Will Around the World

This morning the weather was as foul as yesterday. So much for the assurances of the helihike company. Needless to say, today's helihikes were canceled. I signed up for a glacier hike instead, which is an eight-hour trip from the base. The agent told me there was one open spot on the 8:30 trek, which was five minutes away. I ran back to the hostel, grabbed my backpack and stuffed it with food and hustled back to the office.

Tourists in blue jackets; guides in red

Going up

The entire group was made up of about 40 people. We drove by bus to the parking lot. Then we walked for an hour with our gear to the base of the glacier. The hiking guides split us up into three different groups, based on how fast we thought we could move. I volunteered to join Group A. After hearing a short lecture on climbing safety, we put on our ice cleats, grabbed our picks and started the ascent. The first thirty minutes were a breeze. Guides who had been on the ice all morning created steps with their picks, making the hike easy. But after a while those steps, which were deceptively steep, took their toll on me. After an hour I was spent. Worse, my heart beat faint and fast. I felt out of breath, and the lack of oxygen made my muscles feel especially tired. Not to mention, I couldn't feel my hands anymore. (The guide told us to leave our gloves off so we could get a better grip on safety ropes. I don't know how good a grip you can make, I thought, when you can't feel your fingers.) Still, I didn't want to stop and fall behind. I sucked it up and held up the rear.

	Steve, climber from Korea

We finished our ascent at 12:30 PM: two and a half hours on the ice. We spent a relaxing hour eating our pack lunches. I met a Korean named Steve. He just graduated from high school and is now studying English in Auckland. Steve is an earnest guy. He likes listening to hip-hop and rock ("I love Oasis!") and wants to program video games.

Valley below glacier

We reached on the top half of glacier

The way down was much easier than the climb up. It only took an hour and a half to get back to base. And on the descent, the rain finally held up. The view on the glacier was gorgeous; unforunately, my camera lens fogged up, spoiling most of my shots.

When I got back to the village, there was only an hour to go before a skydive that I had signed up for. I had never skydived before; the largest motivating factor was Silke's roommate from Auckland, who was scared to death about it but was thrilled that she did it in such a beautiful setting. Although it wasn't raining, a dense layer of low clouds shrouded the mountains. I thought the dive would be scrubbed. But at 5:30, a driver from the skydive company appeared at my hostel, right on time. I went on the bus, along with five girls from the hostel. The driver, a tall woman with an upbeat attitude, promised us that the visibility was great.

The airstrip was located in a valley near Fox Glacier. It took thirty minutes to drive there. Along the way the driver answered questions and for the queasy ones, tried to temper their trepidations. Once at the airstrip, I saw the plane: a single-engine Cessna. It could only take two customers up at a time. I chose to go last. I wasn't nervous, but the other passenger on my flight—a cheerful Italian girl named Aurora—was. Two Irish girls, who were the first to go, jumped and returned to the airstrip before we went. They were ecstatic.

Robby and me

At 7:30, just before sunset, Aurora and I took off. The plane was cramped—I had to sit in the lap of my instructor, who was attached to me and would open the parachute and control it after we jumped (this is known as a tandem jump). I wasn't nervous on the ground, but flying in this small plane through clouds so thick we couldn't see a thing for one minute finally gave me the jitters. But when we broke through the clouds, the sight was glorious. New Zealand's two tallest peaks—Mt. Cook and Mt. Tasman—appeared to be floating on a bed of feathers. The evening sun bathed the snowcapped peaks in reds and oranges. (The scene reminded me of the Paramount Studios logo.) The pilot took his time circling the mountains, allowing us to snap photos of the majestic view. I was glad to go on this skydive, if only for this aerial tour.

Mt. Cook and the Southern Alps

There was more to come. Aurora jumped first. It looked like she was sucked out of the plane. My instructor, an old kook named Robby, signaled for me crawl to the hatch. I stuck my body out of the plane. The wind whipped through me. He said something to me but I could barely hear. The next thing I knew, I was hurtling through space. Robby did a barrel roll so I could see the airplane disappear from sight, but I forgot to look until it was a mere speck. Then Robby tapped me on the helmet. I spread my arms and legs out. I don't remember breathing; I only remember the air roaring in my ears (and wondering if my ears would explode), the soft clouds getting bigger and bigger after each blink, brief glimpses of the mountains and the sun. From my jump at 12,000 feet, the freefall took 45 seconds. It felt ten times longer. As we descended into the clouds, I thought, when the hell is Robby going to pull the cord? A split second later, he did. The chute's opening jerked me around. Climbing though the clouds in a plane took a few minutes, but dropping by parachute took no time at all.

With the chute open we were still traveling quite fast, but there was no longer the rush of air in my ears. It was eerily quiet. When Robby told me to look a certain way, I heard him perfectly. We broke through the clouds. I saw fields below. They were bathed in dark light. I was preoccupied with pulling my camera out of my pocket, and so I missed a lot of good views. After I got the camera ready I had time only to take a few shots of views, and unfortunately, forgot to take one of myself. Then Robby told me to prepare for landing. When I landed, I looked up and saw Aurora still floating in the sky. What a gyp, I thought.

Look out below!

During the descent I felt queasy (aside from the barrel roll and violent chute opening, Robby did a full 360-degree turn), and after I landed I didn't improve. After Aurora touched down we hugged and posed for pictures. We drove back to the airstrip to get the other customers and finally went back to Franz Josef Village. I tried hard not to lose my lunch.

Fields near Fox Glacier

I returned to the hostel at 9 PM. I had a hell of a sore throat—a gift from my French friend David in Christchurch—and had to go to the kitchen to do a salt gargle. There I found Aurora. She was cooking dinner and was looking for pasta. I went back to my room to get a package, as well as some other food to share. We had a good time cooking and eating. I learned that she is 24 and was studying economics in Wellington (New Zealand's capital) on an exchange program. Her term finished so she is touring the country. Back in Italy, she comes from the southern city of Calabria, on the toe of the boot, but studies in the far north in Milan. I liked Aurora's warm nature. She said she had a tough time making Kiwi friends (as did Silke). Even worse, she ran afoul of some ugly Americans. One of her roommates, an American, moved out to live with her boyfriend early in the term but insisted she keep her space in the flat. She left food on the shelves and in the fridge for months. Aurora eventually cleared it away, but when the roommate returned some time later and saw what happened, she snapped. I agreed that many Americans possess this "me first" attitude. Still, Aurora hopes to visit the States someday.

With skydiver Aurora

This was a long day of extremes—from trudging on earth and ice to floating in air. I enjoyed connecting to Nature, and just as much, connecting to people. On a personal level, my journey so far, in which I have come across great numbers of homogeneous Northern Europeans, has been like traveling under dark skies, but getting to know solo travelers like Steve and Aurora is like finding rays of light.

# posted by billklee @ 22:44