Open a Can of TTFU

“Playing it safe

will always end

in disaster”

-Banksy

There’s a quirky yet classic Australian tune whose hook chimes "Come to Australia, you might accidentally get killed" (click here to listen!) As cute and seemingly harmless as this line may be do not be deceived; for it is a perfectly valid statement. For one thing, if you’re a human with a television set then there’s no doubt you’ve seen Animal Planet’s “Shark Week.” Have you ever taken note of how many of these attacks happen off the coast of Australia? About fifteen occur annually and here’s another fun fact: Australia has the highest amount of fatal shark attacks in the world. But that’s not the only record the country holds that involves the word deadliest. The Box jellyfish is amongst the most lethal of sea creatures existing exclusively in the Land Down Under, along with the taipan snake who has the most toxic venom out of all the species worldwide. The stone fish a.k.a the most venomous fish in the world and the world’s deadliest spider both call Australia home. But such facts are not to escort you away from this country. In fact, what if one was to spend their time in Australia intentionally flirting with death? What if I were to tell you that’s exactly what makes the trip worthwhile.

My best memories of Australia have all occurred when I found myself in situations that very could have resulted in my untimely death. Perhaps I can leisurely make such pompous claims because I’m discussing such events in retrospect, safe and sound with all my body parts intact. Yet at such perilous occasions in my travels I couldn’t confidently say that would be the case. I’ve had my survival instincts kick in, a you-might-die-if –you-don’t-do-this adrenaline rush, and had to say some prayers under my breath once or twice. But all this wasn’t a result of my own doing. 

For my Spring Break Trip with my Study Abroad Group we signed up for a trip called One Fish, Two Fish with Extreme Adventures. Right then and there should have been evident foreshadowing that we would not be lounging on a beach sipping pina coladas for ten days. Our tour guide Chaplain “Chappy” Peters was about as Extreme as you could get. Chappy was an undeniable combination of Owen Wilson’s straw hair, and piercing baby blues and Captain Jack Sparrow’s cunning speech and insatiable craving for thrills. He did everything within his power and resources to ensure that he instilled this ravenous yearning for adventure into each one of us on his tour. If such a quality was contagious was put to the test the day we went White Water Rafting in the Tulley River.

Stewpot raft with Rod before going down the waterfall!

I awoke that morning with a knot in my stomach; the kind that can’t be cured with a good breakfeast because it’s tangled with anxiety. Prior to my excursion on the Tulley, the closest to White Water Rafting I had ever gotten was a rapid ride in Disney World where you were contained to the track of the ride, your seatbelt protected you and a bunch of stuffed singing animals accompanied you along the way. Here on the Tulley, there were no tracks, seatbelts of fluffy singing creatures. It was just me, my friends in my raft group (that we would come to name Stewpot for reasons I won’t explain here) and Rod our pony-tailed rafting instructor. Once we stepped into out raft, we learned we would be sitting on the edge of the boat with our feet shoved into any crevice between floor and side of boat that we could find. That was our salvation in case the rapids got too strong for us, not very comforting to say the least. Soon enough Rod taught us the basic maneuvers: lean left, lean right, all down, on the job and the crowd-pleasing “group sex” which was reserved for instances when our boat got stuck on a rock. In order to advance down the river we had to vigorously and foolishly bounce up and down until we shook it loose. At the time we felt like pros, ready to take on the Tulley after our crash course in rafting. We were soon to find out however that we were nothing but imposters.

Our one goal was not to flip the raft. Anything could happen but we did not want to be those guys who flipped the raft and were sent tumbling down the river. So naturally we were the ones who flipped on the second rapid. What happened was we should have all stayed seated when we crashed into a rock at full force on our way down the rapid. But when the situation finally got dangerous instead of maintain equal weight on both sides by remaining seated, the entire right side of the boat stood up and screamed, causing all the weight to transfer to the left; the imbalance catapulted the seven of us girls and Rod into the rapids. All I remember seeing was my friend Mary hurtling across the raft right onto my face as I was blindly tossed backwards into the water. I outstretched my hands to try to catch her and hoped I’d only hit water.

Trying to overtake another raft

The ten seconds spent trying to compose myself underwater were the longest ten seconds of my life. I couldn’t tell if I was stuck in the rapid, where Mary had fallen to, if everyone was okay, if I was okay or how to fight the current to reach the surface. I struggled to remember the rules an instructor had given us at a debriefing right before we set off which explained the protocol for a flipped raft. “Don’t try to stand you could get your foot caught in a rock and get sucked under the current. Or your leg just might break and you’ll drown” Floating on my back, the proper position to be in, I let the current take me until our group somehow reunited in the rapids and found Rod who had already flipped our boat back and was gathering our oars. We were all shaking like wet puppies once back on the raft and Rod just looked at us like we had performed a seven-girl comedy act for him. “Woo-eee” he exclaimed “Never had a group flip before, I’ll owe the other guys the first round at the bar tonight for that one.” While the river calmed down we floated along comparing bumps and bruises and scratches and scrapes and cuts while Rod finally admitted, “Didn’t wanna tell you girls before you did it but plenty of people have died on that very rapid. Might’ve scared you so figured it was best to tell you after. Alright ladies on the job!”

Working our way to the bottom..

I can’t blame rapids or enthusiastic tour guides for the second time on One Fish, Two Fish where I experienced the adrenaline rush of survival. In fact, Chappy of all people told us not to do it. The activity for the evening was innocent enough; a hike to a sand cliff to watch the sunset from the top. Do not climb down the cliff and try to get to the beach below it. So naturally the second Chappy had his back turned I ran after the guys I spotted attempting to make a break for it and get down to the forbidden waters below. The climb down made it pretty clear why we were banned from doing so. Sand turned into rock and then back into sand so it was hard to maintain proper footing. The descent was so steep that at one point we were actually free falling down to the bottom. But the exclusiveness of the ocean with its untouched beach seemed like enough of a reward as we triumphantly raced into the salt and foam. That is to say, until it was time to climb back up. 

We had to have been at least 70 feet below and there was no way up other than the way we came down. Since I was the only girl I was determined not to have to whine to the boys for help or a boost or to keep them waiting for me. Deciding that it was best to climb the rockier route, while others chose the sandier one, Kevin and I began our ascent. We grabbed anything we could hold onto and soon found ourselves in desperation. He was ahead of me, and the rocks he grabbed would become loose after his grip so I was constantly dodging punches of sand and rock and dirt. At one point we had to attempt to hop up over a rock by literally pulling our own body weight over it; there was no elevation or solid ground that could offer us a boost or help alleviate the ache in our muscles. We both must have made at least ten failed attempts until somehow I got over first. Once over the rock, I looked back down and it was truly the point of no return. If I lost my grip or footing I was falling into the rocks below me for sure; that’s when the adrenaline took over. I scaled the rocky surface of the cliff so fast it put Spiderman to shame. I had to dig my feet and hands into anything that could offer me a second of support before I had to continue climbing upwards for fear it would loosen and I would be a goner. It probably took us an hour to get back up a cliff we took five minutes to tumble down. Finally, we emerged from over the edge of the cliff like savages who thought they would never see the light of day again, unrecognizably stained in dirt, panting for breath. We made it back up just in time for the sunset, and I was never so glad to see one.

Countless other opportunities where fatalities could be lurking around the corner characterized the rest of the trip. We bungee jumped in the pouring rain. We stayed at a beach resort where the Irukandji jellyfish, translucent and only 2.5 centimeters in diameter was well-known to have been spotted (Its sting can cause death to humans within days) but that obviously didn’t stop us from swimming, kayaking and frolicking in the water. We went on hikes where we were constantly warned to stay on the path because the world’s deadliest snakes hid in the bush.  

We went on a nature walk that was home to the world’s deadliest spider. We hung out on beaches where wild dingoes roamed and were known to attack children. And once, while coming home from a night out I had the gruelingly unpleasant sight of witnessing a large black snake writhing around in the pouring rain directly outside my hotel room door. It had slithered away into a crack in the wall by the time I came back with a stick which I intended to poke it with.

In the wise words of Rod, for it was him who offered us this soothing condolence after he sent us plunging down a life-threatening rapid “In Australia we have a saying. Open a can of TTFU. Toughen the F Up.” You shouldn’t sit back and watch the sunset when there’s a whole world left to explore. The sun will still be there tomorrow, I promise. You can’t stick solely to the path your instructed to walk on because their might be a few death adders waiting in the bush. And you certainly should still jump in the water despite the warning of some jellyfish. I did. I’m alive. I have air in my lungs, I can feel my heart beat and I’d say I’m still in one piece...for now at least.