Many parents with children off travelling will have questioned the sanity of their skydiving antics, but it's when the tables are turned that you really need to worry, writes MÁIRE HEALEY
READERS OF A certain vintage will be au fait with their teens or twentysomethings taking a year out down under. Inevitably, a text will be received by the parents along the lines of “guess what I did today”, followed by a horrific description of a skydive, bungee jump or shark dive. The parents think their silly offspring wouldn’t have done that if they were at home and wonder if these kids lose their brains in transit. The second thought is the realisation that the youngsters had the good sense to text after the event.
So it was with our daughter, who was recently on a volunteer stint on a game reserve in South Africa. When we got the text about her skydive I surprised her by replying that she was brilliant and that I would have loved to have done that at her age. The final line of the text must have gone missing.
When the family was reunited to spend Christmas in South Africa there was much giggling and conspiring afoot. A few days later my kids announced that I was to have an early Christmas present. I looked around for a little jewellery box, as I had hinted heavily for an African tanzanite ring. No such luck. Of course, my present was to be a skydive – that very afternoon.
I thanked them but absolutely rejected the daft notion, saying that my physio would kill me, followed closely by my mother. My smart son sold it to me on the basis that it would make for a fun report in Go.
I didn’t have much time to dwell on the negatives, as we travelled from the sunny coast to Mossel Bay Airfield. As we headed up the hill a gale blew up suddenly, and all the flights were cancelled. The gods were sending me a sign.
This initial reprieve was followed by an agonising overnight wait for my rescheduled slot. I awoke at dawn to the sound of waves crashing on the shore. I was relieved, as I thought the storm was still raging. Not so. The tide, not the wind, was rough.
We headed back up the hill to be greeted by Hank, the skydive instructor. He had me harnessed and in the tiny aircraft before I could plead my Age Action case.
When I relaxed about the aircraft’s door being permanently open, I realised that the views were incredible as we gained altitude over the sea. Unfortunately, no southern right whales were visible – the last migrating cow and calf had swum through the previous week.
When Hank and the pilot checked that we had reached 3,000m I was told to adjust my goggles and then swing to the door.
Within nanoseconds, before I had time to blink, we were falling in tandem. The initial couple of somersaults really freaked me out, as I didn’t know which way was up.
Then the drogue (or tiny parachute) engaged to retard our fall to 220km/h, and we seemed to steady. We had a free fall to 1,400m. I loved this part. I felt like an eagle soaring above earth. The coast had receded, a large lake looked like a tiny puddle and the fields resembled a patchwork quilt.
Then the parachute released with a jolt, and we did a few spinning circles before we got back on course. Once under canopy our forward speed was 40km/h and vertical speed only 8km/h.
It wasn’t fast enough for me, as the circling had made me nauseous and I just wanted to feel my feet on the gound.
Thanks to Hank we had a perfect landing, and my hubby and kids rushed forward to welcome me back. Despite their bravado, they were relieved to see me back on terra firma.
I enjoyed watching the DVD of my dive more than the live action. But the best bit was calling my mum to say “Guess what I did today . . . ”