Queenstown, New Zealand.

19/09/11 - 22/09/11

Our 7am flight from Auckland landed about an hour later at the smart and modern Queenstown airport nestled below the spectacular "Remarkables" mountain range. The bus into town passes by beautiful lakes that remind us of Bariloche. The similarities end there as Queenstown is full of modern low rise apartments painted an ugly grey, tour agencies, shops and bars. Our hostel, Pinewood Lodge, looks worryingly like a university campus' student halls of residence situated beneath a forested hill overlooking the town.

(On our last night in Queenstown our concerns about our hostel bearing resemblance to a student halls were fully realised when the pungent fog from our neighbours spliffs set off the smoke alarms.....)

Our colleagues at our previous jobs had decided to show us how much they were going to miss us by buying us a ticket to jump out of a plane.......Our adventure day started with a 7am wake up for an 8:15 start at the offices of Queenstown Combos. After registering we had just enough time for a coffee and a sandwich before walking to the N-Zone office a couple of doors further down the street to sign our lives away and purchase a neat video package as evidence of the impending lunacy. At the airstrip 20 minutes out of town we watched as one group went up in the small Cessner plane and emerged as tiny specks high in the sky to float down gracefully. I wasn't nervous by this point, but excited with anticipation - if Katy was nervous, she was hiding it well. We were ushered into a hangar to get fitted into jumpsuits and harnesses. The team on the ground are encouraging and enthusiastic, yet the only "training" or "advice" they seem willing to proffer is to make sure that you don't look down! This is more for the benefit of the camera operator who will jump out with you so they can fully document your terror rather than the top of your head.

We are introduced to our respective camera operators and jump partners and then board the plane. We are all seated on the floor, all lined up as in a rowing boat. My camera guy is constantly taking snaps and waving his hand at me with index and little fingers raised which gets pretty irritating after a while.

It's a smooth and easy ride up through the cloudless sky to 12,000ft. I'm first to go - the roller door is whisked up and the photographer gets out and perilously perches on the side of the plane hanging onto the door frame, whilst my instructor manoeuvres us so that my legs are hanging over the edge being blown by the air rushing past - now I'm nervous.

I can't seem to get into the correct "banana" position as we had been instructed, so whilst I attempt to calm my nerves and tell my legs to behave themselves the madman behind me leaps into thin air. Unfortunately I'm strapped to him. The most intense feeling of panic and terror swept over me as we plummeted from the plane door. There was a bizarre feeling of disorientation as at first I didn't realise that the b****** had made us fall backward and upside-down. After milliseconds of analysis I concluded that I was surely doomed and therefore should just enjoy my final moments - so I screamed. One of the many things they had not warned us of about plummeting through the air at speeds of 200mph was the ear popping sensation you get on an aeroplane magnified a thousand times causing a throbbing, searing pain from my right ear through to my brain. A few frantic and futile attempts at "equalising" were followed by an over-whelming sense of exhilaration. This was ace - I screamed some more.

The wind is deafening -roaring past my ears which are still throbbing in agony. It fills my mouth and lungs making me feel as though I'm drowning on air. I struggle to look up and tear my eyes away from the ground rushing towards me - meanwhile the cameraman is gesticulating and waving at me to get some reaction. How anyone has any time to think of anything other than screaming is beyond me at this point.

After 40 seconds of free-falling the instructor releases the parachute and the harness is unceremoniously yanked firmly causing me to wince slightly as it chafes my upper thighs. Now with legs dangling below me, there is a serene silence and I can see around me for miles. We float gently down past the snow capped mountains, among the green valley and towards the people at the base who look like tiny dots below. Everything seems so silent and calm and I feel totally relaxed. All of a sudden the ground is hurtling up to greet us. I raise my legs to a sitting position as instructed and we skid smoothly to a halt, safe and sound. Katy floats down shortly after me and lands with much more style. Both of us are jubilant now that we're safely on terra firma. A life's ambition fulfilled - but it was all over so quickly!

We get dropped back into town where we have time for a "legendary" Ferg Pie before we board another bus from the rafting company to their base on Shotover River. After changing into wetsuits, a minibus drives us to their helicopter landing zone - a small flat grass area overlooking the valley and lakes of Queenstown. Our guide looks like a slightly gnarled version of a young Roger Daltrey. He's pretty funny in an obtrusive redneck kind of way and tries to make everyone feel relaxed. Katy and I are in the second group to board the helicopter. This is another first for us and a weird, exciting experience - I think I've wanted to go in a helicopter since I was a kid watching "The A-Team" or "Airwolf" on tele! 10 or so dizzying minutes later we land by the riverside at the rapids starting point, both feeling a bit queasy after the over under sideways down rollercoaster motion of the crazy chopper ride.

Now fully dressed up in wetsuit, waterproof coat, waterproof socks and boots and hefty life vest I felt like the Michelin man when we stood by the waters edge for the safety briefing. As the instructor continued to emphasise the importance of the safety procedures, we soon realised that this was going to be much more than the gentle boat paddle we had envisaged and suddenly we were quite nervous.

It started gently enough by practising manoeuvres as commanded by our pleasant and chatty guide Heath. Partly due to the fact that we had all signed a waiver on the bus and partly due to the briefing, I think everyone in the boat was terrified of falling in the icy water so our group was doing well with a focussed rowing rhythm. The rapids soon got progressively heavier and we were now on rapids of grades 3 and 4. The team was concentrating on maintaining an even paddle and listening for further instruction from Heath; who was content to sit at the back as rudder, cracking jokes and telling stories about other groups who hadn't listened so well.....

As the raft thundered through the churning waters, we were soon completely soaked through. This was worse for me and the other chap sat at the front of the raft as at every crashing drop, we were greeted with a face full of water, receiving the full blow and shielding everyone behind us. I was also bestowed with the dubious sole privilege of sitting at the prow of the raft and paddling through the pitch black and low ceilinged tunnel section.

16km and 2 hours later we reached the finishing point after the final crashing rapid. By now my foot was throbbing from wedging it into the side of the boat to prevent falling in. I couldn't justify my nervousness but it was an amazing experience and a thrilling end to an action packed day!

We rounded off our detour to the south island with a day trip to Milford Sound - a fjordland national reserve west of Queenstown. We got picked up from the hostel at half 6 for the long drive through the beautiful countryside; acres of farmland with sheep and cows, rolling green hills and lakes and rivers with spectacular mountain ranges as a backdrop. Our bus driver is a chatty old character of the sort you might find propping up the end of the bar in your local pub, the one espousing his views on anything to anyone within earshot. Local history, flora and fauna were subjected to an opinionated and slightly racist critique with only the vaguest hint of actual fact, along with numerous mildly amusing but totally unnecessary personal anecdotes.

The road leads through beautiful woodlands with beech trees and silver fern - the trees are dressed in fur coats of lichen and moss. From the Homer tunnel through the Darran Mountains, we emerge into the staggering natural amphitheatre of the enormous fjord; snow melt forming dozens of mini waterfalls cascading down the steep mountain sides. The remnants of previous avalanches lie in a heap by the roadside. Down below at the waters edge there is a smart ferry port with information about the area. The Mitre Peak Tours boat motors along for 2 hours in the deep blue waters around the base of steep cliffs to which trees cling on precariously amid streams of waterfalls whilst low hanging cloud drape around the top. Mitre Peak is a particular formation of mountains that is featured on many a postcard from the region, but today this natural wonder is eclipsed by another unexpected encounter. From the corner of my eye I noticed a movement on the horizon which caused me to do a double take. And then I couldn't believe my eyes as I saw a huge creature lunge and crash back down into the water followed by its huge tail. Other people began to notice after I excitedly began pointing to Katy and the boat surged off in the direction of the sighting where we were treated to an up-close sight of a migrating Southern Right Whale. An amazingly rare treat; the boat skipper said that he hadn't seen one in this area in about 10 years - magical!

Deano x