Cliff Jumping

Whenever faced with a choice between the safe path and the one less certain, I remember the day when I was fifteen years old, standing on the cliff, looking down 30 feet below me, surveying the possible consequences. The cliff was jagged and ominous, but the water cool and inviting below. I can feel my heart racing as I recall that moment, with the hot sun warming my tender exposed shoulders.

It was mostly safe. Our two guides, both college students, knew the Boundary waters of Minnesota were deep enough to keep us from breaking our necks, but there was just two problems, this sharp rock about five feet below the edge of the cliff and then there was my fear of heights. Normally, I would need someone to shame me into this jump or physically push me over the edge, but that jutting rock below demanded that I take a running leap or face a clumsy and inevitably bloody fall in the middle of the national forests of Minnesota, nearly twenty miles of canoing away from any hospital. 

But, I couldn't go home having missed this opportunity. The sheer fear of tripping as I planned my running start terrified and exhilarated me. I watched with envy as one of the boys, a year older than me, took the plunge first and survived, screaming in delight all the way down. I remember then waiting those long seconds for him to pop up out of the water to find out if it was all worth it. The grin on his face confirmed my fear: it was definitely worth it. 

I couldn't be the last no matter how afraid I was. Our guide showed me the path again, where I had to start my run, when I needed to jump, how to point my toes, when to breath out just before hitting the water. I listened to all of that intently, but I had to make up my mind, determine if my body would actually cooperate with those words, chickening out would be brutal. I stood at the edge of the cliff examining the distance, watching as he swam back to the shore to jump again. The sun reflected off the water in my eyes as I looked past my toes onto that sharp rock and then again at the cool clear water below.

I think of that moment often, of the long seconds it took for me to hit the water, the excruciating thrill of the free fall, the abrupt stinging impact of the water and its surprising depth, the light reaching down showing me the way to the surface and on to the shore so I could do it all over again.