Bungy Jumping (by RL Baughn)                                               February 13, 2000

You’ve all heard about bungy jumping and think it sounds 1) absolutely insane or 2) like fun or 3) like an intriguing idea.  The concept is simple.  You stand on a precipice with your feet bound to a big rubber band and take a flying leap for a few seconds before turning into a human yo-yo.  This is definitely an idea a Kiwi might think up after a few too many Steinlagers, and sure enough, bungy jumping originated near Queenstown in 1988.  It’s obviously tapped into a reservoir of people’s desire to try something that on the surface is scary as hell, but is in reality quite safe.  There are at least three sites in Q’town with drops ranging from a somewhat "tame" 43 meters (~140 ft.) to an impressive 127 m. (~400 ft), the latter off a gondola.  Amazingly, you actually need reservations to jump, especially on a nice summer day.

So, I’m in Q’town and the question is "To bungy or not to bungy?"  I’ve been a #3 ever since I heard about bungy jumping.  My little voices have argued a lot about the answer.  One says "Do it!  The opportunity is here.  Push yourself a bit.  There’s no danger, thousands have done it."  On the other hand, although the mind says that there is no danger involved, this is not stepping off the curb to cross the street.  Put me more than a few feet off the ground near a drop-off and my stomach protests.  And there’s that hanging upside down and bouncing around part.  While your average 6 year-old thrives on that kind of stuff, I haven’t done enough of that recently to remember whether it’s a good thing or not.

Complicating the issue is the knowledge that Colleen had taken the plunge the week before.  Admittedly, she was a veteran, having done a baby jump from a crane before.  Also, she only did her jump after we had driven by the site near Hanmer Springs several times, and she didn’t have to wait very long before she jumped, so her jump was pretty easy (just kidding, C.).  Nevertheless, this put her in the enviable position of being able to occasionally ask: When are you going to do it?" 

We came close the day we arrived in Q’town.  Our route into the city took us past the old Kawarau River bridge, the first-ever bungy site.  After initially zipping by, we turned around, pulled into the parking lot, and joined the many spectators watching jumper after jumper leap from the bridge toward the rushing river water 140 ft. below.  At some point, Witta and I looked at each other and somehow agreed to go sign up for a jump, reasoning "Why not?" and "Let’s get it over with before we think about it too much."  We marched to the registration desk and told the woman we were ready to go.  However, she said that it would be about an hour before we could be accommodated.  Well, it was getting to be late in the afternoon, and we really did need to find rooms in the city for the night, and we maybe still wanted to play golf, and for those and lots of other reasons, we probably couldn’t wait that long.  So we said; "Don’t bother to put our names down now, but we’ll be back. (Yeah, sure!)  Close call, eh?

But, if you’re in Queenstown, you see references to bungy jumping everywhere, so it’s a tough thing to put out of your mind for very long.  Those little voices continued their debate without coming to a definite conclusion one way or another.  The discussion ended after our jet boat excursion.  As we drove into town, bungy jumping was brought up again by you-know-who.  Somehow, when I got to the road that led out to the gorge, the idiot within seized control and turned the steering wheel left, toward terror.

The bridge was bright and sun-lit  when we arrived at about 3:45.  There were plenty of spectators, but the jump site didn’t look too crowded.  Maybe this would be over soon.  Witta had also decided to give it a try, and we again went to the desk to sign up.  Bad news: the wait was about an hour and a quarter.  Although I had mentally committed to jumping, I wanted to get it over with ASAP.  I wasn’t sure the bravado would persist.  But we added our names to the list and were told to return about five minutes before our scheduled time of 5 PM.  As yet no money changed hands. I’m sure those working at A. J. Hackett’s have had plenty of experience with well-intentioned folks who, given a little extra time, decided to forego the opportunity.

You’re wondering about my state of mind at this critical point.  Amazingly, I am quite calm.  No butterflies except for those that flutter every time I look down into the gorge.  But there’s still a lot of time until zero-hour.  To kill some of it, we begin a hike across the bridge.  After about five minutes, we have to climb over a gate and soon encounter fresh sheep droppings and a house just up the path.  Looks a bit too private, so we retrace our steps and return to the bridge, having disposed of only a few minutes of the wait.  Not much else to do but find a shady spot and watch the show.  The minutes pass slowly, as you might imagine, but the terminal nervousness I’m expecting to arrive doesn’t put in an appearance.  Witta isn’t saying much.

Activity slows and Witta heads in to see if maybe we can go sooner than our scheduled time.  Alas, it’s only a rest period for the masochists who strap your legs in and provide the necessary encouragement for those reluctant to take that last step.  The day is quite warm and they’ve been at the job for many hours.  More time passes, the staff returns and activity resumes.

I should note here that we’ve witnessed many jumps by this time, both today and on our previous visit, and only once has someone, a young woman, reached the brink and then, despite much encouragement, failed to leap off the platform.  That seems to me very remarkable, and I wonder whether I’ll become a falterer (better word than chicken, no?).

5 P.M., the appointed hour arrives, and we go back to the registration desk.  Witta changes her mind.  The wait has taken its toll.  I’m not surprised.  I hand over my Visa card and, with a remarkably steady hand, sign the charge slip and a document absolving Hackett’s of everything should anything happen.  The disclaimer’s first statement was to the effect that they weren’t responsible for trauma to friends and family of the jumper.  This reassuring statement immediately suggests to me that, should anything happen, I’m not going to be the one who is in a position to hire a lawyer.  Next, I step on a scale and a big "70", my weight in kilos (pockets empty, of course) is written in blood red on the back of my left hand.  Knowledge of the jumper’s weight is critical, especially for accommodating the super-stupid who actually wish to enter to water to make the bungy experience even wilder.

I walk to the center of the narrow bridge, carefully avoiding any downward glances.  Two guys will go before me. I watch and listen carefully as they get their final instructions.  My negative attitude to the idea of touching the river at the jump bottom is strengthened when one of them is reminded not to go face first into the water or a couple of black eyes might ensue.  Guaranteed I’m not going to be thinking clearly enough to be certain of avoiding that fate.  All too quickly, I’m about to be the 99^th person of the day to go over the edge.

A young attractive female Kiwi assists me down onto a platform slightly below the bridge level and begins binding my feet firmly to the bungy cord.  I make it clear that I’m not interested in even coming close to the water.  Trained well, I suspect, to keep jumpers from thinking too much about the upcoming event, she asks where I’m from, what I’m doing in NZ, etc.  Upon finding out that a young stud like me had retired from a programming position, she then asks whether I’m married (and where is my wife?)  Not thinking quickly enough, I reply "Yes" and "She’s over there watching."

She helps me to my feet and, with that, the scariest part of the whole experience begins.  The moment of truth has arrived.  My feet are firmly tied together, and I still have to negotiate the 3 feet to the very edge of the platform.  Somehow, I manage to take the necessary baby steps to get into position to jump.  Once there I am actually relieved, as I perform my last duty of turning to smile and wave at the video camera and the thousands of cheering fans (actually about 30 or so silent strangers plus Colleen and Witta) who await my plunge.

Now, if you’ve thought about bungy at all, you’ve probably created a mental picture of yourself performing the feat.  I had.  It seemed to me that there are two basic ways to go off into the void.  The "dive" approach entails pretending you’re headed into a shallow pool: place arms over head, leap, get yourself vertical, and watch the river below rush towards you as you descend.  Alternatively, there’s the image of Superman, soaring horizontally with arms outstretched, oblivious to what’s going on below.  If you paid any attention to my comments on how I feel about heights, you’d guess (and be correct) that I’m with S-man.  Thoughts of flapping my arms for the laughs had crossed my mind, but as I told my able assistant when asked if my pockets were empty, "Yeah, and my head is too", so that didn’t happen.

The last sounds I hear are "5, 4, 3, 2, 1, bungy" and somehow I’m airborne.  The jump itself is somewhat anticlimactic.  I don’t actually recall much of what happened, particularly visually.  It’s as if my eyes were cut out of the circuit once I jumped and didn’t get back into action until I was bouncing upside down looking at the blue water below.  The falling sensation wasn’t as strong as I’ve experienced in elevators, probably the result of my great Man of Steel imitation.  I had worried a little about the jerkiness of the bounces, but actually it was fun to be a yo-yo.  When most of the motion had stopped, the best sensation of all was just hanging there upside down, listening to the quiet, and thinking "Wow, it’s over. I did it!"

This tale ends with me being lowered into a raft and being rowed back to shore. The guy had to tell me several times to look up at my feet, so I’d be lowered into the boat onto my back.  At the time, I wasn’t mentally prepared for a task that difficult, and I got a pretty good scratch on the bridge of my nose from one of his fingernails as I flopped around trying to locate my feet.

Witta was waiting about halfway up the long upward climb, from which vantage she managed to get a few photos.  I got a kiss and a "My hero!"  Just rewards for the feat.  After washing up, we went back to bungy central, viewed the videotape of the jump (Damn, I looked good!), and got the T-shirt.  As we headed back to Queenstown for dinner, I was definitely ready to quench that "more than one beer’ thirst!

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