Unicycle training and the flying trapeze at Circus Arts in Byron Bay, NSW

David Whitley learns to juggle, gets unicycle tuition and attempts to fly through the air with the greatest of ease on a flying trapeze. At the Circus Arts school in Byron Bay, New South Wales, there’s far more to it than just clowning around.

 


Action on the industrial estate

Emerging through the gloom of the rain-sodden industrial estate is what looks like a bright blue aircraft hangar. Inside a man dangles by his knees from a swinging bar, rocking back and forth as a small girl leaps towards him then tumbles down into a giant net.

The whole process continues. Children launching of a platform, swaying high across the room, some twirling, some somersaulting, some being caught in mid-air and some falling awkwardly. They’ve all run away to join the circus, albeit only for an hour or two, and they’re already being put through their paces on the flying trapeze.

The short but stocky woman holding the rope that cushions the leaping youngsters’ landings branches off towards me. There may not be the top hat and whip, but she’s undoubtedly the ringmaster of the whole show. She switches to full beam, and says: “So, looking forward to getting up there?”

 

Circus skills course

I have, somewhat foolishly given a total lack of agility, co-ordination and other such handy traits, come to Byron Bay and signed up for a crash course in circus skills. Whilst eight-year-olds full of energy may be able to fly through the air with the greatest of ease, 90 pound, jeans-clad adults full of pizza and innate lethargy certainly cannot. And, if the thought of getting up there, wrenching the arm sockets off the skinny rake attempting to catch me isn’t bad enough, then there’s far worse on the horizon. Yes, there are unicycles hiding under that table in the corner…

 


History of Circus Arts in Byron Bay

This whole set up is fairly new. The Circus Arts performance space on the outskirts of Australia’s most easterly town only opened in April, and it was two years in the making. The original roof of the building had to be taken out, raised and remade to fit in the trapeze, whilst getting the gear set up was a laborious process – it took a week to fix up the safety net alone.

The frankly barmy idea is the brainchild of Belinda Hultgren, an experienced circus performer and instructor, who decided to move back to where she grew up, and pass on what she knows to anyone who fancies themselves as a bit of an acrobat.

 

Stretching exercises

I clearly don’t fit into that category, as becomes immediately apparent during the extensive warm-up exercises. After a lot of running round the room, we’re onto the mats for some stretching. We’re taken through it by Bridget, who, if her shirt is anything to go by, is a member of the NSW gymnastics squad. She can contort herself into positions and bend to extremes that are distant memories for me.

Unfortunately, so can all the kids in the group. And, shamefully, so can the middle-aged mother who has joined in because it all looked like jolly good fun.

Attempts to touch my toes whilst keeping a straight back are met with a full on revolt from my leg muscles, whilst if you think I’m even going to attempt the splits, you can forget it right away. These are old jeans, and I’m not walking back exposing myself to the world.

 


Solo trapeze

Following the torturous limbering up, we’re taken over the solo trapeze. This is basically a less dangerous version of the massive apparatus looming above us, and it’s used to take the initiates through the basics without the overriding fear of smashing their bodies into assorted pieces.

The idea is to hang with your arms straight, and then throw your legs up over the bar, which, when you haven’t got all the flexibility of a poorly-oiled robot, is apparently very simple. I flail wildly, the swing lurching back and forth as my feet flap. It’s a thoroughly undignified display, rescued only when Belinda surreptitiously holds the bar still and there is an unspoken agreement to politely ignore this as I finally get where I’m supposed to be.

After this epic battle though, the tricks come surprisingly easily. It’s all a matter of trusting various body parts to not give way. The bar is sturdy enough to hold even the most ungraceful lump as he battles his way into position. From then on it’s hanging by your knees, with arms outstretched, sitting down, standing up on the balls of your feet, and even sprawling across it like a scantily-dressed promotions girl on a car bonnet.

 

Juggling tuition

However, any rising aspirations of fulfilling any other role in the circus aside from a clown being splattered in the face by a custard pie are soon dashed. Belinda digs in a box for juggling balls, and asks if we can already juggle three at once. Three? I think they’d be crashing to the floor within seconds if I only had two.

Wincing while I throw one at angles and pass the other two from hand to hand, Belinda tries to get me using the proper technique. It’s all about keeping it slow and steady, keeping the balls at a manageable height and throwing the next one up just as the previous one is about to land. This works, albeit temporarily, but before the work in progress can be tweaked, out pops my worst nightmare.

 

Learning to ride a unicycle

“It’s important to keep the pedals balanced as much as you can,” she says, wielding a particularly vicious-looking unicycle. “Start with your foot on the back, and quickly push one half rotation without losing the bike under you.”

This, I would like to point out, is completely impossible; everything you have seen on television is just clever camera trickery. And it’s definitely smoke and mirrors when Belinda does her demonstration later, honest. With two mug volunteers on either side supporting my arms, I gingerly prod at the medal, and the bike start moving forwards. Unfortunately the saddle doesn’t go with it, and I’m left scrambling away at a 45 degree angle, my rescuers taking all the weight and stopping me from falling.

A series of hapless attempts later, all of which are best not recorded for posterity, it’s time for the grand finale, swinging gracefully from a great height, performing effortlessly all those manoeuvres I was trained in earlier. Well, in theory, anyway.

 

The flying trapeze

The ladder up to the platform feels very rickety, and jelly legs at this stage in the proceedings are probably not a good sign. Ugh, it’s a long way down. Attached to the safety ropes by harness, and held back by Bridget so I don’t tumble instantly, both hands reach for the trapeze. I’m leaning far too far forward for my liking, and the only ways to move from here are forward or down.

The principle is quite sound, even to someone who never listened in physics. As you swing, you are temporarily weightless when you reach the top of the arc, and this is the time to swing those legs over. Any other time, and you’re fighting the momentum and making it virtually impossible for yourself.

 

The safety net

With a shout of “hup” from Bridget, I’m off, and despite attempting to following advice, I completely miss Belinda’s call to throw my legs up. Trying to rectify the situation far too late after the event, my grip loosens and I plummet unannounced into the net. This has the effect of almost launching Belinda, who was perhaps not expecting such prodigious levels of idiocy and has the misfortune to be holding the safety rope, upwards and out of the building. Oops, sorry about that.

It takes three more attempts to get it right. Make no mistake, this is physically and mentally draining, and it takes a supreme gathering of faculties to perform even the briefest feat of acrobatics, especially when you only started learning two hours ago. And boy does it feel good when it all works, hanging elegantly, knees wrapped around and arms straightening below with an unbridled flourish. There’s a rush of both adrenalin and achievement, especially after scaling back up to the hanging position and dismounting with a neatly tucked backflip. To go from stiffened, inflexible slob to consummate gymnast in such a short space of time is remarkable, but there is still one stage to go – the catch.

 

Will he catch on?

By the time my next nerve-shredding clamber up the ladder is complete, the added element is there. Swaying from the opposite trapeze is Kent. He makes it look effortless, bordering on humdrum. This time I not only have to get up, but to grab his hands on my second swing and leave my trapeze in his hands. If I’d been told twelve hours ago that I’d be even contemplating doing this, I’d have been completely incredulous.

By this stage truly fatigued, it’s one last superhuman launch. Striving, straining, stretching, feet flicking the bar… and somehow over. The rest of the co-ordination required is just too much though. Kent reaches out as I half-heartedly flap then fall, left panting on the safety net, which by this stage feels like home.

“Good effort. Fancy another go?” chirps Belinda before she sees the shot-to-pieces look on my face. “Ah, er, well, make sure you do some stretching tomorrow. Trust me, you’ll feel the benefit.”

 

Circus Arts can be found at the Byron Entertainment Centre, 17 Centennial Circuit, on the Byron Bay industrial estate, which is a short bus ride away from the transit centre.

 

This article first appeared in The Australian, September 2006.

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