Noosa, Australia

Thus far on this road trip I’ve been calm to the minimal (bowls) and mild to the medium (theme parks). So it was that as we checked into the Koala Hostel/POW camp in Noosa, weary from a long drive in the Giant Boob, tired from countless poor nights sleep, I found myself being prepared to take things Extreme to the Max(!). We agreed to go skydiving the very next morning at 7am and considering we were checking in at 8pm the previous evening this didn’t give you a great deal of time to syke yourself. The friendly staff booked it for us there and then as we checked in and left us to relax for the evening in preparation for our big day in the morning (although I’m not sure listening to one of the girls in the dorm being shagged during the night by a local is classed as relaxing – depends on the person I guess). Now, I’ve done most of the touristy things that you can do along the east coast, bowling, getting drunk, theme parks, shouting, surfing, pointing at things etc, but when exactly does jumping out of a perfectly good plane become a tourist activity?

If only they knew I was scared of heights!

In the morning we get delivered to the airfield, and our training is worryingly brief. Head back, legs tucked in enjoy yourself. Any questions? Well I had already gone through worst case scenarios early that morning. We were diving by the coast so if I fell out of the harness I would simply fly towards the sea, make myself torpedo shape and make a sea landing. Swim to shore and back in time for dinner and goon. This flawless plan was ruined by my instructor informing that the impact on the seas surface would probably break every bone in my body. Oh well then, this is it, I’m going to die. We were given the option to purchase the DVD footage of our jump but I opted out for now as it cost around 70 quid and I didn’t really see the point in showing friends and family a video of me shouting ‘fuck’ as many times as I could in 2 minutes. Lets just get this over with!

In the plane I’m on the floor wedged in between my instructors legs (titter ye not!) going through a few safety checks as we soar to our destination; 14,000 feet. This is the highest you can jump and results in 60 seconds of freefall. If you’re gonna do something, do it properly I say. We get to our destination and one by one I slowly lose the people I was sitting with as they plummet to the ground. It still feels all rather normal. I’m in a plane, ground below me, a familiar scenario. It’s when you find your legs are dangling over the edge and suddenly you’re actually no longer in the damn plane it dawns on you that something has gone horribly wrong. I was in a perfectly good plane and I’m now watching it fly away from me. This can’t be happening.


"The last image before my untimely death"

The first thing that hit me was “OH MY JEEPING FUCK ITS COLD”. Its now -8C and I’m in shorts and t-shirt and the wind is about 200mph. The clouds below are coming towards me at an insanely fast speed. In all this madness I find myself composed enough to make a few gestures to the camera and even sing a little bit of a song. Then as we fall through a cloud and my breathing becomes very difficult for a while (not good when you’re hearts racing anyway) you shoot out the other side to be greeted with land. Lots of land. And you’re racing towards it at an unnaturally fast pace. This is one of the greatest views your ever gonna get so I try and crane my head about a bit and soak it in, not easy when your veins are raging with adrenaline and your body is quietly preparing you for your own death. Without warning the parachute opens and you’re jerked around for a while until you’re still, and you look down and you see you’re legs dangling above the ground at 8,000feet and you’re held on by a bit of fabric. For someone who’s not to keen on heights this is like your worst nightmare. This is evident in my video footage where after all the shouting and whooping of the freefall I suddenly go very quiet when the shoot opens.The instructor asks me if I enjoyed it to which I quip “I’ll tell you when I’m on the ground!”. In all honesty it wasn’t too bad if not very uncomfortable around the groin and shoulders where you’re strapped in. I even got a go on the controls at one point and swooped about from left to right which was rather alright. “Whhheeee!”. It was all over in a flash and I made a rather graceful landing straight on my arse. Nothing broken, nothing dead. I’m alive. Score! However, the end of my little finger has now lost a lot of sensation. Must be frostbite. Ah well, Never used it much anyway.

So my two pence worth? I say you’ve got to try these things at least once as no ones explanation will give you the full picture of what its like. It’s bloody cold and bloody uncomfortable but an incredible rush if not a blurred one as you don’t really remember it as you’re so wired. I will happily do another one though as the next time you’ll be a lot more prepared as to what it’s like. Suppose I’m going to have to do a bungee jump in New Zealand now. Christ.

The rest of my time in Noosa was spent doing a nice costal walk and looking at the fantastic houses around the area. It seems that all costal areas I’ve been to so far are all being rapidly developed for luxurious apartments. It’s certainly appealing.

Back at the hostel and its decided to have a few drinks in the hostel. The main area to sit and drink and socialize is also a local bar/nightclub so instead of being able to sit and chat with fellow backpackers and get involved with drinking games, it gets rammed with all the locals dancing to blaring cheesy music. I know I’m ranting here but what the hell is wrong with people when all they want to hear EVERY time they go out is guff from the likes of Bon Jovi, Dexis Midnight Runners, Proclaimers Chesney Hawks etc.. If I hear ‘Love Shack’ one more time I swear I’m gonna tear my anus out. For crying out loud people why not expand yourself and try listening to something NEW! Ah shit. Lets say my experience of the East Coast has had its fair share of nightclubs with shitty cheesey music and when I get home I will NEVER go to one again. So to escape the nightclub you can sit outside on the benches (you cant bring your own alcohol) and the whole area is very poorly lit. Sod this, I’m off to bed/cell. This really is NOT how to do a hostel. Shame really as the staff were some of the most friendly and helpful I’ve encountered. Anyway! Back to the boob….onwards!

(Spider and deadly things count: 0)
(Mcdonalds spotting: 26)