With a raised heartbeat and a pump of adrenalin, the very thought of the prospect was overwhelming my thoughts. I’d already been through this once. In Argentina, before I realised that I didn’t have the time to fit it into my schedule south. And so, when I saw so many skydiving adverts after arriving in Cairns, there was postponing it no longer. Conceptually this was one of the easier things to achieve out of my list for these travels. There would be no long struggle outside of my comfort zone; or no need to spend days reminding myself of Spanish grammar; I simply had to sign up, pay my fee, and follow a few safety instructions. It was just that I couldn’t stop visualising that moment where you: 1. look down from the plane doorway at an obscene height, 2. leap into nothingness, and 3. experience the most rapid plummeting sensation of your life.

I’d been bungee jumping before, and recalling those few seconds before I jumped from just 50 meters in height could still increase my heart rate. And I’d been paragliding recently – something which was parts serene, other parts deeply unnerving. Sky diving would be an exaggeration of the both. An adrenalin junkies favourite, but a nightmare for the majority of the world’s population. Clearly, I wasn’t entirely sure that I’d enjoy the experience of a skydive. But with a commitment to trying new things that scare me, and to being a reduced slave to nerves and inaction, it was something I’d be doing regardless. In Cairns I booked a boat tour of the great barrier reef, and for the next day the sky dive. For me, Cairns would be defined by what’s under the water and what’s far above. As I found the city to be faintly ugly and overly touristy, this was no bad thing.

When I went bungee jumping in Thailand I was obscenely hungover. I discovered that that by killing the capacity for thought, it is a fantastic way to dull nerves. But I hadn’t given myself the luxury this time, and on the bus ride to the site I fluctuated between casual conversation with those around me and quiet silent anxiety. Looking out of the window at green topical landscape of this part of the coast I forced myself to take in the details. Not without irony, like a man to the gallows, taking in and appreciating all these little aspects of life. I was calmer in the waiting area at the site. A TV screen was displaying videos of in-air acrobatics and base jumping. I found this reassuring. If people could survive this much madness, a routine tandem skydive must be nothing. I also discovered that my instructor Carlos would be doing his seventh tandem jump of the day – one of thousands in his professional lifetime. While new for me, this was something essentially routine.

There were 6 others jumpers on the tandem plane that would take us up. I’d like to think I calmed myself well. Although one girl was clearly terrified. Squealing, overly animated, and with rabbit eyes. When we took off she screamed that she didn’t want to do this, that she wanted to get down. Her instructor was unphased and unmoved. She would be going out of that plane. He distracted her the way you’d distract a child, with pokes and silly games. It seemed to work. For a time.

It took a while to climb to 14,000 ft. The altitude meter on Carlos’ wrist slowly ticking up. This is about as high as you can go with a tandem jump. Much higher and jumpers need to take extra oxygen. I was securely clipped to his harness as soon as we sat down in the plane. We would be the first to go out, and there was one advantage with this. Extra legroom in front. I asked a lot of questions on the way up. When possible, I like to know the details of what I’m about to experience.

“When we jump, how long will it take to reach terminal velocity?” – “Three or four seconds”. This was much faster acceleration in the initial plummet than I’d envisaged.

“How long will we free fall?” – “For about 60 seconds.”

“At what altitude to you open the parachute?” – “If I haven’t pulled it at 4,500 ft you must let me know. It’ll then take about 500 ft more for the parachute to fully open.

“Where else have you worked?” – “New Zealand, Argentina, Florida in the United States, Nevada”. A skydive instructor seemed to be a skill that takes you to live in some great places.

While he patiently answered my grilling, the journey up was surprisingly calm. Less turbulence or vibration than I’m used to experiencing on a commercial jet. It was perhaps due to the fact that the day was as calm as you could have. Piercingly blue skies and no breeze at all. It was stifling hot on the ground. The view from above was pleasant. We climbed close to the coast. Hills of dense green vegetation on one side, calm seas on the other. Yesterday I had snorkelled and scuba dived beneath this surface. It was only when you ducked under that the great barrier reef showed its self. A vibrant ecosystem of dense, varied, and colourful sea life life. From up, you were lucky if you could make out any subtly darker patches in the water – the outlines to these shallow coral reefs.

With 3 minutes to go a red light came on. Carlos attached further clips from his to my harness and clapped me on the back. With 1 minute to go a light went orange, straps were tightened, and I was asked to place some wind goggles over my eyes. I looked back and on the face of the girl I’d never seen such a terrified face. Distraction games were now over. And then a light went green. The door was thrown open and the air rushed in. I was shuffled to the edge by Carlos. Now I truly voiced some apprehension out loud. “Oh fuck, oh fuck. What am I doing!”. Feet were dangled over the edge. I positioned my head back and pelvis forward – the posture needed to confront the roar of air resistance. (It’s bringing back some adrenaline to write all this.) Then we were out. I caught a fleeting glimpse of the plane above me as we turned in the air, and before I even knew what was happening a tiny chute was pulled to stabilise our descent, signalling that we were at terminal velocity. Carlos tapped my arms to indicate that I should now outstretch them in the manner caught between high five-ing and hugging the air. We were rushing downwards and what follows is the quickest 60 seconds I’ve ever known. I had no means to shout out or scream. My memory of the view from this minute is little more than there being fields below me and perhaps something blue next to it. A sensory overload to the extent that only snapshots remain. A couple of times Carlos gets me to pull me arms towards my torso. In this reduction of air resistance you find added acceleration. It was only in these moments that I felt the plummeting sensation that I was dreading. But even then, it’s nothing like the stomach lurch you get from a roller coast. Gravity aided acceleration is quite another feeling altogether.

At 4,500 ft our speed was more than 200km/h, or around than 60 m/s. We would have been only 25 seconds free fall from hitting the ground. Thankfully a skydive instructor has much of an awareness of the passing seconds than I did. (And they always do – the odds of death are more than 1 in 1 million for a skydive. Apparently that’s less than the the risk of a fatality in your car, or even in your kitchen, on any given day.) By your second jump, you appreciate your surrounding more fully. By you thousandth the concept of passing time in free fall is something much more akin to normality. Although I’m told that it never fails to produce a thrill.

There was the flurry of noise as Carlos pulled the chute, a feeling of breaking, and then calm. The parachute was up. Carlos was chatting, The panorama spread out below in a more benign fashion.

“Let me make you more comfortable”, he told me as he released a couple of the clips on the harness.

“Just not too comfortable!”, I replied.

I was given the opportunity to hold the steering ropes of the parachute for a time. I handed them back fairly quickly. I wasn’t too adept at the 360 degree turns that accelerated us in a rapid stomach sinking circles towards Earth. In reality, my unease at the situation wasn’t over until my arse hit the ground. On the way down we idly chit chatted about Carlos’ home in Colombia, and my fond memories of the content. Only we stuck to English. Suspended above my normal reality, I wasn’t too sure if my head could handle Spanish.

On the ground the girl from the plane was bouncing around. She’d gone through the wildest swing of emotion and was now absolutely ecstatic. And me? Relief. And goosebumps at what I’d just been though. Nervous and exaggeratedly preoccupied before the jump, carrying it out was exhilarating. Unsettling uncertainty was completely banished. The reality was something to make you feel more keenly arrive. My conclusion: don’t let the nerves from your hopes and desires preoccupy your thoughts. Regardless of what it is – your own skydive, talking to that boy or girl, making a public speech, pushing your comfort zone in whatever area you want. Just go out and try to make it happen. There’s little too lose, and loads to gain. You’re feel immensely better afterwards. No excuses please!

Twenty five minutes later I was stood on the grass, head craned upwards against the glare of the sun to try and spot a plane or falling figures. Against the backdrop of the bright sky I saw nothing. I could only hear the wine of the planes engines, but see nothing in the heights above. It’ll be for this reason that the military developed the activity to get troops behind enemy lines. It was only with small flurries of noise that chutes popped into existence in my vision. I shot with my camera as they swopped and circled towards the ground. Whoops of joy spreading out into the landscape.