ALONG THE WAY

along the way RAPPELLING (Though Timidly) Life's SLIPPERY SLOPES

I AM STANDING ON A CLIFF IN THE WHITE Mountains. Below me, a nervous crowd watches intently. Will she step off the edge? Yes, I will. And it won't be the first time. No, it's not suicide I'm contemplating, it's rappelling Truthfully, my relationship with rappelling is a tenuous one. I love the bottom of the cliff, hate the top and have a modest affection for halfway down. In my earliest memory of rappelling, my father was coaching me down a short, sloping rock somewhere in the Chiricahuas. It took me twice as long as my 75-year-old grandmother and I cried the whole way. At the bottom I felt triumphant and grateful that I would live to see my ninth birthday. Through my teenage years, I stood on rocks at Windy Point in the Catalinas, or Happy Valley in the Rincons, and tried not to hyperventilate as I leaned back into the rope. Halfway down, with the ground behind me and a wide Arizona sky in front, I would finally relax and enjoy that moment of perfect suspension between Earth and heaven But every victory over fear, every bigger rock my two brothers and I conquered, had been under the tutelage and supervision of my father. Today he is noticeably absent. So, although I have done this before, I have never done it without my dad. I hear my older brother, Bart, assuring a timorous aunt of the safety of this family reunion activity. He will wait until she returns to camp to demonstrate commando-style rappelling-a moronic version in which you go down face first. Meanwhile, he has secured two ropes for Traver, our younger brother, and me to rappel the cliff.

Side by side, we stand backward at the very lip of the cliff and begin to lean back. My stomach still protests this illogical action, and I wonder briefly if courage is a recessive trait since it obviously skipped me. Nonetheless, I lean into the rope, slowly letting it slip through my hands. I am just about perpendicular now and begin to relax.

We hear a snap and suddenly I have 2 feet of slack in my rope. Now, slack in a rope that is suspending you 40 feet off the ground is a bad thing. My feet are firmly planted and I do not fall. Instead, my rear end slams into the rock and I find myself closely inspecting my kneecaps. I have gone from a proud capital "I" sticking straight out from the cliff face to a shaking sideways "U" clinging to the rock.

Looking through my knees at the granite that constitutes my entire field of vision, I realize that how I handle this situation will determine whether I will be the first of the cousins to rappel this cliff or the last. Traver informs me that my rope had caught on a branch that snapped under my weight. He speaks slowly, as if trying to calm a spooked child, and I stop feeling terrified long enough to glare at him-after all, his rope is still taut. Mine is still securely tied, though, and if I can stand up again, I can continue down the rock. Easier said than done.

More than anything, I want my dad. I feel 8 years old again and wish I could hear his voice talking me out of this mess. I look up to where Bart stands peering down at me and realize that perhaps trusting my life to a boy who years earlier had jumped off the roof with a bedsheet parachute was not the best idea.

Slowly, I manage to shift my weight to the left and pull my right foot down toward my hips. Traver makes encouraging noises, seeming a little surprised that I have begun to move again. I lean right until I can sit on my right foot. With some effort I bend my left leg and plant that foot against the rock. I take a deep breath and stand, shaky but not beaten. Rousing cheers rise up from the bottom of the cliff.

Traver gives me a wink and resumes his descent. Just before I reach the bottom, I look upward at the wide blue sky. My knees feel almost still again and I am glad I am here. A few more steps and I come back to Earth, where my brothers will help the bravest cousins tie their harnesses. AH