Skydive Swakopmund/ The short drop to earth

Your fearless author, plunging to the earth

I never thought I would skydive. My deterrent was simple: splat. I thought it far too risky and dangerous and it simply never appealed to me. Two things have changed for me, the interaction of which caused me to take the plunge and allow myself to be thrown out of a plane at 10,000 feet: my new love for flying in small aircraft and the adventurous spirit this overland trip has inspired in me. By the time I arrived in Swakopmund I’d already done dozens of things I didn’t think I’d ever do, so when I was asked whether I would be interested in skydiving, my response was simple. “Why not?” Within an hour of arrival I’d signed up to jump later that day with Ground Rush Adventures. Let the freefall commence.

Practicing my freefall technique

Swakopmund, Namibia, has to be one of the most gorgeous and unique drop zones on the planet–and this isn’t just because the skydivers at Ground Rush Adventures say so. When you get up to about 5,000 feet in the airplane—a teeny, no-seater Cessna—you understand why: as long as the ocean fog hasn’t rolled in, visibility is excellent and offers views of Spitzkoppe, the ocean, the massive ocean-side sand dunes, and the surrounding Namib Desert. It’s almost enough to distract you from the fact that you’ll soon be hurtling towards it all at speeds of up to 125 miles per hour. Almost.

Many, if not most, first-time skydivers are petrified at the thought of doing their first jump. Some will have psyched themselves up for years, or will have set it as a goal to do sometime in their lifetimes. My story was simple and slightly boring in comparison: impulse led me to sign up, and due to that, I experienced no nerves. On the contrary, I’d never been more excited about any adventure activity in my life. I had no idea what to expect since I never really considered it a possibility.

Three other girls from the overland group had signed up with me, and all were suitably more nervous than I was. The entire time we were getting ready–waiting for pickup, signing forms, handing over credit cards–I kept asking myself why I wasn’t nervous. I guess by this time I’d put my life in the hands of others several times already–rafting down the Nile River and flying in small aircraft over Botswana and Uganda being the most prominent examples. I’ve learned to have faith in people and to trust in the process by which these organizations become accredited; two things I’d struggled with before this trip.

Soon the four of us were sat cross-legged on the floor of the preparation room at the airfield used by Ground Rush. The drop zone is located about a 10 minutes drive into the desert. The team, all Namibian but of Afrikaner nationality, was introduced to us: Fuzzy, a videographer with long, curly masses of hair; Dries, whose tongue pierce glinted in the desert sun; David, another photographer who had recently become a father to a little girl, and Mias, my jump partner, who more closely resembled U2’s frontman, Bono. We sat at Mias’ feet while he explained how to execute a successful skydive.

"This way for adventure, right??"

Unless you’re a licensed skydiver all jumps take place with a tandem partner. You strap yourself tightly to your jump buddy and he does all the work: gets you dressed in your harness, pulls you onto his lap to strap your bodies together, throws the two of you out of the plane, watches the altimeter as you plunge to the earth, and pulls the chute. I literally didn’t have to think about anything the entire time besides observing what was going on around me and enjoying the scenic beauty of the desert and Namibian coast. Even if he’d had a heart attack mid-flight there were mechanisms in the parachute to deploy automatically at a certain altitude, if it wasn’t deployed manually. You could do it asleep (not that you’d want to).

After dressing in my red and yellow jumpsuit (which I wanted to take home with me), we all packed into the plane. It was just me, Mias, another girl from the overland trip and her jump buddy, our pilot, and our two videographers who would record our first skydives. We climbed higher and higher and could see ever more of the dramatic landscape; each circuit we did in the 20-odd minute climb saw us pass close to the ocean, or over the dunes, or over the town. I remember looking down and thinking how high we were already; that was when Mias told me that we still had another 5,000 feet to go. He checked the steadiness of my hand for nerves—I don’t think he believed that a first time jumper could be as relaxed and excited as I was. Want proof? Watch the video below.

Falling face first. Clearly my lesson in skydiving went out the window--I was supposed to hold my arms out.

Soon the pilot gave the sign that we were at 10,000 feet and over the drop zone. Before I could even think about what was happening, Mias took my sunglasses and camera and gave them to the pilot; these would go down with him, not me. Fuzzy climbed out to the wing, from where he would record my initial fall and would follow us down. Mias, now tightly strapped to my body, maneuvered me out over the edge of the plane’s open sliding door, and I tucked my legs under the belly of the plane. This was truly the point of no return—I remember just then, in that instant, feeling a grip of nerves.

Before I could dwell on those nerves Mias hurtled us out, and I fell ass-over-head out of the plane. Every skydiver will tell you that the first 5 seconds of a jumper’s first skydive are the scariest—the “Oh Shit” seconds. When you realize what you’ve just done, when you realize that you’re not in control, when you realize that you’re falling, ostensibly, to your death and that sane human’s just don’t jump out of planes to their doom. For about 3 seconds I screamed my face off as my stomach leapt to my throat.

After those three seconds, however, ecstasy replaced unbridled fear and I laughed my head off for the next segment. Fuzzy was just in front of us filming the whole thing; I played around with the air pressure one experiences during freefall. I pulled faces for the camera and remembered to look around at the scenery. I laughed and whooped in excitement. I even tried to do The Robot mid-air (humorously, though unsuccessfully). It was, more than anything I’ve ever done, the absolute experience of a lifetime.

EPIC!!!

30 seconds later, at 5,000 feet, Mias pulled the chute. It unraveled slowly and gently jerked us into a more controlled descent. Fuzzy continued plummeting—he’d pull his later after getting suitable video footage. It was then that I was overcome with an extreme sensation of peace and awe; we were floating through the air as a bird does, no sound besides that coming from our chute. No distractions, nothing but this moment to enjoy. Mias gave me the parachute controls and I tried my hand at steering. He played around and would pull one side or the other sharply, sending us spiraling downward in grand loops. At one point, he whispered to me to shut my eyes: I took a deep breath, and after a short circle he pulled on the parachute brakes, halting us in midair. It felt like I was weightless, floating as an angel does up in the heavens.

Although I’ve attempted to relay the experience, words just cannot do justice to the feeling of a first skydive. The entire jump takes just over 30 minutes, from ascent in the plane to landing back on solid earth, and is over before you know it. The minute I touched down I wanted more; if it were not for the expense—steep, given the equipment and expertise required—I would have done it twice, three times even. Like my experience rafting on the Nile River in Uganda, I had job envy: these guys jumped three more times that day, and do this every day of their lives, and are paid for it. I jokingly asked if they needed an intern, but secretly I wasn’t actually joking.

"When can I go again!?"

Now that I’ve gotten a taste I’m hooked. I’d seriously consider skydiving again before leaving the continent, but the cost (R1500/$200 for the next opportunity to jump in Cape Town) is my only deterrent; I’ve got a lot more traveling to do on my budget! It’s funny how something like this can go from non-existent in your mind to being all you want to do. All I can say is that I feel like a brand new woman. This continent has changed me: I feel intrepid, brave, and fearless. These are traits I haven’t felt in a long time, and will fight tooth and nail to keep them.