The First Time I Jumped Off a Cliff
I stumbled on the running start.
When discussing the essential topic of which superpower I would choose as a child, I usually opted for ‘flight.’
When asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I often responded with some kind of bird.
As I grew older, I figured hang gliding might be the closest thing a mere wingless human could get to the act of flying.
So, after 35 years of wondering how it would feel to soar upon a mountain breeze, I finally looked into it on a trip to New Zealand.
WHEN IN QUEENSTOWN…
Often described as the adventure capital of the world, Queenstown, New Zealand, enjoys a reputation for being a safe place to indulge in almost any outdoor activity you could think of.
It helps that the entire area is downright stunning. Natural beauty at every turn really encourages you to get out there and soak it in from every possible angle.
I spent a week in the town by myself while waiting for my brother to join me for a southern road trip. It was May; cold enough for snow to garnish the tops of the surrounding mountains, mild enough to enjoy sunny picnics by the reflective lake.
I figured it was the perfect opportunity to spread some new wings.
HANG GLIDING VS PARAGLIDING
Inexperienced with these kinds of activities, my first step was to find out the difference between my wing choices. My major findings were:
- Hang gliding uses a triangular, metal-framed wing; paragliding uses a rounded parachute
- A hang glider lies horizontally while a paraglider sits upright in a harness.
While on my Googling journey, I also stumbled came across the fact that hang gliding is:
- Much more physically demanding,
- Requires more specific weather conditions, and
- Is generally considered more dangerous.
Luckily, I didn’t have to ponder the decision for too long, since hang gliding had just been taken off the menu for the Queenstown season. Winter was just around the corner, bringing with it unfavourable conditions and lower demand.
I was quietly relieved to be forced into the safer option for my first cliff-top flying attempt.
THE FLEDGING PROCESS
I booked my paragliding trip with a company called Skytrek and showed up far too early at the office meeting point.
Treating myself to a latte in the adjacent café while I waited, I figured I would casually message my husband and tell him I love him.
You know… just in case.
The nerves and the coffee made me glad I’d shown up early enough to make use of the cafe’s toilet.
On the windy drive up the slopes of Coronet Peak, I chatted with a fellow first-timer in between safety instructions and jokes from the jovial guides, until motion sickness insisted I fall quiet.
My roiling belly reminded me why I hadn’t done this kind of activity already.
Oh well, too late now…
RUN AND JUMP
Another reason I hadn’t tried it yet is the fact I dislike the feeling of free falling. I’m fine with heights, but I can’t stand the stomach-dropping, limb-flailing, earth-rushing-at-me falling sensation.
Obviously, my childhood fantasies of flying through rainforest canopies and lush river valleys never involved a sudden plummet.
So, as I looked down from my perch on a snowy cliff ledge, icy winds assaulting my eyes, I hoped the first step — which involved running as fast as I could off the edge with a parachute attached to my back — didn’t involve an immediate drop.
After a little pep talk, my guide pointed and told me to run that way, so I did. Or at least, I tried to.
The parachute quickly popped up behind us, which made running incredibly difficult; it was like gravity had suddenly moved behind me instead of below me.
“Faster, faster!” was all I could hear, and before I knew it, the ground had vanished beneath my feet.
I lifted my legs as the guide had instructed. It was apparently too soon to do so, however; we flew up slightly, then swiftly back down. My folded legs dragged along the snow, scooping handfuls of the wet, icy stuff right into my boots.
TANDEM JOY
With an earful of my squeals, the instructor skilfully corrected us and we were off, weightlessly floating over 4000ft in the crisp autumn air.
Once my heart rate recovered and my instructor kindly said, “next time, don’t stop running,” I was struck by a surprising calmness.
It was so quiet.
No whooshing wind in my ears as I’d expected, no racing visuals, no chaotic urgency.
Just floating above it all, riding the breeze with subtle shifts of the wing while surveying the land below, much like a cruising bird of prey.
Sorry to apply a cheesy metaphor here, but I couldn’t help comparing the experience to facing fears and taking risks in everyday life:
The first steps are the hardest part. Once you’ve made the leap, embrace the change and ride the winds.
Of course, there can be bumps along the way. My instructor thought I had it too easy when I started gleefully flapping my arms and decided to initiate ‘rollercoaster’ moves, as he called them, diving sideways and threatening to take us into mid-air loop-de-loops.
When I told him I might vomit on him, he instinctively moved into a strategic avoidance position.
“That has happened to me more times than I can count,” he admitted. I wasn’t too surprised.
I managed to keep my rising latte down as we descended towards our landing field.
With a “don’t stop moving” reminder fresh in my ears, I landed pretty firmly on my feet, keeping one foot in front of the other.
Triumphant, I now knew what it felt like to soar upon a mountain breeze.
So, I laid down on a nearby picnic table with a big ol’ grin on my face, and happily waited for my stomach to settle down.
This story was prompted by Globetrotter’s monthly challenge for July: Action.
I’m glad my little stumble didn’t turn into a “rolling” situation, like in this story by S M Mamunur Rahman:
What I Learned Seeing My Friend’s Paragliding Fail
To read more about visiting Queenstown, check out Rob Marchant’s experience with the ‘pant-soiling’ capital here:
