One Step at a Time...Off a Cliff

It’s not that I mind heights so much. My fear is more specific to falling. I could stand fearlessly on the highest of ledges, if I knew that I would not fall. But the whole sport of repelling is hinged on the act of falling; a controlled fall, yes, but a fall nonetheless. So as our two guides, Duc and Trang, introduce us to the harnesses and ropes and other gear that we’ll be using on the trip, I can’t help reconsidering the endeavor.

La Paz, Bolivia. November, 2006.

La Paz was such an intense city, thriving in equal parts of culture and crime, that it seemed a
fitting starting place for “The World’s Most Dangerous Road”, aptly nicknamed “The Road of Death”. It would be the mountain bike ride that introduced you to fear in its tangible form; the kind of fear that makes decisions, defines experiences. Halfway down the mountain, blinking against moist air and following sounds of tires ahead of you, probably too fast, you’d hear something snap on your bike, spraying mud on your face, up your nose, and you’d instinctively lean over, sliding to a halt under the broken mountain bike, hoping to stop before the edge of the road. The fear that whitened your knuckles in those slow-motion moments would be humbled, though still alive. The guide would offer a replacement bike from the support van trailing your group, or a seat in the van, if you preferred. It would be a defining moment. Would you ever consider walking backwards off a cliff in Vietnam if you had climbed into that van in Bolivia?

Dalat, Vietnam. February, 2007

Duc and Trang look very young, but they’re obviously well-experienced. I like the way they methodically introduce us to the gear and slowly describe different techniques and safety precautions. They’re patient and thorough, lending towards trustworthiness. Even so, in the absence of last night’s wine buffer, when it was so easy to agree to the trip, now I’m second-guessing myself, hesitant in the reality of our preparations for falling. The boys are particularly gentle with me, maybe sensing my hesitation, and as much as I’d like to refuse the special treatment, I gratefully appreciate their efforts to make sure I’m comfortable with “the plan.”

What’s a girl to do? After a rough, hour-long jeep ride, our canyoning trip begins with a relatively easy hike to the river. Most of the morning is spent walking and rock-hopping along the water, stopping a few times to practice repelling off tall boulders.

I hold my breath and lean into the first repel, sitting trustfully on the tattered straps of my harness. The Falling Moment comes soon enough, when neither my feet nor my harness have a mutually exclusive relationship with gravity. One tiny step at a time, I move backwards, leaning more faithfully into the harness, relaxing as I feel my gear doing what it’s supposed to. The Falling Moment gradually dissolves, evaporates like the sweat on my skin, leaving behind just the grit of its memory, the promise of its reality. And without the fear, however brief its absence, my vision clears enough to realize that I’m actually standing on a wall! A few more steps, one almost-totally-confident push off the wall, and it’s over too soon.

When the sun is almost directly overhead, we arrive at a section of river that widens dramatically, the sandy riverbed replaced by an expanse of grey rock, smoothed over by years of flowing water. The rock sweeps up both sides of the canyon, speckled with dripping trees and wildflowers that have somehow forced their way through cracks in the hard surface. Where the rock disappears in front of us, dropping cleanly away into a cliff of unknown height, the river pours unobstructed into space, marking the air with a cloud of spray that hints at a rainbow, depending on how you squint your eyes.

Tired and slightly overwhelmed, I stretch out on a warm rock in the sun, not too close to the edge of the waterfall. Squinting against the glare of sun on water, I watch Paul and Patrick wandering along the other side of the river. Ivo walks past, towards Steven who’s helping Duc and Trang with something at the top of the falls. It takes a minute to focus my vision, but I know what they’re doing even before I see the coils of rope.

Duc uses his rubber mallet to pound safety hooks between cracks in the rock. Everyone gathers around to watch, silently considering what we’re in for. Whatever I thought I was afraid of in our first repels seems silly now. Maybe it’s time to recognize my limits, to step away from the edge and take what I’ve done so far as the whole of this experience...wouldn’t it be worse to start something that’s too big for me, too much for me to handle, than to walk away uninjured?

I frantically scan the riverbanks for another way down, finally spotting a small trailhead between trees hugging the waterfall. That’s it. However steep or narrow that path is, it has to be better than the rock under my feet, the rock that’s replaced by water where spray blurs the edge.
As Duc and Trang finish setting up the safety ropes, I announce my decision to hike around the waterfall. Duc half-heartedly tries to convince me to do the repel, while the other guys stand mute. Considering how supportive and encouraging they’ve been all day, my friends’ silence on this repel speaks volumes, solidifying my decision to opt out.

Ivo goes first. We can’t see him during most of the repel, but after a few minutes we hear a splash followed by his voice echoing off the rock wall far below us. Even I have to smile. I feel nervous and jittery. If I don’t start the hike down soon they’ll have to wait for me at the bottom, but don’t want to leave yet. One by one, I watch my friends slowly disappear over the edge of the waterfall and each time, their journey ends with cheers and laughter from somewhere far below. Soon, only Paul and I are left at the top of the waterfall with Duc and Trang. He smiles at me and nods towards Duc, holding the safety line.

“Go on then” Paul says with a wink, “you can do it”.

My hands are shaking. Can I do this? “Um…how high do you think we are?” I ask Paul.

“Duc says ‘bout thirty metres. Let’s see then…uh…one hundred feet, just about.”

Holy fucking hellfire. One hundred feet of waterfall. I don’t know why I even bothered to ask.

Leaning forward and straining to look over the edge, I see Ivo, Patrick, and Steven dripping on the shore below us, smiling and waving and hollering for me to join them. Paul pulls me away from the edge, drapes a lanky arm around me, and gives my shoulder a friendly squeeze. He slowly guides me towards Duc and Trang, who are waiting patiently in ankle-deep water.

I feel my feet moving, sliding across the slick rock, through the water. I could still turn back; I don’t have to repel, could still hike down the waterfall if I want to. But it’s already happening; if I don’t stop it now, just keep moving through the next few minutes, it will be done. If I do it.
Duc hooks me into his safety line and double- then triple-checks that I’m holding the ropes correctly.

We’re standing in the water, facing each other. My heels are on the edge of the waterfall and I’m leaning forward a little, trying to resist the current that I know will eventually win, especially if I don’t start moving. Duc nods that it’s time to go. I take a deep breath, lean into my harness, and scoot backwards, using my bare feet to navigate across the slippery rock.

The first few inches pass so slowly, feel like an eternity. I step into the Falling Moment just past the point where it would be safe to change my mind. My senses feel sharper than ever before, my ears filled with the sounds of flying water, skin tingling with powerlessness. Duc locks his eyes with mine, levels me, gently talks me through the moment.

“One step at a time” he says, calling above the roar of water, “Keep breathing, let the rope out, you’re doing great”

I wish Duc could stay with me, keep talking to me, but soon his face disappears behind a cloud of spray. The only sounds I hear are rushing water and the thump-ump of my own heartbeat. I feel dizzy. The water presses against my body, warning me to move faster. I know I don't need to grip the rope behind me so tightly, but I can't help it. Before I’m halfway down the waterfall, my arms and hands are throbbing with strain, but I don’t care. I take bigger steps, release more rope, distractedly enjoy the cool spray on my face. I slip once on the rock wall and feel my harness catch on Duc’s safety line, reassured that he won’t let me fall.

Minutes pass like hours, my concept of time and space jumbled by an acutely intimate relationship with gravity. I’m not sure when the fear went away, when the exact moment was that I forgot about it. But wrapped in the high of adrenaline-fed euphoria, dangling in my own little bubble of the universe, fear does not exist. I can do this.

The rock wall eases away from the waterfall, slowly abandoning my suspended body under an airborne river. I stretch my legs out, feet searching in vain for the wall as the force of the waterfall sends me spinning on the end of Duc’s safety line. My friends holler, their voices sounding distant through the water though I can see them on the shore not more than twenty feet away. Is something wrong, or are they cheering for me? Does it matter in this moment? Is there anything I could do differently than what I’m doing right now, if I knew I was in trouble? No, I think not. Any way you cut it, I’m hanging from a rope under a waterfall in Vietnam.

A pool of deep green water froths below me. Finally steadying myself on the rope, I slowly let it out, my arms and hands numb with the effort. I’m almost there, don’t know how much longer I can hold on. I call to my friends, “Is it deep enough? Can I let go?” but my fingers are already unfastening the safety line and the words have barely passed my lips when I splash into the cold water.

I hit the sandy bottom hard, but it doesn’t hurt. Kicking towards the surface, I burst out sputtering and coughing for breath. Everyone is laughing and cheering and I can’t help laughing too. The guys drag me out of the water, pulling me onto my feet. I’m crying through uncontrollable laughter, hoping the boys don’t notice the tears, and feeling so overwhelmed that just standing up is an accomplishment. Duc and Trang expertly navigate the waterfall sans safety lines, and are soon standing with us on the shore.

“See?” Duc says, “One step at a time.”