Way, the really tall building and a chicken.

Here’s my story about a day abseiling 36 floors, a fear of heights and a chicken.
Dateline April 1998.
The Sydney City Mission (now Mission Australia) called for people to raise money and as an incentive you could throw yourself off a hotel. I am scared of heights. I am in a panic the whole time I am cleaning the gutters at home, but then it’s up to 9 metres if I fall, so it’s not exactly a walk in the park. I decided the charity might be a good opportunity to face my fears.

We spent an evening session with the charity where they talked us through the jump, showed us the equipment and to sign a waiver. It looked easy watching the instructor hanging from the ceiling. He was so confident and reassuring. Well he would, he does it for a living.

Each jumper had to raise $460.00 to secure a spot in the queue so I ran around the studio and office and my friends asking for donations…$20,00 a pop. I was really saddened by the response I got. Not one person knocked me back. Every one of them wanted to see me jump from a tall building. Some offered to help. Other’s just smiled in a wicked way. Fine group of people I know.

So, it was a matter of days before I racked up more than the minimum and sent off my forms.

The big day approached. I asked SWMBO if she wanted to come down to the quay and watch. Not only had she already arranged it but she teed up a few friends to come with her. I wasn’t really sure how to take that.

Mustering was in a function room on one of the lower floors where we were herded like sheep through various checkpoints emerging at the other end sans anything that could fall… like wallets and watches yet trussed up with the oddest assortment of rigging-climbing-safety gear that weighed a ton. I’m thinking that if I fall then this stuff is going to keep me altogether in one piece, not a pretty site, but easy to clean up I imagine. Then with all that extra weight, like, just to make sure that if you do fall then you’ll go down like a brick and none of this nancy flaying of arms and legs stuff on the way down. Going through my mind is the funny idea that if this happens then at least my wallet, watch, hat and loose change won’t have to be wiped clean before they hand it over to SWMBO.

They loaded two of us into a lift. I’ve was partnered with a real Solo man. He’s bigger than me, all he-man, all excited but and super confident yet unable to stand still. His constant jigging on the spot, like he was overdue in the men’s’ room, was starting to un-nerve me. There I was, barely managing to my fear, being freaked out by a guy, alone, enclosed in a small elevator, heading to the umpteenth floor only to walk out and jump off. I was solid as a rock up until that moment. I must have looked scared.

Something in the air tweaked. He looked over at his new buddy. I dunno, perhaps he goes rabbit shooting at night with the boys, beer and a Ute, but he looked at me in a funny way that must have reminded him of a little itty bitty furry little ferocious rabbit in his scope because he stopped moving, he stopped talking, he just stared for a second of two right into my eyes. He looked away really quickly. Perhaps it was images of the frightened rabbits flashing back into his mind the moment he pulled the trigger.

The rest of the elevator trip was spent in silence. Both of us staring right ahead, counting the numbers as each floor passed. Each number bringing us closer to the roof.

We got out at the penthouse level, were guided down the hall (so as not to make use of the Presidential suite toilet?) and into a metal stairwell that lead to the roof and open sky. So much sky. And what a view.

He started talking and posturing again. You could sniff the testosterone wafting in the cool air of Sydney in autumn. The guides watched us as we crossed the boardwalk (to protect the roof from our feet) to what looked like the modern day version of the gallows. As we got closer warm smiles met us, they looked us over, checking our gear, asking key questions to help them determine our fitness for the jump. Cunning, I thought, them couching pointed questions in casual phases but fitting because my answers were just as sincere:
“How are we today” We are scared shitless came out like Um, yep, feeling fine.
“Been looking forward to today?” Been shit scared all week sounded distinctly like Err, Yeah, can’t wait!
And “Are you ready?” Fruck no, but I gotta do it was spittled all over her shirt with Sure am, great view, huh?

Solo Man and me inched our way from the corral to the platform and were hitched up by two blokes who ran us through the procedure. You have to remember this was my first abseil off anything; we'd suffered no training other than watching an instructor hang from a few ropes in a office downtown, weeks ago. Both of us hadn’t jumped before. They'd normally send us down with a guide but they were running short or something and asked if we'd be up to going down alone. We said yes. After a few moments Solo Man had gone quiet again. And still.

Very still.

I remember the moments very clearly. I was nervous, anxious, and very excited. The adrenalin wasn’t running but everything seemed to be going in slow motion. Just not the Six Millon Dollar Man kind of slow motion, more like the motor vehicle crash test-dummy kind of slow motion. Anyway, we turned round, backed toward the edge, our guides giving us re-assurance by holding our shoulders and saying soothing things like “Don’t look down, have a great trip, are you there yet?”
Well, I am sure they didn’t say those things, but I bet they wished they did.

It gets to a stage where you then have to actually take control of things. It’s you who has to step off the building. No one is holding you anymore; they’ve let go and standing back, cross armed and smiling that same wicked smile you saw in those who threw money at you in the beginning. For me I am also standing next to Solo Man. I can't chicken out now, I couldn't live with myself.

But it was the last chance to say “no, nuh uh, not going” because once you step off they can’t get you back up again. I was sure at the time wasn’t true; they could pull you back up. You know, two or three blokes, plenty of rope laying around, that sort of thing?

I was wrong.

The moment was here, I inched back, my feet on the edge, my weight is the tension on the rope via an arm. Slowly I let my arm yield and the rope take over, and there I am; hanging by my toes on the very corner of a 36 storey building with a rope around my waist. One hand has the tail of the rope held against my thigh, the other free as a bird to wave, signal, scratch my nose or claw my way back.

Solo man has done the same next to me, together we are going to have some fun abseiling down 36 floors of granite and into the of achievement. It’ll only last five minutes at most, they told us, and so I prepare myself mentally to make the most of it. I look out across the beautiful harbour, the sky is brilliant blue, I can see the opera house, the harbour bridge, the ferries and other boats, I can see Circular Quay, other buildings and off into the distance across the harbour and to the north.

It was then I looked down.

Considering my fear of heights it wasn’t so bad. The rope felt firm, we weren’t the first down. The first time is when loose knots make themselves known. I had control of my decent and if I slipped or let go then the little itty bitty ants below me would either step safely out of the way or pull on that safety rope they had in their hands. It was rigged to stop me from falling. I looked for SWMBO but couldn’t pick her and her small crowd of wishful thinkers out from this distance.

Last thing I remember thinking before everything went haywire was it was only five minutes to enjoy this. Obviously the adrenaline was doing it’s job now but it quickly gained extra strength when I looked over at Solo Man. He was white as a ghost. We were only on the edge and ready to descend but something was wrong with him.

The guide said “Let’s go, gentlemen” or something like but they too were looking at him. I tenderly let the strain off my “stop” hand and lowered myself a foot or so. So did Solo Man. Then a bit more, all the time he’s looking at the guide and nothing else. Then a bit more. And a bit more. By the fourth time I am getting the hang of this, but it’s been less than a metre from the top and there’s about another hundred or so to go. A little more adventurous this time and I double the distance to two metres and stop with a jerk. Hmm.. I recall thinking, easy on the stop-hand. I am now lower than Solo Man and the instructor calls to me to wait. We’re supposed to go in tandem so one jumper won’t land on top of the other or whatever. It’s for safety reasons I suppose.

I wait while Solo Man comes down to my level. It’s only been two minutes or so, but for a five minute trip we’re seriously behind.

He arrives next to me, his head, still fixed on the guides, slowly turns to me. The look of abject fear on his face makes me feel so calm. Bad karma? Is it the revenge of the rabbits? Because right now I can see what the rabbits must look like on his hunting trips.

I know it’s completely safe. I know I can’t fall. And even if I let go and wave my arms and legs in the air and shout “aaaargggHHH I am falling!!!” I still won’t because the ants will pull their ropes. If they’re paying attention. Naturally, if I do that I’ll swing and face plant into the side of a hotel clad in pink granite instead. Hard, sharp, pink granite. It’s bound to smart a little.

Solo Man must think otherwise.

He tells himself he’s changed his mind. Louder he tells me he’s changed his mind. He shouts telling the Guides he’s changed his mind. The guides look at each other then look back at him, then at me, then they go backwards out of sight.

I recall wishing they hadn’t done that.

I presume Solo Man was thinking the same.

He moves across to me, I move away from him.

He stops. I stop.

This is good, I actually have nowhere to go. The part of the building we are abseiling on is near the corner. And I am near the corner. Too much to the right and I will slip round onto glass, pink granite and a change in rope-human-gravity geometry. I don’t want to mess up that triangle of love.

He says to me that he can’t go on, he wants to go back up, and that it’s okay because they really didn’t mean it when they said it’s a one way trip. I told him something along the lines that it’s going to be easier, and quicker to go down. I reassure him all is fine without suggesting he’s scared. I am thinking of ways of calming him down, not testing his manhood. I am not frightened of the height. I am frightened of what he might do in panic.

He calms down a little and we drop down a few metres over the next minute or so but he freezes again. It seems very slow to me. It must have been nearly 5 minutes already. My stop-hand is getting sore and my legs are showing signs of fatigue. After all, they’re not used to being this high, and while I am confident about where I am, my body is still quite tense, especially since Solo Man has changed his itinerary for the day.

A guide pops his head over the edge again. He’s all rigged up.

Bad move.

Solo Man seems to stop any silly "downward" ideas now that the guide seems to be coming to get him.

“Wait there, I am coming down. You on the right move to the right a bit please, and you on the left go left a bit.” Is what I think he said. Either way he came down between us and we had to make room for him. This pushed me closer to the corner and I could look around to see more of the harbour and bridge. It was fantastic.

It’s also good because there is someone I trust between me and Solo Man. Well, I don’t know so much about trust as more like a shield. He’d go before I did, and by that time I would have ignored the “stay together rule”, abseiled down and gone off to lunch. Probably enjoying a nice well-deserved glass of something red.

The guide and Solo Man discussed various options about the situation and came to a conclusion in a few moments. The Guide had decided we’re all going down together and Solo Man had decided that he was going to be pulled back up. I was fine, I was enjoying the view.

If I’d ever drawn faces on me feet as a child, and if I’d never washed them and if I’d taken my shoes off at that moment I am sure those faces on my feet would look a little upset. After nearly ten minutes and less than 10 metres my legs were quiet angry, and my stop-hand and arm had decided they were a little annoyed too.
Slowly, the Guide, with decreasing patience and increasing frustration managed to restore some of that bravado in Solo Man. We made progress. I was glad: you can only stand and look at a view for so long, and only so long perched on the side of a building like Batman without the cape and undies.

By the time we reached the bottom nearly 40 minutes had passed. The last half of the drop in only a few minutes. Solo Man had go the hang of it!

Ironically, it was there that I nearly fell over. Not because my legs were like jelly, but because Solo Man started grabbing everyone’s hands for a vigorous handshake with exception of a woman whom he hugged just as vigorously. Loudly and enthusiastically he repeated how great and exhilarating the jump was. His perpetual motion had returned with renewed energy only to be met with dropped jaws. The champion had landed and was asking how he could take abseiling classes and whether the guide belonged to a club and if he could join it too. The guide was very diplomatic. And really frightened. Obviously to avoid trouble he suggested to Solo Man to look up the yellow pages for clubs and lessons. The guide was gone like a rat out of a drain pipe: getting far away as possible from Solo Man.

I made my way down the route to the de-muster room, gathered my belongings and left the room hearing the voice of Solo Man loudly professing how great the jump was.

If ever you feel a bit run down, like you need a bit of something to give you a different perspective, or have an urge to extend yourself then I suggest you do something out of the ordinary. Life is short, and even shorter for opportunities like this. Go abseiling, or rock climbing, or do a long trek in a foreign jungle. Get out of the ordinary every once and a while. Get out of the comfort zone.



Did it cure my fear of heights?
Nope.