Skydiving Over Taupo, New Zealand

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When you’re skydiving, there are only two to three seconds
of pure terror: the moment you launch yourself from a plane 12,000 feet in the air to the instant
your body reaches terminal velocity – about 120 mph. 

Even the most seasoned tandem instructor will question his
sanity from time to time before committing himself to such an action.  Skydiving by its nature is against
every instinct built into every fiber of our being.  Fortunately, being released from such a high altitude plays
a trick on our eyes and enables us to simply “get over it” and enjoy the ride;
humans have no perception of height above 5,000 feet.  Whether you jump out over the upper thermosphere or at a
mere 15,000 feet, the ground tends to stay where it is, with no sensation of
falling.  Pleasure ensured, fueled
by a mix of endorphins, adrenaline, and whatever drugs our bodies feel
compelled to release, telling us “this is sooo wrong”. 

So why does it feel so right?

Taupo, New Zealand is the skydiving capital of the
world.  Nearly 30,000 crazy people
venture here in the summer months to pay for an experience most of the world
looks upon with a mixture of trepidation and lunacy.  As a “veteran” skydiver (two jumps up to that point), I had
to give it a shot.

Skydive Taupo offers quite the benefits package when you
reserve a spot at their jump zone. 
A white limousine saunters into the local information station, an
i-sight, every few hours to escort passengers to their airport office.  My fellow jumpers both hail from the
UK.  An even more curious note is
that while both were arm in arm with their girlfriends, none of the women even
considered going up with them, dismissing the idea as something of a practical
joke.  In any case, both men were
first-timers.  I was as well, if
you consider this my first time jumping abroad; I had wanted to try out a
skydive in Japan, but most of the jump zones were in out of the way areas
across northern Honshu… not the easiest access from Kagoshima.

As the limo pulls in and we are left to watch an orientation
video, I still can’t help noticing how the girls seems to be infinitely more
anxious than the boys; true, during the preparation for my first jump I will
admit my heart beat to the rhythm of Chopsticks, but now, nearly seven years
later, I was as cool as a cucumber. 
I had wanted to get back into the air for so long, teased by the daily
passage of small aircraft over the monastery where I was staying.  There was no fear, no doubt at the end
result – all that remained was for me to focus during those two seconds of
terror, and the thirty of total freefall that followed; if I could make a point
to hold those moments in my memory, I would come closer to understanding the
freedom of the air, and why I could never stay away for so long ever again.

My tandem instructor – as unlicensed jumpers cannot go
alone, but must be attached to a professional with a parachute – happens to be
from Austin, Texas, and frequented my first jump zone: Skydive San Marcos.  I fill him in on the goings-on of the
city while he entertains my questions:

- How many jumps have you done?

- What’s the record for jumps in a lifetime? (about 27,500)

- What’s your favorite place for jumping? (Guam)

In no time at all, I’ve thrown on a jumpsuit (come to think
of it, I guess that’s where it got the name), posed for a few pics in front of
the kiwi flag and the aircraft, and written the customary last will and
testament (I leave everything to you, my faithful nonexistent cat).

It had never occurred to me before we started piling into
the plane, but I finally found one instance in which being tall is a hell of a
curse – while most of us were under 190 cm, the foreigner who towered at about
2.1 meters was assigned a seat… right at the sliding door.  I’m not afraid of heights.  I have no problems with jumping out of
a moving (or flying) vehicle.  But
when you’re crouched down in a small aircraft with less than a centimeter
between you and open space, with nothing but a fragile plastic silding door… well, you’d better hope the instructor
decides to attach the harnesses early on in the event of a door
malfunction.  If nothing else,
you’ll get a great view of the approaching Earth.

Ah yes, those famous two seconds.  I’ve been watching the altimeter on my guy’s wrist as we
slowly climb to 12,000 feet.  The
instructions could not be simpler: tuck my legs against his feet, lean my head
back to his shoulder, and once we’re clear of the plane, form a banana shape
with my body: arms outstretched and floating, legs tucked between his.  I had more clarity this time around,
but still… to look out of the plane at that height, and know you were willingly
taking a part in what could lead to a very messy end.  The air blows icy cold and strong.  I already feel a little unsettled from the awkward launching
position.  No time to
hesitate.  No time to worry.  No time to call the whole thing
off.  From the moment you approach
those doors, you’d better be an enthusiastic and willing participant.

I’m floating on a cushion of air, spinning uncontrollably
while my instructor raises his wrist to look at the altitude (when you move
your hand in front of your face during a skydive, it’s best to adjust the other
under your stomach to offset the spinning motion).  There is no fear, only amazement that I’m back where I
belong, in a part of the Earth man doesn’t reach towards often enough.  I’m yelling, screaming, staring at
distant Mt. Doom and the rolling hills near the airport, seemingly defying
gravity, ignoring the rules of nature, laughing at those who choose not to
submerge themselves in adrenaline, forgetting everything down there in the real
world, focusing only on this one, a lair for gods, for kings, for those who can
look down and pity those tiny scurrying ants, riding the clouds like a chariot
of fire directly into the heart of the sun.

And then, suddenly, it all stops.  The chute is pulled and I’m floating away, 5000 feet up but
almost as though I could just move my feet a little further down and touch
ground.  I don’t want to go back
there, where order is dominant to chaos, reason valued over insanity, where
most stay grounded.

I want to fly.