It all started a day ago when I arrived in Queenstown. Situated on Lake Wakatipu in the South Island of New Zealand, the town is essentially a haven for lovers of adventure sports. Of all its daredevil sports, Queenstown is best known for skydiving. After meeting almost a dozen people who were heading for a date with the skies, I could not resist the temptation to sign up too. I was to jump from a small aircraft the next day along with two other brave hearts.
Before the jump, we were given some vital instructions, jumpsuits, helmets, goggles and gloves. The drill was to be simple. The instructors who would be accompanying each one of us would help us jump out lest we had second thoughts. After a freefall of 45 seconds, they would open the parachutes and after five minutes we would be back on Earth.
As the aircraft climbed to an altitude of 12,000 foot, I silently watched my co-jumpers sucked out into the white emptiness. Soon it was my turn to take the plunge. My hands had turned cold inside the gloves. I inched towards the door but I was not supposed to charge forward like a bull and get over with it. I had to balance myself on the edge of the aircraft’s door and then jump. The instructor was getting restless at my chosen moment for reverie but I could not move. It was then that he pushed me.
When I had screamed my lungs out for what seemed like an eternity, I stared in awe at the scene below. The lake below was a blazing blue amidst brown hills. The stillness was sense-defying and I felt suspended in a timeless void. If silence could be defined, then that is how it would be. I was at peace. As the freefall was cut short by the opening of the parachute, I came back to reality. It was soon time to be back on Earth. As I sat down to pull myself together, I knew that I would be back someday.
No comments:
Post a Comment