flying high with flying kiwi

About two weeks before I left Paihia, I got a surprise text from Taylor: want to go parasailing?!

Um, yes.

The weather conspired against us for a few days, but the day we got out on the water was the best day we’d had in two weeks. The sun was shining, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, it was warm and the water was calm. We honestly couldn’t have manufactured a better day for this adventure. It also happened to be the day that a power line went down on the road into town, so we were essentially stuck had we wanted to leave in the first place. My day had gotten off to an interesting start thanks to this power line, so I was racing against the clock as I made my way toward town. I met Taylor and Tobyn on the pier and we walked down to the boat.

Jonny and Andy were there, as were four others, an Australian family on holiday. We crowded onto the boat after signing our lives away and we headed out into the bay. If you have never seen an aerial view of the Bay of Islands, here you go. There are somewhere in the neighbourhood of 144 islands scattered between the Kerikeri inlet and Cape Brett. Paihia is the tourism base for most of the outdoor activities in the Bay; Russell is the historical town and Kerikeri is the commercial centre.

Once upon a time, back when New Zealand was being settled by Europeans, this area, and Russell in particular, was known as the Hellhole of the Pacific. It was Jack Sparrow’s Tortuga (in my mind.) Brothels, bars, hellions of all sorts; these were the kinds of white people that took up residence here.

Once out in the bay, the guys began hooking people up to various harnesses. The Australian parents went first, their kids filming every reaction and movement of the parasail. The kids went second, taking their cameras up with them, mom in the boat with her iPad taking pictures of them.

We went last, the three of us. Andy passed out life jackets, handed us harnesses, told us how to step into them. He tightened them and we sat uncomfortably waiting our turn to hit the skies.

We stuck Tobyn in the middle and got our instructions: “keep your hands away from this clip,” “when you land, stick your feet out in front of you,” “land on your ass.”

Got it.

The Australians offered to take photos of us with their GoPro (one reason I have taken so long to post this; I was hoping to get those from the kids – never did) as none of were about to take our phones up with us and my GoPro was dead at the time.

Jonny put the boat into motion and all of a sudden the line attaching us to the boat began spiralling out, the parasail caught the wind, and we were up, up, and away. It was… like a slow motion fast. I could sense that we were flying, but it didn’t feel like it. We soared – it’s really the only word for it. The line went taut and then we were gliding on the wind. When the boat turned, we did too – eventually. The boat went in circles, we did too. The guys bounced the line, we definitely felt that. And when they slowed and the line went slack, we dropped like a sack off potatoes.

It was exhilarating. It was fantastical. It was mesmerising.

The views were to die for. The islands spread out under us like a lush green and blue blanket. The beaches lined the shores with white golden sands, minuscule people dotting them like freckles on a tan face. We could see into the hills, the forest stretching for miles inland. We could see out to Cape Brett, we could see into the inlet. We saw the sailboats under us, their shadows light on the cerulean water. We were giddy with excitement.

We also knew we could flip upside down, given the chance. Tobyn took it. Letting his hands off the harness, he kicked his legs back and swung them over the bar. Taylor tried it next, her sunglasses clasped to her head with one hand and her other hand leveraging her. I tried it third, my nerves getting the better of me. What if I fell!?

I tried it three times, finally getting my head upside down and hanging there in limbo, my legs out toward the sky, my head facing the water. It’s an unusual position for a human to find themselves in, is really all I can say about it. I’m also totally not in the right agile state to do that; you really ought to be a regular yoga practitioner to be able to swing your legs up above your head while hanging from a harness 1200 feet in the sky, or at least do that often enough to be skilled at it. I am not.

We wanted so badly to see dolphins from up there, to see their limber, lithe bodies skimming across the near surface of the water, their heads breaking the surface for a breath. Sadly, they didn’t grace us with their presence. We also wondered what it would be like to see a whale, or a shark, from the sky. Their dark massive shapes gliding under the surface, a blow maybe the only indication to the boats that a whale was there, a thin fin slicing through the water the only indication that a shark was nearby. But we would know, we said. We would be able to see it in its entirety, from up in the sky. Neither of those made an appearance either.

Finally – too soon – it was time to come back down. It happened so gently, so quickly, that I didn’t notice it was happening. Just, all of a sudden, we were lower than we had been. Closer to the boat. We passed over a sailboat, the tip of their mast a mere twenty feet below us. They didn’t even look up.

As we got closer and closer to the boat, the boat slowed, the line went slack, and we dipped into the water. Our toes first, then our legs, then our butts. Finally we were allowed on to the back of the boat, legs stuck out in front like we were supposed to. We were unclipped and we stepped back into the boat and sped toward the pier.

*Many, many thanks to the lads at Flying Kiwi for this remarkable adventure – your music and jokes made the outing a real pleasure. Thanks also for the aerial pictures. Cheers, and see you next summer!*

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