Like most fears, my phobia about heights is irrational.
Throwing myself off the 216 metre Bloekrans Bridge in the Western Cape of South Africa was not something I did for fun. It was a dare I made to myself.
The Bloekrans is the largest single span bridge in the world. We walked out to the platform on a steel mesh walkway. On the way the winch guy told us that even experienced sky divers won’t look down. The ground is close enough to see, but far enough down to make you dizzy.
When we got right out to the middle, it felt like we were in the clouds. Two hundred and sixteen metres isn’t much horizontally, but vertically, it’s a real bitch.
Our group consisted of Sarah, a Welsh student who seemed quite shy but was more addicted to adrenalin than a base jumper after ten cups of coffee; and a very funny Dutch guy called Sander on a year’s sabbatical from his life.
And me.
I’m not that brave and certainly this wasn’t a very brave thing to do. No one had ever been killed doing it; my feet and harness line were attached to the bridge with bungee cord and the operators knew exactly what they were doing. I was more likely to die getting mauled to death by a rogue gerbil. Still, phobia is phobia.
I don’t think I showed my nerves.
I didn’t vomit or anything. But I had to concentrate real hard to keep the butterflies in my gut in formation.
Sarah went first. She screamed as she hurtled off the edge. I assumed she was dead. Shame, I liked her.
While the rest of the team went looking for the body, a rangy Kiwi and a wise-cracking South African strapped me into a harness and attached my legs to the bungy. Then they carried me to the edge.
I stood on the lip of the platform, buffeted by the wind, and fought my own instinct to draw back. Heights really make my butt go funny. For me, this was the most terrifying thing in the world; and that was why I was going to do it.
I felt light-headed, cold and leaden. My heart was punching against my ribs like it wanted to get out. There was a grease slick on my palms. I felt like I had swallowed a couple of pounds of cold chicken fat.
I swayed towards the edge, before my mind and muscles could take over and bring me back. The winch guy started counting back from five.
To hell with it. They got to three and I launched myself forward, just wanted to get it over with.
The Kiwi had told me to keep my eyes fixed on the horizon so that my head did not drop and the blood burst the capillaries in my eyes. So I focused on keeping my head up. Best thing to do when you’re scared; concentrate on instructions.
And for a few seconds there it was, the thing I dreaded most in the world; falling.
Holy shit.
It was probably just a few seconds of free fall before the bungee rope kicked in, then I felt the steady pressure on my ankles as it gripped, slowing my descent. But the ground kept coming. I stopped about thirty metres from the ground; it felt as if I could reach out and touch the tops of the few scrubby trees below. Then the bungee whipped me up back up towards the bridge and for a few WTF seconds it shook me up and down like dice in a cup.
Finally I hung there, upside down and limp as a wet sock, feeling the harness slowly slipping off my ankles – it wasn’t, but it felt like it was - and all I could do was tense my toes back towards my forehead and wait.
Eventually, I knew, the winch guy would come and get me. This would all turn out all right and I would be glad that I had done this.
But for that moment there was just the silent swinging in space at the end of a long and uncertain rope.
Tomorrow I fly to Barcelona to start a new life. It’s ten thousand miles away, and I know absolutely no one in the city and my Spanish is a bit sketchy.
It feels a bit like that.
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No hablo espanol mi amigo? Un poquito, si? No problemo. Barcelona Colin? Very nice. I wish you all the best. And this “new life” is a far cry from a bungee jump. Mucho Bueno. Hasta la vista Colin!
Thanks Karen - I do hablo a bit of espanol, in fact I leer espanol pretty good, but no one hear seems to understand a word I say. And they mostly speak Catalan, which I guess is reasonable as they are Catalans. And they speak too fast for me. So I’ll have to take myself off to Spanish school, so I get an ear for what they’re saying and to try and rid myself of my Australian accent, I guess. At least they understand ‘Una cerveza, por favor!’
This is so cool! I would love to do that one day. I love all kinds of experiences like that.
Good luck on your new adventure!
Thanks! I’ll probably post on how it goes from time to time. So far it’s fine … I’m working on my Spanish, I know what I want to say but no one can understand me. So I point.
I had trouble breathing while I read this post Colin. Definitely not something I would do because I’m certain I would die during such a plunge. Spain! How wonderful for you. Your life seems much more exciting than mine. I wish you good fortune and happiness there.
I had trouble breathing when I did it, Mirella! I won’t normally even sit next to the window in a rooftop restaurant …
I guess my fear of heights is worse than your fear of heights. Well, maybe not. I’m probably just a bigger coward.
My first thought was that hell would freeze first…but Hell, Michigan is frozen solid right now, so I guess I’ll just say nope. I can’t even watch people on the top of tall buildings in movies without feeling sick and dizzy.
How exciting about living in Spain! What made you choose that location? Researching a book?
Well Kristy, Spain because it’s very near England and I can see my daughters a lot without actually having to live in England. I was born there and I just couldn’t go back. I love Mediterranean countries. I wanted the challenge of learning a new language and seeing if I could do it. Also, I’m close to my London publishers here and not too far from the US if things go right in the next couple of months. It’s like the bungee jump in that it was something I knew I had to do but doing it meant taking a deep breath and just doing it …
Yes me too. Stopped breathing reading it. Caught up with oxygen intake again. Great post. Wow, Spain! Here’s to you keeping those butterflies in check. You’ve always got your online community for days when you’re struggling to be understood. I spean no spanish I’m afraid so would be useless but I did do a tape course decades ago so some of it might come back to me, and I do have a phrase book around here somewhere should you need to borrow one. I must bring myself into the 21st century one day! Enjoy the adventure!
Thanks Lynne. As I said to Karen, I know quite a bit of Spanish from previous trips but speaking it - and understand it, especially among the Catalans - is a whole different thing. But Spanish school is next and I blunder around and say stuff to people and they frown and then laugh among themselves but generally I get what I need. Today the care owner spoke to me in French because he thought that’s what I was. I’m way out of my comfort zone but then I kinda like that …
I love that you did the jump not because it was something you actually wanted to do, so much as it was a way of facing your fears. I waver back-n-forth on this. Some days I swear that I will eventually face my fear, as well, and take a dive. Other days I like me fine just the way I am, phobia and all. My biggest fear at this point (beyond the heights, and the falling, and the rope breaking, etc.) is peeing my pants as I go down. Living through that mortification might make me mentally stronger, but I’m just not fully convinced it’s necessary for my survival. Catch me on an *UP* day, though; I’ll probably feel differently. Kudos to you, man!
I think the worst thing about fear is the way that it can talk me out of things with very rational argument yet deep down there is always this gnawing feeling that lets me know I’m not actually doing something BECAUSE I’m afraid. I hate that voice. I try and take him on as often as I can.