John here – guess the first thing you should know: I fear heights! Really, anything over ten feet off the ground and I freeze up. So zipping through a rain forest canopy was a real challenge for me.
However, zip-lining is transitional (who knew). You start off in the canopy, perched on one side of a very deep valley that you really can’t see, feeling safe within the trees all soft, lush and green, happy, until the trees disappear and there you are thrust out into the sun, hundreds of metres above the ground, flying ass first insanely across this great void above the trees, hanging from a little wire you know is about to snap, waiting for the inevitable to happen if you should make it across and then slam into the over side; expecting to die, hell no! knowing you will die – instantly. But you don’t – this gives a very false sense of security.
Rosie had the sense to return to the info centre after zip-line number 13 – I did not! Happily (foolishly) I followed my tour guide, Roy (Roy was following, honing in on, a British blonde at the time). Before I realized what was going on (remember the false sense of security?) I had climbed the Tarzan Swing three story tower and my guide had vanished.
I was up next. The staff connected my harness to a very, very thin piece of string, asked me my weight, then shook their heads? I gave them my weight in pounds, should I have given it to them in kilos or cojones. I was panicking. I knew I was way out of my comfort zone. I turned around, there where about fifteen people crowded on the staircase behind me. I noticed their simple happy smiles oblivious to their approaching fate. Don’t they know, should I tell them? I can’t, I’m in a foreign country. What the hell language would I use?
The little gate to the abyss opened: I stepped out into space.
If I survive this, I’m going fishing!