Blue Mountain Abseil

I sat in the icy cold river where it pooled in a small cave-like inlet. Light filtered through the trees and ferns that grew from the high cliffs above. The roar of Empress Falls shouted my impending test of skill and nerves. Though I wore a wetsuit, my feet were frozen, but I didn’t notice. The guide clipped the carabiner to my harness and prompted me to the edge. With a deep breath and without hesitation I let myself drop; blinded by the rushing water, smashing into the slippery rock-face, I was hanging mid-air 30 meters from the pooling water below!

My adventure had begun at 8:30am in Katoomba, a small town in the Blue Mountains, about an hour west of Sydney. Renowned for its abseiling and canyoning, this seemed like an adventure I shouldn’t miss. My friend back in Boston had begun teaching me to rock climb this past summer, and I really enjoyed the physical challenge, the sense of accomplishment, and the beautiful sights from so high up. How different could the skills in abseiling (also known as “rappelling”) be?

Last week I had booked myself this trip with the Blue Mountain Adventure Company, which offered guided tours through a number of different waterfalls and forests throughout the area. Canyoning consists of swimming, jumping, wading, and abseiling along the river at the bottom of a canyon, and sounded like fun.

I arrived bleary-eyed from my doze on the drive up and was unsure of exactly which tour I had been booked for. Originally I had requested an all-day canyoning trip to Serendipity, but due to overbooking, they put me in a half-day beginner abseil group, followed by lunch and half-day canyoning. This turned out to be far more than enough for me and my experience level.

My heart pounded. My breath drew in sharply and unevenly. The hot noontime sun beat down on my crispy pink shoulders. The sounds of my own thoughts were all-consuming: “Feet spread wide. Right hand down at my side. Go-go-go! Oh sh*t! Go-go-go…” This practice abseil dropped 25 meters over a dry rock face, and at times I was unable to reach the cliff with my feet due to its inward curve. It’s not like in the movies: push off—zooooooom! -- push off-- zoooooooom! It was more just trying to descend without losing my balance and without spinning around in circles or swaying from side to side into other abseilers.

If this was just the practice run, was I going to be able to summon the courage to do the real thing? Over lunch the guides explained that our canyoning trip would take us down the river to the falls, where the rock face would be “as smooth as glass covered in Vaseline.” I was scared, so I asked the red-headed guide what my options were if I decided I chickened out. “You’ll be fine,” he assured me with his Aussie accent, his eyebrow piercing glinting in the sun. Why was I not convinced?

All the participants (there were about 20 of us, plus 6 guides) were fitted with wetsuits, harnesses, helmets, and backpacks at the office before departure that morning. So, after lunch, we hiked down a trail with our packs, about 30 minutes, to the bottom of the canyon and suited up.

My swimming abilities are not strong at all, so I was moved to the front of the pack with one other girl who couldn’t swim. They gave me a pack that had an air bag inside to help me float. I was surprisingly calm as I jumped from the boulders into the pools along the way—except for the 4 meter drop-off. There I oped for the crawl-through, which was a hole in the rocks just big enough for my body and my pack. I clunked my helmet on the boulders as I wiggled my way under the falling water in the little crevice, then into the pool below.

Occasionally we stopped to let the rest of the group catch up, and it was only during these pauses I was able to relax and look up to enjoy the beauty of the canyon. It had been hot, dry on top of the rocks, but now, in the shadows of centuries old limestone, the sight and sound of softly trickling groundwater seeped down from the exposed tree roots and small rain forest vegetation.

But the calm would not last. The pounding waterfall awaited our soggy arrival.

I was second from our group to descend. I did not look over the falls before I got into position. I take that back, I tried to look, but the edge where we stood jutted out further than the rest of the cliff’s edges. With my feet on the top edge, rear end sticking out, water rushing over and around my soaked sneakers, I held on to the rope tightly with my right hand, lowered my backside until I was eye-level with my feet, and then it was all smashing and crashing and water and swearing from there until I reached the bottom. The water hit the top of my helmet with such force that I had to keep my eyes closed the whole time, feebly feeling my way down with my left hand while trying to keep my legs in front of me, and struggling to retain or regain my grip on the rope to lower myself down to the bottom of this hell I’d paid to participate in.

I was shivering with terror as I felt my feet dip into the pool at the bottom of the falls. I think the guide was shouting for me to let go of the rope and drop in. I was face down in the water, paddling furiously, as I tried to get my bearings and then heard a shout to turn over, swim on my back, pull myself out of the pool at the river’s edge. I couldn’t. I was so scared my muscles had become immobile, now that I had escaped the onslaught of the mighty waterfall. A guide from another group grabbed my backpack and dragged me up onto the slimy boulders at the water’s edge-- though I think he did this only because I was in the way of his group’s exit from the pool. Either way, I was grateful for the assistance.

One by one, everyone from our group made the descent. It was a rush, and most of the others would have gone again had they been given the option. I, however, felt more like this was an accomplishment that wouldn’t necessarily be repeated.

My right hand looks like I’d been in a fight, all bruised and bloodied. My muscles ache. I love the sense of accomplishing such a feat. However, though I like to think I’m up for an adventure, this test of will has shown me what my limits may be.