Cliff Jumping in South Point, Hawaii

I sometimes wonder what it would take for that first lemming to jump. Is it knowledge from a past experience? A lack of self-preservation? Pressure from his or her following lemmings? For whatever reason, it was long believed that one bold rodent could cause a stampede of copycats willing to hurl themselves over a cliff.

While that is just a myth, it appears to be true for humans. 

Two days ago, my friend, Arielle, and I drove to the most southern point of the United States—the very bottom of the Big Island, Hawaii to experience our own case of the lemmings.

This point, conveniently called South Point, is a two and a half hour drive from the sunny and sandy Kohala Coast. We drove south along Route 11 until our highway transformed into a one-lane, twelve-mile road. This stretch passed barren fields of grass and lava rock, speckled with the rare bungalow.

We continued due south until we couldn’t continue any further. Our road ended at a “parking lot” a few hundred feet from the edge of a cliff that stretched down into the Pacific Ocean. Several other cars were also stopped at the top of this cliff.

We parked the car and opened the doors as sporadic gusts of wind tried to push us back. Looking south was a whole lot of water…and not much land until Antarctica.  As we walked closer toward the water below, we saw a sign that read in bolded CAPITAL letters:

EXTREME DANGER

 DO NOT JUMP OFF CLIFF. POTENTIAL FOR INJURY AND DEATH

“Weird. I don’t remember that from last time.” I tried to console Arielle, but she was not very convinced.

This wasn’t my first rodeo. Some friends and I had heard of South Point before from locals who insisted that it was a safe and exhilarating place to cliff jump. At the time we even jumped. But, that was two years ago before the sign went up.

Arielle and I tentatively walked closer to the edge where we saw a large fishing rod, a rope on a pulley system, and the rusty ladder that I remembered from last time.

This ladder was sketchy. While it was made of metal, it didn’t look very sturdy and seemed to move back and forth in the water roughly 45 feet below. Unfortunately, this was our return ticket. 

Two square, concrete platforms—now diving platforms—lined the edge of the cliff. Yep, this was all coming back.

As we surveyed the scene, a few more people left their cars and walked closer. Two sisters came to chat with us to see if it was indeed safe.

Of COURSE it was safe, I told myself. After all, I had done this before and not only survived but enjoyed it. Yet, I couldn’t help but consider the SIGN that I either ignored last time or was since put up for a reason.

More people emerged from cars and started walking closer, equipped with either cameras or bathing suits.

As I stripped down to my bathing suit and placed my belongings on a nearby rock, I saw a 40-ish-year-old guy and what I’m guessing was his son. They walked toward the platform shirtless, fearless, and obviously ready to jump.

The older guy started talking to us about how to jump: Pencil dive. Jump at least one stride length away from the edge to clear a small, protruding rock. And make sure to hit the water with your arms above or tightly beside you, otherwise, you may dislocate your shoulder like a friend of his recently did.

I’m still not sure if that last bit was meant to be helpful.

Once prepped (us, not him) the guy jumped. No goodbye. No hug. Just gone.

We heard a loud splash a second or two later, looked down below, and saw him smirking as he swam toward the sketchy ladder.

And then his son jumped, too.

And then in true mythical lemming fashion, I found myself drawn to the platform. Before I knew it I started running and CONTINUED running over the edge.

Now, there’s enough time to really think in this free fall. I thought about how much longer of a fall this seemed than last time. I thought about how Lemming Number One told us to hit the water. I thought about how my form was not quite right. 

AND SHIT, I WAS TILTING BACK!

I hit the water feet first, but heavily on the back of my left thigh and butt cheek. I had just enough time under water to pick my wedgy and fix (lower…) my bikini top before emerging.

I didn’t even care if the back of my left leg was super red (turns out it wasn’t). I swam to the rusty ladder and climbed back up as another lemming splashed below.

More people jumped; a competitive diver even back flipped off the cliff. Arielle, who was initially hesitant and physically frozen, even hurled herself over the ledge (after some mental deliberation and enough time to get sunburned).

All it took was Lemming Number One to start a stampede. Apparently, that lemming was a local who did this all the time. When he emerged unscathed—or at least only slightly red—many of us found the only 2 seconds of courage needed to run…and eventually, jump.