Catching the Air in Queenstown

The front desk is the beginning of the end, where the receptionist is all too enthusiastic about signing me up for certain death. AJ Hackett runs the bungy scene down here in Queenstown; the sport’s pioneers are both the home and heart of the art of bungy. They clearly know what they’re doing, so I’m slightly reassured as I sign my life away (literally).

When we get to the base camp at the Nevis Bungy, double-check our weight, tattoo it on our hands in permanent marker, get us harnessed up and send us onto the viewing platform. Standing outside, I’m blind to the rising peaks, sharp mountain air and velvety river; all I can see is the enormity of the drop. Still, I figure if I’m going to do something senseless and unnerving, I may as well go all out. We’re separated into groups and sent to “The Pod” via a short gondola ride.

The Pod is a metal and plexiglass structure suspended by impossibly thin cables directly over the river. It’s the tallest fixed jump on New Zealand, resting 134 metres (440 feet) above the ground. Headrush magazine once named Nevis something like the second craziest thing you can do by way of adventure sports. Imagine going to the 43rd floor of a building and swan diving. I’ve uttered more obscenities in the last two days regarding this jump than I’ve probably said in the past year combined.

Waiting in the Pod, I’m oscillating between intense calm and heart-pounding, pulse-racing, nauseating bodily confusion. When my number’s up, leg cuffs are secured and I’m clipped to the bungy by a brawny, bear of a man named Tim, who tries to lighten things up with small-talk while also giving vital instructions. Strapped in and deaf to all but the screaming instincts of self-preservation, I do my best not to look down as Tim, whom I’ve grown to both love and hate in the short time we’ve been acquainted, shuffles me to the edge of the platform and begins the countdown at five.

Before I realise, I’m upside-down with the ground and river hurtling wildly toward my consciousness. In the 8.5 seconds of free-fall, there’s no time to think, just air. It truly is a rush. A couple more bounces, a breath or two to revel in the moment and they’re greeting me at the top with compliments on the jump. As fast as that, it’s over.

Immediately, I’m relieved that I’ll never have to do this again, while simultaneously thinking I should try the bridge jump tomorrow. This is one situation where I definitely leapt before I looked – and I’m all the better for it.