Rack 'n' ruin

We woke up the next day and decided that we just hadn't had enough of heights and fear. Or rather, one of us decided that and the other decided that nothing could be worse than bungy jumping, so any other high-flying activity (except skydiving, which was ruled out due to expense, to the great disappointment of one and the great relief of the other) should be a cakewalk. Such was the theory.

So we slapped on the sunscreen (something we neglected to do the previous day, and we both got mildly sunburned) and hit the road to Taupo again, heading for a high-ropes course called Rock'n'Ropes. Perhaps I should have been offput by one of the testimonials on their brochure, which said something like: "I've done skydiving and bungy jumping before; this challenged me more." But I disregarded this caveat, thinking that it couldn't possibly be harder and scarier, as we weren't nearly as high off the ground, and the goal was in this case to stay put and not to fall off something high.

The instructor and owner of the place, Glenn, was fantastic. He was very nice and funny ("I'm going to have to talk slowly, there's an Irishman here" and "Well, what do you expect from an American?" comments were frequent), but he takes safety seriously. We were given harnesses and helmets. He taught us to belay each other and how to "lock off" the belaying rope so our partners wouldn't fall. He then asked who was afraid of heights. Thinking of the previous day's bungy jumping, I half-raised my hand. "You two, over to the rickety bridge then!"

The rickety bridge was exactly what it sounds like - a rickety wooden bridge suspended between two poles about 35 feet off the ground. The bridge isn't called rickety for nothing - it wibbles and wobbles all over the shop. And there's no handrails. Oh, and you have to go over it twice - once forwards, then a second time - backwards.

Leslie decided I should go first, which made Glenn decide Leslie should go first. He climbed the poll, which is about the size of a telephone poll but has small iron handles in it to be used as handholds and footholds. You climb it as you would a ladder. He didn't seem to have any trouble getting onto the bridge itself, but once he got onto it it began shaking and wobbling. He stayed focused, though, and crossed to the other side, then backwards back to the first pole. I lowered him to the ground then, and it all didn't seem too taxing for him.

When he got back down he said it was a frightening experience since he'd been shaking all over the place, but he recommended keeping your head up, looking at the opposite pole and not looking down at the bridge. "Your feet will find the bridge," he said.

I climbed the pole. It was a lot harder than I thought, just climbing. The first few feet were fine, but when I started getting high my breath started coming shorter, and I felt the fear of being up high. I climbed until I was below the bridge, but the next handhold was over it and I couldn't reach it to pull myself up. Glenn was underneath me and counseled that I should push myself off on my legs without holding onto anything in order to get high enough to reach the next handhold.

That didn't seem possible. I decided I lacked the armstrength and legstrength required for such a task. "I can't," I said. "I'm coming back down." I lowered myself to the next peg down, but the rope Leslie was holding was taught and I couldn't go down any further.

"Oh, no, you're not," Glenn said. "No one climbs down on my ropes course. You can fall off, or you can be lowered, but once you're up there those are your only options." I decided to take one of those. "I'm going to fall," I said. "I'm going to let go. I can't do this." I was trembling.

"Yes, you bloody well can," he said, and hooking his harness to the pegs as he climbed, he came up after me. He climbed up the pole until he was directly below me, then pointed to what I needed to do. It was the same advice he'd given from the ground, but having him up there with me made me feel safer. And braver - I couldn't very well let go with him standing right there. So I did what he suggested, and I didn't fall. I got on the bridge.

Crossing the bridge was actually not nearly as difficult as getting onto it. It was scary, and it did shake and wobble, but I managed to cross it by keeping my eyes fixed in place on a single knot on the wood opposite me. I baulked again when it came to doing it backwards, but with Glenn still standing on the pole behind me I couldn't very well say I wasn't doing it. And actually, going backwards proved to be easier than going forwards.

When I got back to the ground, I was shaking, but I hadn't fallen. Neither of us fell all day, in fact, and Glenn said it was very rare for people to fall. It did happen, but it was rare. The bridge proved to be the hardest activity, and Glenn said that was the case for almost everyone - the first activity was the hardest, no matter what it was.

The next activity we went to was the easiest, as you got to hold onto something. You stood on a wire, held another wire at about chest-level, and walked sidewise to the opposite pole. Climbing the pole itself was probably harder, as I wasn't sure if my arms, now trembling from my bridge experience, could hold me. But they did, and going across the wire, while scary, wasn't as completely terrifying as the bridge had been.

We then went across a three-wire bridge, where you held onto two wires at waist level and walked across one. Leslie found this one to be the hardest, as the wire shook and swayed wildly as you walked, and if you didn't keep your arms straight out to your sides the modicum of stability provided by the two handrail wires would collapse. I had done an activity like this before at camp, part of a school or chorus bonding exercise. In that case I panicked and brought in my arms, and I fell (not far, as then, like in New Zealand, we were held up with harnesses). I felt vindicated this time, as I kept my arms out and my eyes forward, and I got across the wire without mishap.

The penultimate activity involved climbing a pole slightly taller than the others, then standing on it. From there you had to leap to a trapeeze a few feet away. Standing up on the pole was the most difficult part of this, as you had nothing to old onto or steady yourself with as you stood on the pole. I went first, and when I got to the top, my resolve not to be a sissy wavered. It seemed very high indeed, and standing up on top of a pole with no support seemed ludicrous. "I..."

"If you say you can't, I'm cutting your ropes," barked Glenn from the ground. "Put your weight on your left leg and straighten your right." Having no choice, I did as he said. I did stand, and I was supposed to count to three and leap for the trapeeze. I counted to three and jumped, but I was just jumping off. I wasn't aiming for the trapeeze and it was no surprise I wasn't even close to it. I knew I was safe in my support harness, and I mostly just wanted to be off the pole.

Leslie, however, caught the bar with no problem. When I had stood up on the pole, Glenn had allowed me to hold onto the ropes attached to my safety harness. They didn't provide any stability or make it less likely I would fall, as they were attached to me and would fall with me. But it made me feel better to hold onto something. Leslie got no such coddling.



"Hands off those ropes! Hey, hey, none of that!" Glenn knew Les wasn't as scared as I was, and he was going to make him do it the hard way. But he managed stand up even without holding onto anything, and his leap to the trapeze was graceful. He caught it easily and swung there for a while before being lowered to the ground.

The final activity was jumping off a platform on what they called the "Giant Swing." Your harness was attached to a high point, and you jumped and swung back and forth in your harness. This was slightly uncomfortable, as the harness cuts into your legs after a while, but it wasn't as scary as the rest of the activities, as you weren't relying on your own strength to get you anywhere. It was all out of your hands, which I found reassuring.




After all that clambering around and shaking and sweating, I decided we should take advantage of the area's natural hot springs to relax. It was wonderful to have a nice, hot soak after all that testing of muscles. It stank, of course, as all the hot springs did. But it was worth it, and I think we certainly earned it.