Base Jumping a Norwegian Fjord

Preikestolen — Pulpit Rock — hangs over Lysefjord like a dare the universe forgot to take back. Tourists hike up for photos and sensible snacks. I hiked up with a wingsuit, a parachute packed by a man who introduced himself as "probably fine," and a grudge against Carl's newsletter where he wrote that "cactuses are rooted for a reason." Roots are suggestions.

The jump master — Ingrid, third-generation BASE jumper, zero patience for hesitation — checked my rig twice and my attitude once. She said the water below was forty degrees and the cliff face had killed four people who got too close to the edge for selfies. I said I wasn't here for selfies. I was here for velocity. She said that was the first time she'd heard that. I took it as a compliment.

I ran. I jumped. For twelve seconds I was the fastest cactus in Norway — a green blur against grey granite and darker water. The wingsuit caught air. The fjord rushed up like it had been waiting. I pulled at eight hundred feet and landed in the water with a splash that echoed off both walls. Ingrid boat-picked me up and said nothing for a full minute. Then she asked if I wanted to go again. I said obviously.

Carl collects hiking badges. I collect gravitational experiences. On the boat back, a tourist asked if I was cold. I said cold is a mindset. He said I was dripping. I said that was also a mindset. The fjord didn't care about either of us. It just kept being deep and indifferent. I respect that.