WATCH THE BUMP, we hear again, and this time it is a solid bump, as the raft hits the rocks. No sandy beach here. We shed our life vests and lower our legs down to the first rock, step up to the second, and so on. I take my River Guide and my notebook along in a plastic bag and join the line of climbers carefully choosing footholds. Around me are the happy voices of my river mates, anxious to see the beautiful waterfall and swim in its pool.
Suddenly I am faced with a path that has no cliff wall on my left. Indeed, it has a huge drop, down, down, down. Tremors of vertigo begin to assail me with a wish to sit down and burst into tears. No, no, says my adult self, and I shield my eyes from the drop with my package of books. Off dance women in front of me -- I imagine them pirouetting along the narrow ledge and plunging into the pool. I notice my own fears mounting until I worry that the fear itself will cause me to stumble or my knees to buckle.
Breathe and step, breathe and step, becomes my mantra.
When I arrive at the pool I am congratulated on how brave I am and how wonderful that now I am here. Yes, I think, and I will need to go back. But I relax and enjoy the water and the fantastic rock formations. On the way back Carolyn accompanies me, giving me support and sharing a story of a grown man at least six foot four who started out on such a hike with the others and after going ten feet he sat down and cried. He had not known he had vertigo. He needed 45 minutes of reassurance before he could go a few steps. I understand! At least I know what I am dealing with.
After that, I am willing to sit in the front of the boat. After all, I came on this trip to face challenges in whatever form, so I knew I would be dealing with my own limitations.
(photos by Nicole Allen, above, and Silvia Ator)
WATCH THE BUMP, we hear again, and this time it is a solid bump, as the raft hits the rocks. No sandy beach here. We shed our life vests and lower our legs down to the first rock, step up to the second, and so on. I take my River Guide and my notebook along in a plastic bag and join the line of climbers carefully choosing footholds. Around me are the happy voices of my river mates, anxious to see the beautiful waterfall and swim in its pool.
Suddenly I am faced with a path that has no cliff wall on my left. Indeed, it has a huge drop, down, down, down. Tremors of vertigo begin to assail me with a wish to sit down and burst into tears. No, no, says my adult self, and I shield my eyes from the drop with my package of books. Off dance women in front of me -- I imagine them pirouetting along the narrow ledge and plunging into the pool. I notice my own fears mounting until I worry that the fear itself will cause me to stumble or my knees to buckle. Breathe and step, breathe and step, becomes my mantra.
When I arrive at the pool I am congratulated on how brave I am and how wonderful that now I am here. Yes, I think, and I will need to go back. But I relax and enjoy the water and the fantastic rock formations. On the way back Carolyn accompanies me, giving me support and sharing a story of a grown man at least six foot four who started out on such a hike with the others and after going ten feet he sat down and cried. He had not known he had vertigo. He needed 45 minutes of reassurance before he could go a few steps. I understand! At least I know what I am dealing with.
After that, I am willing to sit in the front of the boat. After all, I came on this trip to face challenges in whatever form, so I knew I would be dealing with my own limitations.
(photos by Nicole Allen, above, and Silvia Ator)
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