Jumping off America

A few days ago, I completed a rite of passage. A great and powerful rite of passage, which now brings me into the inner fold of big island volunteers and gains me access to secret things never before dreamed of. Things like, um, well... hmm, I'm sure there's something...

Though perhaps my rite of passage earned me little more than a few bruises, an exceptionally awkward sensation and a great deal of fun, it also makes for a decent story. Which I shall now share here.

As most of you know but probably have never considered, Hawaii is the southernmost state in the United States. Being so, it also is home to the southernmost point of the US, officially known as South Point (creative, right?). South Point resides on the Big Island, and since that is my current home, I could not miss visiting the lower tip of the USA.

So on my most recent trip out to the field, my partner- we'll call her Boulder for her hometown- suggested that we take a trip out to South Point. Since our main working hours are between 5 pm and 2 am, we find ourselves with little to do during the daytime, so a visit to South Point sounded like an excellent idea. We invited Yogaboy and Belle, who were camping nearby (and by nearby I mean about 3 miles away) to come with us and they gladly accepted. They hiked out after their morning beach check and then we were off.

On the way over, Boulder, who has been here for quite awhile, reminded us that it is imperative that we jump off of South Point, or else be shamed forever more. Being relatively new in comparison, Yogaboy, Belle and I had not yet completed this rite of passage, and we were bound and determined not to disappoint. I, in fact, had been chomping at the bit for this opportunity; Judo and Roomie had done it a few weeks ago and I'd been wanting my turn ever since.

However, no one had mentioned previously that the jump was approximately 30 feet off a cliff wall. I'd been picturing a ten, maybe fifteen foot drop, not a 30 foot plummet from the edge of the land. Yet I was unmoved by Boulder's words, I would jump that cliff. Belle and Yogaboy similarly did not falter.

We reached South Point around midday and found ourselves accompanied by a number of tourists and a few locals there to show off their jumping prowess. The tourists and locals alike looked on with wonder as Yogaboy, Belle and I stripped down to our bathing suits. Mainlanders were going to jump? Now this was something they had to see.

We scoped out the terrain. Massive sheer cliff face? Check. Rickety ladder for climbing back up?Check. Deep enough water below that we would not die terrible early deaths brought on by youthful stupidity? Check. Time to fly.

Belle is so ready!

Yogaboy went first, followed by me, followed by Belle. Boulder, comfortable in her longtime association with the island, remained cliffside to take pictures.

That first jump was by far the longest. Falling thirty feet takes some time and while midair all I could think was "I am so f***ed when I hit the water". I may have been yelling, I don't really recall. Then I slammed into the water, sending my bathing suit askew and my brains slightly scrambled. I adjusted and popped back to the surface, simultaneously exultant and sore in all sorts of unnameable places. Someone should have reminded me to clench...

Up and out I went, exhilarated despite my extreme discomfort, determined to do it again and better. I was convinced the water was deep enough, this time I was going for a dive.

Something to know about dives when you are doing them from 30 feet above the water- angle out, not down, or else you will turn in midair and land squarely on your back. Which I, of course, did not realize and promptly did. Let me tell you, that left some sore spots. The onlookers were quite concerned when I resurfaced and after assuring everyone that I was quite alright, I drifted for a little while, allowing the cool water to nurse my wounds and pride.

Inspired perhaps by my daring (it couldn't have been my performance), Belle opted for a dive herself. This she performed beautifully, leaving me with the mad desire to try diving again.

See? Beautiful, right? So jealous.

Yet I had one final method to try- the running and jumping option. I convinced myself to do that instead and so I ran off the edge of the cliff, yelling like a maniac.

Ramming speeeeeeeeeeeeeed!!!

It was quite enjoyable, though my poor thrice bruised bottom informed me that another jump was quite out of the question, it was done being abused. Let me tell you, salt water enemas are quite unpleasant. The others were finished too, so we headed back, quite pleased with ourselves, stopping for pastries and a local classic, a loco moco. This monstrosity consists of rice topped with burger patties, fried eggs and gravy, and though it looks totally disgusting and promises to clog arteries faster than even McDonald's could manage, it was delicious and a perfect way to reward ourselves.

The bruises are still healing and releasing the salt water enema was a profoundly traumatizing experience (I feel like I know what it's like to have cholera now!), but all told, I had a fantastic time. And next time, I will perfect that dive...

Ramming speed!!