Oceania: Day 36: 8-8-94: Skydiving Down...Down...Down Under

Today was ex-cell-ent! I was picked up at 8:00 a.m. by Down Under Parachuting and took a 90-minute drive to a town called Tully. Here I was informed that there was a special option for my dive, only newly offered as of yesterday: for an added thrill (and fifty more dollars), I could jump out of a helicopter (!) instead of an airplane. I said, "What the Hell, how many times will I skydive?". This additional option brought the entire cost of my jump to $403 ($198 basic jump at 8,000 feet, $80 to jump at 12,000 feet [tripling the freefall], $50 for the helicopter upgrade and $75 for a video immortalizing my insanity). Two thoughts immediately occurred to me (I better enjoy this and prepare for more ice-blowing at tonight's dinner). Before I signed my life and first-born away on the dotted line, I was informed that I would be landing on the beach -- not on an airstrip or open field as I had assumed -- which sounded like an amazing finish to an epic jump. I was stoked!

Soon it was time for me to suit up. My tandem partner Max was very professional and helpful, and I felt confident in him leading the jump. Unfortunately, just before we boarded the helicopter, we were given the bad news that current air traffic would restrict our jump to 8,000 feet and we would have to land on an airfield after all. I felt equal measures of disappointment and anger (the height and landing location of the jump were the two things I was most excited about). There wasn't anything I could do about it though. Sucks for me!

I shook off the bad feelings and pumped myself up again -- this was still a once-in-a-lifetime thrill! The camera started rolling, and so did I. We took a practice fall, boarded the helicopter and went up, up and away!

It was a simply gorgeous, sunny day with nary a cloud in the sky...

...1,000 feet (the view was incredible)

...2,000 feet (time to unbuckle myself)

...3,000 feet ...4,000 feet ...5,000 feet (a bit of nerves kicking in, to be honest)

At this point, Max suggests radioing control central to see if we might not try landing on the beach, after all -- unexpectedly, delightedly, they give the go ahead. (I'd still jump out at "only" 8,000 feet, but at least now I would get a more scenic landing pad -- plus an $80 refund for the lowered height). I was fully psyched again!

...6,000 feet (Max and I start preparing for our leap)

...7,000 feet ...7,500 feet ...8,000 feet (Bingo!)

It was now or never. Max chanted "in...out...in...OOOUUUTTT!" (bye-bye)

We fell out of the helicopter with tremendous speed and more than a little stomach squirming. Flipping backwards through the clouds and plummeting to Earth at approximately 130 m.p.h., I couldn't help but wonder whether skydiving was a particularly safe thing to do. We quickly righted ourselves, and Max tapped me, his signal that I could release the arms-crossed-against-my-chest position that I had assumed for our helicopter exit.

The cameraman was soon in front of me, which I took as a license to flash a big thumbs up sign and hoot & howl like a schoolboy (The free fall was exhilarating!). Another tap from Max (all too soon, it seemed) and ZWOOOOOP, the parachute was released. BOING! -- We shot up like a cannon ball! And now the relaxing part: we slowly drifted to Earth, and I took my first real look down at the world beneath my dangling feet. The shimmering turquoise blanket of the Great Barrier Reef spread out below me for countless miles, hugging the beige sandy shoreline. Spin, spin, spin. The parachute spiralled through the air like maple seeds in Autumn, a more thrilling descent courtesy of Max's daredevil steering.

Ever so slowly, we approached the beachfront, and Max told me to bend my legs in preparation to land. SWOOOSH! -- we plopped down on the sand. Celebration time!! I was caught up in an adrenaline tidal wave, and the camera caught all my post-landing excitement.

--------------------"This Is Major Tom to Ground Control"---------------------

With three people left to jump, I was faced with the wonderful prospect of tanning my Earthbound buns on the beach for a couple hours. I slathered myself in SPF 30 (no ozone layer in these here parts, you know) and shamelessly sun-worshipped for a tick or two. Eventually, my newfound friend, a Bristol bloke by the name of Ross, landed nearby, and we spent the remainder of the day crowing about our fearless dives and playing Rummy 500.

I didn't return to the hostel until 5:00 p.m., at which time I made some hasty amendments to my itinerary. I decided to blow off Brisbane, because I realized I wouldn't have enough time to visit Fraser Island (my main reason for going), and I still had more than enough I wanted to do right here in Cairns, anyway. I canceled my one-day reef diving trip in favor of a two-day excursion (It allowed for four extra dives [including a night dive] at two additional locations for only $95 more -- the $80 skydiving savings sure came in handy!). Tuesday and Wednesday were now booked, so I had to try to move my Daintree/Cape Tribulation trip to Thursday and Friday, which proved doable. So far, so good. The only thing left to square away were my new flights, so I called Ansett Air yet again. For a while it looked like I would not be able to swing a Saturday night arrival (and thus miss my intended visit with Rachel), but the agent was patiently persistent, and we eventually worked something out -- I'd fly into Brisbane at 3:30 p.m. on Saturday, have a two hour and 45 minute stopover and then catch my previously scheduled 6:15 p.m. flight to Sydney. Simple (not!).

By the time the new logistics were sorted out, it was suppertime. I returned to "The End of The World" for a good spicy chili dish. I met an English girl named Michelle, with whom I had a merry chat. Then it was back to the hostel to pack a daypack for the next two days and put the rest of my luggage in storage.

Now it's 9:45 p.m., and I plan to read a tad more of "The Client" before I drift off to sleep.