Down on the Gold Coast, away from the high-rises of Surfers paridise and off the path of public transportation, is Killarney Glen. The area is winding roads and farmland, and we would have probably missed the trail head if not for the line of cars parked hundreds of meters on either side of the local attraction. A swimming hole, known as the Killarney Glen waterfall, is a heart-shaped pool fed by a 6 meter waterfall, lined with spectators on a warm summer Saturday afternoon.

Spectators gathered as timid individuals gathered courage for their leap, while those who frequent the pools tried their hand at flips, all aiming for the deep water. Just off of the “jumping area” is a small grotto, which accumulated jumpers to spectate from a view they achieved from their jump. Families, twenty-somethings, teens on easter break, lined the top of the cliff faces either to watch, or when waved forward from the other side of the canyon, to jump.

I’m afraid of heights. I’ve never been graceful, and feel that standing on something tall makes me ‘kinetic energy’. In high school I would jump with my friends in Colorado into the Arkansas river. Not high, still terrifying. I would swing from our boat into the water in the Bahamas. It took me about 5 minutes of looking out 2 meters below me before I could make the jump. And to this day, as silly as it feels, I hold my nose.

Fastforward, I am standing in a dried up wash-out that juts out over the ‘deep water’, 4-5 meters below me. GoPro strapped to my wrist, though my hands were flat on the rock on either side of me for stability. The girl behind me, no more than 10 years old, comments on my shaking. Her older sister, about 12, wants to help me out by giving me a count down. At first I didn’t notice, since all I could think was ‘S#!t, this is high.’ I try to get in the zone during the second countdown, but psych myself out somewhere between “…3…” and “…2…”. Seconds later I pull myself together, ask her for one last count, and at “…1”, step off the cliff.

(Taken with a Nikon and Sigma Wide-angle lens, uploaded with eye-fi.)

I felt the rush of wind then cold water, then the feel of the strap of my GoPro slide over my small wrist. I surface and accept that the camera may have been claimed by the river gods, and briefly remember a youtube video of a GoPro that fell in a river and was found a couple years later. Oh, well.

I swim to the mermaid grotto, and attempt to slide onto the surrounding rocks, helped by a new friend, and mentioned that the camera went the way of the waterfall. The next jumper, a young blond guy was about to swim past when we asked “is there any chance of finding a GoPro over there where I jumped?” “GoPro?” The kid smiled, turned around, and dove. He surfaced seconds later to applause, with my camera in hand.

I tried to find him after to thank him, and couldn’t. He had one green eye, and one blue eye, and was kind enough to fetch a strangers camera. To you sir, if you are reading, THANK YOU!

(Screenshot from the GoPro of the good samaritan)

Update: added video March 27. Keep an eye out at ~2:30.