Parasailing in the Bay of Islands

We had one of those now infamous New Zealand "perfect storms" hit us again this past weekend. For three straight days, the wind bent the trees in half and it poured. The big sail that shelters patrons from the sun in the back garden bar of the resaurant broke again--the wooden beam supporting it snapped in half. I don't know how many inches we got (or millimeters, as they say here), but it was a lot. The wind was so strong that the ferries stopped running for a couple of days.

But, as a veteran of Kiwi weather hell, I marched on...to the pub, to drown my liver in alcoholic bliss. What else is there to do in a small town when it rains? Really, though, what else is there to do when you live in Russell? It gave me ample time to think of thematic nuances for the bar I'm going to open up one day -- The Spotted Liver. Which will adjoin Cirrhosis Lounge for an evening of probably very forgettable fun.

My day off greeted me with, quite surprisingly, fantastic weather. And there are few places that can match the aesthetic quality of The Bay of Islands on a sunny day. I've been wanting to go parasailing in the bay for quite some time, and a new colleague at the restaurant joined me for 20 minutes of adrenaline secretion today. What views! At 1,200 ft., it's the highest parasail in New Zealand. A good, if sometimes dizzying, time! On to the proof...




Ascending upward as the boat takes off. You get strapped in, with someone else beside you, to a harness, which connects to the parachute, which launches from the back of the boat. You never get wet. We were the only ones on the boat, so the skipper was kind enough to keep us up in the air twice as long as usual--about 20 minutes. As he turns the boat, the rope slackens, you fall almost to water level before he turns again and you quickly ascend back up to 1200 ft. With the wind whipping around over open water, you can get jostled a bit at the top, making for a few stomach-churning moments. Keep in mind: I'm a control freak. That's psycho-babble for a wimp. The worst thing that could happen is if the parachute gets twisted and you plunge over a 1000 ft to your watery grave. But, get this, you have a life jacket on! They'll have no problem finding your bruised corpse and Fed-Ex'ing it back to the States!

Racing toward Paihia, across the bay from home.

Those sunglasses belong on Posh Spice. That is not Posh Spice.

That's Russell behind us.

Somebody should have shaved for his photo-op, but he shall remain nameless. No unibrow action, though, so points for that.

Russell.

I tried to get a picture of the parachute above us. Not so much.

It's a long way up. And down. That's the boat that we're attached to. I'm sorry...to which we are attached.

Looking over New Zealand coastline.

This is the best position to be in when the two guys on the boat say, "that cord looks frayed. Remind me to check on that if we can pull these two back."

Looking West, over Paihia.

Looking North, over the Waitangi Treaty Grounds, where it all started for the Kiwis.

The sea and stuff.

The fresh air, the water, the panoramic view...the eggs I had for breakfast sneaking back up the esophageal track.

Mom, that's for you. If you still read this.

Getting reeled in.

I'm parasailing in the Bay of Islands, New Zealand. Pretty cool. I bought a t-shirt to commemorate the event. Even cooler.

Not a bad view.

Looking East, past Russell, just visible on the extreme right. The Eagle's Nest, one of the planet's more outrageously priced luxury resorts, is nestled right in front of you, among the trees at the top of the hill.

Still attached.

Working my life-saving parachute...