7 Mar 2009 - Tsitsikamma and Plettenberg Bay, Pt. 3

Saturday morning marked the biggest event of the weekend trip: jumping from the highest commercial bungee jump in the world. The Bloukrans Bridge was located just fifteen minutes West of Tube ‘N Axe Backpackers Lodge, so after a breakfast similar to the previous morning, we loaded up the trailer and piled back into the van. All morning the group had been anxious and jittery – some more excited than others, I suppose – and the short ride to the Face Adrenaline Bungee site was filled with nervous chatter and worried confessions.

The group was such a bundle of nerves that the process of checking in, paying, and getting fitted with our harnesses still seems rather fuzzy, but the feeling of sheer exhilaration was undeniable. We gaped at the 218m gap between the top of the bridge and the Bloukrans River valley below, standing on tip-toe and leaning out over the edge of the viewing deck to try to find the end of the rope that dangled from the jump spot at the center of the single-arch bridge. The differences in the ways that people processed their fear and excitement were almost as interesting as the prospect of the jump itself; some were very vocal and fidgety, seeking reassurance, others retreated into themselves and grew very stoic (though the terror still showed behind their eyes). Eventually, a guide led us out onto the catwalk that hangs on the underside of the bridge, and the group proceeded single file to the jump spot. The catwalk had been declared the most visually frightening aspect of the entire bungee jumping ordeal, because the river valley sinks beneath you as you walk across the mesh-and-grate passage, revealing the height from which you’ll be jumping.

Once we arrived at the middle, however, we were shuffled into our jumping order and greeted with the thumping, adrenaline-pumping music from the tech booth near the jumping pad. Though we’d expected the jumps to go according to weight, the order was staggered and Michelle was the first person to be tied into the leg harnesses. If we weren’t nervous enough already, the sight of her simply disappearing over the edge after the shrill, 5-second countdown sent all fifteen of us into a flurry of shrieks and yells. A flat-screen TV on the inside of an overhang by the jump pad played a live feed of the jumpers from a camera on the side of the gorge, so we were able to see what happened every time one of our group members fell out of view. It was truly bizarre.

I was the fifth jumper, so I was fitted with the leg harness while jumpers three and four were heaving themselves over the edge. While others huddled and shook in panic behind me, I slung my arms over the Face Adrenaline jumping staff and hopped to the edge until my toes curled over the rim. Until that moment, all I’d felt was pure excitement. Logically, I knew that no one had so much as needed the back-up harness when jumping from the Bloukrans Bridge, so I was never worried for my safety. But the sight of the river valley nearly 700ft below sent ripples of tension through every muscle in my body as I waited the 10-second eternity for the pre-jump countdown. The music thumped frantically at my back, mingling with the encouraging cheers of the group. The forested hills stretched up the valley and into the distance ahead of me. And all I could do was remind myself to jump forward, throw my arms out, and 3-2-1-BUNGEEEEEE!

In the four-second initial plummet – before the bungee cord begins to tug – the most striking thing is the sudden silence. Sure, the wind is whipping past your ears at an alarming rate, but in an instant, the music disappears, your friends’ cheers have faded, and you are simply dropping down, down towards a green expanse of cascading mountain cliffs. Your stomach flips a few times, but then you feel the sharp tug on your ankles and all of the blood rushes to your head as you begin to bounce upwards again. Your hands dangle freely overhead as you float up in the middle of the valley – a peculiar, inverted Y. You feel gravity taking over again after a moment of weightlessness, and so begins the cycle of falling down and springing up, plunging and levitating. The head rush is disorienting, but the beauty of the wild, Tsitsikamma forest spinning upside down around you is an overwhelming source of calm…

Out of nowhere, a disembodied voice greeted me with a perfunctory “hello”, and then a pair of legs appeared in my line of vision. A few seconds of jostling and the clicking of a carabineer signaled the beginning of our ascent back to the bridge. As we approached, a camera appeared over the edge of the concrete arch and I waved as animatedly as possible. When the bungee staff had finished pulling me back onto the bridge and freeing my legs from the harness, I jumped to my feet and ran over to the rest of the group, which still clustered at the center of the jump area, watching the screen as another person dove off the side.

The first seven jumpers had to exit the bridge so as not to overwhelm the people in the souvenir shop, so we walked back across the catwalk and into the Face Adrenaline shop to see (and purchase) our pictures and DVDs of the jumps. Soon, the other eight jumpers joined us, and we all recounted the jumps we’d had or seen.

Jordan’s jump was of particular interest, given that it resembled something of a feet-first cannonball rather than a graceful swan dive. For many people, the adrenaline high and the feeling of success that followed the daring feat brightened spirits for the rest of the afternoon. We drove the half hour to Plettenberg Bay, where we checked in at Albergo Backpackers Lodge just a few blocks from the beaches, and then ate lunch at a café on the corner, before splitting up to see the town.

Plettenberg Bay bore a striking resemblance to the coastal towns of southern California, except that the streets were eerily vacant of traffic and people. The steep hillside sloped towards the sea, tiered with white stucco, orange-roofed buildings and fancy, walled-off villas. The bright blue Indian Ocean sparkled down the hill, beyond the tops of the main road’s shops and restaurants, and the mountainous bay curved in a wide arc into the hazy distance. Palms and other African flora swayed in the afternoon breeze as Dan, Jill, and I made our way down a secluded path to a boulder-strewn beach. The little “undiscovered paradise” upon which we stumbled became an irresistible photo-op, and aside from a five star resort somewhere out of sight on the cliffs above us and a few fishermen on the rocks far to our right, we had the cove to ourselves. Waves rushed in and swept out as we climbed the rocks in the surf, and then we maneuvered our way up and out of the cove towards the bay along the cliffs. Only after an hour of wandering the Plettenberg coastline did we decide to walk back up the impossibly steep hills toward the hostel.

We met up as a group at 7PM and walked back to the main road for dinner at a slightly fancier restaurant than we usually frequent, and then stopped for ice cream next door before walking back for an early night in the Albergo dorm. Twelve of us shared six bunks in one of the upstairs rooms, and the inevitable antics that coincide with such a large group kept everyone awake until nearly midnight.