Canyon Swing

When Owen challenged me to complete the Shotover Canyon Swing in Queenstown, I knew it was going to be an easy ride. That’s not to say I wasn’t looking forward to it; on the contrary, since ditching my terrified mother at the front of The Hulk Rollercoaster at Disney, aged around ten and finally tall enough to face the adult rides, I have always sought out the biggest dips, loops, drops and plunges. Some might argue that I am courageous for braving such feats as skydiving or jumping from waterfalls into the pools below, but I believe bravery is about overcoming fears. If you’re not scared to begin with - it doesn’t count. Get me to complete the seemingly less fearsome tasks of driving a moped or walking a slackline and you will see that, often, I will shun the task after a pathetic attempt, owing to my poor balance and fear of hurting myself. Therefore, I believe, it is not bravery which allows me to walk without rising pulse or clammy hands to the edge of a cliff and jump off, it is the blind surety that the situation is out of my weak control and, rather, lies in the hands of competent staff who fasten ropes around my tummy and haul me up to safety at the correct moment. My general rule is, if I could put my life in the hands of someone else, a machine, fate, or myself, it should never be the latter.

So, Year of the Challenge in mind, I was hoping something would arise which would allow me to consider the canyon swing a challenge rather than a fun activity. After all, no one wants to read about how I cooly jumped off a cliff and felt the wind rush through my hair - there’s no story in it. Fortunately for this post (and rather unfortunately for her), I was traveling with Lucy who is terrified of falling and not a huge fan of heights. Therefore, it seemed fitting (if slightly unfair) that I cajole her into completing the swing with me so at least one of us could document the feeling of overcoming a fear. As Queenstown approached, Lucy - never one to skirt a challenge completely - decided that the canyon swing was out of the question, but compromised on riding the Flying Fox with me instead. This was an excellent decision, as going from avoiding all height-related-thrills, straight to hurtling through the air on a world-famous 60 metre drop, would probably be enough to put anyone off heights again. It would be the equivalent of forcing little Hubert, already struggling with counting to ten, to learn calculus. In other words, it would be really shit, and even if Lucy (or little Hubert) wasn’t utterly traumatised by her experiences, it would probably put her off doing anything-of-the-sort ever again.

Once we had booked the fox and swing, the only thing to do was to wait and hope they weren’t called off owing to snowy conditions. Lucy did a good job of pretending to be happy when the day came round without blizzards or thunderstorms, and we drove over in our Wicked Campervan to meet our fellow thrill-seekers and guides. It was a particularly cold day, promising a light dusting of snow, and we were told to wrap up warm as the temperature would only drop further as we ascended. A relatively new invention, the Queenstown Flying Fox is quite extraordinary: whereas most flying foxes compete over how fast the participant zips down the line, or how high up they are, this one boasts a terrifying addition: the participant begins their descent on a pole, hoisted above the level of the line. After a few metres, they drop onto the zipline, from where the participant speeds towards the other side. This offers all the jolly fun of a regular flying fox, with the added thrill of a free-fall which - although small compared to the canyon swing - comes almost unexpectedly and, as such, is actually quite scary. Lucy was not impressed. Nonetheless, she did an excellent job of keeping her shit together. It didn’t help that the staff’s selling point of this particular ride was that it was relatively new and untested, and that we were guinea pigs to see if it was safe enough to keep as a Queenstown attraction. They emphasised the pressure falling from the pole had on the zipline, and - of course - got us to sign our lives away on a document outlining any risks. The fear-mongering was just for show, but I’m sure it had its desired effect.

We waited for the other participants to complete their rides, but soon enough it was only Lucy and me left on the wrong side of the gulf. It was now or never. The guides, joking around as they had done with previous clients, jolted Lucy in a mocking attempt to push her off the side. Although not literally, this was enough to push poor Lucy over the edge. I watched helplessly, feeling a little guilty, as her eyes welled up. Heroically, she persevered, but not without giving the instructor a bit of a telling-off. At first, she requested the “easier” option of sitting sideways with a smaller free-fall, but eventually she was pushed down forwards like the rest of us and, as she disappeared from sight, I hoped she was having fun and not feeling utterly traumatised. There was only one way to find out and that was to join her on the other side. I opted for the “run and jump” and flung myself down the length of the pole. The drop felt out of place with the zipline experience and definitely did its job of adding to the thrill. I was overjoyed to see a smiling Lucy at the other side, who admitted she was pleased to have completed the challenge, even if it was well out of her comfort zone. I felt proud of my friend and we shared a hug as we waited to be zipped - minus the drop - back to the other side. From the opposite side of the gulf, we were able to watch the canyon swingers and discussed which of the jumps I would take.

Indeed, as my Nanna would say, “there’s no rest for the wicked”, and immediately after completing the fox, we were ushered along to the swing. Whichever way you look at it, you’re free-falling 60 metres through the air, but the company offered different approaches to the jump nonetheless. All the jumps, ranging from sitting on a chair and being tipped over, to hanging upside down with a teddy dressed as a gimp, were rated with different levels of knickers (the highest number = the more pants-wettingly scary the challenge). Although I was tempted by one of the more niche options, the two rated highest in challenge were tipping off the side backwards or doing the “pin-drop”, aka bunny-hopping off the side, keeping your hands behind your back. I imagine this is rated so highly because most people have an innate compulsion to hold onto the rope when falling.

After a great deal of deliberation, I opted for the pin-drop. However, as I was being kitted up, the instructor told us all of their unique policy: you’re allowed a second jump for free if you decide to do it naked. I was overjoyed. Not only would I get the opportunity to complete both jumps, I’d also be able to write the swing story up as a more amusing challenge. That’s not to mention the fact that I’d asked Lucy to film my jump and, leaving her none-the-wiser, found the thought of her suddenly seeing a naked mass of flesh flying through the air to be particularly amusing. I was astounded that no one else seemed particularly game for this idea: even the group of stags who’d flown across the world to complete the swing refused to jump unclothed. Was I missing something here? I double checked with the instructor that he wasn’t having me on and he confirmed that - yes - I could indeed jump twice under those compromising conditions.

New plan in mind, I decided to change my starting drop from the pin to going over backwards. My logic was simple: I’d rather do a pin-drop naked than be lowered, abseiling-style, by the instructor without my wearing any clothes. Asked why it mattered, I told our instructor to picture lowering down a naked woman backwards. I assured him it would not be a pretty sight. Legs akimbo and feet up, he would catch a fleeting but horrifying vision of my lady-parts splayed in all their unshaven glory, hurtling towards oblivion, lips wide open like some ungodly scream. You must remember, dear reader, that I’d been living out of a Beastie Boys van with only a girlfriend for company, so I’d not bothered with any pruning. I am certainly game for naked frivolities if it adds to the thrill, but I am no exhibitionist, especially when the exhibition would be in such a sorry state.

So, jump one: backwards I fell, complete with clothes, and in the first moment I experienced that heart-in-throat thrill that can only be caused by the sensation of falling. Whether or not you trust an instructor to pull you to safety, I believe there is an innate reflex in humans - presumably lacking in lemmings - where the sensation of tipping over defies all logic to feel wholly petrifying. After this initial thrill, however, I rested easily, enjoying the fall as I hurtled towards the stream at the bottom of the gulf. Of course, going backwards, I could not see the bottom, but instead took particular delight in watching mountain goats frolic from rock-to-rock on the precarious cliff-edge. In truth, and probably to a fault, I spent most of the short time I was left swinging at the bottom thinking about how excited I was to complete my next jump. Hoisted back up, I felt like an over-zealous Tellytubby: “Again again, again again!” I might as well have tittered, and as I reached the top I asked if I could remove my harness to undress. However, I was to be sorely disappointed. My initial instructor, now no longer in sight, had been replaced by a stern-faced youth who informed me that I was not allowed to complete my second jump in the nud. Devastated, I questioned why this was so. He made the rather convincing argument that, as it had begun snowing, I was at risk of hypothermia if anything were to go wrong with the swing. I was of the opinion that, if anything were to go wrong with the swing, I’d probably have more to worry about than a touch of frost, but he was unmovable. Even after I begged to sign a waiver alleviating his company of any blame, he steadfastly refused.

Like some sort of stroppy teen, I felt my experience had been tarnished by this denial. I had not even had the chance to complete a pin-drop, for which I had been most excited, and - in anticipation of the second jump - hadn’t fully appreciated my first. Nonetheless, the company have a two-jump policy whereby the second jump is discounted (although not free), so I decided to leave my huff behind and end on a high by completing the pin-drop, even if I had to bear the indignity of remaining fully clothed. I much preferred this jump. The thrill of jumping off without aid left even a seasoned thrill-seeker like me scared, and the jump felt faster, perhaps because I was streamlined with my hands kept behind me. Indeed, this is the jump that exerts the highest G-force on the body. If anyone is to complete the canyon swing themselves, I highly recommend choosing it. Left at the bottom for half a minute or so, in a light cover of snow, I must admit it would have been pretty chilly were I not to be wearing anything, though I maintain adrenaline would have pulled me through.

I shan’t bore you by going into too many extra details, but I did ask for a discounted price on the experience - either on the merchandise (photographs and videos of the fox and swing) - or on the second swing itself. I maintain that, as I was promised a free naked swing by a company representative, it was unfair that I had to pay for my second. After all, I would have been denied my preferred pin-drop were I not to have been able to afford the second jump. Although my request fell on the deaf ears of a jobsworth, another representative overheard and secretly passed me a memory stick of all the photographs from that day, Lucy’s flying fox included (hence the top quality of the piccies in this post!) We agreed this sympathetic lady was an asset to the company, as her act of generosity left us both in good spirits.

Overall, the experience was tough on our limited budgets, but totally worth it as a one-off. If you ever find yourself in Queenstown and wish to complete one of its many attractions, I would thoroughly recommend the canyon swing. If, like Lucy, you’re not a fan of falls, challenge yourself to the Fox: it won’t disappoint!

(Alternatively, if you’re in the area and can’t stomach either… just play real-life Mario Kart on the Luge instead. It’s wonderful fun).