Experiencing flow,enjoyment and risk in skydiving and climbing

Abstract

This article brings together findings from two separate ethnographic studies that explore the motivations, behaviours and experiences of those who voluntarily engage in high-risk activities. Focusing on Csikszentmihalyi’s phenomenology of enjoyment, and taking a particular interest in the psychological and experiential aspects of action, the accounts of skydivers and climbers are presented and discussed in relation to each of the components Csikszentmihalyi has identified as necessary for providing a deep sense of enjoyment. The aim of the article is to show how the concept of flow provides a useful framework for understanding the attractions of engaging in high-risk pursuits that are often overlooked. This contributes to an understanding of particular rural settings, specifically mountains and flying sites, as a backdrop for meaningful action.

Keywords

flow enjoyment risk skydivers climbers Csikszentmihalyi

Totally immersed in the climbing, my brain is powered up and energised, working to its full potential, its limited memory freed from all those confusing hoops it has had to jump through in the real world. Up here everything is real. No numbers. No words. The only calculations are physical, the only questions how to progress and how not to fall off. (Andy Kirkpatrick)

Introduction

Ethnography and anthropology have always attended to the physical and experiential importance of location and the ways in which humans move meaningfully through space. The concept of high-altitude movement is a good starting point for embarking on such an analysis. While it might seem obvious that climbing and skydiving are sports that navigate vertical space in an unusual way, however, the crucial question is how engagements and movements within the physical environment are experienced. What does it mean for somebody to ascend vertically up a rock face or to descend rapidly through space towards the ground? How do such pursuits feel from the perspective of a participant (and indeed from the point of view of a participant observer)? In this article, we examine these broad questions within a particular context: the psychological experience of risk. In doing so, we add new ethnographic insight that helps to answer the question of why anyone would voluntarily seek out experiences that could result in serious injury and even death (Ferrell, 2005; Lyng, 1990, 1993, 2005b, 2005c, 2008; Newmahr, 2011; Reith, 2005).

Using data from two independent research projects on skydiving and climbing, we acknowledge that a small sub-section of those involved are constantly inventing ways of increasing risks, but we make a distinctive contribution by addressing how participants attempt to reduce rather than increase uncertainty and danger. In exploring the processes involved with risk management, we shed new light on the contemporary context of rural pursuits. Running contrary to discourses of the countryside as a peaceful setting for traditional activities such as rambling, horse-riding or fishing, this article suggests that the multi-sensory experience of moving through space and managing the attendant risks of doing so is of primary importance to participants, an aesthetic appreciation of the rural landscape in its own right. This approach gives us access to a different reading of the countryside, one in which the physical landscape as a site of action is experienced personally, emotionally and intimately. Thus, we do not focus explicitly on skydiving or climbing as country sports per se, but treat them as ‘autotelic experiences’ that foreground the importance of the internal consciousness of highly particular types of space.

This article critically engages with the concept of ‘edgework’ by supporting and extending Csikszentmihalyi’s theorization of autotelic experiences (1975, 1988, 2002). Our intention is to draw attention to the different components of the phenomenology of enjoyment to examine the attractions of engaging in such apparently high-risk pursuits. This approach necessitates engagement with psychological literatures, but these are set into context with findings from our participant observation work. The article begins with a discussion of the theory of risk, and proceeds with a review of the literature on edgework and flow. We then present our ethnographic findings in relation to the phenomenological components that Csikszentmihalyi identified as being part of the ‘flow experience’. We conclude by considering the sociological implications of flow and the potential of using this concept to explore a range of creative and enjoyable experiences in a number of physical environments.

Risk in context

Even though political institutions in Western societies have attempted to reduce the risks of injury in the workplace and in many other areas of social life, an increasing number of individuals are attempting to remove society’s (metaphorical) safety harness by engaging in voluntary risk-taking (Celsi, 1992; Lyng, 1990, 2005a; Palmer, 2002; Stranger, 1999). People are swarming to rural environments to do so, be it rock climbing, skydiving, white water rafting or scuba diving. This suggests that there is more to countryside experience than the appreciation of rural beauty. In fact, it is a setting for the experience of what many would call dangerous pursuits. This is paradoxical for two reasons. Firstly, it punctures the traditional image of the countryside as a peaceful place where restful pursuits like walking are undertaken. Secondly, it complicates the meaning of the word ‘risk’ which, in both everyday understanding and academic theorizing, is generally used to describe negative or undesirable outcomes (Douglas, 1992; Furedi, 1999). It is with this latter paradox that this article engages.

How risk is perceived has been the focus of extensive theorizing, particularly within psychology. One suggestion is that we have two systems in our brain with which we judge risk. System one allows us to make snap judgements and works beyond the level of conscious awareness: in short, feeling. System two is how ‘experts’ reach objective measurements of risk; it involves slow reasoning that allows us to conclude how ‘at risk’ a particular person is. Thus each system can bring us to entirely different conclusions (D Gardner, 2008: 18–19). This explanation assumes that there is an objective measure of risk, and so those who reach alternative assessments are at best inaccurate and at worst pathological. Sociological theories have tended to be critical of this suggestion. For example, Douglas (1992) argues that risk assessments are always made within a particular social and political context and that, consequently, no single perception of risk is truer than another. Furedi (1999) notes the merits of this approach for exposing public concerns about risk. Furedi’s view is that many of the fears expressed in the media surrounding food safety, the risks of new technologies, and dangers to children should be seen as moral panics and that greater awareness of potential risks fosters panic.

It is possible to interpret every flood or drought as a sign of the irreparable damage humanity has caused to the earth’s climate, just as every minor blip on the stock market might be read as an indication that the global economy is about to crash. Humans are encouraged to monitor risk, which makes us cautious and fearful. Anything we cannot understand or control becomes a source of potential danger, from GM foods to stem cell research. This fear, Furedi argues, contributes to a pessimistic view of humanity and causes us to limit experimentation and potential for growth. Ulrich Beck (1998, 2004) is critical of this position. Risks to our safety, environment and health should not just be seen as moral panics, he argues, but as a culmination of the social-cultural context and the physical danger of a particular situation (see also Giddens, 1990, 1991). As a result, today’s citizens are specialists in managing and detecting risks and have the ability to assess the likelihood of falling victim (Beck, 1998; Furedi, 1999; Giddens, 1990). An alternative sociological explanation is provided by the governmentality thesis which sees risk as a method of maintaining social control (Castel, 1991; Ewald, 1991; Foucault, 1991). Those adopting a governmentality approach have focused on how discourses, practices and institutions produce truths on risk. Information about risk is collected and analysed by a diverse range of experts such that groups of people are designated as ‘at risk’, requiring particular forms of knowledge and interventions. Information is, thus, transformed into guidance, and people are encouraged to follow the latest recommendations by engaging in self-regulation. From a Foucauldian (1991) perspective, risk is a ‘moral technology’, and risk avoidance has become a moral enterprise that limits freedom and manipulates behaviour.

The key characteristic linking all the above theories on risk is the overarching sense that it is negative, which provokes the question: if humans are so risk averse, why are an increasing number of individuals voluntarily seeking out risk? There have of course been numerous attempts to answer this question, and psychologists have identified various personality types that are more likely to take risks, such as ‘extroverts’ (Jung, 1924), ‘schizoids’ (Kretchmer, 1936), ‘counterphobics’ (Fenichel, 1939), and ‘eudaemonists’ (Bernard, 1968). Current research suggests that a propensity for risk-taking is associated with impulsivity, sensation-seeking and low self-control (Mishra and Lalumiere, 2011). However, none of the personality types identified adequately explain social patterns in voluntary risk-taking. If the explanation were purely psychological, the number of people engaging in risky behaviour should remain static over time; the fact that it does not suggests a more social cause (Lyng, 2008). To contextualize our own research into this particular question, we now turn to the literature on risk and voluntary risk-taking as it pertains to a sporting and leisure context.

On the edge

To explain his desire to climb Mount Everest, George Mallory famously declared: ‘Because it’s there’. Activities characterized by high risk evidently fascinate. Watching people engage in death-defying feats of athleticism and control can leave observers in a state of awe. Yet most people are aware of the dangers of engaging in extreme sport, and Mallory himself later became one of mountaineering’s most high-profile victims. ‘Because it’s there’ does not satisfy the curiosity of those seeking to understand the motivation behind such an obvious form of risk-taking. One of the first sociologists to address this question was Erving Goffman (1969), who suggested that certain behaviours, which he termed ‘action’, could lead to excitement, and to the strengthening of one’s moral character. Benefits are felt when the individual voluntarily engages in an activity with associated risks. By accepting the risks of injury or death, there is obviously the possibility that a failed attempt could leave one branded as foolhardy, but the potential for a strengthened sense of self is what makes ‘action’ so tempting (Goffman, 1969: 238). Since then, various sociological studies have investigated various high-risk pursuits (see Holyfield, 1999; Hunt, 1995; Lois, 2005; Reith, 2005).

Lyng (1990) provides a social psychological framework for understanding the attractions of taking voluntary risks. His thesis is that people who engage in risky pursuits such as skydiving do so to experience the sensations gained from maintaining control over the seemingly uncontrollable; this is edgework (Lyng and Snow, 1986). The term ‘edgework’ was coined by Thompson (1967, 1980), who originally used the term to describe a range of transgressive experiences. The definitive edgework experience involves death, or at least serious injury, if the individual fails to meet the challenge. Lyng’s version of edgework is defined as the ability to ‘maintain control over a situation that verges on complete chaos, a situation that most people would regard as completely uncontrollable’ (1990: 859). He suggests that in any risky situation the individual must work to balance on a theoretical edge – the line between control and chaos, and in many cases, life and death. By moving as close to the edge as possible, the edgeworker can demonstrate control over their fears, thus producing a magnified sense of self, a heightened sense of awareness, and the achievement of self-actualization (Lyng, 1990: 860). Edgeworkers are constantly pushing their boundaries in an attempt to maximize risk and increase the likelihood of experiencing a ‘unique high’ (1990: 862).

The term ‘edgework’ can be applied to any activity that has the potential to transgress everyday boundaries, for example, drug-taking (Reith, 2005), financial risk-taking, (Smith, 2005), emotional labour (Lois, 2005) and sexual practices (Newmahr, 2011). Thus, the edge does not necessarily have to represent the physical boundary between life and death. Lois’s (2005) ethnographic study of a search and rescue organization, for example, shows how volunteers were required to engage in extremely dangerous and often gruesome rescues which were not only physically but emotionally demanding. Controlling one’s emotions was a key aspect of the work (Lois, 2005: 130). Emotions had the potential to prevent the individual from completing their work; for example a dangerous traverse could paralyse an individual with fear, or a horrific accident could make someone feel overwhelmed with nausea. Techniques such as focusing on the technical aspect of the task or dehumanizing the victims allowed the workers to continue (Lois, 2005: 132). These emotions did not disappear upon completion of the rescue mission; they had to be continuously redefined to prevent them from impacting on the next mission (2005: 137). In this sense edgework can be seen as an ongoing process.

Lyng (2005c) suggests a variety of explanations for the increasing popularity of edgework in contemporary society and interprets this through a Weberian gaze, suggesting that as the rationalizing forces of modernity cause people to become ‘disenchanted’, they turn to edgework consumption to re-enchant their lives. Lyng also suggests a similar, postmodern explanation, in which edgework represents a method of achieving desire without the mediation of consumer objects. Just as we buy clothes for their self-referential quality, we engage in edgework to demonstrate that we can survive the risk – a sense of achievement which is further reinforced by artefacts such as photos and video footage. This is both a means of consuming as well as displaying one’s experience. Images of the experience become just as significant as the experience itself. There are similarities between edgework and the Foucauldian notion of ‘limit-experience’, which involves pushing boundaries and thus shedding light on the knowledge we use to draw limits in our day-to-day lives. This exploration presents an opportunity to break free from rigid categories created and perpetuated by disciplinary technologies (Miller, 2000). Limit-experiences and edgework are appealing because they ‘represent the deployment of individual power against power-knowledge’ (Lyng, 2005c: 44). In a society suffocated by risk management, engaging in edgework may act as a form of protest and resistance.

There is often an assumption within the literature that an increase in risky behaviour is synonymous with an increase in edgework. This may not be the case. Edgework assumes that the most seductive aspect of high-risk activities is the associated risk. It is claimed that individuals engage in high-risk behaviour because they find ‘the experience to be seductively appealing’ (Lyng, 2005b: 18) and that risk is actively sought out as ‘an end in itself’ rather than ‘a means to an end’ (Lyng, 2005b: 5). Climbing without appropriate safety equipment or skydiving under the influence of drugs are both examples of how some individuals attempt to move as close as possible to the edge. Indeed, the real significance of the edge is how close an individual can go without falling. However, anyone who has ever engaged in any form of extreme sport, regardless of ability, will be well aware that risk management is a central aspect of the experience. Skydivers carry out safety checks on their kit before jumping, climbers think carefully about the weather conditions, white water rafters know all about the currents they have to negotiate and divers ensure they have checked their oxygen. Rather than throwing caution to the wind, this suggests a group of people who take responsibility for their actions within a highly specific terrain.

Risk and autotelic experiences

An alternative social psychological explanation for engaging in risky activities is provided by Csikszentmihalyi (1975, 1988, 2002), whose research takes into account participants who plan, evaluate and make informed judgements concerning the risks associated with their sport. As Csikszentmihalyi states: ‘The whole point of climbing is to avoid objective dangers as much as possible, and to eliminate subjective dangers entirely by rigorous discipline and sound preparation’ (2002: 60). The overall aim of his work is to describe the various ways people can live fully engaged and enjoyable lives. Regardless of the age, gender, social class or culture of those studied, he suggests the moments people describe as their happiest are those in which they accomplish something difficult and worthwhile. These are known as optimal experiences, challenging and demanding activities that provide no external rewards such as money, status or power, just sheer, intrinsic enjoyment. Experiences that provide their own intrinsic reward are what Csikszentmihalyi terms autotelic experiences.

Csikszentmihalyi studied a range of individuals, including artists, athletes, composers, surgeons and rock climbers, to develop the concept of flow: ‘the state in which people are so involved in an activity that nothing else seems to matter; the experience itself is so enjoyable that people will do it even at great cost, for the sheer sake of doing it’ (2002: 4). The ideal situation for flow to occur is when an individual is free to enter a situation and has autonomy over their actions. In contrast to Lyng, Csikszentmihalyi suggests that in order for someone to fully enjoy high-risk pursuits, the level of danger must be proportionate to the participants’ level of ability. The individual must be presented with opportunities for action, along with clear, realistic goals and immediate feedback on performance. While Lyng is concerned primarily with pushing boundaries to test one’s limits, Csikszentmihalyi argues that pushing oneself to such an extreme can lead to feelings of anxiety and thus prevent the experience of flow. In short, one must strike a balance between boredom and anxiety. Boredom will result from a lack of opportunity – when one’s situation is not challenging and can be easily dealt with. Anxiety, on the other hand, will occur if the situation demands more skill or experience than is currently possessed. Flow occurs when the situational demands are generally approximate to the individual’s ability (Csikszentmihalyi, 1975: 50). It is this which motivates participants to engage in high-risk activities.

Drawing on data from two independent ethnographic research projects, the next section of the article extends Csikszentmihalyi’s thesis further by showing that the majority of skydivers and climbers in our research projects did not deliberately set out to increase risk, and that motivations were more complex than this. In the next section of the article, we discuss the methods that we used to explore this issue. We then highlight our findings. Extending Csikszentmihalyi’s conceptual framework with this data, we offer insights that are absent from much of the current research and theorizing on edgework, risk and motivation. The findings will be presented and discussed in relation to the different components of the flow process before drawing some final conclusions from the analysis.

Methods

The research project on skydiving (Hardie-Bick) investigated the norms, values and behaviour that typify the social experiences of becoming and being a skydiver. By investigating the complex stages and social procedures that take the complete ‘neophyte’ to being a licensed skydiver, this research looked beyond the immediacy of excitement and analysed the motivations and experiences of those within the skydiving community. The research findings are based on 15 months of participant observation carried out at a parachute centre in the United Kingdom. In addition to these observations, 14 semi-structured interviews were conducted. The participants ranged from 20 to 53 years of age, and five of the interviewees were female. This sample reflected the high proportion of male skydivers at the parachute centre. The interviewees (ranging from novice parachutists to fully licensed skydivers and instructors) were deliberately selected to represent the different levels of experience within the skydiving community. All interviewees were recruited by building rapport and gaining the trust of informants whilst conducting fieldwork.

The second research project on rock climbing (Bonner) is based on a period of nine months of participant observation carried out at a climbing centre in the United Kingdom. In addition to this, three semi-structured interviews and two focus groups were conducted with climbers representing a range of abilities, experience and climbing traditions to reflect the growing diversity and popularity of climbing within the UK. The initial empirical focus investigated the experiences of novice, amateur and retired climbers and aimed to understand the experiences of the ‘everyday’ climber. A follow-up focus group was conducted with three professional climbing instructors, all of whom were proficient lead, traditional climbers with a wide range of experiences including indoor top-roping, outdoor sport climbing and bouldering. This strategy allowed for an exploration of the idea that flow was a widely applicable theory, as opposed to a model more appropriate for explaining the motivations of novices.

The strategy of participant observation (Douglas, 1976; Jorgensen, 1989; O’Reilly, 2005) was specifically chosen in both research projects in order to directly witness relevant events, and fully appreciate the skills and routines participants needed to master and to generally build rapport with other skydivers and climbers. It allowed us to acquire an insider status to afford insights into personal motivations and goals (Plate, 2007). In both projects, (recorded) data from the fieldwork was ‘illuminated’ by conducting follow-up interviews. Both studies drew upon a range of documentary sources such as climbing and skydiving magazines, websites, reports and DVDs to provide ‘checks’ (Neuman, 1994) on the data provided by our field notes together with the accounts of participants. All interviews, field notes and documentary sources were continually analysed for categories and emerging themes. Analysis of transcripts and field notes was an ongoing process throughout the period of both research projects. In accordance with the British Sociological Association’s ethical guidelines, pseudonyms are used for all participants to maintain anonymity. We now turn to our empirical findings in greater depth.

Flow: A balancing act

While edgework is the most cited sociological explanation for understanding why people engage in high-risk activities, it fails to account for the intricate safety routines of its participants. Informants in both our studies emphasized the importance of safety and explained how they attempted to reduce rather than increase the dangers. Speaking to those physically involved with these pursuits made this clear, as the following two quotes from the skydiving case study show:

Julia: I want to push myself to my ability limits. Push and challenge myself… but to the actual danger limits they’re, they’re already there and I don’t need to push them any further, I know they’re there. I don’t want to increase them.

Anna: Everyone is pretty safety conscious… I mean most skydivers have an interest in fatal accidents, not because they are particularly morbid, but because they want to know exactly what happened in order to learn… The more time you look at them the more you learn and the more safety conscious you become.

Informants confidently embraced the risk factors associated with their sport, but they did not have a ‘death wish’. The overwhelming majority of participants in both research projects spent much of their time learning how to reduce rather than increase the dangers. Rather than seeking out chaos, participants actively sought to reduce, manage and control the risks associated with their sport. As Mitchell (1983) and Celsi et al. (1993) note, individuals actually delimit high-risk contexts to a manageable level. Whilst a minority of individuals did show a ‘willingness to take unnecessary risks’ (Lyng, 1998: 227), the edgework perspective did not capture the motivations of many of our research participants.

Some of the central motivations of our informants were better explored through Csikszentmihalyi’s framework of flow, in which he outlines the following components: opportunities for action, feelings of competence and control, deep involvement and concentration, a merging of action and awareness, a sense of time being altered, a loss of self-consciousness and the emergence of a stronger sense of self upon completion. A combination of these factors causes a deep sense of enjoyment, something which the following section reflects on in relation to our own research findings.

To remain in flow it is necessary to increase the complexity of the activity by developing sufficient skills and taking on new challenges. Both skydiving and climbing have clear and immediate goals that participants can aim to achieve, something which was made clear in the ways that informants enthused about their potential for progression within the skydiving case study:

Andrew: The first time I did it I just thought it was absolutely brilliant, but after the feedback and talking to other more experienced students, I realized that that was just the beginning. It’s about learning new skills all the time; after the first few jumps it’s not about just getting out of the plane and living it, it’s actually learning to do stuff in the air.

Paul: If I want to I can just jump out and do summersaults or whatever. Formation flying is fun as well. I enjoy that, jumping with friends. But I just don’t get the adrenalin anymore. It’s not about that, it’s about exploring what you can do.

Such comments were also voiced in the rock-climbing context. For example, Luke discussed how he consistently set new goals to challenge himself as his skill level progressed:

I’ve probably progressed from top-roping and bouldering indoors… to leading indoors… Then gradually moving from someone who just climbs indoors to outdoors. Although because we’re in England it’s that transition from sport climbing indoors to traditional climbing outdoors… To mostly bouldering outdoors.

Aside from constantly improving their aerial positions or climbing techniques, experienced participants may decide to accept the challenge of becoming an instructor or entering national and international competitions. Informants often commented on the importance of having new experiences. Regardless of the individual’s level of ability and experience, both pursuits offer a wide range of exciting challenges.

Reflection and immediate feedback

Skydivers and climbers are constantly reflecting on what they did well and what aspects of their performance they could improve:

Luke: Personally I judge [how well you’re doing] on how efficient you are, your technique level, rather than how fast you do anything or your strength. Even if I’m climbing something easy and can’t do it, if I feel personally like I’m climbing with good technique, then I feel like I’m climbing well.

Participants reflected on their own performance and friends would also comment on their skills and level of ability. During the early stages of training, even the most overwhelmed student parachutist is provided with feedback from their instructor. The following field notes describe the feedback I received from my instructor after my third jump at the skydiving centre:

Although he said my climb out [of the plane] was confident, I failed to arch my back enough. ‘Your arch was quite flat, and you kicked your legs. It’s only natural, it’s quite common actually. You know what you’re doing don’t you? You’re looking for the ground, but the ground’s not there. So you need to make a conscious effort not to kick your legs and you need to practise arching your back. You just need to break it down, that’s all. Once you’ve climbed out into position, then you’re on to the next stage. After you have left the plane and arched properly, then you’re on to the next stage, have I got a malfunction. Believe me, if you have, you’ll deal with it. Don’t try to think about everything at once. The thing is, you’re becoming aware of what you are doing now. I bet you can’t even remember your first jump. Like everyone else, you were shitting yourself. At the end of your first jump you were just pleased to be alive. But now you’re more aware that you’re jumping from a plane, so you need to control that…’. ‘So it wasn’t a good jump’, I said. ‘Well, it wasn’t brilliant, but it was safe, and that’s the main thing. I’ve seen exits that are just not safe and all of those exits today were safe. You’re all alive, so as far as I’m concerned, that’s a good day at the office.’

We noticed that student parachutists who received negative feedback were often eager to ‘go up again’ the same day in order to ‘get it right’. Learning to skydive involves the successful completion of various progressive stages (see Donaldson, 2000), and this encouraged a sense of competition. The different stages were seen as personal challenges and served to encourage progression.

Feeling competent and in control

A heightened sense of control plays an important part in activities involving physical danger. As Lyng (1990) has also noted, feelings of competence and control are especially relevant for high-risk activities such as rock climbing and skydiving. Both Karl and Stewart discussed the importance of self-reliance during their interviews:

Karl: If you compare it [skydiving] to bungee jumping, I mean there’s no skill jumping off something… The thing about a bungee jump is that you are at the mercy of those who are organizing it. All you’ve got to do is let go… But with skydiving, it’s all about you. Your own preparation, your mental preparation, it’s all down to you.

Stewart: You’re in control, it’s like you’ve got that control; with a roller coaster ride you do nothing… you are there for the ride whereas parachuting you’re not there for the ride, you’re the pilot.

In a similar way climbers also commented on the significance of maintaining control. As Simon describes:

It’s [climbing], not about adrenaline. Adrenaline is almost your enemy. It does what it’s designed to do and it will push you on; it will push you on to somewhere you don’t want to be. You’ve got to be in control. If you’re not in control you’re in trouble.

Here we appreciate that these participants were not interested in increasing the risks; instead, informants repeatedly emphasized the importance of control. One of the central attractions of high-risk activities is the responsibility for managing actions and controlling any life-threatening situation that may occur.

Merging action and awareness

Climbing and skydiving are both activities that involve focusing on limited stimulus fields, something that participants referred to frequently:

Mark: [When climbing] you have to think about what you’re doing, really focus on the movement. It’s not just sort of, a mental route plan. If you’ve got to reach for something you’ve got to focus your mind on exactly doing that… You really have to make every movement deliberate.

In the parachuting phase of our research, one of us (Hardie-Bick) experienced this focused mindfulness at first hand. A section of field notes describing the first parachute jump are particularly relevant to this category and amplify the comments made by Mark in a climbing context. As a complete neophyte, I knew I ‘was about to perform for the first time in a role that calls for certain skills never yet publicly tested’ (Lyman and Scott, 1970: 187), but no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, I still found the idea of jumping out of a small plane an extremely daunting prospect. The following extract captures the nervous anticipation in the plane prior to the first jump and describes the act of climbing out onto a short ‘step’ attached to the aircraft. The thought of climbing out onto the step and holding onto the wing strut was a fear that had been gradually escalating in my mind since the initial ground training and was a procedure I repeatedly rehearsed in a mock aeroplane at the centre (see Hardie-Bick, 2005).

I’m feeling faint. I look out of the plane and contemplate climbing out on to the step. Such contemplation only served to increase my symptoms. I feel I have turned very pale. The instructor looks at me and genuinely asks if I am OK. I tell him I am, although I know that my response is unconvincing. ‘How long have I got to prepare myself?’ I ask. ‘About twenty seconds’ he shouts in my ear. All I can do is stare at the horizon, and try not to look down. I concentrate on my breathing, slowly inhaling through my nose and out through my mouth. I tell myself to be confident, but I’m not sure my body will move when I need it to. I try to distract myself by looking at the aircraft controls in front of me. I can feel the instructor checking my parachute, pulling and pushing me back and forth. The instructor leans over me and says something to the pilot. He then shouts in my ear ‘I want you to arch your back for Britain OK’. I nod. Then I hear those dreaded words – ‘ON THE STEP’. I take my left hand and hold the handle by my head and firmly place my right hand on the door frame behind me. I stretch my right leg out of the plane, and on to the step. Even though I had been warned, fighting against the wind is harder than I had anticipated. I am very aware that it is vitally important I get this right. My right leg is now on the step. I take my left arm off the handle and take a firm grip of the wing strut. ‘Really tight grip’ the instructor shouts. I then remove my right arm from the door frame and place it next to my left arm on the wing strut. I pull myself up, placing my left leg over my right to the edge of the step. I slide my hands up the wing strut until they are over the black tape [both hands must be over the tape in order not to hit the plane when jumping]. After a few seconds I am in position. My right leg is out behind me and my left leg is on the edge of the step. Both hands are holding on to the wing strut. I turn to look at the instructor. He looks me straight in the eyes and shouts ‘GO’. I immediately let go. ‘One thousand, two thousand…’.

The ground training that had been received prior to the jump clearly emphasized the importance of being in the right position on the step before jumping. During the training, the instructors showed film clips of ‘bad jumps’ and told stories about accidents and near fatalities, so I was fully aware of the consequences of not being in the correct position on the step before the jump. Although I had no idea what the experience would be like, I knew I would have to concentrate and make each of my movements deliberate and precise. There are clear advantages of engaging in activities that merge action and awareness and require high levels of concentration, something that emerged in interviews from both phases of the research:

Stewart: It’s very much relief from anything else you know. A lot of people do find it [skydiving] sort of puts things in perspective, you know, no matter how much trouble they’re having at work during the week say, you know, tedious boss and they don’t like the job and they’re not certain whether they want to continue doing this job. All these things are just not important.

Aaron: That’s one the other reasons I like climbing I think, because you do completely immerse yourself in that world for the time you’re doing it. I completely forget about everything else going on at home; my job, money, tax, any of that crap. You just forget about it and concentrate on enjoying what you’re doing and doing it safely.

Helen: You get away from it all. You can start climbing in the morning, and by the evening you realize that there are various things in your life that might not be so great, but you haven’t thought about it all day. And that’s what climbing’s about. The more challenging the route, the more removed you will be.

While the flow activity lasts it is possible to momentarily lose track of time and forget everyday problems. Focusing on the task at hand leaves no room for worrying about anything else. The above quotations also highlight how the merging of action and awareness involves a loss of self-consciousness. This does not imply a loss of self or a loss of consciousness: ‘What slips below the threshold of awareness is the concept of self… And being able to forget temporarily who we are seems to be very enjoyable’ (Csikszentmihalyi, 2002: 64). Because of the deep concentration on the activity the person not only momentarily forgets his or her problems but also loses a sense of self. The self is fully functioning, but not actually aware of itself.

An emerging identity

After completing the activity usual self-consciousness resumes and individuals start to reflect on their achievements. The following field notes from the climbing research (Bonner) describe a set of emotional feelings after scaling a particularly challenging wall:

I could see the hold I needed to reach with my right hand. I managed to balance myself with all my weight on my big toe, all too aware that any sudden movement could send me crashing face first into the wall, and stretched my right hand upwards towards the hold. As soon as I grabbed it I used it to hold my weight and move my left foot into a much less precarious position and push myself upwards, away from my trouble spot. Upon reaching the top I heaved a sigh of both relief and exhaustion. I slowly walked down the wall, jumping down the sloped area, and a huge grin spread across my face. This is probably the first wall I have climbed where I have experienced flow. I had no concept of how long I had been climbing for, I was completely focused on the task at hand, and I couldn’t even recall if my partner had shouted up any words of encouragement or advice. I had blocked out any thoughts that were not directly relevant to that particular climb, and apart from the particularly tough section described above, I can’t recall how I reached the top.

This experience was reminiscent of Csikszentmihalyi’s point that, ‘when the difficulty is just right, action follows action in a fluid series, and the actor has no need to adopt an outside perspective from which to constantly intervene’ (1975: 85). As the above field notes suggest, I was completely unaware of how quickly and far I was climbing until I became stuck halfway through the sloped section. It was only after the climb that the outside perspective returned and I started to think about what I had just achieved and reflect about how my techniques were improving. Our informants often commented on the sense of achievement they felt after they had successfully overcome new challenges. Informants claimed that knowing about how one responds to challenging situations is an important process for learning about oneself:

Andrew: I think it [skydiving] is a way of pushing yourself and seeing what you are capable of… I think it’s important to have challenges. Unless you have seen how far you can go, how far you can push yourself, where your own limits are, from a personal point of view I don’t think you’ve explored your life that well.

Mark: Once I’ve achieved a climb I feel really strong, like, I don’t know, it gives you a real sense of achievement, and I feel like, powerful. I know that sounds a bit ridiculous, but I look at it, and I think, I wouldn’t have thought I’d be able to do it.

Each of the structural components discussed contributes to the experience of flow and capture some of the important attractions of the overall experience of climbing and skydiving. High-risk activities such as skydiving and climbing allow individuals to participate in a manner that relates to their respective levels of skill. In addition to this, as these are autotelic experiences that involve physical danger, such activities are an ‘outstanding example of a particular class of flow activities’ (Csikszentmihalyi, 1975: 74). The necessary involvement in the demanding activity overrides the participant’s self-awareness and provides a release from conscious constraints such as self-doubt and boredom.

Discussion and conclusion

The findings presented above suggest that the way our informants managed uncertainty and risk was clearly at odds with much of the existing research on high-risk pursuits (Lyng, 1990). When we engaged with those involved in the pursuits, it was clear that their motives were more complex than simple risk-taking. Voluntary risk-taking, such as the sorts we experienced at first hand, offers participants the chance to display courage by controlling their response to the ‘dialectic of fear and pleasure’ (Le Breton, 2000: 4), but the majority of participants that we spoke to did not try to deliberately increase the risks. Drawing on Csikszentmihalyi’s research we have argued that the idea of flow provides an important counter to the view of risk as a ‘dominant preoccupation’ of those who engage in such activities. By breaking down the different phenomenological components of enjoyment, we have added new ethnographic insights to this theoretical framework by showing how the positive sensations and attractions associated with these activities are not necessarily restricted to a fixation upon danger.

In both our studies, however, there were participants who could accurately be described as ‘edgeworkers’. These individuals seemed to always be thinking of new, exciting and creative ways in which they could increase the risks associated with their activity, but it is important to recognize that these individuals had gained a negative reputation for themselves. In fact, many skydivers refused to jump with individuals they considered to be dangerous, and there were a range of informal mechanisms to limit such behaviour (Hardie-Bick, 2011). A reckless abandonment of safety and an unnecessary escalation of risk can often leave an extreme sportsperson labelled as a liability. Hunt’s research with deep wreck divers also found those who engaged in chronic, excessive risk-taking were frequently the subject of gossip and gained reputations as ‘unsafe’ or ‘accidents waiting to happen’ (1995: 452). Mitchell’s research with rock climbers and mountaineers reported similar findings. As Mitchell (1983) suggests, climbers do not glory in the danger of the sport but continually seek to limit dangerous circumstances, learning safety techniques, using proper equipment and planning their climbs. None of these points should be seen as distracting from the ‘serious ride’ that high-risk activities provide.

Mitchell (1983) argues that the experience of flow allows the individual to escape their usual alienating experience of everyday life. Lyng also makes a similar argument in relation to alienated labour and the seductive attractions of voluntary risk-taking. As Lyng states, the high levels of concentration required to engage in high-risk activities provide a powerful contrast to our usual everyday experiences. High-risk activities are seductive as they allow individuals to display courage, control fear and to live with a sense of personal agency. Goffman suggests that ‘serious action’ can be seen as compensating individuals for the absence of direct personal control and autonomy they experience in their everyday lives. The experience of flow is a state of being that is rarely experienced in normative life. Clearly, high-risk experiences are different from other flow activities. For example, high-risk participants are constantly negotiating risk and therefore they have to trust each other with their own lives. In addition to this, climbing a new route or successfully completing a new manoeuvre during free fall can provide powerfully intense feelings of both physical and mental achievement. Nevertheless, regardless of whether one is skydiving, composing music or playing chess, all flow experiences involve ‘the total involvement of body and mind with a feasible task… It is this that makes the activity worthwhile, despite the absence of utilitarian rewards’ (Csikszentmihalyi, 1975: 99).

The majority of skydivers and climbers in our research projects did not deliberately set out to increase the risks by placing themselves in increasingly dangerous situations. Our research has emphasized how skydivers and climbers enjoy the challenge of managing rather than maximizing the risks associated with these pursuits. This has important implications. While the existing literature on edgework suggests that the benefits of self-determination and self-actualization are limited to the high-risk context, research on flow suggests that many of the positive sensations produced by engaging with high-risk activities are not necessarily limited to high-risk experiences. The wider implications of this are that a diverse range of mundane experiences can also produce a heightened sense of self together with a sense of personal agency and self-determination. A vast range of activities provide the chance of learning and developing new skills, and the focused concentration required to practise these skills can also offer a type of resistance to the usual routines and rituals of everyday life. It is well documented, for example, that running and mountain walking offer a similar form of escapism, mobility or personal challenge, albeit in a less risky way.

Instead of fixating upon risk, then, we have shifted towards an emphasis upon flow which, we argue, provides individuals with a sense of transcendence, a feeling of moving beyond the normal constraints of everyday life, a renewed sense of self and deep feelings of satisfaction. What keeps one going is the experience of acting outside one’s own conscious experience of self. There are many ways people can achieve this sense of flow:

For a child, it could be placing with trembling fingers the last block on a tower she has built, higher than any she has built so far; for a swimmer, it could be trying to beat his own record; for a violinist, mastering an intricate musical passage. For each person there are thousands of opportunities, challenges to expand ourselves. (Csikszentmihalyi, 2002: 3)

By describing the different phenomenological components of the flow experience within a climbing and skydiving context, we have addressed important motivating factors overlooked by much of the current research on edgework. We have also presented a different reading of country sports which, traditionally, have taken the appreciation of landscape as a vital part of the engagement. Hunting with hounds, shooting, hill-walking and angling have all been described as country pursuits which link the participant with the landscape through an aesthetic appreciation of the rural setting, a space which supports a particular ‘way of life’. Our case studies have focused on the lived experience of risk to show that the countryside, and specifically its more mountainous terrain, can also be experienced in more close-up, intimate and embodied ways – something we have explored in the context of the theory of flow.

Focusing upon the psychological rather than the cultural terrain, we have also suggested that research on flow has the potential to significantly widen the debate on voluntary risk-taking as well as physical and mental activities in a range of spaces. This has relevance for future ethnographic work as our research demonstrates that the positive experiences and sensations associated with high-risk pursuits are not necessarily limited to extraordinary activities. Nor need they necessarily involve physical proximity to rock faces, mountains or the meadows of the landing-field. This actively disassembles the definition of certain pursuits as rural and others as urban, just as it helps unravel the labelling of some activities as ‘extreme’. As we have shown, exploring the imagined space that exists between our own personal levels of boredom and anxiety also has the potential to make more ordinary everyday experiences deeply rewarding. Understanding this experiential terrain has potential to alter the ways that we consider a range of activities in a number of different environments.

Edited by Lindsay Hamilton, Keele University, UK

Footnotes

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Author Biographies

James Hardie-Bick is Lecturer in Sociology and Criminology at the University of Sussex, UK. He has published on identity, edgework, transgression and various other existential aspects of human performance. Recent publications include ‘Sartre on Edgework’ (2015) in What is Criminology About? Philosophical Reflections (Routledge) and Necessary Illusions: Life, Death and the Construction of Meaning (in press, Oñati Socio-Legal Series).

Penny Bonner lives in the UK and is an Independent Scholar with a particular interest in the psychology of risk-taking, flow, enjoyment and edgework, particularly in the mountaineering and climbing milieu.

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