Waking up the next morning in Knysna we were keen to get the hell outta out town and find a slightly funner crowd to hang with. We jumped in the car and were back on the road in no time. However on our way to Mossel Bay (S.A.’s prime destination for Great White Sharks) we were informed that our shark dive had been cancelled as the winds were too strong to take the boat out. Damn, we needed to organise another activity last minute and quick sharp. We started thinking about our options – beach, drinking, hiking: been there, done that. After our night with South Africa’s most senior citizens, we needed something new and exciting to start the day. And flicking through the options everything seemed a bit tame until I saw it- skydiving. Beautiful and unique views of the coastline- tick, adrenaline rush- tick, first time experience – tick, this was the adventure for us.
I shared my thoughts with a much less enthusiastic Josh but while he was umming and ahhing I had already rung up and told them we were on our way. What I didn’t realise until after I had made the booking was what skydiving actually was, as for some reason I had imagined us peacefully paragliding along the coast, and not throwing ourselves out of a moving plane at 10,000 feet in the air.
It was a really beautiful day for a skydive and as we drove up to the airfield I was very excited. Josh on the other hand had made me spend the last half hour of our drive googling how at risk of death we are skydiving in Mossel Bay and how that compares statistically to skydiving in England. We also had a full background check on our skydive company (we are consultants after all), as well as a breakdown of the facts- height, time, safety procedures etc. Considering my fear of heights, I was surprisingly chilled about the whole situation.
It’s only really until we started signing our lives away in the usual form of “in case of death/injury/mutilation etc., I take full responsibility bla bla bla” that it dawned on me what we were actually doing. Here I was, far, far from home on one of the southern-most tips of Africa and the Southern Hemisphere, throwing myself out of a plane at risk of death and the only person who knew about it was my colleague and friend Josh (who I didn’t even know before this trip had started). I mean Josh and I had certainly bonded over the last six months (there are things he will never be able to unsee), but he’s still not top of my list of people I would like to spend my dying moments with (no offence bru).
I shared this thought with my tandem jumper Arnold as a kind of gentle way of saying “don’t fuck this up bra”, but he assured me he’d had over 1,000 successful jumps and this one would be no different.
We then practiced our skydive positions and the all important “banana” position we had to adopt while falling through the sky. This was actually quite soothing for my nerves as Arnold was a tall, handsome 33-year-old Afrikaner with a very sweet smile and the beginnings of a beer belly that looked like it could help cushion my fall at the right angle. He also smelt really good which helped as he was essentially going to be my big spoon for the 60 seconds we were going to spend in the air together. With me being increasingly scared at the prospect of the upcoming potential jump to my death, an alpha male is just what I needed.
Josh’s tandem partner was a little Swedish minx, who was shorter than Josh but looked like she would have no problems handling a 6ft1 human banana falling through the sky. Josh at this point seemed totally chilled, as if he was on his way to the pub for a pint, and not about to banana himself out of a plane.
As we got onto the little plane my nerves really kicked in and when the plane took off and there was no turning back then I entered total leg shaking, pants shitting mode. I reflected on my wonderful 30 years of life and concluded I would die happy and with no regrets, and just as I was getting really emotional it was time to jump. I checked with Arnold that we were strapped together tight enough (safety first of course ;)) and I assumed the position and prayed.
When they tell you about the skydive they tell you it feels like floating in the air, an exhilarating experience etc. etc., but it’s a big fucking lie. I can tell you, falling out of a plane feels just like you would expect falling out of a plane to feel like. Like that downwards drop of a rollercoaster but with no end. When you go into banana it gets a little better but then you have other things to worry about like how to position your face so you don’t come out with 8 chins and skin flapping everywhere on your photo- the memory that stay with you forever. Again, the instructors tell you to smile and thumbs up, but all I could do is just yell “Fuuuuuuuuuuck” at the top of my lungs for the largest part of the fall.
The part when they open the parachute is the worse because they loosen the buckles around your hips to bring you back to a vertical position so for a split second you actually feel like you’ve been detached from the chute completely.
The last part as you glide through the sky is actually pretty spectacular as you have a view of pretty much the whole Eastern Cape and the Indian Ocean, and here Arnold started doing some twirls and drops which were fun at the time but after a few minutes I started to feel really sick. I enquired as to whether anyone had ever vommed on him mid-flight to which he replied with this look of “for the love of god keep it in”.
The landing was really smooth, and while I had a bum landing instructed by Arnold, Josh wannabe Top Gun landed on his feet like a real pro. He later told me that while he was pretty chilled the whole time, when he saw me jump out first and just drop out at the speed of light it did get him a little nervous just as he was about to take the plunge.
We stumbled up and straight to the bar for a stiff drink to calm ourselves and reflect. All in all, it was an absolutely epic experience, highly recommended by both.
We still had the rest of our day to go though and after that dramatic start to the day I wanted some relaxing beach time. Pasty Brit Josh headed to the bar in the shade (jumper on of course), while I got tanning on the beach. This time there were no jellyfish so I managed to have a proper swim and recuperate from the morning while getting my bronze on. Josh in the meantime appeared to be drinking for the Eastern Cape and about 8 beers later we made our way (Josh stumbling his way) to our hotel. Well, I say hotel. Apparently Mossel bay was a popular destination that evening and so we struggled to find a hotel with free rooms and ended up sleeping in a train that evening. A stationary hotel train but a train all the same. I had a delux cabin which meant I had enough space to put myself and my suitcase (just about), whereas Josh opted for the total matchbox experience.
That evening we enjoyed a nice braii (South African barbecue) and celebrated our bravery. I was drinking this evening, and a very friendly braii master coupled with a very friendly young lady meant gin was on the house for me and I took full advantage. Needless to say this time I was the one stumbling back to the train.
