The Prickliest Thing About Skydiving in Hawaii

It might be more literal than figurative

Ah, spring break. I’ve never been a huge fan. Images of college/university students indulging in drunken debauchery and unsavory behavior flood my mind.

I’m not a prude (oh, far from it). It’s the cliché that’s always bothered me. Thus, I’m proud to say that none of my college spring breaks took place in Cabo or Cancun or even Vegas or Miami.

The destination was Hawaii. It’s less of a cliché, right? Right?

We were three couples. No, not three romantic couples. That would be a cliché. We were one romantic couple and two girls and two guys. The genders were evenly split (this was back in the day when heteronormativity was still taken for granted), so there was potential.

Alas, the trip did not take that direction.

It did go up and down. Emotionally, yes. And also involving our bodies. Just not exactly in the way a single guy in college would automatically hope for.

We split our week between Oahu and Maui, the second of which we all eventually agreed was the more beautiful of the two although we missed the sunrise on Mount Haleakala for which we all rose before dawn and drove a significant distance. No, we made it before sunrise. The morning was simply too foggy. And drizzly.

Speaking of drizzly…

Spring break in Hawaii was not as sunny as we all imagined. One of our buddies back in Los Angeles who did not join us for this trip had actually grown up in Hawaii (therefore, we were mainlanders to him). When we commented on the rain, he simply looked at us and said we should’ve expected as much.

On Oahu, we were (unsurprisingly) based in Honolulu. We stayed in a hotel on Waikiki Beach. When we asked for directions, we were informed that we had to be way more specific than that.

In fact, we did not spend much time in Honolulu itself, as lovely a city as it is.

We took a day trip outside the city to the Polynesian Cultural Center, which was entertaining and educational at the time; however, looking back, with all the knowledge and experience I’ve gained since college and the way the global sociopolitical landscape has changed, I would likely deem the venue as cultural appropriation and exploitation.

But, hey, a job’s a job, right?

On another day, we also left the city.

To go skydiving.

None of us had done it before. I still have the paper certificate that I received from Skydive Hawaii for successfully completing the dive. Apparently, there are people who back out at the last second (as in, they’re already on the plane, their suits are already on, and the guide has already strapped himself to their back, and they decide to back out).

We arrived at a large empty plain. We had not driven ourselves. The tour package included a ride from Honolulu out to the middle of nowhere where crash-landing into any buildings was not a major concern.

It was drizzling. The verdant landscape became more beautiful because of it.

But we got a little worried that the dive might be canceled. We didn’t have time to reschedule. At least we would’ve gotten a refund. Or something.

Inside what could’ve passed as the world’s smallest airport, we were shown a brief training video, which taught us that each of our limbs had a job during the dive. Then there was a bit of waiting around as everyone got suited up, harnesses and all. The parachutes, of course, were only worn by the certified divers who would strap themselves to our backs and jump out the airplane.

When various tourists got jittery (even though they had all made conscious decisions to come here), the divers explained that skydiving was statistically much safer than driving a car.

I believe his exact words were something along the lines of “Everyone should sign one of these every time they get into a car.” We were signing our waiver forms just in case, you know, something happened.

Considering the ratio of accidents to trips taken, driving a car was more dangerous, meaning there was a higher percentage of fatalities/injuries from car trips than from sky-diving trips. Thing is, the sample size for car trips is obviously much larger.

The guy just sounded like a smart-alec. His dropping of knowledge did nothing to assuage our fears.

Well, I mean, their fears. I was completely unafraid. Completely.

We piled into the plane. One professional skydiver for every one of us tourists. It seemed like an efficient setup.

We were ten in total. One among us had decided to opt out. Not at the last minute. This was a meditated decision. She was still with us because, well, where else was she going to go? I suppose she could’ve spent some time shopping at the Ala Moana Center.

The propellers were noisy. Good. So we couldn’t hear our hearts thumping. It was also too loud for banter, of which we had done plenty while still on the ground.

One of the pros, shooting me a glance and a grin, told one of our girls to press a red button on the wall.

She did.

He shouted, “What are you doing?”

He and I released a synchronous peal of laughter. She whimpered. No harm, no foul.

Looking back, it was quite misogynistic of us. At the time, though, it seemed like good fun. There was probably also a linguistic element. She was the only one in our group who spoke English with a noticeably non-native accent.

Not sure “boys will be boys” cuts it. She and I are still friends and occasionally communicate. She and I have never spoken of this (except maybe immediately after when she whacked me a few times, which appeared to settle the matter — it’s possible I’ve given this much more thought than she has).

Who was going to jump first?

I volunteered. Of course, I did.

And. It. Was. Amazing.

The rush of air, the surge of freedom, the sensation of falling, the view from up above with no metal bird surrounding us. I even got to spread my limbs like a bird.

It’s a shame I haven’t done it since. But, hey, it’s not cheap.

It’s also a shame that it was sprinkling. Or maybe I should be grateful for the added sensation?

On the ground, it was sprinkling. Up in the air, though, falling as fast as we were, the raindrops lanced into me like needles of ice. Like an idiot, I was wearing a tank top and shorts. My limbs were not thanking me.

The pro released the parachute right on schedule and instructed me to run for it when we landed. I did so, and it was pretty cool being the first of our group to do this.

My arms and calves were quite red, but this prickly price was fair to pay for skydiving in Hawaii.

Obviously, if you ever decide to go skydiving in Hawaii, there’s no guarantee that it’ll rain; you may even prefer sunshine (I know I was hoping for such), but a place like Hawaii doesn’t stay as green as it does without significant annual rainfall.

Dash Ip has a bad habit of comparing destinations, so at the moment Bali and Okinawa and Sanya are flooding his mind.

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