On My Ass in a Sling, Where it Belonged

I think back years ago to a rappelling experience I had, and how the lessons learned in a moment have stayed with me all this time.

I was engaged in an Outward Bound type program, three weeks in length. It was in the muggy, mosquito-infested bogland of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, in August.

After a couple weeks of sleep deprivation, starvation, and soreness, we were led to the top of a cliff face. It was truly vertical. Looking down below, one saw the upper reaches of the forest canopy as if it were a field of hunter green popcorn. It was a surreal sight, the scale of depth. I would have imagined such a sight in Borneo, but not in Michigan.

Our hardened guides unpacked the climbing gear. We captive minions could feel our blood pressure rising as they proceded to give us a tutorial about rappelling. I remember almost nothing of what they said, except "blah blah blah trust the harness blah blah blah."

On the other hand, I vividly remember the feeling I had while they said it - a steady sinking dread infused with nausea, resonating into a crescendo of panic. We were all stoic, and macho, but I guessed I wasn't the only one feeling this way inside and masquerading as brave outwardly.

At the conclusion of their rather short lesson, they paused, and asked for the first "volunteer." Now, mind you, we were on an "educational" program, being graded, and we knew that nothing, NOTHING, in the program was considered optional in order to pass. These were the days before cell phones, and all we minions had been stripped of any personal items at the onset of the program, anyway. So, it was cooperate, or be left in the wilderness with a contingent of very, very stressed, angry "team members" who would have to make up for any deficit you displayed.

This came into play later in the day, when, after rapelling down the cliff face, we each were to climb back up it, balayed by an exhausted partner, above. And anyone who froze in fear halfway up was either stuck on the face, as long as it took to get unfrozen, or was pulled up as dead weight by the partner - neither option would ingratiate.

I don't remember who "volunteered" to be the first over that face. I only remember it wasn't me in the starting position, or several of the slots thereafter. I remember watching the agony of several team members making their first rappel. We others coaxed them, cheered, and vicariously regained sphincter control as each made it over the edge and finally entered the free-hanging state. It didn't look so terribly bad, from the peanut gallery.

And then, my turn came. I was a bit bolstered by then. I had to save face, keep stoic, as always, as is my way. I "saddled up" into the climbing harness, fed the lines through my petons, and headed backwards toward the edge, holding the lines taut in my deerskin-gloved hands.

There was a clash between the racing panic in my mind and the damper my brain-brakes slammed down to deal with the stress. It put reality into a time warp, for those moments. It seemed like days in time it took for me to go over that edge. I held the primary rope in my hands, arms rigid with my elbows slightly bent, backing up toward the cliff, rope straight and horizontal. It was sort of ok as I leaned back over the edge, until that moment.

Those of you who are good at math, or are navigators, will get my description, here. As I headed toward the edge, my predominant vector was horizontal, and my arms didn't have much weight load to handle. But as I went farther back, and started to tip over that edge, there was a sudden point where the predominant force vector changed to vertical, and my arms exponentially struggled with the increased weight load, because I was holding the weight on the line, and not letting the harness take it. And so, as I felt the load coming, and fast, I froze, at that point where the vectors changed by 90 degrees.

As if under water, I could vaguely hear the coaching of the leaders, and the coaxing of the team members, "keep going, you're doing fine.... just let go...."

But, I couldn't. I knew if I passed that point where the vectors made that 90 degree transition, my arms would not be able to hold my weight up. My mid-brain - with its reptilian instinct for survival - kicked in and put the motor centers on hold. It took all I had to call up the cortex to override it, and head straight into fear.

I won't drag out the description here, except to note it seemed like forever for me to reach my moment. I leaned back, sure my arms would give out, terrified of plunging to death. And I pushed past that fear point, both mentally, and physically, into that moment, into the vertical vector.

At that moment, my arms did give out. I was not able to hold my weight; muscle fatigue caused failure. The lines jerked upward, taking my hands with, as they were still attached.

What happened next was a life-defining instant, y'know the kind of moment that is burned into your memory, ever after. Before the line was yanked from my hands, the slack was taken up, and the harness kicked in. It was only a matter of about six inches of line. There was a slight bounce as my dead weight hit the line.

My ass was truly in a sling. But that sling had saved my ass. Instead of letting the line and the harness take my weight, I had been trying to hold it myself, with my arms.

It took only that moment, when I felt the harness do its job to know that I was totally at the mercy of that harness. But it could be trusted, and I needn't try to hold myself, any longer.

Once I felt all of my weight swinging over the edge in that harness, rather effortless, now, rappelling was great fun, euphoric even. I had made something simple be very difficult, by not trusting, and trying to do it my own way. I wonder if I'll ever feel that same freedom again, as I did that moment I felt the harness doing its job.

I don't think I need to explain the moral here. Let go. Let God. Just make sure your ass is in that sling, first. LOL

I think if I ever get presented the chance to bungee jump, I'll pass, though.


-The Traveler