Search Gary King

Twitter Updates

Giant Swing off the James Bond dam

“Go on, please can I have a go on the giant swing?”

It’s the fifth time I’ve asked in the last ten minutes and I detect a flicker of surrender in Antony’s face.

“OK then,” he says, “it just it takes a little bit of time to set up.”

To be honest I’m not really sure what I’ve just been given the go ahead to do. I’m in the Ticino region of Switzerland at the Verzasca dam. A immense lump of concrete at over 750 feet high and home to the world’s biggest off-ground bungee jump. It’s best known for being the spot from where James Bond leapt from in the opening sequence of the 1995 film Goldeneye. A stunt that has since gone down in the annals of big screen history as one of the most popular ever.

Anthony Dragonits, who runs an outdoor adventure company called Trekking Team, recognised the potential of a business opportunity with a truly international profile and set up the Goldeneye Bungee jump in 1996. Since then over ten thousand 007 wannabes have plummeted from the purpose built steel gantry into the valley bottom below. Including me (about ten minutes ago) which may explain my eagerness to throw myself off it again. My adrenal gland, already working overtime, wants some more of the same.

I had telephoned Anthony from the UK whilst researching the bungee jump and he had casually mentioned that he also had a swing on the same site. Overcome by a sense of nostalgia, with memories of frayed ropes tied to branches of trees in my childhood home of Cornwall, I asked if I’d be able to have a go.

“Yes of course,” came the reply.

Now several weeks later, the parallels between my youthful monkey business and the Verzasca swing couldn’t be more vast. Anthony’s crew are removing the bungee cord from the gantry that protrudes over the edge of the dam and replacing it with a huge length of rope. It is only when they unfurl this great loop of manmade fibre along the road that runs on top of the dam’s curved ridge, do I realise what’s in store for me. This is definitely not ten foot of twine lashed over a gnarled West Country oak.

“We’ve only done this about a dozen times before,” he explains, “but it’s pretty straight forward. We clip you onto the rope, you climb over the railings and jump off.”

I pull on the harness-like waistcoat and the rope, which is only about half an inch in diameter, is attached to a carabineer through a loop. It all looks remarkably insubstantial and my gung ho enthusiasm is quickly being replaced by a sense of impending doom.

A crowd has begun to gather and I can only assume, that as this has only been done twelve times in the last eight years the novelty factor must be quite high for the assembled throng. I shuffle to the steel railings like a dead man walking.

“Now climb over and don’t let go until I give you the signal. When you jump throw your arms upwards and do not grab hold of the rope. None of the people who have done this for the first time have ever managed to do that. Your natural instinct is to grasp the harness.”

Anthony jogs the hundred yards back through the crowd to the gantry as I clamber over the edge. I look down and the cold grey wall slopes away for an eternity so I quickly look up again. It’s completely surreal staring out at a stunning vista of snow capped mountains, lakes and clear blue sky whilst holding on for dear life. I’ve got both arms clamped onto the rail and my feet are hooked underneath its bottom. Everything that could be possibly clenched is and everything that isn’t wants to be. Anthony assumes his position on the gantry and gives me the signal to jump. I let go of the cold metal and move my feet so that I am teetering on the very edge of the dam. To my left is terra firma, to my right oblivion. Every fibre in my body is imploring me to stay where I am.

I jump upwards and outwards slinging my arms in the air determined not to grasp the rope. A bellow of cheers erupts above me, mingling with my own spontaneous scream as the onlookers watch my descent. I’m plunging downwards until the slack in the line is taken up, it then becomes taught and I swing through an arc that brings me up virtually level with the other side of the dam.

Then I’m rushing back the other way again like a human pendulum sweeping through the Alpine air - tick tocking from one edge to the other. It’s completely different to a bungee jump because I’m actually the right way up, so although disorientated I’m not bobbing around like a yoyo with my arms clasped over my head to avoid bungee burn (this is when the cord catches your neck or face on the return bounce).

I eventually sway to a halt and realise that I am still locked in the star position with my arms bolt upright. I’m dangling about four hundred feet up and I can see my tiny shadow on the vast face of the dam; it looks like a droplet on a window pane. It’s eerily silent until a gentle clap punctuates the still air, then another and another. I look skyward and give a double thumbs up which is greeted by a sustained cheer.

Wow. A fan club aswell. This is as good as it gets.

All pictures by Martin Pope

Other images

Click the thumbnail to see a larger version.