I Paid Money For This???

Lake Taupo, New Zealand
By Mike Paglia

“Well this was a real bright idea. Nice going!” was the thought that kept running through my mind as my eyes panned across the web of poles and cables suspended above me. My excitement and hard charging attitude had suddenly shriveled into a pit of fear, uncertainty, and self-doubt. The brochure didn’t prepare me for this.

I found myself in the town of Taupo, in the center of the North Island of New Zealand. Having just finished a stint of conservation work in Australia, I decided to treat myself to a little playtime in this lush volcanic wonderland. What a study in extremes. The dry, dusty bush with its multitude of venomous creatures and stinging plants had been my home for the past three months. It all had a certain rustic charm to it, but what greeted me as I toured this neighboring island nation was like nothing I had seen before. In one word, it was alive. Green plants blanketed the seemingly infinite mountains and hills, dotted with areas of geothermal activity, while a stunning turquoise sea extended its fingers inland in the form of rivers. It all begs the question: is there is a more beautiful place on Earth?

I had been traveling around the North Island for about a week, taking in the sights and plunging into the unique activities the various towns had to offer. We had finally arrived to Taupo, on the edge of the massive lake of the same name. Travel guides and gossip from past visitors had painted a very clear image of the town: an adrenaline junkie’s wet dream. Skydiving, bungee jumping, jet boating; if it could kill you, you could do it here.

During the bus trip, our tour guide gave us the run down on the various ways we could put our lives in danger. I had originally planned on taking a skydive, but weather and a lack of finances prohibited that. I was crushed (well not really, but that’s what I tell people). A few people had recommended a ropes course that lie just outside of town. The promotional video left no doubt about this place. It was not for the faint of heart. “Hmmm, I don’t know. Can I handle it?” I kept asking myself. Still, something drew me toward it, my inner glutton for punishment perhaps, I don’t know. Bravado took over and I thought “Screw it, you’ll only be here once. Do it.” My mind was made up and my name was on the list. Hey, it only cost me 65 bucks; it seemed like a good deal.

The nerves first set in when the shuttle arrived to pick us up. There was a group of us from the same hostel: Ian and Sarah, Rob, and Dino, all from the UK. Taking a strange comfort in the notion that we shared questionable levels of sanity, we hopped into the shuttle and drove off into the unknown.

As we pulled into the parking lot, I realized what I was in for. There before us stood an aerial playground of telephone poles, spanned by an intricate series of cables, bridges, and various objects suspended in the air. A jungle gym on steroids, it was difficult to tell how high it all was.

“Ten meters”, noted Carl, our instructor. “That’s 35 feet for you Americans”, he quipped, turning towards me. “Thanks for clearing that up,” I countered. My attention returned to the course. “Why do I do this to myself?” I thought. The sympathetic chuckles surprised me as I realized I was thinking out loud.

After signing our lives away, getting harnessed up, and learning the finer points of belaying, it was time to get started. First came what was referred to as the Burma Bridge. This deceptively simple looking contraption consisted of a taut main cable to walk across and two ropes higher up onto which one holds for dear life. Kim, the Dutch member of our trio, and Rob navigated the bridge with relative ease. Then it was my turn. The first twinge of fear came at about fifteen feet up the pole. You know the one, that feeling of uncertainty in the pit of your stomach when you realize that there is nothing underneath your feet. Backing out before even starting was not an option I was willing to consider, so I continued climbing, finally making it to the top.

Although I was only 35 feet off the ground, it was surprisingly windy, which didn’t make my job any easier. It was now or never. The first step was the worst. Eventually, one step turned into two, two into three, and so on. Nevertheless, taking each step meant having to work up my courage all over again. The jitters in my legs caused the cable to dart from side to side, meaning that each time I stepped forward, I just had to hope that my foot would land on the cable. Getting to the halfway point seemed to take forever. As it turned out, my perception was spot on. After an eternity I finally made it across the bridge, back to the beginning and was gently belayed to the ground, to a round of rousing applause.

“Hey Mike, congratulations. You just set a record for the slowest time ever on the Burma Bridge. You Americans are always slow.”
“Hey thanks, Carl”

The next two challenges were comparatively easy. One entailed shuffling across a steel cable while clutching a rope overhead. Simple. Next was the Rickety Bridge, wooden slats connected by lengths of chain, much wider than a length of cable, but shakier than the hand of a coffee addict experiencing withdrawals. One person actually ran the distance, a smart strategy as it made for the most balance. The tricky part though, is that there were no ropes for support; fear keeps you upright. I didn’t run, but I did make it in a respectable time.

All the while, I had kept an eye on the challenge that lie ahead. Throughout the day I had watched others, including my new English friends Ian, Sarah, and Dino tackle the formidable obstacle. I don’t know if it had a name, but the Leap of Faith seemed fitting. As with the other challenges, this one commenced with a climb up a telephone pole; I had become a pro this by now. However, as I approached the top any similarities to the previous challenges disappeared, literally. Here there were no cables to step on to, no solid poles to walk across. I had reached the very top of the pole, and there was nothing there, just the top of the pole itself, which was no wider than a dinner plate. I had been told what I had to do, but this seemed way out of my league. I had to somehow get both feet from the rungs that I climbed up on, on to the top of the pole itself, without anything to hold onto, and this was all to be done 35 feet in the air. The only thing shakier than my confidence was the pole as it swayed in the gusty wind.

It was time to get down to business. With relative ease I got my left foot up on to the flat portion of the pole. This is where it got tricky. The only way to get my right foot up was to place my hands on my left knee and push up, straightening my leg until my right foot came up to meet my left. Sounds easy, but it forced me into a spot where I would be standing on one leg for a brief moment until my right foot was planted next to my left. “Ok, on the count of three here we go”, I told myself. “One. Two. Three.” I was frozen. “Come on. You can do this.” Nothing. Strangely, in the midst of being paralyzed with fear, I had revelation of stunning clarity: the sooner I get this done, the sooner I’m back on the ground. With my resolve firm again I made a last and ultimately successful attempt. I was standing upright on an 18-inch wide pole 35 feet in the air, blasts of wind buffeting me unpredictably, but this was no time to rest easy. Getting to the top is not this challenge’s claim to fame. As I stood at the top and looked out, there it was: a trapeze bar 5 feet away from me and at eye level, dangling in the wind. I gave my cue to my instructor below, “One, two, THREE!”

And I jumped.

Hanging in mid air, I had made the leap and was now swinging back and forth from the trapeze bar. The warmth of supreme satisfaction washed over me as I was lowered to the ground. Greeted with cheers by those who had already conquered their own similar fears, we reveled in each other’s success. Still, there was one ultimate final challenge that awaited us.

The name sent a chill down our spines: The Death Swing. Rob and I just looked at each other. There was no need for words. Ian, Sarah, and Dino, who had already completed it, sarcastically jested that it was simple and that we had nothing to worry about, but their lightheartedness fell on deaf ears. Yet again, another climb was called for. 35 feet? Oh no, this one was an even 50 feet up to a large steel platform. Up there, we would be hooked to the end of a long cable suspended some distance away. From there the task was simple: step the edge of the platform, take a quick hop to the side, and let gravity do the work.

Though I missed her jump, Kim went first. The cheshire grin on her face indicated that everything had gone well. I had been “volunteered” to go next. Carl gave me my instructions as he harnessed me up. My breathing became quick and shallow as I mentally prepared myself. A warrior’s spirit was only way to meet this. I stepped to the edge; there was no going back now. Carl reassured me, “You’re fine; you can do this. Ready, set, go.” My eyes sealed shut the instant my feet left the platform. The effect of gravity was immediate. I guess I had half expected to hang in mid air for moment in a Wylie E. Coyote-esque sort of way, but that myth was quickly dispelled. My body plummeted 25 feet with such sheer speed and intensity that the feeling in the pit of my stomach was almost painful. I let out a scream characteristic of an eight year old girl as I flailed my legs. Instinct told me the ground was coming up fast and a brief glance at it speeding towards me pierced me with terror. At the absolute last second, the cable reached its length and my motion transformed from a free fall to the arc of a pendulum, swinging within about 2 feet of the ground. The worst was over. With each swing side to side I went up a little less and little less, until I was eventually stopped, unhooked and helped down a ladder. In a span of 45 seconds I had gone from apprehension, to terror, to giddiness, and finally affirmation. To describe it as amazing is a gross understatement.

Later that night, Rob, Dino, Ian, Sarah, and I engaged in that most sacred of backpacking traditions and went to the pub. As we relived the day’s experiences, we became the proud owners of an ever-increasing collection of empty bottles. We had all met less than 24 hours earlier, yet the intense emotions we experienced earlier formed a bond between us all. We shared some stories, had some laughs, and stayed until closing. It was a fitting end to the day.

Upon returning home, friends and family, after hearing my tale often asked me, “And you paid money for this?”

Sure did.