They say the feeling you get from your first ever sky dive cannot be matched by any jump after that. And we think we picked the perfect place to pop our sky diving cherry.
As part of our 6-week Norwegian road trip — because obviously, a leisurely drive wasn’t thrilling enough — we thought, “Why not jump out of a perfectly good airplane at 12,000 feet?” After all, if we’re going to do something reckless, it better be unforgettable! Our eyes lit up with excitement when we discovered Vossevangen, the extreme sports capital of Norway. Who knew?
So, we did our research and found Skydive Voss, which, judging by the oodles of good reviews, seemed like the crème de la crème of “let’s jump out of a plane!”
All booked in and buzzing with excitement, we received the dreaded news a week before our jump: canceled due to unexpected plane maintenance. Well, shoot! Just our luck! But hey, at least they were making sure the flying tin can was safe. After a series of emails and desperate plan juggling, we rescheduled for our return trip from northern Norway.
The Jump
We arrived at the airstrip with our stomachs doing gymnastics, only to find we had a bit of a wait ahead. We checked in an hour early, because why not create more time for panic? As we sat nervously, we got to watch other adrenaline junkies stuff themselves into a tiny plane before plummeting back to Earth at speeds that made our own feet twitch.
Halfway through our impatient waiting, we were told we wouldn’t be on the same plane. Seriously? We wanted to see each other’s faces as we reached peak terror and wondered if our travel insurance was up to date. Our instructors finally arrived a mere 10 minutes before we were due to jump, which accomplished nothing except to increase our collective blood pressure.
Once we met our instructors and breezed through what can only be described as a “safety tutorial for dummies,” it was time to squish ourselves into the sardine can of a plane. Packed tighter than a can of tuna, we took off, and I could feel the panic building. No turning back now!
So off we soared, headed to 12,000 feet, where the skydivers around us were a delightful mix of excitement and eccentricity. They cheered like we were at a rock concert, sharing war stories of their previous jumps and performing little hand signals as if they were about to do the Macarena before jumping out. The bizarre displays of camaraderie distracted us just enough to forget we were about to voluntarily defy gravity.
Then, it was our turn to make history. Strapped to a Norwegian dude who looked suspiciously like he was training for a Viking movie, we perched on the edge of the plane. Below us? A fluffy layer of clouds that looked pretty soft. And before I could utter a word, whoosh! We were airborne — or “airborne and regretting it” as the case may be.
Falling at 120 mph was an absolute riot! I can confirm that free fall lasts about 45 seconds, which feels like both an eternity and a split second at the same time. It was like bungee jumping, but with fewer safety nets and more air in my face. Our second instructor flew around us like a paparazzi, capturing every awkward expression as the wind tried to flip our faces inside out.
A swift tap on the shoulder from our instructor meant it was time to brace for the parachute. Let me tell you, when that chute deployed, I think my legs were momentarily considering a faceplant — they swung wildly, waving goodbye to dignity.
Now, under the canopy on our leisurely descent, the instructor must have been feeling bold. He actually let us steer! Round and round we spun! I quickly regretted my breakfast as it staged a protest in my stomach. Clearly, centrifugal forces had never heard about my penchant for bagels.
After what felt like a glorious eternity in the air, we landed with a skid on our arse and big, goofy grins plastered on our faces.
And what a way to spend a morning! Who needs coffee when you can wake up your heart rate with a little free-falling adventure?
Tight Travellers 