Jumping Out of a Plane

Aboard the Dawn Princess, our primary itinerary is to New Zealand. This is the land of extreme sports, or at least that's the common conception in America.

So of course we went sky diving.

A group of us from the ship got together and signed up for the Bay of Islands' only sky diving trip. We met at 7am, bribed our way onto the first tender to shore, cajoled a shuttle driver into dropping us off at the office, and started our adventure. We were jumping from a tiny Cesna, with one seat (for the pilot) and some mats on the floor where two instructors and two increasingly nervous students could crouch as the plane struggled its way to 12,000 feet. One of the doors of the plane was courteously made of plexiglass, so you could see the ground (and the clouds) dwindle beneath you. Some lovely duct tape graced the interior, keeping everything together. At least we had parachutes strapped to our back. We were all in all probably more safe (or less helpless, at the very least) than a commercial jetliner, but the duct tape was a rustic touch. Very reassuring, that they're conscientious enough to patch leaks.

A cool 5 hours after starting on the adventure, it was my turn to get driven to the air strip (read: pasture), climb into a harness and jump out of a plane. The view was spectacular, showing the thousands of islands that lent the Bay of Islands its name. There were a few clouds, but nothing too solid by the time we got up there.

I was second out the door, so the guy I was jumping with disappears out the door and streaks past the back of the plane. Then it's my turn. I have to put my leg out of the plane, onto the platform, then get my other knee out into space, out of the way. All while holding my harness, so my hands don't get in the way. So, no hands, as I'm dangling out of a plane at 12,000 feet. Hey, that's not fair. But in for a penny, in for a pound. Now's not the time to start having trust issues.

Out goes the foot, and it immediately gets blown away by the wind. Hmm. That's strong. Out goes the foot again, and it makes the corner of the platform. Hmm, that wind really is strong. I edge it forward along the platform until it's where it's supposed to be. Check. Sigh. Oh, the instructor wants me to put my knee out the door. Umm, I don't have any hands... That would leave my dangling out of the plane... Umm, ok. Just don't make me jump...

And the instructor pushes us off, and we're falling. I get that sudden stomach-drops-out feeling from roller coasters (the one I don't really like but kinda do, and it grows on you, as long as you're safe, but it's always really nerve-wracking to get). Then it passes as the air streams by me.

And suddenly I'm weightless. It's exactly like scuba diving. I'm hovering in the middle of water, buoyed by the air around me. Cool. I'm in the arch position that they showed us, and my instructor is no doubt working hard in a highly-trained way to keep us stable, but I'm floating. I begin to experiment. How do I turn? Fishtail? Tilt? Then things get really wobbly, and I realize the instructor has reached around. Then everything slams into reorientation, and gravity reasserts itself in my frame of reference. Ah, that would be the parachute. And that is where that harness goes. Sigh. Oh.

But we're still falling fast, on the end of our parachute strings. We spiral down, building up g-forces, and the instructor guides us into the landing field. Even though the wind has picked up, we come in for a soft landing, touching down on our feet. Kudos to the instructor. What a day.

Then back to the ship for a full day of work. That's what I can do on my mornings off. Where do you work?

Real-Life Geography Lessons

During orientation at Heifer Ranch, on a cold, snowy February morning in Arkansas, we played an ice breaking game of people bingo. We had to circulate the room and find people to sign off on squares containing certain attributes. One of those attributes was "has been to Vanuatu," which was a curve ball, because I'm pretty sure no one in the room had actually been to Vanuatu. Eventually, we found someone to sign (I'm pretty sure she was just signing off on the square because no one else would) and the game went on. But it led to a general discussion of just where Vanuatu was. No one quite knew.

Well, I found out. It lies in the South Pacific (so much more South and Pacific than Hawaii, in that Rodgers & Hammerstein musical). It lies north and east of New Caledonia, which is itself north and east of Australia. It is near Tonga and Fiji, a bit far from Papeete and Tahiti.


It has an odd feel to it, feeling very Caribbean in some aspects, but very different in others. It has that same island ex-colony feel, since it was heavily colonized by the French. The local clothing is mostly bright colored and patterned, and the weather is hot and tropical, resulting in loose clothing and sandals. But there's an asian or oriental twist to the culture, in very subtle ways, that's hard to pinpoint and hard to explain. The landscape, setting and colors are right for the Caribbean, but it's not the Caribbean.


And the diving is spectacular.