Podcast Summary:

This podcast blends tales (today about Kava Root and Bungee Jumping), fiction, and real-world exploration. Here’s the rundown:

Epic Rippers: Stories that f*&k. Raw, adventure travel stories. These non-fiction audio journals offer life lessons and stirring thoughts.

Sips and Shorts: Stories and interviews about drinks from around the world that have shaped culture and society.

The Library: Dive into “The Coin Chronicles,” an exclusive fantasy audiobook series. Each episode reveals a chapter of this epic saga of Gods, humans, and the coin that rules them.

Episode 49 Notes: The Drug Fueled History of Bungee Jumping

A small island tribe paired a drink (Kava root) with an anxiety inducing sport (bungee jumping.) Both would go on to become popular in the rest of the world. Kava root would ease the minds of the constantly anxious. Bungee Jumping would let daredevils get the rush they needed.

Transcript of Podcast:

*Note – This is the full episode and containers spoilers. You can always listen to the podcast above.

The Start of Bungee Jumping

Although Tangor had earned this view, he couldn’t stop thinking about death. The consequences of his actions terrified him. He wasn’t wrong to be afraid. The breeze was warm and pushed through the palm trees, rustling the fronds. He watched them dance. The ocean stretched, fat and glistening, beyond the trees.

The sandy beach was an hour walk, but still visible with the clear day. People gathered below him. He recognized many of their faces. Most wore traditional dress for this day. Dried palm leaves stitched together in skirts. Nothing more. Bright red flowers adorned their necks.

The woman who taught him to speak was down there. His father. His mother and siblings. The kids too, which were not yet old enough to risk their lives. But, their day would come soon enough.

Now, standing on top of the platform, looking at the hard, sun baked ground below, he wished his day hadn’t come. The blessings before hand had calmed his nerves. Still, He yearned to chew some of the bitter root and gulp down that special drink to banish his nerves all together. The threat of death was real. Many had died over the years. He saw boys jump to their deaths.

But, the passage to adulthood is one best done with a clear head. There are many mind agents one can use to cope with stressful situations. Things to help you relax. Things to help you forget. Even things to give you courage. But, it wouldn’t be right to make the jump relying on any one or any thing but himself.

As if echoing this sentiment, the thick vines tied to his ankles itched. The platform wasn’t much of a platform at all. It was a few tree branches extending from the tower and lashed together by vines.

He’d selected the vines on his ankles. He would live or die by his choice. The ground would crush him or kiss him. He still didn’t know. But, he didn’t have a choice. He had to jump. 

His other fear was not clearing the platform. He needed speed to carry him away from the tower so he didn’t swing into it and impale himself on the tree branches. Tangor inhaled deep, trying to steady his nerves, knowing his life hung in the balance. Tangor ran. Tangor jumped. Tangor left the safety of the platform and dropped to his fate below.

Before his jump, Tangor had months of preparation. This rite of passage started the same way for all boys his age. He was one of four that would make the jump to either a new life or death.

He knew from the early days one boulder would not be enough to save him and the others. The experts confirmed this. The spot they’d selected was a clearing on the side of a hill. Finding a flat spot was hard. This land was mountainous. Rocks pushed up in many areas. In other areas the vegetation grew so thick that the mounds of hills were soft, fuzzy bumps on the landscape.

Beyond this clearing arching palm trees covered the land for as far as he could see. Different types of trees grew amongst them too. They’d used those woods to build the tower.

Other islands had volcanoes, but not this island. If there were volcanoes here they were long ago dormant, replaced by rolling, silent hills. But, like the volcano islands, the land was lush. The ground fertile and capable of harvesting the plant they traded worldwide.

On this island, the plant is ceremonial. It has been for over three thousand years. But, in other parts of the world, they consume this plant for its calming properties. It’s an anxiety reducer. It’s also an alternative to alcohol. For a blip of land stretching less than 40 miles from North to South, it has a massive impact on the world. In more ways than its drink too.

This island was a good spot to find boulders, like the one they’d found. A good boulder, although not necessary, could provide security for what they had to do. It was something to build your tower against. When you build into the air you need materials capable of bending but not snapping under force. You also need a strong base. A firm spot to secure your tower to the ground.

So, despite the boulder, digging still needed to happen.

Tangor scooped out the Earth. It smelled salty from the ocean and sweet from decayed tropical plants. This island is also a place of growth or death by tradition.

Tangor had a reputation to uphold. The others too. There were four of them partaking in this ritual. But, Tangor felt more pressure than most. The people of his tribe, the Tabi people, still talked about his father. In the 1950’s David Attenborough started a chain reaction of events that ended in a visit from Pope John Paul II. Then Queen Elizabeth II. It was the Queen’s visit which created excitement through the tribe. Because Tangor’s father had escaped death by inches, much to the delight of the Queen.

Tangor ‘s people didn’t value such things as fame. But, it didn’t stop his father’s shadow from growing. After all, this yearly ritual was a big deal. One of the biggest. An old tradition during harvest season. And on an island this small, inhabited by less than 17,000 people, word traveled. Tangor had to prove he could do what his father had done. Tangor was also out to prove he was a man, not a boy anymore.

So, Tangor dug until he dripped sweat into the dirt he shoveled out of the hole. Then him and the boys planted two vertical poles into the ground under the watchful eyes of the experts. The poles were twenty foot long. They were Banyan tree trunks. It was a large tree and a strong tree. It took all the boys to plant the two trees into the ground.

One they leaned up against the boulder and buried it. They lashed the tree to the boulder using thick vines. The second tree got planted into the ground six feet away. They secured this one too with vines. They tied the vines to nearby trees and pulled them in opposite directions to balance the load.

Tangor knew this day was coming for a long time. It was a day he looked to with dread and excitement. A day of change. Under the guidance of experts in town, he and the others gathered supplies for months. Most of what they needed was near the boulder.

While his father had done 70 feet, he wanted to jump from 90 feet. He’d talked the others into it, even though they looked scared. He could see fear on their faces. He knew the words their hearts spoke. But, he also knew that part of why they were here was defying those feelings. Having the courage to do things you’re afraid of, but know you must do, turns boys into men.

Tangor sought to escape the shadow of his father and transform himself. This was the only way he could enter manhood feeling like a man. His dad understood this and didn’t object. Nor did the experts in town, despite their concerned gazes, who went to work helping him plan. Soon Tangor would defy death or meet it.

On the day of choosing, if he didn’t select the right vine, the final vine, he would fail. At 90 feet, coming in head first, he hoped he would die if things went wrong. Over the years, he’d seen some who lived, their bodies mangled for life. The terrifying, crumpling of bones on the ground still haunted him. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to live a cripple. A stunted man. No, Tangor had already told himself he would either die or live a full life. There wasn’t a half measure.

So, with the help of the experts, him and the others found the vines they needed for the structure. Although the final selection of vines would take place a few days before the ritual, they needed vines for the tower right now. They needed to hold the creation in place. Because 90 feet is a long way up.

The wind would buck him around. His own exertion would also cause the structure to move. The vines would help the tower from collapsing with him on it. The last thing he wanted was to plummet to his death before he even reached the top. The best chance he had at surviving was the jump. And it was a jump he could make only if he stood at the top on the platform.

Tangor and the others collected all types of wood. The island has a diverse climate and more than palm trees grow here. Ironwood’s uncommon strength makes it valuable for the platform. They weren’t there yet. That would be at the top.

So, they were using Ironwood now to fill in the space between the two long poles they’d planted. They lashed together branches and bits of wood. Then added a cross piece of Tamanu wood. The cross pieces would form rungs they could climb. They didn’t bother cutting them to size. They followed the old traditions. The Tamanu wood extended beyond the structure and made the tower look like a bristle brush.

Then more branches, cleared of leaves and weak spurs, filled in the space between the poles. The structure took shape. The structure grew. The structure would mean life or death for these boys. For that reason they took their time building, making sure to do it right.

As they built, the rest of the tribe continued on with daily life in the shadow of the growing creation. They worked the fields, for it was harvest time soon. The yams were almost ready. They gathered roots too from that medicinal plant that they exported to the world. They watched the tower grow, marveling at its height and guessing with one another how tall it would get.

When they finished the tower was so thick from the vine lashings and sturdy branches stuffed into the structure that you couldn’t see through it. It was a solid tangle of branches. A wooden platform was at the top. Off of the platform were arms angled downward. These are what the divers would walk out on. These would be the last steps of safety before the ultimate plunge.

Finally, the day of the choosing came. The selection of Liana Vines from the forest. The Liana Vine is a thick, flexible vine. These vines take to the air, climbing up trees and twisting around each other. They form a tangled network of thick vines. Some even grow up to 300 feet long. It’s what Tarzan swung around on in the movies. And because of their thickness and strength, you could do it.

Each diver had their own vine, since the length was dependent on the diver’s height and weight. Tangor and the others stripped the bark from the vine as a way to improve elasticity. Beneath the bark the vine skin was white and slimy. That dried out by the next day though, when the experts came around to inspect their equipment and tower.

Final adjustments got completed and the tower, and divers, were ready. Tangor slept restless, tossing and turning and listening to the insects chirp. He crawled out of bed in the morning, tired and his nerves a coil of steel. The men met him at the tower. Some of the boys in town too. They blessed the tower. They blessed the boys. They chewed on roots, using their saliva to activate the ingredients. Then mixed the gnawed roots with water. They offered more blessings to the spirits and drank.

The diving boys did not drink. The diving boys could not drink. This drink was too potent, too deadening, and they needed all their wits about them if they were going to survive. This was a rite of passage earned by mustering your own courage, not sapping the courage from a plant.

So, Tangor climbed as the tribe watched and the drums beat. He heard the cheers but they were soon lost to his focus. Over his left shoulder he carried the thick vine he would live or die by. His heart pounded in his chest and sweat made his hands slick. He feared slipping and falling to his death.

But, he made it to the platform. He was there alone. He had no one to help. He secured the vine to his feet, hoping the knot he tied would hold. Then he stepped off of the platform and onto the arm. The arm was sloping downward, giving him a chance to gather momentum before his dive. He started to run.  The sides of the tower fell away and the end of the tree branch was in sight.

One more step and he was at the end. He leapt as far out as he could, hoping he’d given himself enough space. Then he dropped head first. The ground rushing at him and the world around him a blur. Closer, and closer the ground came. He wanted to scream in fear. But, he watched in horror instead, hoping the vine would hold. Hoping the vine was the right length.

He was almost there. 

Then…he lurched. His body jolted. He flew backward, returning into the sky. The spirits had protected him. His heart burst with joy and all his tension released as the up and down bouncing slowed to a stop.

Others were grabbing him then and cheering. He felt their hot hands on his skin as they lifted him and undid the vine at his ankles. They hoisted him into the air and chanted. He’d done it. He’d made the leap. He climbed as a boy and rose as a man. He saw his dad smiling. His mom too. He’d done them proud.

Just like so many prior generations of boys from the Island of Pentecost, one island in a smattering of 83 islands that make up the sovereign nation of Vanuatu.

Pentecost is a small but mighty nation. It’s the primary producer of the Kava root, a plant that is harvested and turned into a tea. For over 3,000 years the plant has been drank for ceremonies, negotiations, and meetings. It’s also drank for its calming effects and ability to help with stress, anxiety, and insomnia. In the US, Kava bars have even popped up as alcohol free alternatives.

But, besides the Kava root, Pentecost is known for an annual harvest and rite of passage ceremony for young boys called “Nanghol.” (Na-gol) Or land diving. It is the original form of bungee jumping and where the extreme sport started. Only they didn’t use fancy ropes and safety harnesses. They used vines they found in the jungle and a tower, built from sticks, reaching 70 to a 100 feet in the air.

This ceremony brought BBC and David Attenborough here in the 1950’s to document the experience. Which then brought the Pope and the Queen of England to also witness the brave ceremony.

Kava root for anxiety paired with an anxiety inducing right of passage for boys…now those two things sound like they go hand in hand.