The Precipice

Acadia National Park is full of hiking and biking trails...

Given that we were there at one of the busiest weeks of the year, it was the one place we could go to get away from the crowds.

And regardless to which coast, mountaintop or lake we hiked or biked, the views were spectacular.  

Many of the trails traversed over bald rock faces carved out by glaciers so the paths were marked with these piles of rocks called cairns...

After our lobster lunch with Linda, Jim's back wasn't feeling too well so he left Jack and I to hike one of the most difficult hikes on the island, The Precipice.  Now you'd think with a name like "The Precipice", I would have had a clue.

It was listed in my guide book as "strenuous".  But we had completed a number of strenuous hikes in the past few days so I didn't give it a second thought. Plus, the guide book mentioned the aid of iron bars to hold onto to help you over the rough spots so I said "Let's Go!"  Jack loves to rock climb and this climb was touted to be "all rock".

Now keep in mind, there was this warning sign at the beginning of the Precipice trail...

Why I didn't choose to fully read it, I will never know.

I thought I read it, but let me tell you folks, my "experience in climbing near exposed cliffs and heights" is zero.

And I'm not as good with heights as I was a few years ago.

Plus, I know I didn't read the last sentence:  "Persons have received serious injuries and others have died on this mountain side!"

The climb started off with Jack and I heading up the trail at a fairly steep rate, climbing over large boulders, and underneath rock crevices.  Stupid me, I had brought my camera bag and it was getting in the way as I scrambled around on all fours.

After the boulders, the iron railings started to appear on narrow ledges and the trail began to tighten up and get smaller. This small bridge is actually over a 30ft drop.  This is what I thought the book had meant by "The Precipice" so  I began to believe that the entire trail would be just like this.

No problem.  I got this.

Well folks, as we rounded the bend, the trail got less trail-like...

This is also where my rock hugging began.  

Notice there was only one iron bar here so, believe me, I was staying as close to that rock on the left as I could.  Just a minor shift in my approach though...so far so good.

Then we rounded the next bend and were rewarded with this view...

Plus a sheer drop off of over 100ft. which made my stomach drop out from under me and my heart start racing at about 800 beats per minute.  

Jack:   "Mom, are you OK?"  

Me:  "I'm fine Jack (in very high-pitched voice trying to sound in control).  Mommy just needs to take this really slowly."

Jack: "Maybe I should take the camera and put it in the backpack?  I don't think you're going to be able to take any pictures from here on..."

Truer words have never been spoken. From there, the trail started to go straight up.

I started to become hyper-aware of where each of my hand and footholds were.  

After we ascended that patch above, the climb got purely vertical.  To slip or let go of one of those rungs, meant we were plunging back to Jimmy in the parking lot by direct-route.  

Jack:  "You know Mom.  The mind cuts deeper than the sword.  Once I read that in my Game of Thrones book, I wasn't afraid of heights anymore.  So think of that Mom.  The mind cuts deeper than the sword."

Me:  "What?  Do you think I'm afraid or something?  I'm good.  I'm good."

No answer.  

Jack:  "Watch out here Mom.  This space will be tougher for you because you're short.  Step here first.  Don't go the way I came."

I kept taking small breaks while spread-eagled flat against the rock, not daring to look down, trying to remember my "center" and taking "deep, calming breaths".  That only got my heart rate down to 500 bpm but it kept me from completely flipping out.  

I couldn't let myself freak out.  The only choice was to go up because the only other way off was to have a rescue helicopter fly in and get me.  No thanks to that.  

So, another deep breath and up I went.  Until I was rewarded with another ledge to walk around...

Photo courtesy of ink & snow No way was I taking this picture.

Then, we were climbing straight up on a cliff face on those iron rungs...and every so often, I had to stave off panic when there was a stretch where one was missing or broken.

Jack (very calmly):  "Mom.  There's no rung here.  But look, there's a handhold over here on the left and a foothold right here.  You got it?"

"Yes."  I squeaked.

And so we went like that.  Jack telling me my next best move and me following his lead.  

When we finally made it to the summit, my bottom lip started to quiver, my legs turned to water and my eyes started to tear up in relief. I had lived!!!

I ran over to the rock at the top and kissed it.  

Honestly, that climb was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life other than give birth to Jack.

And at that moment, I was so grateful to him for talking me off the ledge.  

I hugged him and realized that the tables had turned.  I wasn't worried about him once on that cliff.  And he wasn't worried about him either.

He was way more worried about me.  

I always thought his laid-back personality and calm demeanor would serve him well when the rest of the world was freaking out.  And this day proved it.

We started laughing in relief and goofing off.

Did you know another use for a cairn is as a burial marker?  

We think we should tack this picture onto the warning sign...

It's not my best shot but you can't expect me to look very good when I'm pretending to be dead.

Jack:  "Well Mom.  I think we should start down.  I'm worried about Dad." A little pause before he added,  "Boy, am I glad Dad didn't come on this one..."

Poor Jack.  I don't think he could have handled talking two parents off the cliff.

Me:  "Me too buddy.  Let's go.  I'm following you."

Luckily, there was a path down that went around the cliff.  There was NO WAY I would have ever climbed back down that rock face.

The view was beautiful.  

And we were in that "magic hour" that photographers love.  The time of day when the sun is beginning to set and the light is just right.

And, as happens when you've just survived a near-death experience, my senses were hyper-aware of the smell of the sea, the blue of the sky, the green of the trees...

And that beautifully awesome Red Hat.

I started falling behind again because I was taking photos and drinking in life.

"Come on, Mom.  Dad's waiting..."

So, I put the camera away.

"I'm coming."  

And with that, we walked off The Precipice.