Always looking up
because I left my heart
in the sky.
Always looking up
because I left my heart
in the sky.
Today is an absolutely beautiful day in Toronto, which is a real treat and turnaround from the dreary, bleak, grey skies we’ve been experiencing for what feels like weeks on end. It’s amazing what a difference a crystal clear sky makes in everyone’s attitude; everywhere I go I see smiling faces and people out making the most of the day.
Since I posted that ridiculously long post about New Zealand yesterday I find myself feeling very nostalgic and scrolling through the 1000+ photos I took while I was there. One thing I got really into doing was photographing clouds. I wanted to share a few of them with you guys, cause, you know… 🙂
Happy Saturday friends xoxo
The other day I messaged my best friend in Calgary to help me think of something to write about on here. She gave me two suggestions: the first was to start an angry protest against bronies (a bit controversial and unnecessary, though appreciated) and the second was to write about falling from a plane in New Zealand. As the title suggests I decided to opt for the latter. So… let’s talk about my skydive in Abel Tasman.
I had it in my head long before I left for New Zealand that it was something I wanted to do. I had never thought about skydiving much before in my life. Any thoughts I did have about it were along the lines of: skydiving is for crazy people, extreme dare-devils, adrenaline junkies, idiots, and people brave enough to potentially die early. So, not something I had EVER actually considered. Not seriously, anyway. To be blunt I was a bit of a wimp about the subject and would likely have remained so if I hadn’t met a particular boy.
Typical. “A boy came into my life and then I couldn’t help but jump out of a plane.” That tired old story, ya know? Riiiiiight. It’s true though. Sometimes it just takes meeting someone with a fresh perspective to make you think of doing things you wouldn’t have before. So this boy I met (who went on to become one of my best friends and eventually my boyfriend), mentioned casually in the early stages of us knowing each other that he had sky dived before. It wasn’t just ‘I went skydiving once on vacation’ (like me), no, he decided on his 16th birthday that he wanted to skydive and so took a course to become solo certified and start jumping out of planes… I mean, I don’t know what you guys did for your 16th birthdays but when I turned 16 I was still nervous to give presentations in front of the class let alone board a plane with a parachute on my back and jump out from 10 000 feet. Alone. He said he had finished about 80 jumps before selling his parachute to move to Toronto, and that’s not even a big number. His father, who decided to take up skydiving with his son, has something like 500 jumps under his belt, and my tandem master had 1980 + jumps!
But anyways, I digress. The way he spoke about sky diving made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. “Tons of people do it”, he said. It was just so casual. Like listening to someone talk about hockey, only I was actually interested. I think this was the moment where the realm of sky diving made its transition in my head from ‘that thing that only crazy dare devils do’ to something I could potentially do. I became fixated with the notion of free falling through the sky. It’s really pretty poetic, don’t you think? You guys know how I love poetic. I became very preoccupied thinking about it. What would it feel like to fall through the air? Is it what flying feels like? What do people think about as they fall? Why do people do it? This is a terrifying thing, how do these people not realise??
At some point I made up my mind that one day in my life, one day soon, I would be a sky diver. I had no idea when but I knew without a doubt that it would happen. Eventually it occurred to me that if I was going to do it, I should do it in one of the world’s most beautiful places that I coincidentally would be headed to in a year’s time: New Zealand.
Fast forward about 10 months to when my father, brother and I are gallivanting around the NZ countryside in our camper van. Amidst the rolling green hills, the mass of sheep, and the impossible to pronounce Maori road names, I finally piped up to speak what had been on my mind for months and months.
“I’m going to go sky diving on my birthday next week.”
I remember my brother’s reaction very clearly. A very quizzical look crossed his face that I know he reserves for only those moments that ignite great amounts of skepticism.
“Actually?” he asked.
“Yes, actually!” I said with a defiant grin on my face.
Ha! Your wimpy little sister wants to jump out of a plane. Are you shocked? Yes, be shocked! For I am Heather and I am not afraid.
I affirmed my seriousness with confidence and gusto, though under the surface I was still asking myself the same thing. Really, Heather? Are you sure? If anyone is going to die sky diving it’s probably going to be you. But I just kept saying to them, yes I want to do this. Yes, I’m serious. Convincing them, but more convincing myself. I think I thought that once I said it out loud, I’d be stubborn enough to follow through even if I was trembling with fear when the moment came to board the plane.
I decided on Skydive Abel Tasman. I read the website and felt comfortable with the team. One thing stood out for me from their FAQ…
That’s pretty convincing isn’t it? Instills confidence, has a bit of humour to it. Yes, I liked this place. Hit by 3 busses in a row, hah. Not possible! I’m golden.
On the day we were meant to be boarding our ferry to the south island (and subsequentally heading to Abel Tasman which is on the tip of that island), the earthquake struck Kaikoura. I woke up that morning to an onslaught of messages on Facebook from friends in Canada asking me if I was okay. I was very confused to say the least. I made my way to the communal kitchen of the campsite and discovered that everyone had woken up with the same confusion as me. None of us had felt the earthquake. We were a long way away and safe and sound on the North Island.
We were told that ferries were suspended for at least a week. With our plans gone awry, we had to come up with a new plan of attack which consequently meant delaying my skydive, much to my disappointment as I had been building up my nerves. Later that morning I hopped across the road from the campsite to go get a coffee at the local cafe. After ordering I took a number and a seat, where I was told to wait and they would bring the coffee to me. 5 minutes went by, 10 minutes went by. No coffee in sight. 15 minutes, 20 minutes… they’ve clearly forgotten me, but I’m too Canadian to say anything so I just waited patiently and threw some longing looks in the barista’s direction. Sure enough she walks by me and goes “oh geez! I’m so sorry. I completely forgot your coffee!” Now, you may be wondering what the point of this story is when I’m meant to be talking about skydiving. Well, this happened to me 3 days in a row, in the same cafe, twice forgotten by the same employee and once by a new one, but MAN. Three times in a row? Totally forgotten? That never happens! That’s weird, am I right? (And if you’re wondering why we were even in the same place for three days in a row it’s because of an even longer winded story involving me cracking my head open on a rock, blacking out briefly, waking up covered in my own blood, being carried back to a hike entrance and whisked off to the hospital (all on my birthday) to determine if my brain was going to be okay. Spoiler: I was fine. Or at least no more out of sorts than normal.)
ANYWAYS, the point of the cafe story is that they forgot me 3 times in a row. Now remember the likelihood of dying skydiving, as per the Abel Tasman website FAQ, was the same as being hit by a bus 3 times in a row. To me these became the same thing.
Coffee forgotten x3 = getting run over by a bus x3
I’m going to die. Oh my god I’m going to die skydiving, it’s a sign! Also how did I smash my head open on a rock? Why was there an earthquake the day before I was meant to go?? I’m definitely being given warning signs. Do not do it. Abort abort abort. Just go back to wimpy life. It’s safe there.
Both the doctor I saw and my brother declared that I should 100% definitely not go skydiving on this trip because that’s just not something you do after smashing your head open. But to be honest, I felt fine after a couple days and I wasn’t going to let anything deter me from jumping out of that plane. I told them I appreciated their concerns but I was dead set on doing it. Luckily for me they respected that and supported my decision.
Fast forward six days and we were finally on a ferry to the south island. I had decided that night that tomorrow was the day. We would camp one night, and then drive over to Abel Tasman in time for the afternoon. Late that evening, I made a reservation for the following day at 2 pm (because apparently it’s no big deal to just book a last minute sky dive. Again, so casual).
I didn’t really sleep that night. I was excessively nervous and overly excited. I honestly couldn’t believe that I, Heather, was going to sky dive. This was a big deal for me, something I had been dreaming and fretting about constantly, and it was finally going to make it’s way into reality.
We arrived at the centre at my booked time and after hopping out of the camper van I looked around to see a completely vacant parking lot. Weird. I entered the building, butterflies literally busting out of my belly, and saw that there was almost no one there. I approached the desk clerk only to discover that they hadn’t even received my booking because I put it in too late. Seriously is this EVER going to happen?? Fortunately I was able to get a booking for that day, I just had to wait a couple hours before someone would be available to come tumble out of the plane with me… so very anticlimactic.
I know what you’re thinking… Heather how long can you write a blog post about sky diving before you actually talk about skydiving?
Okay, okay. I’ll get on with it…
After waiting around the drop zone for a couple hours people finally started to arrive. That tangible, tingly, buzz of energy started pouring in from a slew of apprehensive and eager first time sky divers which totally reignited me. After a few introductions, weighing in, and signing our lives away on a piece of paper (yeah yeah I die, my own fault, whoops), we were shepherded into a little cinema room to learn from an instructional video what was going to happen and how we should behave during the fall. I literally can’t remember a single thing about it. I do remember that after it ended we had to decide from how high we wanted to fall: either 9000, 13 000, or 16 500 ft.
Can you guys guess what I went for?
16 500 ft (duh)! All the way up, please and thank you! If I’m doing this I’m going as high as possible, falling as long as possible, and prolonging this sensation as much as nature will allow me. From that height you “enjoy a 20 min scenic flight, up to 70 seconds of freefall and then 3-5 min under the parachute.” Yup, okay, that all sounds pretty good to me.
It was time.
I was lead to the backroom of the centre where all the tandem masters were packing their parachutes and given my jumpsuit. After suiting up I was lead over and introduced to my tandem master, whose name was Scruffy. I stood in front of Scruffy and he stood in front of me, laying out all of the equipment that was paramount to hurdling us safely to the ground. As I was stepping through straps and being tightened into fancy foreign skydiver gear he was explaining the specifics of the process… telling me about my oxygen mask going up, what he needed from me during the initial jump (arms in, legs tucked behind), etc. All the good stuff. I was nodding with exceptional enthusiasm and paying diligent attention, trying to take everything in as best I could. But, to be honest, the whole thing happened so quickly that in the end I was basically just like…
yeah you’ve got this Scruffy. What a pro, I don’t need to do anything.
And honestly that’s pretty much true. The tandem masters take care of everything. They are trained to pack the parachute, operate the gear, strap you in, take you up in the plane, keep you calm and happy, jump out, get in proper position, pull the parachute, have fun with you in your video, guide you down to the drop zone and finally plop you safely on the ground… all in the span of a half hour. All you have to do is get strapped to them like a parasite and follow their instructions as best you can remember. You’re basically wearing this critical person as a backpack and hoping that everything goes according to plan.
I was trying to hone my concentration on feeling excited, breathing, and being hyper aware so I could take in the whole experience without letting fear get in the way. I’d say I was about 90% excitement and 10% fear at this point. Before I knew it the plane was ready and it was time to wave goodbye to my dad and brother, time to put one foot in front of the other and to follow Scruffy to the door. There were two other teams jumping with me, and the plane was pretty small, so we packed in like sardines in our jumping order. Scruffy and I were second and so we smushed up close to the pilot on the floor of the plane, Scruffy behind me and the first pair of jumpers directly in front of me. The hatch was closed and off we went, up and up and up into the sky. Headed for 16 500 ft.
It was an absolutely beautiful day; crystal clear skies, a gentle breeze, bright shining sun. I felt so lucky considering the amount of rain we had faced in the weeks prior, and I took in everything as we ascended more and more. Abel Tasman is a huge national park along the ocean, and from that height and by the grace of clear skies, I could even see Mt Taranaki on the North Island. All the way up I kept my breathing long and even, just looking out the window and enjoying the view. The higher we went, the higher my nerves, and the higher my excitement. It’s a pretty short 20 minutes cramped in that tiny plane, which is louder than you like, going higher than you realise, when you consider that the way back down is a pretty unusual plummeting. I was wearing my oxygen mask and thinking gee I hope Scruffy is definitely remembering to strap me to him. At some point I remember him saying in my ear “you’re strapped in. From here, you don’t go anywhere without me.” It made me feel a lot better.
Then the plane door opened in front of me, and that’s when it all really hit me… suddenly my fear and excitement could no longer be put into percentages because the intensity of both were just amassing inside me like they were forming their own little planet in my chest. Planet Holy shit, I am really doing this. It all becomes abruptly real when you look down and realise that there’s nothing between you and the earth from 16 500 ft but open air. The first team in front of me moved swiftly into position, and then poof, they were gone. Now it was our turn.
Scruffy and I inched forward like a pair of awkward siamese twins, him angling me to the door where my feet escaped and tasted freedom from the plane for the first time. I was held in position, my body perched to fall, my heart racing, my mind a flurry of anticipation. But I was smiling. He tucked my arms in, reminding me to hold them to my chest until I felt him tap me, giving me the all clear to release my arms and have fun. I think I said “yes, okay”, or something, but there was no real appreciation of his instruction to be had because I was preoccupied by the fact that I was dangling out of a plane door. He grabbed my head and leaned it back on his shoulder, we rocked for a brief second, I took a deep breath and then…
You can see in these pictures that, immediately upon exit, everything I had been told about keeping my arms into my chest went out the window and instead I just went woooooooooooooooo, and threw those arms up like I-just-don’t-care. I was out the door, my body desperately trying to orient itself by flailing around with poor Scruffy behind me. I can imagine what went through his head, ohp another flailer, hahaha. But he was such a pro, he just used his arms and legs to contain mine and held me together so he could orient us in the right direction.
I was falling, falling, falling, and wow… how do I explain it? It felt absolutely… breathtaking. Dazzling. Surprising. Exhilarating. It’s total weightlessness, a feeling of extreme liberty and freedom. In the span of milliseconds I had become a skydiver and it was such a rush of intensity I was hardly ready for it.
A lot of people I’ve talked to imagine that stomach-lurching sensation like going down a hill on a rollercoaster, but it’s nothing like that. I just felt the shock of the wind blowing against me, the surprising cold, the breath caught in my lungs. I was falling, yes, but it’s a bit hard to get perspective from up there because you’re so high up that your senses can’t make heads or tails of where you are and so you’re just a bit disoriented. But oh man is it ever gorgeous. Those 70 seconds of freefall were so intoxicating. I tried my best to take in everything around me and admire the scenery from the sky which is a bit hard to do when you’re up there and there’s a camera in your face, haha.
My photographer’s job was to get in front of me and encourage me to make silly gestures, blow kisses, look cool, etc. I mean… how am I supposed to concentrate on this when I’m falling through the sky?! Actually can we side track for a sec and talk about how amazing and crazy it would be if you were a tandem master or sky dive photographer?
What do you do for work? I throw people out of planes. Or I jump out of planes and take pictures of people.
I wish that was my job.
When the parachute finally caught us I was completely overwhelmed with gratitude and awe for the experience I just had. Being under the chute was mesmerizing and relaxing. Your body calms down and suddenly you’re just floating like a wish from a dandelion, gently descending. The earth was approaching, coming closer and closer, and I just exchanged little bits of conversation with Scruffy and enjoyed my limbs dangling in the air. It was all coming to an abrupt end and I felt that tinge of bittersweetness. On the one hand I was so glad and relieved that I survived, but on the other I really didn’t want it to be over already. So badly I wanted to hold on to that sense of complete freedom. Mere minutes had passed since I fell from the plane and, just like that, I was plopped down in the grass, safely on the ground once again.
All in all I call it a sweeping success. I was on such a high for days after. Honestly I could not stop talking about it… must have driven my father and brother crazy.
My dad gave me a big hug when it was all done and told me I was very brave.
I felt completely invincible. My face minutes after landing says it all. I love this photo because I can actually see the wonder in my eyes…
I had to snap about the occasion, obviously. 🙂 🙂
So there it is, my first (but definitely not my last) skydive experience.
If any of you guys have ever been, I’d love to know!
Thanks for reading xoxo
I know it was a long post ;p
This morning I was notified via my wordpress app that today is in fact, my 4 year anniversary here. 4 years ago, wayyyyy back when I was but a wee university student, I decided to start a blog.
I remember having an epiphany about it one night. I remember it was very early in the am, maybe 1 or 2, but for some reason it struck me, I MUST start a blog. What would it be about? I didn’t know (I still don’t). What was I hoping to accomplish with it? No clue (and still clueless). All I knew was that it felt like something I wanted to do all of a sudden. So I went with it.
It was just a glimmer of an idea in my mind one night and for the first year I was really into it. After that I somehow got a bit mystified as to what I wanted from this and so it’s been more or less teetering on obsolescence for years. Like a fading friendship. You want to be friends, you want to see each other more, but somehow you only manage to meet for coffee once or twice a year. Before you know it you talk about the person in the past tense or think “I ought to call them”, but then it’s been so long and feels like it would be awkward. That’s pretty much me and my blog. You guys know… every entry is me coming back saying, “I’m going to blog more in 201x”, and then vanishing again for months.
My stats say it all: in 2013 I published 172 articles. In 2014- 34 (what a drop already!!). In 2015- a wistful 20, and last year a very dismal 15.
Despite my poor publishing history and utter lack of commitment, I’m still glad that I started writing here 4 years ago. Here’s to me for writing on the odd occasion, here’s to you guys for being so wonderful and taking the time to read, here’s to another year with this little blog of mine.
Cheers all around!
Hey guys do any of you remember when I said I was going to blog part 2 about my trip to New Zealand? Yeah, neither do I.
I feel like it’s time for some changes around here. I really miss writing on this blog regularly. I miss reading everyone’s work and everyone’s comments and all that jazz. The truth is I haven’t been writing too much poetry lately, nor reading it. It’s funny because when I moved to Toronto a while back I didn’t think my life would change that much other than I’d just be in a new location. Wow, was I wrong.
New location, new jobs, new living situation, new people, new friends, new hobbies, new weather. All of these things force massive change on you whether you’re noticing or not. Old habits are ripped out from under your feet and replaced with new ones. Moving here was the best decision I ever made but I definitely left a few pieces of myself behind, and they are pieces that I miss. I really want to get back into writing and sharing my poetry this year. I’ve heard a lot of talk from people saying 2016 was a terrible year and they were glad when it was over, but to me 2016 was one of the best. I faced some of the most intense challenges of my life. I grew so much.
I’m starting a new job this year, one much more in line with my authentic self and I’m excited about it. I want to learn more, do more, grow more… make a contribution, you know? 2017 feels like a very important year for some reason. More so than previous years. It’s just a feeling, of course, but I’m rolling with it.
Okay before I get too into 2017 I do want to share one particular 2016 highlight with all of you…
I went sky diving!! That’s me! 16 500 feet in the air! I never ever in a million years ever thought I’d be brave enough to go skydiving, but look! There. I did it. Like it ain’t no thang.
Hope you’re all well and enjoying 2017 so far! 🙂 Here’s to a great year.
I wish I was the one jumping off this building.
Tip toeing delicately across the platform, heart pounding in my chest, voice caught like a dead weight in my throat. Inching closer and closer as I peer over the ledge; my sanity begging me to please come to my senses. I can imagine both the fear and the exhilaration that must come from the fall. I ache for that fleeting sensation of freedom, the bewilderment of falling through the air. I can almost hear the wind whispering the secrets of the universe as I whip by it, though I imagine it’d be hard to decipher under such a circumstance.
“What’s the meaning of life?” I would cry, but I’d have already reached the ground long before I could catch the answer.
Of course I’m not talking about a 911 crisis here. I’m standing at the bottom of the Sky Tower in Auckland. It’s your typical city tower with sweeping panoramic views of a very pretty city, only for some reason someone thought “wouldn’t it be cool if we allowed people to jump off this thing?”
It’s my first day in New Zealand and I’m stood outside my hotel, gaping skyward as person after person plummets a whopping 630 feet from the top of the tower to the landing pad. I’m exhausted from the gruelling flight which stole an entire day of my life (seriously, I left Friday night and arrived Sunday morning) so maybe that’s why I’m tempted by such a crazy prospect. I think I must be losing my mind because I march straight up to the payment desk and ask how quickly they can suit me up. The clerk smiles at me and says I can suit up in 15 minutes… just as soon as I cough up $225.
This is where the story comes to a crushingly dull end. There’s no way I’m paying $225 to fall 630 feet when I can pay $400 to fall 16 500 feet. But that will come later.
It’s been a long planned trip, and for years it seemed like it was so far in the future it was never actually going to happen, but here I am in New Zealand for an entire month of adventure and camping. My father and I cooked up the idea to come here a few years ago. Let’s do it, we said. And miraculously, beautifully, joyfully… here we are. We’ve come with a hefty bucket list, keen hearts, and a sense of discovery. My older brother even decided to join in on the fun, making this the first family vacation since my childhood.
Here are some highlights from the trip so far:
Coming face to sort-of face with the Moa, New Zealand’s unfortunately extinct flightless bird. The largest of these birds could be 12 ft tall and upwards of 500 lbs, apparently. I also came face to actual-face with a kiwi bird, which I learned are more bird-mammal hybrids. The park I visited finds and raises kiwis from egg to adult in order to increase their survival rate in the wild. The cost of raising just one egg is $3000 US!!.. well worth it, I say. They are unique gems, such a joy to see and enjoy.
Hiking (oh! pardon me, tramping, as it’s called here…) Maunganui Bluff. The images above are all taken on the same hike. Can you believe how breathtaking this country is? I’m just blown away every time I wake up and admire the scenery around me. Throw a dart randomly on a map of New Zealand, and guaranteed, you’ll find something beautiful.
Seeing Te Matua Ngahere… the father of the forest. A very old, very large tree. I think there’s some debate about the actual age of this tree, but let’s just assume somewhere in the 1000s. Girth 16 41m!!
Glow worm cave tour! I actually just finished this up today. Sat in a boat and cruised in the dark through a cave lit by a stunning galaxy of glow worms.
And this isn’t even everything, I had quite the adventure in Hobbiton yesterday, but I think maybe that merits it’s own post. In any case, the further along in the trip we get, the more overwhelmed I become by just how much there is to do and see in this country. It’s hard to imagine spending any less time here. More updates to come! 🙂
Hope you guys are all doing well. If any of you have been to NZ, please drop a comment down below and give me some tips for things to do that you loved! I’d love some insight 🙂
I think I must be amongst the most disorganized of humans. Honestly some days I wonder how I even manage to wake up. Do you guys have days like this?
For example, this last Sunday my boyfriend and I decided to make an impromptu visit to Canada’s Wonderland (which turned out to be the best ever decision), and half way through the day I received a text from one of my friends which read: sorry I don’t think I can make it out tonight…
I scratched my head for a moment and then I remembered we had made plans to go see a monologue slam. Good thing she cancelled because I wouldn’t even have remembered to cancel I’m so disorganized.
and before you say it, I know what you’re thinking: Why not use a calendar?
Well I do. In fact I have an agenda that I use, a phone calendar, and a flip calendar which I keep on my desk. The problem in this last example is that I didn’t write our date in any of these.
I did, however, manage to write down a doctor’s appointment which I scheduled earlier in the week for just this morning. Last night before I went to bed I looked at my flip calendar and said to myself okay, don’t forget your appointment tomorrow morning. The appointment was for 10:30. At 11:30 I finally looked at my calendar and had that self loathing oh shit moment. There it was written clear as day: Doctor’s appointment @ 10:30.
So what was I doing that was more important than making it to my doctor’s appointment, you may ask? Making pancakes. Yup, fluffy pancakes and maple syrup took priority over finding a family doctor. Welcome to my brain. The fact that I missed this appointment is made 100 x worse by the fact that it’s literally the second time I missed it this week.
That’s right, I’m so scatterbrained lately that I forgot about the same appointment twice in the span of 4 days. The original appointment was for 10:30 on Monday, and at 10:35 I had the oh shit moment and called them right away to reschedule it for today. Sigh.
I’m writing this quickly before meeting some friends tonight. At least I’m remembering that. On my way out of the apartment I spent literally thirty minutes looking for my keys which I ended up finding in the pocket of the sweater I wore this morning when I ran late to the doctor’s office.
Once I returned a sweater to the Bay 3 years after it was given to me as a Christmas present. And yes, they did take it back.
The other morning I prided myself on only hitting the snooze button 7 times before getting up.
Is there a pill for this? Do any of you have any suggestions? I need an app on my phone with a hand that comes out and hits me upside the head to get me on track. This is why I’m such a minimalist wannabe. If I have nothing, then I will lose nothing. But I suppose even minimalism won’t help me remember doctor’s appointments.