Saturday, July 04, 2009

So, I Fell Off Of A Cliff Today...

Now THERE'S a blog post starter for you. On the down side, it doesn't get much more exciting than that. For me, this is also the up side.

I was out climbing with Jeremy, celebrating the fact that if I have a kidney infection, it's in serious getting-the-hell-out-of-my-body mode or it's already gone, thanks to rest, rest, more rest and excellent advice and props from my wonderful friends, family, colleagues and boyfriend. After feeling like total shit for the past two and a half weeks I am finally starting to come out of the fug of fever, exhaustion and incoherence that is my body and mind when my immune system is battling something nasty. Anyway...

I was unroped, actually...roped falls don't merit this type of blog post, as when they happen, it's something like, oh fuck, I'm FALLING!, and then my belayer catches me, and then I'm not falling, just a little freaked, for a moment, and then I'm attempting to do whatever I was just attempting to do, but better this time, and without falling. All of this happens in about five seconds, BTW.

So, I was unroped, off trying to find bushes to go do a girly bush-squat, toilet paper in tow, before climbing Jaycene's Dance (climbers: it's a half-pitch 5.8 at Animal World that boasts a ton of fun moves on it, a couple of little ledges, and a crux that's pretty much AT the anchor; it's extremely popular and a lot of fun and if you go, expect to wait unless you go REALLY early in the morning...I've seen parties lines up three deep for this one...non-climbers: it's a long cliff that's barely visible from the road as you're headed up Boulder Canyon (from Boulder to Ned); it's above the rock wall on the right side of the road where you always see groups of climbers, about 9 miles up the canyon or 1 mile past Boulder Falls, called Boulderado), as I'd properly hydrated before belaying Jeremy up to setup the anchor and therefore, had to attend to some business. I'd been scouting around for a spot among a boulder formation that had tons of pine straw scattered about the ground...I hate pine straw, have slid precariously down a few scary gulleys before due to the presence of the stuff and am NOT a fan, and I was busy thanking my wonderful approach shoes for being better on pine straw while trying to teeter off of a cliff to see how far down it was to try to get out of sight to do my business. There was a small evergreen within reach, and I figured I'd graba tiny branch on it then move my hand to its base, all the while battling pine-straw slippage. Well, my hand never reached the base and I slipped, in slow motion, over the edge of the cliff, my hands still scrabbling for something to hang onto, and only catching air again, and again, and again as the tiny branch--which couldn't have supported the weight of a bloated caterpillar, much less a 160-lb human being--snapped off in my hand and I fell, ass-first. Because I couldn't see where I was going, I thought, quite coherently, "I'm going to die." My life didn't flash before my eyes, but I had no idea what was below me as I had been, in fact, scouting that very question when I slipped over the cliff edge, and I knew that a lot of the cliffs tumbled rather sheerly down to the road. I was going to die.

Terrified though I was, I was also indignant and angry (leave it to the human species to be able to produce such emotions). What the fuck was THIS about? I wasn't going to die falling off some cliff while I was just trying to take a leak? If I was going to die climbing, it was going to be much more spectacular than this: my anchor's ledge would unexpectedly cleave off and I would tumble to the bottom of the rock face just as I was about to reach it, or my protection would fail off of some huge wall in Yosemite and I'd tumble to the earth, or my rope would suddenly an immediately fray through, and I'd plunge to my death (this last one, by the way, is virtually impossible...climbing ropes do not fray through, and if there's even a remote possibility that they're going to, climbers do not climb with them anymore. They cut them up and throw them away.). Or something. I mean, what the fuck was this about?

These were possibly the two strongest thoughts as I plunged off the side of the cliff, headed down ass-first into a ledge, covered in about a foot and a half of pine straw, twelve feet below my initial slip. Apparently, I screamed, although I don't remember doing so. When I hit "bottom", my first impulse was to laugh. While I'd been sure of it for a split second, the Universe was not about to place me next into line for a Darwin award. I landed on quite possibly the softest, gentlest place in all of Boulder Canyon's climbing areas--six inches further and I would have hit a rock slab that would have no doubt been considerably less forgiving--and I soon got my feet under me, called out "I'm okay!" to Jeremy's concerned cries (I was close enough to the route that he heard the tree branch snap, me falling (and screaming), and the THUD as I landed. He only got worried when I didn't make any noise, and that's when he began calling my name.

Boy, am I lucky. Boy, was that close, or COULD have been close. Plenty of those cliffs drop straight down onto the road, or much harder surfaces, or would cause a climber to pinwheel through limb-shattering evergreens and small boulders before coming to rest on something. Boy, was I--am I still--scared out of my mind. Not knowing what you're going to hit is absolutely terrifying, even thinking about that moment, the uncertainty, the seconds my mind had to race through all the possibilities that I could reasonably summon, even thinking about those NOW, makes me catch my breath and causes me to blink back tears. To say it was a sobering moment scratches only the tip of the iceberg or, perhaps, the broken branch I still held in my hand as I scrambled to my feet and thanked my Creator, the Universe, whatever fate and luck and need for me to still be among the living is out there. I am so lucky to be alive. That could have ended so much more badly. And I'm really, really thankful that this time, I got off with just a warning.

And some suffering, of course. After the adrenaline wore off the pain in my buttocks and hip started throbbing; while pine straw is forgiving (and deceptive...I'm amused that my reason for falling was also my savior...gotta love the universal irony there, huh?), it was piled on top of boulders, and it wasn't THAT deep. I'm sure that as the bruises start showing, they'll become more painful; as it is, it's hard to walk and the area between my outer knee and right buttock are tender and sore, and bound to get worse. Damn, am I lucky or what?

After that, I did my business, roped up, and did my climb. Incidentally, it was my most solid climb to date. I felt great, and Jeremy said I looked great. I was testing holds and feeling the rock more than I ever have before, getting comfortable standing on teeny-tiny ledges and toeholds and using intermediate moves to advance the climb. The whole climb was very Zen for me, very focused, attentive, concentrated. It had to be. It was either that, or the great big balloon of terror filling my midsection would burst and I'd be stuck on this wretched cliff face bawling my eyes out. I didn't want the day to end that way. So instead, I focused my energy on doing the best climb I could, and it turned out to be the most graceful and solid I've ever felt. Go figure.

We left, then, pretty immediately, pulling our rope and calling it a day. I'm so grateful for the fates being on my side, for my awesome boyfriend's reassurances as I freaked out, then got angry, then started laughing, then freaked again, his ability to maintain calm and prevailing steadiness throughout, the mountain's forgiveness and fury, all at once, and the fact that this time, when it was levelled at me, I escaped a little scathed, a little wiser, a little more introspective, a little more aware, and a lot more grateful. Gratitude--even when induced by short falls off of minor cliffs--is always a blessing. Me partway up Jaycene's Dance summer 2008.