Bungi jumping

We did not know at that time that we were about to be launched with such velocity into that semester that we would only touch sides weeks later.

As we came out of Mossel Bay, some sort of telepathic idea which had been the latest fever­gripping fad in Cape Town, hit us simultaneously. We didn't speak. We just glanced at each other and started to smile secretively. We were on the same wavelength immediately. The silence was only broken when I looked round and saw a broad grin fresh from the constraints of containment which excitedly spluttered the words:

"So, are you keen?"

We laughed nervously and each of us came up with excuses which were all quickly dispelled by the other, until before we knew it, the turn off lay before us.

The only way I could describe the feeling would be to compare it to the butterflies you get when you're next in to bat and the ball is hit high with a fielder underneath. The only difference being that the butterflies had gone forth and multiplied. Profusely. And they felt like the size of eagles.

We parked and then ambled down to where many people were milling around waiting expectantly and excitedly for something to happen. Our only condition was that we would not wait in a long queue. We pottered around as nothing much seemed to be happening and decided to put our names down, secretly relieved that we were numbers 19 and 20. We were weighed and an embarrasing 94 kg was written on my wrist alongside the number. There seemed to be an increased air of expectation as we climbed off the scales, which was broken by the spin chilling question of "Who's first?"

It's amazing how generous one can be with places in the queue when the overriding factor is pure fear, and on realising that the previous eighteen people had already jumped. I was extremely generous in offering the honour to John. John had after all been a parabat and had had two years intensive training and experience of doing stupid things.

John, however, was not so sure. He was in the precarious position of being able to see the actual rocks and sand he would land on for the first time.

Not so sure too were the organisers who said that the "heavy" rope was already attached, and I might as well go first.

There was no turning back now. The literally hundreds of spectators drooled over the opportunity of witnessing an historic first bridge diving splat in SA. It was still a very novel pastime at that stage. What's more, they were frenziedly changing films and reels in order to record this occasion.

Standing on the edge of the Gouritz River bridge, with your ankles tied together with an oversized elastic band as an umbilical cord, gives you a different perception of your surroundings. A 65 - 70 metre jump looks more like a re-entry into the earth's atmosphere, the wind reaches gale force, the crowd swells to millions, and the odd clicking camera sounds like thunderous applause.

All this increased awareness, yet a direct question has to be repeated twice before a soundless reply is obtained.

"Jumper, are you ready?"

5, 4, 3, 2, 1, BUNGI!

Yes, bungi. At the sound of "5", you know you're not ready and at "2" you're convinced you'll have to abort and lose face. At "Bungi", they must have pushed you, because you still weren't willing at "one" .

Funnily enough only one word entered my mind as I began to topple - TIMBERRRRR. I waited only for the earth-shuddering crash, broken branches and loose leaves.

The rushing wind seemed deafening and my eyes grew wider at the sight of being stoned by the entire planet. Every single muscle was tense, every method of wind resistance known to man was employed, and I must have come as close as humanly possible to achieving reverse thrust through my posterior.

As city kids we would climb high buildings, and as small boys we would spit off them. I know now how spit feels and I know why it balloons out and spreads itself over as big an area as possible in order to slow down.

The way down is one way, and it's sheer and utter terror. But the one word entrenched in your mind becomes thousands on the way up. Accelerating upwards is completely unnatural to us as humans - it goes against everything logical, scientific and geological, and it causes a severe and sudden release from stress and fear. Emotional upliftment strives to keep up with a new found physical upliftment. Again the feeling of being alive is overwhelming.

And then, just as suddenly again, it's Uh-Oh, Timberrr as you bounce like a yo-yo at the mercy of the big rubber band.

From total fear to total relief back to total fear, and finally to complete exhileration as you are lowered again onto the sand.

With legs like jelly and heart pounding, you know you are very much alive. At this point nothing can touch you!

It's odd how in life we are often afraid of something new. A new headmaster or sergeant major, a new government. We are scared to take the gap, to venture into the unknown. We hold on to certainty and bolt for a place to bury our heads in the earth, happy with not upsetting the status quo.

Bungi jumping is different - the last thing you want to do is bury your head in the sand. You look desperately for something new, something away from the certainty of a one way trip to minus 6 feet sans coffin.

And when it comes you revel in it, you maximise thoughts and feelings and emotions, you remember everything you let loose and succumb to the wonderful feeling of relief from stress. You survive to thrive.

Then devastation - you're back on certainty's track and you strive to survive. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, BUNGI! John was about to be enlightened.