“Different strokes for different folks” is a popular saying. Well, I think this would have made some people have a stroke—literally—but, in my case, it was a pure adrenaline rush. Let me immediately point out that I am not afraid of heights, so there is no heroism here. I wasn't afraid. I’m not bragging; I’m just an adrenaline junkie, plain and simple. I have always erred on the side of what some uncharitable people would describe as lunacy.
I have been a gymnast, a rock climber, a cyclist, a runner, a hockey player, a body-surfer (and a body-snatcher, in my mountain rescue days); I’ve been blown off a cliff by a helicopter and fallen five metres; I’ve abseiled 160m down the side of Table Mountain; I’ve abseiled from a helicopter onto a mountain ledge (that was a bit scary—I was afraid that the helo might crash). I’ve been winched up into various helicopters; I’ve landed (in a helicopter) on a 250 000-ton tanker in Table Bay.
I’ve ridden motorbikes, and crashed a few of them; I’ve tried to keep up with my son-in-law in his Alfa Romeo racing car; I’ve lost count of how many full-loop roller coasters I’ve ridden (forwards and backwards), and how many people I have elbowed out of the way so I could get into the front car. I’ve dived off a 6-metre diving board (dived, not jumped). I've lost count of the number of ribs I've broken; I think my chest might look a bit like a xylophone that's been thrown off a cliff. I’ve played tennis on a broken foot, ridden across the country with a cracked hand and broken fibula. I've driven myself to the hospital after I had chopped off my toe with a chisel (which hurt quite a bit); I've rolled over and pushed into a handstand before I realised that I had broken my left radius and ulna in the preceding fall (not a good idea; I've paid for that mistake every day of my life since then), et cetera, et cetera.
BUT NEVER HAVE I EXPERIENCED ANYTHING LIKE THIS!
I think that the above is probably sufficient to convince you that I am not only a hooligan, but also a hopeless, un-rehabilitated, adrenaline addict. Perhaps the WhatsApp message that my son, Patrick, sent me just after I had sent him the video of the jump sums me up adequately.
THE BRIDGE (It’s beautiful). It makes me wonder why I left road construction and went into harbour engineering.
This is what you walk along to get to the launch point. That’s the Eastern Cape across the river, with the Cliffhanger Pub in the middle. Unsurprisingly, I slept in the Backpackers near the Cliffhanger.
They are being led by the guide who “dispatched” me.
They recommend that you wear shoes on this section, because the expanded metal flooring is quite uncomfortable (apparently). Need I say it? I went barefoot.
Many people jump barefoot because, well, why wear shoes when you're plummeting earthwards? [I suppose that one could apply the same argument to clothes, or a festive hat, or a Dracula costume. Hmm, now there's an idea].
MY HISTORY WITH THE BLOUKRANS
I have a history with the Bloukrans River spanning more than half a century. I recall, as a child on holiday, slowly following removal vans on the old pass which used to be the national road (people didn’t overtake illegally in those days, even if there were no cops about) and being stunned by the beauty of the area. I have subsequently ridden Linny III along the old road, and I continue to be stunned by it. Two years ago, I took this picture from the old pass.
MY JUMP
(This will mainly be a series of pictures; feel free to insert your own gasps, screams, etc.)
By the way, the natty camo pants come from Mr Price (Ladies' Department). They are a bit like a one-star hotel; they have no ballroom. Still, they show off my buns quite well.
I'm conscious of getting some strange looks from my cohort. In my estimation, I'm more than twice the age of the next-most-ancient of the thirty of us, and I'm more than three times the age of the youngest; they aren't very diplomatic.
I think they are a bit thrown by the presence of a short, pale, barefoot local, who talks to the guides in two languages that they have never heard before. Someone said that they thought that I had arrived on a motorbike. Hmm; strange. If they knew that, in spite of the sound system under the bridge, I had the first movement of Brandenburg Concerto Number 5 playing in my head, that would really give them pause.
That's Thomas, tying my legs together. On the right is a young lady from Switzerland, next in line after me to take a leap.
This felt very Kierkegaardian—taking a leap of faith.
Important detail. This attachment and these legs are what are going to arrest my river-wards plummet (aided, of course, by the bungee cord). By the way, the dirty mark on my big toe is from Linny III’s gear-shift. I have a tendency to ride barefoot.
Now for four pics of the actual launch. As a veteran, I can now say that, if you want to jump with élan, you should push hard with your legs (i.e., dive), as if you don't believe that gravity will, eventually, win. The higher you jump, the more of a plummet you get for your money. By the way, those lady-pants really do wonders for my legs!
When you have stopped bouncing at the end of your tether (as it were), there is just the recovery to deal with. My angel came down on a bosun's chair and turned me upright (well, supine, actually) and we started making our way back up, whilst having an animated conversation in a mixture of isiXhosa and Cape Flats Afrikaans.
CONCLUSION
In my rock climbing days, I used to say to people that, if they should fall off, they should look to the right (or left, depending upon where we were) because the view was spectacular. Now I know that I was correct!
My youngest daughter and I already have an agreement that, when she's next in the country, we shall get on our bikes and ride down to Tsitsikamma and do the Bloukrans Bungee.
Apparently, if you are a member of the staff, you get to jump free of charge. I wonder if they need a theology lecturer.
Like Arnie, I’ll be back! Next time, I’d like to either go off backwards, or running (or in a Dracula costume). However I do it, I know I'll love it!