where the bungy slipped. "In all those cases the jumpers were wearing sneakers."
I wait a few seconds to let it sink in. "But that was probably just coincidence."
John is starting to look a little insecure. I look at him with my best social worker expression: "Don’t worry, mate, you’ll be ´right! Just in case you feel that the bungy starts slipping, bend your toes up! That way the rope has got something to hang on to."
John's eyes have lost a little of its cold, steel-like look, and his mighty shoulders are dropping an inch per second. While I am reaching for the bungy, he dares a look over the edge into the 240 feet canyon – and freezes in mid-movement.
Underneath, the raging Shotover river is only 1 metre deep and about 8 metres wide. Although the bridge is almost 50 metres long, the cliffs on either side are sloping down steeply. From the distance, they give the impression of a giant cone. Every jump seems like a dive into a bucket from 50 feet.
Many people have asked me in the past, what IT is like, to stand on the edge for the first time. Well, it depends on your guts, of course, but maybe let me put it like this:
Imagine, you just heard your cat screaming outside in the garden and you went out to have a look and BANG - that was your door, falling shut, you’re locked out. Key inside. Bummer! Then you notice that your neighbor's three Rottweilers finally finished that hole under your fence (May be you should not have teased them into blind rage every time you passed them?)… First dog has crawled through. Look how the cat's flying up that tree! Stay cool.! Second one is coming. And now they spotted YOU - whhooaaa! Think! Do something!! Move!!! Number three is through! Go home. Can't. Door shut. Key inside...
John has pulled himself away from the gaping hole of terror. He looks a real mess. His eyes are wide open, his face screams emotional turmoil: "Hmmm, yeahh – has anybody ever hit the rocks on the way down?"
While I clip the bungy cord on, I look up and feel almost sorry for the guy. His athletic body has lost all signs of strength and motion. Only his knees are shaking so violently, they are virtually vibrating. His face is totally tensed up, his forehead looks like a Luna landscape after a monsoon shower. John is in the shit, and he knows it.
But he would never forgive himself if he would bail out now. Especially in front of his girlfriend, who is calling again, demanding a big smile for the camera. There is no smile left in his soul. John realizes that the only way out of this mess is with my help. His eyes are begging for my mercy...
Now I feel appreciated.
I sense that John will not take any more. "Listen, John," I tell him. "It's okay to be afraid. You wouldn't be normal if you had no fear. And - don't look down! See that mountain over there? That's it." And I put my hand on his shoulder and start immediately the countdown. Everybody joins in the chant: "Five - four - three - two - one - BUNGY!"
John manages a small bunny hop forward and disappears out of my sight – feet first. We call this not totally elegant technique the "elevator" – actually one of the most radical jumps possible: For the first 20 metres, everything that was neatly packed into his Levis is now trying to make its way out through his ears. At 21.4 meters, the bungy is starting to slow him down, causing him to flip upside down within a split second and with his Levis barely hanging on. After that, the bungy will sky rocket him up, only to go through it once again. And again. And again...
John screams. And screams. And screams. When he finally runs out of air, there is a silence of a few seconds. But all of a sudden, we hear him again: "Allright! Whooosh! I DID IT! Yeahh! Man this is AMAZING!!! BABY, DID YOU GET IT ALL ON THE CAMERA?
Everybody is laughing and yelling. Slowly I turn around and face the crowd. "OK, who’s next?"
I just love this part of the job.
About the author:
Thomas Kaminski immigrated to New Zealand from Hamburg, Germany, where he had worked as a social worker with young adults for 7 years. His hobbies are bungy jumping, sky diving and paragliding, and he spent several years as a professional bungy jump master in New Zealand and Spain. During this time, he also produced photo documentaries and videos for Channel 9 in Australia and TVNZ (amongst others). Thomas is currently working as a sales and marketing manager in Auckland, New Zealand.Text and Photos: © Copyright 1998 by Thomas Kaminski
