Oceania: Day 17: 7-20-94: "Awesome Foursome" In Queenstown

All I have to say is that's it's great to be alive! Amazingly, I survived the "Awesome Foursome" (so named for its quad of extreme activities -- helicopter riding, bungee jumping, jet boating and whitewater rafting), and it was the most masochistic experience of my life. Allow me to back up a bit and elaborate:

It all began quietly enough at 8:00 this morning. After a 6 1/2 hour bus ride from Christchurch to Queenstown, I groggily awoke from my short, intermittent slumber, took a shower at the hostel and ate a cheap but hunger-staunching breakfast of baked beans on toast (a first for me, but quite popular down here) with a multi-fruit yogurt. Then I walked outside and got my first real view of Queenstown. The sun was just creeping over the snow-topped mountain peaks surrounding the city and sparkling on the still waters of the bordering lake. It was a truly tranquil scene -- my only one of the day, as it turns out! (Editor's note: as I took an extended stroll through this clean, peaceful town surrounded by the best Mother Nature has to offer, I was continually reminded of Juneau, Alaska. Both locales are cities that feel more like hamlets.)

I worked my way over to Dane's Rafting and forfeited my "Awesome Foursome" voucher. They sent me across the street to A.J. Hackett Bungy to be weighed. Afterwards, I had time to browse the shops, buy some postcards and grab another quick bite (I knew I wouldn't get to eat again until 5:00 p.m., and I needed my energy).

Then it was Party Time! I met my ten fellow adventurers, including Joanne (Ireland), Jeffrey (California), Veronica & Doug (England), Wayne & Tracy (New Zealand) and Craig, Frank, Dan & Adam (Australia). Introductory chats revealed a common denominator: bungee jumping scared the Hell out of us!

We all hopped in a van and went down to the rafters' barn where we changed into wetsuits. We were told we would wear them for the rest of the day. Though the suits would invariably conserve body heat -- particularly after we got wet -- it did little to ameliorate the biting cold (one degree Celsius) of the New Zealand winter (remember, the seasons are reversed in the Southern Hemisphere). As it turns out, the chill factor would be one of the day's two predominant themes -- the other being the thrill factor.

Next we were split into two groups, and five of us piled into the helicopter (I rode shotgun with Joanne) and flew over the mountains, down into Skipper's Canyon where the jet boat awaited. The daredevil pilot gave us quite a hair-raising ride, making sharp turns and plunging dives. Needless to say, I found my first spin in a helicopter to be an electrifying one!

-----------------------------------The Helicopter--------------------------------

Exiting the chopper, we donned life jackets and boarded the jet boat. The pilot informed us that jet boats zip at incredible speeds, burn a liter of gas a minute and only require 10 centimeters of water to skim on. I'm sure he shared more interesting facts, but his words were lost to me as soon as we starting moving. It was an exhilarating (albeit chilly) experience! We hugged the icicle-laden canyon walls (often getting within mere inches) and did several 180-degree turns, all the while getting sprayed with frigid river water -- somehow my stomach survived the jet boating, but my hands and face were not so lucky: they were raw and numb by ride's end.

Now came the moment I had anticipated/dreaded . . . the true New Zealand experience . . . the reason I'd come all this way . . . (I'll give you a hint -- it rhymes with "spongy"). My first view of THE BRIDGE was from the bottom of the canyon. Skipper's Canyon Bridge rose some 230 feet / 72 meters above me. By straining my eyesight, I was barely able to discern some movement up there -- I assumed it was the bungee crew. We soon drove up to join them.

-----------------------------Skipper Canyon's Bridge-----------------------


The view up to the bridge had inspired awe, but the view down from it inspired only fear -- it spanned the narrow canyon and overlooked the shallow, rocky, turbulent river 23 stories below. It was a loooong way down. Was I a complete fool?! Did I really ever think this would be fun?! Truthfully, I was scared out of my wits. I was getting vertigo just looking down -- jumping would give me a heart attack for sure. I briefly considered doing the "Awesome Threesome," but I really didn't want to look like chicken shit in front of the others -- even as an adult, peer pressure (even of the perceived kind) can be a powerful force.

Wayne was picked to go first. They hooked him up to the bungee cord, gave him a countdown and he jumped. I watched in amazement as he plummeted to within 25 feet of the water, and then whipped back up to within 15 feet of the bridge . . . bounced . . . bounced . . . bounced . . . and finally hung limp -- a boat came out, and a man extended him a pole, dragged him down and released him from the bungee. Easy enough, right? Adam went next . . . and then Frank . . . and Doug . . . and Jeffrey . . . and Craig . . . and Dan. They had been going in weight order, from heaviest to lightest -- I was the lightest guy and my turn had finally come. With each of my companion's jumps, I had become exponentially more frightened. Now I was up, and I was none too thrilled. Compounding my anxiety was the fact that I was light enough to require a change in Bungee cords. "Oh, great," I lamented to the leader of the bungee crew, "a new, never previously tested bungee cord." Relishing my nervousness, he replied "No, no . . . this is an OLD one" -- and he showed me how frayed it was (almost as frayed as I was by this point): the bungee cord, which was, upon close inspection, really nothing more than a conglomerate of glorified rubber bands, showed definite signs of use/abuse, including dozens of snapped and limply hanging bands. I mentioned this, and the sadistic bastard gleefully announced "Oh, do you want one?", whereupon he proceeded to pull off one of the dangling bits. "No!", I shot back, "I would like you to leave every single supportive strand in place." (Clearly the bungee company did not hire help on the basis of empathy or compassion -- even though the man was only kidding around with me, I truly didn't appreciate the joke in my present state of mind . . . although admittedly, I did chuckle about it later.)

Will much trepidation, I allowed the men to strap me in -- if something so primitive as a towel and a rope could truly be considered "strapped in". As soon as I realized that there was only a bit of cotton and nylon between here and eternity, I shuddered. There was no time to wallow in it, however, for the head man told me to stand up. I did. He told me to walk down the platform (it felt more like a plank to me). I shuffled out as best I could, what with my ankles tied together, but I didn't/couldn't let go of the bridge -- my survival instincts kicked in, every fiber of my being warning me that to leap meant certain death. I almost turned back -- suddenly, saving face didn't seem so important any more. But in the end I relinquished, reasoning that I had come so very far at such great expense to do this thing. I let go. My arms dropped to my sides as if attached to leaden weights. My heart was racing, and I felt dizzy and nauseous. Through the dense cloud of my hazy mind, I heard the men tell me to look ahead in the distance at the icicles forming on the mountain face. They told me to dive out as far as I could and try to grab them. I stared at the ice. I took a deep breath. I heard a muffled countdown ("Five" . . . "Four" . . . "Three" . . . "Two" . . . "One!") and then I dove forward into oblivion, plunging headfirst, dropping straight down like a stone. Though the initial fall couldn't have lasted more than 5 seconds, nor the entire experience more than a couple of minutes, it played out in agonizing slow motion:

The riverbed came zooming up to meet me. The blood rushed to my head, almost blowing my eyes out. I screamed in sheer terror. When would the cord kick in , dammit?! I was falling . . . my eyes were tearing up . . . my temples were throbbing . . . arms flailing . . . body spinning . . . Zwoop! Boing! The direction reversed, and the river pulled away. I was mercifully travelling UP! Then I went down again (not so far) and up again (not so high), repeatedly, until I started to feel like a human yo-yo. Finally, I stopped springing and hung upside down in midair by my aching ankles, 50 feet from the water. Instantly, I went from a bouncing yo-yo to a rack of meat hanging on a hook. All I could think about was getting down (I've done the friggin' jump, now let me outta here!) because every drop of blood in my body had seemingly drained down to my flushed, pulsing forehead, and it really hurt. Slowly, the men on the bridge lowered me down. The boat came out, and an anonymous savior held out a pole (which I grabbed greedily) and pulled me to safety on the solid deck.

--------------------------------Preparing Myself--------------------------------

--------------------------------Taking The Plunge-----------------------------

---------------------------------Hanging Out------------------------------------

After I was released from the bungee cord, I sat up gingerly and tried to regain equilibrium. The adrenaline rush had been immense -- perhaps dangerously so. It was the most intense feeling I've ever known. I'd love to describe it better, but I just can't. Perhaps man wasn't meant to chronicle such a feeling -- up until recently, I imagine the sensation was mostly reserved for ledge-jumping suicide victims. You weren't supposed to fall that far and live.

Though bungee jumping was undoubtedly the most petrifying thing I've ever done, I can honestly say (from the comfort and safety of my hostel bunk, natch) that I'm glad I did it. I have neither the guts nor desire to ever do it again, but it's good to be able to say, "Bungee? Yeah, I did that."

After the girls jumped, and some brave souls/crazy nut-jobs returned for seconds, it was back to the helicopter and off to the rafting site. At this point, things got a little disorganized -- because some of us opted to jump twice, everything was backed up (the helicopter had several groups of adventurers to deliver to various locations). The upshot of this was that I ended up standing around almost an hour in my damp wetsuit on the cold rocks at the base of the sunless canyon. My feet felt frostbitten, and no amount of shivering seemed to warm my body up. Finally, the last of my rafting group arrived, and we embarked on the last chapter of our "thrillfest." As fortune would have it, an Australian television crew was filming us for a special on New Zealand adventures. We waved and whooped whenever their chopper swooped down and hovered over us.

The rapids were okay, but the whitewater rafting was not nearly as exciting as the other 3 parts of the day. (Of course, of all the activities, rafting is the only one I've done before, and done quite often. Moreover, I've been on Class 5 rapids, and these were only Class 3). Admittedly, it didn't help that the water was exceedingly cold, and I'm sure this prejudiced my view of the entire experience somewhat -- I've already explained how I was faring in regards to the temperature. The only unique part of the rafting trip came at the very end -- we went through an old gold mine tunnel and dropped down some wicked rapids. (Note: Our guide explained to us that the Shotover River had once been home to one of the three biggest gold mining operations in the world -- millions of dollars in gold had been extracted from it over the years, and there is rumored to be quite a lot left [if only someone could find a profitable way to retrieve it].) I was given the "honor" of steering our craft through the obstacle, whilst everyone else ducked down for safety. It was a pretty big responsibility, as I had to make sure that the raft didn't crash into either side of the narrow tunnel, all the while trying to avoid smacking my head against the rocks.

The Shotover River: Site of the Jet Boat and Raft Adventures

When we got off the raft, I was freezing and exhausted -- it had been a long day. The bus took us back to the barn, where we showered and changed. (Blessedly, I regained feeling in most of my toes!) Over a hot, filling meal of coffee and burgers, the group of us sat around bullshitting about the day's adventures, and we toasted survival. Eventually, the bus returned us to town, where the consumer in me took over. I bought a copy of the rafting picture, an "Awesome Foursome" T-Shirt and some postcards. Then we all sat down and watched videos of our bungee jumps. I relived the harrowing experience all over again and realized that I had to purchase a copy of the tape -- both to prove to my friends and family that I actually did it, as well as to remind myself never to do it again. I also paid $2 to get my bungee certificate laminated.

We all agreed to meet at the Abbey Road Bar for a drink at 9:00 and then went our own ways. Though I never did manage to keep that appointment (I ended up being too wiped out), I did hook up one final time with Wayne and Tracy -- along with Wayne's wife, father and father's girlfriend -- for dinner and beer at a local pub near the hostel. Then I went back to my room and crashed. Before drifting off to sleep, I had a brief chat (sort of) with one of my roommates, a college student from Japan. His English was very limited, and our "conversation" mainly consisted of me trying to explain something and him bowing. He did understand one word well enough, however, and his eyes lit up as he repeated it: "Bungee!"