Skydiving Byron Bay

On Wednesday evening over a weekly Skype conversation with my parents, my mother asked me what I was going to get up to over the coming weekend. I paused, weighed my options of possible responses, then quickly filled the silence with a convincing, "Oh, nothing..."

 I lied...

Seriously...?

Three days later I was on a bus heading down to Byron Bay with seven friends, and it quickly became obvious that nobody's parents were aware of the day's itinerary. We pulled into Skydive Byron Bay's headquarters just after 9am and immediately were handed heaps of paper work, all of which obviously released the company from any bodily harm or immanent death should Lady Luck turn her back on you that day. There was a comfortable amount of confusion surrounding the proper conversion from pounds to kilograms, but luckily somebody had an iPhone and the crisis was quickly resolved. After quite literally signing our lives away, we walked outside to the grassy area outside of the airplane hanger. There, the "professionals" were frantically running in from the landing strip, refolding their chutes, strapping back up, and running right back out to meet the next plane for another dive - all within about a 15 minute turn-around. As they hustled back out to jump on another plane, the first time jumpers slowly staggered back to the hanger behind them, completely red faced, wind blown, and disheveled but visibly on a huge adrenaline high evident through the toothy grins all around. It was comforting seeing just how much of a science these guys had their jobs down to, to say the least. We watched the ebbing and flowing of professionals and first timers for a few "loads" before our group finally took to the air. As we killed time until our turn, we kicked a soccer ball around and lounged around in the hot Aussie sun. Angie, in between heart palpitations, suddenly stopped mid stride and looked up. "Look." She said wide-eyed, "People."Somebody laughed, and somebody else asked her what on earth she was talking about. Monotone and groaning, she pointed upwards and said, "People. People are falling from the sky." We all looked up and at first couldn't see what she was looking at, then, all of a sudden, there they were. Six tiny parachutes emerged literally out of the blue and began their graceful spiral down to the landing strip. Somebody started singing "It's Raining Men." There was no,"hallelujah" in response from the group which was suddenly paralyzed in silence by the weight of reality.

Diane and I harnessed up before boarding the tin can plane. Note the oversized pants and t-shirt that I was given, and the world's shortest pants that Diane got stuck with. 

Angie, Dean, Kristina and Emily were the first of our group to take the leap of faith. As soon as they landed in one piece and still breathing, Diane and I climbed into the less than sturdy looking airplane accompanied by our personal instructors. The plane had two rows of benches positioned parallel to the walls, and we sat one behind the other in tightly packed rows of quiet first time jumpers and chatty instructors. I was seated next to the giant hole in the plane which was apparently the exit and flinched when they slid the screen made of plastic and duct tape down over the door before take off. As the tin can plane gained speed over the grass runway I was practically in my instructor, Adam's lap. Allow me to clarify something at this point - yes, I am a terrible in planes, but that has nothing to do with my ability to EXIT said craft in a timely manner. I am unhappy in planes to the point that I was practically breaking down the little plastic screen just to get out of that oversized paper airplane. Anyway, upon reaching 9,000ft the first jumper was about to be let go. Suddenly, Adam's arms were crossed over my chest holding on to the harness straps on my shoulders in the tightest bear hug ever. "Don't want ya getting sucked out when they open the door." He said with a less than reassuring chuckle. My jaw dropped a little and I think I pushed myself further back into his lap - anything to avoid getting "sucked out" of the damn aircraft before intended. A few seconds later, the DZ (drop zone) light was illuminated over the exit and the screen door suddenly flew open and rattled the entire plane. There was a rush of air into the little cabin and I was quite happy to have someone else hanging on to me. There was movement behind me and an instructor and jumper made their way to the exit to take the 9,000ft plunge. Here's what they don't tell you about skydiving - it's not graceful. I watched as the duo lumbered over to the door, and sat down on the edge of the exit with the jumper's feet dangling outside of the plane and the instructor kneeling behind. A split second later, they literally rolled out of the plane in the least graceful way possible. I watched, probably with eyes as big as teacups, as the pair hurtled backwards, past the plane. I was shocked to see them fly backwards and not down until I actually took a moment to consider the force involved, which no, I had not done prior to that moment. the forces involved. They tumbled, spun and flipped, and then were gone. I looked at Diane who was sitting on my left and saw the mirror image of what I sensed my own expression to be. It wasn't fear, neither of us were scared, but it also wasn't necessarily pure excitement on our faces either. Instead, the two of us were in a strange state of purgatory as far as our emotions went, and I don't think either of us, in that moment, quite knew what to feel.

The view looking down at Byron Bay - high enough to see the curve of the Earth!

The door slammed shut again and the DZ light turned off as the little plane began the slow climb up to 14,000ft. Diane and I started laughing entirely because we just didn't know what to do with ourselves by then. As we passed the last band of clouds, I saw someone cross themselves out of the corner of my eye and felt a chill of morbidity. "Half way." Yelled the pilot, half turning his head in our direction. A few of the instructors began to clip into their jumpers' harnesses and within seconds Diane was singing Bon Jovi. "Waaaaaa-Ooohhh! We're half way theeeereeee -" we belted off key, and with audible cracks of anxiety. As if we had planned it out beforehand, we were joined by our respective instructors for the rest of the chorus, "Waaaa-Ooooh! Livin' on a prayer!" Someone crossed themselves again, and I quickly turned away.

A few minutes later I was strapped so tightly to Adam, that there was no way he was getting rid of me even if he wanted to. The harness was so tight that it was slightly hard to breathe - but that was fine - I intended on breathing after this experience, so I deemed a little bit of restrictions for the next six minutes to be acceptable. The DZ light lit up again and Diane and I looked back at each other as the door swung open and the cabin shook. A second pair was already at the door and gone into the abyss within seconds, spiraling away out of control. Before I could even register what was happening, I felt myself sliding forward on the bench and watched my feet dangling outside of the plane as I sat on the precipice of what very clearly looked like life and death at that point. I stole one more glance over my shoulder at Diane who, despite the holy-shit-you're-really-about-to-jump-out-of-the-plane, expression in her eyes, was smiling like a hyena. Adam's hand was suddenly on my forehead, pushing my head backwards to rest on his shoulder into the required "jump position," which more closely resembled a seizure convulse than a safety position. I stared at the top of the door and the clear blue sky above and felt him rock once, twice - then I moved my head out of visceral instinct to look at the ground below me and he stopped instantly. Again, he pushed my head on to his shoulder and said, "No," as if talking to a badly behaved puppy, "stay." I could hear Diane laughing at my inability to follow directions. Just then, the plane hit a little bump in the air, and I immediately pinned my head against him and though, okay, let me out, let me out LET ME OUT! Upon my cooperation, I felt him again, rock once, twice, and then we were gone. Falling, tumbling, hurtling, barreling towards the earth into a  completely out of control and unguided free fall.

Truly falling through air is different than the feeling you have on roller coasters. Even on those rides when your stomach lurches and you think that you feel no gravity, the back of your mind still knows that you're attached to something, and reacts accordingly. When you're rocketing through the air, completely unattached to anything, your subconscious is painfully aware of this as well. In an instant, the butterflies in my stomach had turned into missiles, all of which were exploding and/or crashing into each other at once. I knew I was screaming something terrible, and probably cursing like the angriest of sailors but I couldn't hear myself over the wind that was screaming past us and was thankful that Adam couldn't hear me either. Then, as quickly as it came, the chaos inside my head and body was gone. I felt myself stop screaming bloody murder, and suddenly felt peacefully calm. Immediately, I recognized the familiar feeling of a true adrenaline high, and in that moment, I was the happiest person alive. (Still alive.) By now, we had reached "terminal velocity" which meant that we were no longer gaining speed and falling out of control. Instead we were hanging in suspended animation while rocketing towards the earth at an unreasonable speed, and it no longer felt like falling. I could feel my cheeks flapping in unbecoming directions thanks to the wind rushing by me, and tried desperately to close my mouth as it went painfully dry from the huge smile that was plastered to my face. We stayed like this for a full minute and ten seconds, watching clouds rush past as the Earth quickly came into focus. Whales breeched directly below us in Byron Bay and both of us pointed simultaneously, followed by two big thumbs-up from Adam. A few seconds later, I felt his body weight shift backwards and I knew he was reaching for the rip cord. As if on a rope swing, we quickly swung forwards and hung vertically in the air as the parachute deployed (successfully) and jerked us back up towards the clouds. For the next six minutes, everything was totally silent. Initially, I was fairly certain that I had gone deaf and destroyed my bad eardrum from losing over 9,000ft of altitude in about 80 seconds. Luckily my ears soon popped and the brief pain disappeared and my focus returned to the most incredible view in the world. We glided in silence for a minute or two, and then spotted more whales which provoked an uproar of chatter from both of us. He pointed out Mt. Warning in the distance where I had been only a few weeks earlier while wandering around Nimbin. Without warning, he destroyed the serenity of the moment by flipping and spinning us in the air, just to prove that he could do it. I can't say I protested. I watched the whales popping up every now and again until we were too low and the ocean had disappeared behind us as we circled into the big X on the grass landing strip. With much more grace than our exit from the aircraft, we touched down to terra firma as if nothing had happened - I was alive, and I had never felt it more than I did in that moment. On shaky legs, I stood up from kneeling on the ground as two other professionals quickly unhooked me from the harness, adrenaline still coursing through me, rattling my hands. I hugged Adam, this time without the nagging concern that my life was about to be in his hands, and thanked him excessively for not killing me.

The seven of us got back to school at around 4pm still riding the adrenaline high and quickly parted ways to send triumphant survival e-mails to our unsuspecting parents. My guess is, that nobody was ready for the announcement that their child had just fallen 14,000ft to the earth from a functional (barely functional if you ask me) airplane, but come on, did they really not think that we were going to do it? To us, skydiving was not a matter of if - but was a matter of when, and that when was today.

Mission accomplished.

Nothing brings people together like Bon Jovi and putting your life in the hands of a stranger.