Amy, the author of this personal narrative,
effectively uses voice to convey the fear she feels
as she ascends a path to an area above a 100-ft.
waterfall. Her expert choice of words helps to
paint a  picture of her surroundings.

The Climb

I have this fear. It causes my legs to shake. I break out in a
cold sweat. I start jabbering to anyone who is nearby. As
thoughts of certain death run through my mind, the world
appears a precious, treasured place. I imagine my own funeral,
then shrink back at the implications of where my thoughts are
taking me. My stomach feels strange. My palms are clammy.

I am terrified of heights.

Of course, it’s not really a fear of being in a high place. Rather,
it is the view of a long way to fall, of rocks far below me and no
firm wall between me and the edge. My sense of security is
screamingly absent. There are no guardrails, flimsy though I
picture them, or other safety devices. I can rely only on my own
surefootedness—or lack thereof.

Despite my fear, two summers ago I somehow found myself
climbing to a high place, while quaking inside and out. Most of our
high school had come along on a day trip to the Boquerón, a
gorgeous, lush spot in the foothills of Peru. Its prime attraction is
the main waterfall, about 100 feet high, that thunders into a
crystal clear pool feeding the Aguaytia River. All around the pool
and on down to the rushing river are boulders large and small.
The beach is strewn with rocks. On both sides of the fall, the
jungle stretches to meet it, rising parallel to it on a gentler slope.

After eating our sack lunches within sight and sound of the fall,
many of us wanted to make the climb to an area above it. We
knew others had done so on previous trips. A few guys went first
to make sure they were on the right path. But after they left, my
group of seven decided to go ahead without waiting for them to
return. I suspected we were going the wrong way, but I kept
silent, figuring that the others knew better. We went along the
base of the hill until we reached the climb. It stopped me in my
tracks.

The climb ascended steeply above us. Along the right edge the
jungle hugged the rocks; passage through its trees did not look
feasible. The majority of my view was filled with rocks. Looming
high to the sky, the boulders rose in a tiered manner. Peering
back down toward the river, I saw a steep slope of rocks all the
way to the water. All I could think about was how far it would be
to fall.

My tense thoughts were interrupted by the realization that my
friends were already beginning to climb! My anxiety increased as I
watched them.

Do I turn back? My whole being shouted, “Yes!” Will I regret it
later? I really want to get to the top, but…
I voiced my uncertainties to my friends. They dismissed my
fears and encouraged me to stick it out. Questioning my own
sanity, I decided at least to attempt the climb.
I chose a path that seemed easiest. My friend Tom was ahead
of me. Then, suddenly, he slipped and slid backward about 10
feet! I watched, paralyzed, until he stopped himself and assured
us he was all right. My heart was hammering.
Now those who had tried the other way came back; it had not
worked. Consoling myself that my friend Seth would be right
behind me, I shakily began the ascent. The “path” led up a narrow
area between boulders. In it, we reached a place where there just
were no good handholds. Seth braced my foot, and those above
sent down words of encouragement. I was soon past the first
challenge safely, but not feeling much better about the rest of the
climb.

The difficulties only increased from that point on, with scary
spot after scary spot. Though I knew I should not look down, I
could not always ignore the long drop to the boulders below. My
breathing sped up, but my heart pounded even faster, growing
loud in my ears.

My friends kept right on climbing. But they did not forget me.
Someone was always behind me to help hold my feet steady
when necessary, and someone else was always ahead to offer a
hand up. I trusted them more than myself; I knew my feet could
easily slip. With friends supporting me by words and actions, I
slowly gained ground.

Finally we came to the worst section yet. To me the slope
looked very close to vertical. The slight handholds were few and
far between. Being short, I knew the stretches would be difficult
enough in normal conditions. In my current panic, it would be
much worse. The alternative was to go back down. Which was
more difficult? I didn't want to go either way, but obviously I had
to go somewhere.

The trouble was, we were not getting any nearer to the falls.
By now, we realized that this route was not the way most
frequented! But knowing this did not get me any closer to safety.
Since getting up this next part was next to impossible, and
waiting for a rescue helicopter was not an option, with fear and
trembling I decided to go down, but not by myself. Melody
agreed to go with me, earning my eternal gratitude. She paused
to pray for safety; I did not trust my voice enough to pray aloud.
Now, with our backs to the rocks, the drop was continually in
our line of vision. It seemed even steeper than before. The song
“Angels Watching Over Me” ran through my head as we began,
Melody going first. I kept up a steady stream of chatter, my
trembling voice betraying my fear.

One of the first tough places we came to gave us trouble.

Cautiously stretching one foot down, Melody could not reach the
bottom of the boulder. A slip would mean an extremely long
drop. So we tried a different route where a fall would be shorter.
It was somewhat wet and would entail a short slide to reach the
bottom.

Melody made it safely. I hesitated, unsure of my footing, and
picturing myself at the bottom of the cliff, bones broken and pain
wracking my body, if I still lived.
“You can do it! I'm right here,” Melody called. She waited
patiently, not pressuring me to hurry.
Inching carefully to the edge, I could see in the corner of my
eye the boulders and river far below. As I started down the rock,
my foot slipped! My heart jumped into my throat as the terror I
had held just under the surface swept over me.

I'm gonna fall! I inwardly shrieked.
It had been only a small slip, however; I was not in midair! I
took a few calming breaths, and my heart repositioned itself
where it belonged.

With no further mishaps, we came eventually to the last
troublesome spot, the stretch between two boulders that had
given me problems on the way up. Thankfully, the rest of our
friends had given up climbing to the top and had now caught up
to us. There were two possible descents from here. One way
included a short jump down. I decided to check out the other
way. Seth was working his way down this second route when he
fell a few feet and bruised himself! I again looked over the first
option.

Do I want to jump? There’s a big drop if I jump wrong or don’t
stop on the ledge! But the other way…!

I knew if I was to get down, it would have to be Seth’s way.
He was willing to help me however he could. I inspected the
“path” he had taken. There was some low vegetation, matted
down and sloping slightly toward the edge. Then came a drop
down to a narrow inlet between rocks. That was not so bad. The
hitch lay in the fact that there was no handholds or footholds,
and my short legs would not reach to the rocks.

“Uh, I don’t know about this. I don’t like the looks of it!” I said,
my voice quavering.
“

You can make it, Amy! I'm right here. I won’t let you fall,”
Seth promised.

Slowly, painstakingly, I backed over the vegetation.
“

I’m coming down,” I warned, my voice unsteady.
“I’m ready,” answered Seth. “I got you.”

His assurances gave me the strength to go on. I trusted him
implicitly. Flattening myself onto my belly, I edged my feet into
midair. Seth held them tightly and slowly lowered me, guiding my
feel to a firm place as I let my body slide over the leaves, twigs,
and rock. When my feet made contact with the solid rock, I
heaved a huge sigh of relief. I could feel the fear draining out of
me.

My arms and legs were scratched up; I was dirty and sweaty.
But none of it mattered. I was at the bottom!
“

Yaaaaaaahhhh!” I yelled. I never felt so alive, and so thankful
for that life.