Plight in Pennsylvania: An Appalachian Adventure

June, 2008

"What would Bear Grylls do? He would survive! He would make a fire...out of nothing!" These are the words I chant to myself as I repeatedly strike my flint and steel over soggy tinder. I've been at it for a while now, and my back is aching from all the bending over. The humidity finally gets the better of me; the fire will not light. My head sags in defeat. From the Deerlick Shelter, Matt (my friend and fellow adventurer) jots down some notes for his newspaper article on the Appalachian Trail and the funny nomads who endeavor to explore it.

We have journeyed to the AT near Waynesboro, Pennsylvania, this hot and stifling June weekend, for a backpacking adventure for the sake of documenting it in the local newspaper Matt writes for, The Record Herald. So far, we have traveled roughly 5 miles over rugged terrain, stopping once for a water and snack break, where we encounter a deer-fox, meaning we cannot tell the difference. Matt and I got off to a late start, so this is as far as we'll go today, and it is just as well, because literally minutes after we pitch our tents, dark clouds close in above us and unleash a torrent like we've never seen before. Forced to take shelter in our respective tents, we wait out the storm. But it only gets worse as darkness descends, and we start to worry not only about flooding but being struck by lightning. One lightning burst after another flashes across my tent, sending tremors through the ground strong enough to wake the dead. Just when we think it can't get any worse, a streak of electric energy slams into the earth a mere 50 yards away. It is so strong and startling, Matt and I howl in enthusiastic horror - enthusiastic because it's kind of cool, horror because we could die. After the weather's final and most violent demonstration, the rain dies down, and we can finally relax.

We wake early, eat a semi-decent breakfast - depending on who you ask - pack up quickly, and hit the trail ahead of the hot temperatures we'll later endure. Already, though, it is disgustingly humid, thanks to the rainfall the night before. Our shirts cling to our skin like paper mache'. We press on, covering a lot of miles. Over the course of the whole trip, we will hike somewhere between 12 and 15 miles. Early on, we cross several streams and train tracks, leading us to Penmar Park, a notable destination along the way, offering a stellar view of the Pennsylvania countryside. There, we rest and recharge, eating a typical "trail lunch" of crackers, summer sausage, and trail mix. During our hiatus, we speak with several hikers, who warn us of the rocky terrain ahead. We should have paid closer attention.

Later, Matt and I stagger up the mountainside, plagued by the intense heat and humidity. To make matters worse, we are nearly out of water (and there are no more streams to be found), and, indeed, this is one of the rockiest trails we have ever set foot on! The elevation gain is unbelievable, and we feel the pull of our packs as we ascend, one tired foot after another.

Soon, I am at the end of my rope. I have been dehydrated like this before, and it is a scary situation to be in, yet again. Amazingly, it takes me by surprise. I should have been more wary, knowing my past experience with heat exhaustion, but this time around not even all the water on the AT could have prevented it. This is why humidity is so dangerous. It will suck the water out of you faster than you can drink it.

Matt, better off than me, makes sure I get enough rest and even shares with me what little water he has left. By now, it's really hot out. We are close to High Rock, our next destination, from where we will supposedly have another mile and a half to go. But when we arrive at High Rock, a massive boulder jutting out of the mountainside, we make our decision.

This adventure has taken it out of us (me mostly, to be honest). We are satisfied with High Rock and make it our final destination, calling Matt's folks to pick us up. While we wait, we enjoy the view, noticing Pennsylvania's unique "patchwork" landscape of farms and meadows. High Rock is a popular destination and easily accessed by road, so we are not alone. Matt tells me how, years before, a young woman fell to her death after venturing too close to the edge. Later, as we descend High Rock by way of car, we count our blessings.

While our backyard exploits fail to merit a hit show on the Discovery Channel, we are pretty sure Bear Grylls would be proud of us. We have endured a freak lightning storm, life-draining humidity, painful terrain, and dehydration. And we have lived to tell about it! If you are looking for a challenging adventure, head to the foothills of Pennsylvania. The Appalachian Trail is waiting.

Portrayal of America, Part V

Maine, The Allagash Wilderness Waterway – July 2003

For the Panther patrol, this is their last camping trip together with Troop 891. Alan, Will, Mitch, Ross, John, and Randy are all Eagle Scouts. This particular trip has them canoeing through a series of lakes for an average of eighty miles over the course of six days. They carry all of their necessary gear with them in the canoes, and they camp on shore at night. They awake early in the morning and lead the younger Scouts who are far less experienced. In no time, they are on the water, paddling anywhere from nine to fourteen miles before midday.

Civilization is nowhere to be found; they are literally on their own with nature, and it is a magnificent sight to behold. Endless green forests surround crystal clear pools. They find occasional eagles perched on tree branches and even come across an assortment of four-legged wildlife, including white-tailed deer and moose. The third day of canoeing brings them to a set of rapids, which they maneuver through masterfully. Working as a team, Alan searches for rocks and provides the main thrust of the paddling, while Will keeps them headed in the right direction. With every dunk and drag of the paddle, they push their vessels through the still water of vast lakes. The weather is fierce at times, but they invite the obstacle and conquer it. At night, they make elaborate meals with their camp stoves and the ingredients they’ve procured and brought along in their canoes.

The paddling is monotonous and tiring, so they take short breaks and rest at night. But they always return to the task at hand. They have a mission to accomplish, and if they’ve learned anything through their time as Boy Scouts, it is of the worth and fulfillment of hard work and determination.

On the sixth and last day of their canoe trek through Maine, they reach the little town of Allagash, where they camp for the night and await the outfitters who intend to ferry them and their canoes back to their starting point. This is really the end, Alan suddenly realizes. This is his last Boy Scout adventure. The lessons he has learned and the friendships he has made will last forever. Nothing can replace the countless nights of bonding by campfires and watching the sunrise from atop mountain summits after enduring the difficult hike. He will always remember the times when the end of the trail was nowhere in sight, and the journey no longer seemed worth the effort, and how it took the hand of a friend to help him make it the distance.

Upcoming Article... Plight in Pennsylvania!

Dear Devoted Readers,

After the final installment of "Portrayal of America," either tomorrow or the following day, you can look forward to an exciting tale of adventure from the Appalachian Trail in Pennsylvania! This true story tells of severe elements, such as sweltering, humid conditions, torrential downpours and epic lightning storms, and last, but not least, near death from dehydration! Stay tuned!

~ Sir Evan

Portrayal of America, Part IV

Camp T. Brady Saunders

A month later, Trevor finds himself at Camp T. Brady Saunders, waking up at the crack of dawn every morning. Before breakfast at the mess hall, his troop hikes to the demonstration field with thirty other troops from all around the state of Virginia to raise the flag and start the day properly. Waking up so early is difficult at first, but Trevor’s tent partner offers encouragement and motivates him to get out of bed. The afternoons consist of merit badge classes. Trevor has signed up for swimming, canoeing, rifle shooting, and cooking, and so have most of the other boys his age; therefore, they walk to the classes together, and Trevor finds himself actually enjoying the activities. Through the courses, he even grows closer to his patrol members. Swimming and canoeing are hard work, though. He has never been much of a swimmer, but the scout leaders in charge of the merit badge help him a great deal and ensure him he can accomplish whatever goals he sets for himself.

On the final day of summer camp, Troop 220 takes a four-mile group hike. The older boys lead the way, and the scoutmasters walk casually in the rear. Trevor has never walked so long in his life, and he doesn’t have the appropriate footwear to comfort his feet on the rugged terrain. He is struggling to keep up.



Looking back from the head of the group, Jonathan, a Star Scout, stops momentarily to see how everyone behind him is managing. He instantly notices the young newcomer, stumbling behind, sweat pouring down his face from exhaustion. A Scout is helpful, Jonathan remembers. He walks over to Trevor and doesn’t even bother to ask before leaning down and picking him up. Seated atop Jonathan’s shoulders, Trevor feels the heat surging through his muscles begin to subside. He gasps in relief and is gracious for this older scout’s willingness to help. Suddenly, he begins to see a whole other side to Scouting. If this is what being a Scout looks like, he realizes, it is something he wants. This is something he’s never experienced before. Why would an older guy like Jonathan want to help a little twerp like him? There is something special here.

Not long later, Trevor asks Jonathan to put him down. He wants to walk the last mile on his own, determination settling in. Jonathan complies with his request and sets him down, offering to help him again if he needs it. Trevor thanks him and continues the hike, joining the boys in his patrol. They finish the hike together.


Accomplishment

When someone earns the Eagle rank, Boy Scouts far and wide celebrate with him by conducting an Eagle Scout Court of Honor, a formal and exciting event, in which the scout is presented with the award and has the opportunity to thank all the people who helped him along the way. An Eagle Scout is a boy transformed, no longer the meager kid without a clue that he may have been upon entering his troop; he is now self-assured, responsible, knowledgeable, well-grounded, and ready for life’s challenges. Eagle Scouts also experience an assortment of advantages in later life, such as nation-wide recognition, an overall good reputation, and improved chances of being accepted into college, because the Eagle rank suggests the boy has initiative and determination to succeed. The Eagle rank is not easily earned, and most Scouts do not complete the requirements until their sixteenth or seventeenth year, if at all. A Scout has until their eighteenth birthday to be eligible for the rank. There are currently approximately 997,398 registered Boy Scouts in America, and only three out of every one hundred of those scouts will earn the Eagle rank. In ninety-four years of Boy Scouting in America, only 40,029 Eagle awards have been earned.

Portrayal of America, Part III

The Journey

The process of mastering the outdoors takes from two to three years. It begins with the ordinary rank of Scout. One becomes a Scout after attaining the proper uniform – beige by today’s standards, olive drab in the decades past – memorizing the Scout Oath and Law, vowing to live by it every day, and attending a camp outing.

The rank of Tenderfoot follows. By this time, the Scout is becoming more experienced in the outdoors, learning to build fire, use knives and other sharp tools with which to cut wood. He is learning to set up a tent and prepare a meal with a camp stove. He is learning to survive in the biting cold by a mummy bag and layers of clothing. In the summer, he learns to keep himself hydrated in the boiling heat while biking up and down mountain trails. This process continues through Second and First Class. It typically takes two and half to three years to reach the First Class rank and only after a Scout has experienced a wide variety of camping experiences. A Scout ranked at First Class is considered beyond proficient in the outdoors, resourceful for their age, and independent in many areas.


Camp T. Brady Saunders, Virginia – July 2004

Trevor has only been a Boy Scout for three months, and he despises every aspect of it. The meetings are boring. He doesn’t know anyone in the troop. And camping is, quite frankly, miserable. Trevor has no father, only a mother who desperately wants him to make friends and mature into a responsible, knowledgeable young man.

“I just don’t like it, mom!” the eleven year-old complains every Monday night after the troop meeting. “Camping sucks.”

Trevor is shy and doesn’t make friends very easily. Skinny as a beanpole, he’s frail and awkward during outdoor activities. He lacks the self-confidence necessary to help him endure hardship on camping trips, but his mother knows that this is one of the ideals the Boy Scouts focus on. If he doesn’t give up, he’ll grow confident. It is not a prerequisite for joining the organization.

“Okay,” she says finally. “Promise me you’ll go to summer camp next month. Promise me you’ll just give it a try. If you still don’t like it, even after that, then I won’t make you keep doing it. If you want to after that, I’ll let you quit.” Trevor accepts the offer only after a large degree of pleading.


The Journey

The rank of Star on a Boy Scout’s uniform denotes that he is self-assured, resilient, and familiar with being in a leadership position, such as Troop Guide or Senior Patrol Leader, whose duty is to oversee the Troop as a whole. Yet, a Star Scout is only beginning to understand the fundamentals of leadership. He is only beginning to grow comfortable in this new position, a position he still sees more suited for older men…adults. But he is becoming an adult, a man, whether he realizes it or not.

The rank of Life comes next and is one step away from Eagle. A Life Scout is in his prime, typically the leader of the troop and the go-to guy for serious problems amongst the younger Scout community. He assists in planning the camping outings, since the basic philosophy in the Boy Scouts of America is that the boys lead. He helps to train the younger boys, and he participates in the financial aspects of troop management. He sets a daily example by the way he lives his life, always doing his best to follow the Oath and Law. He is always prepared, as the Scout Motto stresses. He leads other Scouts in Patrol Leader Councils, their purpose in keeping the troop functioning as a whole. A life Scout is nearly at the end of his journey. Next is the final and most coveted rank in the Boy Scouts of America: Eagle Scout.

Portrayal of America, Part II

Origin

The Boy Scouts is an old organization – established in America by the late William D. Boyce in 1910 after losing his way in the foggy streets of London one night. He stumbled upon a boy, who led him to his destination out of pure kindness. This boy was a member of the Scouting program, which was completely foreign and fascinating to Boyce. It had been established in 1907 by the war hero Robert Baden-Powell of Britain upon discovering that young boys were reading his military manual on the art of surviving in the outdoors. After altering the manual’s focus from military personnel to young men, he decided to bring a group of twenty-two boys together on a camping trek off the coast of England. The success of this adventure sparked the beginning of the Boy Scouts in England, and a simple good turn by a lone Boy Scout influenced the beginning of the program in America.

It was founded on the Boy Scout Oath – “On my honor, I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country, to obey the Scout Law, to help other people at all times, to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight” – the twelve points of the Scout Law – “A Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent” – and the belief in developing young men characterized by self-reliance, initiative, courage, and resourcefulness.

The Appalachian Trail

“Mr. Haywood is having a heart attack!” shouts Josh, one of the younger scouts, as he reaches the end of the trail. Yanked away from his moment of victory, Paul rushes to the boy.

“Mr. Reynolds is with him,” explains Josh, panting because he has been trying to catch up to the older Scouts for some time. “He couldn’t breathe, and he hardly started hiking before he had to stop. Mr. Reynolds put him in a sleeping bag, because he said he was going into shock. He already called 911 from his cell phone.”

Ten minutes later, an ambulance has arrived. Paul and Drew lead the paramedics down the mountain trail, leaving the next-ranked boys in charge. Paul cannot believe he’s traversing this six-mile stretch of trail again, and this time, at a break-neck pace. They are literally running down the mountain, both he and Drew, with the three EMTs struggling to keep up behind them.

Three miles down, Paul hears a gasp, a shuffling of feet. Someone is tripping and falling over. Turning around, he sees one of the paramedics tumble forward, bang his arm on a sharp rock, roll down the trail and fall off the edge, landing in a shallow stream. He cries out for help, and one of the two remaining paramedics goes to his aid. After assessing his comrade’s injury, he decides to take him back up the trail, due to a fractured elbow.

Now it is just Paul, Drew, and the remaining paramedic. They have three more miles to go, and their feet already burn so viciously the soles of their shoes could melt. But three miles later, they reach Mr. Reynolds, who sits by Mr. Haywood, pale in the face and wrapped in a sleeping bag. The paramedic takes over from here, and in little time, Mr. Reynolds and he are helping the man to his feet.

“I need you guys to go back up the trail ahead of us and let everyone know what’s going on, okay?” says the paramedic. Paul and Drew, feet throbbing, out of water and out of breath, nod and run up the mountain for the second time. By the end of the day, they have traversed this single six-mile portion of the Appalachian Trail three times, and Mr. Haywood is recovering from a heart attack in a nearby hospital. He survives the ordeal.

Portrayal of America, Part I

November, 2004

Out of sheer boredom, I found myself perusing my old word documents this evening and stumbled upon a college essay I wrote my sophomore year. The assignment was titled, "Portrayal of America," and I chose to write about the Boy Scouts of America, being fresh out of the program and a proud Eagle Scout. Anyhow, my writing skills are not that developed yet, but I think this is a pretty cool treatise on the Boy Scouts as an organization...how it came to be, what it stands for, and what it has to offer the youth of our nation. While all of the events depicted in the article are real, I took the creative liberty of changing names and details. Here follows Part I...


The Longest Hike

The Appalachian Trail – April 1999

At 7:30 in the morning, the sun sprinkles droplets of light through a canopy of overhanging tree branches. Beneath it, the boys of Troop 891 awake and crawl from the comfort of their tents and squint in awe.

“It’s a beautiful morning, boys!” cries a strong-looking man wearing a bright red fleece jacket, olive green shorts, socks hiked up to his knees, and a pair of well-worn, sturdy hiking boots. A dozen boys, ranging from the ages of eleven to seventeen, come out of their temporary homes, their hair in shambles and eyes sagging to their chins.

“The early bird gets the worm,” says the man adorned in traditional Scout fatigue, their Scoutmaster, Mr. Reynolds. The boys groan but know he’s right. They have six more miles to hike that morning – all up hill – and they hiked eleven the day before. If they intend to make it the distance, they had better consume a decent breakfast.

They split into their patrols – each with its own unique name – and the designated cooks gets to work on the meal. However, some boys are less prepared than others. Those who have not brought along the proper equipment mope around, kicking small rocks and stirring clouds of dirt. No one has been cheated here. It is their own fault if they’re unhappy. Some of these boys are learning self-reliance the hard way. No one is required to help them, but someone always does out of kindness.

It requires some time to take down their tents, shake the rain flies dry of the dripping dew, clean up their cooking utensils, and secure their backpacks with all their gear. Some boys have more to carry, because they have brought some items they did not need. With experience, they will learn to weigh the necessities. The boys sleep two to a tent; therefore, they split the weight when hiking. The younger boys are far less experienced when it comes to camping, and it is the senior Scouts’ duty to aid and encourage them in this new experience. Paul and Drew – both seventeen – are the oldest on this trip, nearly Eagle Scouts. After packing up their gear, they tend to the younger boys’ needs, and they do it willingly, because they remember when they, too, were young and needy.

In little over an hour, the boys are ready to go. Paul and Drew lead the Troop on this six-mile portion of the Appalachian Trail in Northern Virginia, with the scouts ages thirteen to fifteen trailing right behind. Mr. Reynolds takes up the rear with another volunteer scoutmaster, Mr. Haywood, in order to make sure no one is left behind. The youngest Scouts hike just ahead of them, awkwardly lugging their twenty to twenty-five pound external frame backpacks. Determined to prove themselves capable, they complain little and help each other along the way.

The six-mile ascent proves long and tiring, even for Paul and Drew. But they eventually reach the parking lot where their trailer and vehicles have been awaiting their arrival. Paul unfastens his waist belt and lets his pack slide off his back. Leaning against the trailer, he breathes in deeply before taking a huge swig of water from his indestructible Nalgene bottle. Realizing he has just completed another grueling hike on a tough mountain trail, he grins in satisfaction. It has been a weekend well spent, and he’s proven to himself yet again that he is up to the challenge.

Blue Ridge Days... Rocky Mount Day Hike

April, 2008

It's hard to believe how much time has passed since I've been in Winston-Salem. A year ago I was working full time at Blue Ridge Mountain Sports, receiving inventory, selling gear, and helping run a store. I was also going on a considerable number of day hikes with numerous friends, among them, Dan the Man! It was around this time last year when we ventured to Skyline Drive, out in Shenandoah National Park (SNP), for a vigorous hike on the Rocky Mount Trail. It is one of the only 9+ mile circuit hikes in SNP, and with nearly 3,000 feet in elevation gain, it is a strenuous (and rewarding) climb!

We park the car at an impressive overlook and take a jaunt down Skyline Drive till we encounter the trail head, marked with a blue blaze and sign. The trail immediately descends into dense forest, indicating the upward battle we will later endure. Within the first mile of hiking, we come across a glistening, reflective pool, fed by a narrow stream, which Dan somehow manages to step in, resulting in soggy hiking shoes. I make fun of him, but he easily shrugs it off and probably finds a clever way to throw it back on me. This type of dialogue is most common between us and oddly entertaining. A mile or two later, we take a break in a sunny glen, set apart from the trail adjacent to another brook. Bugs are out but unobtrusive, and the water looks clean enough to drink. The grass is neon green, interspersed with slim, towering trees. It seems too good to be true, and even now, I can't believe how perfect a spot it was. We don't stay long, though, and return to the task at hand.

Soon, the trail grows steeper, and we are forced to climb hard, all the while, crossing streams, hopping across rocks, and wheezing like asthmatics. We've descended so far; now we must reclaim that cursed elevation. Eventually, the dirt trail gives way to "riprap:" countless, shifting, granite, sun-reflecting rocks. They are a royal pain in the butt, as they roll and tumble right out from beneath your feet. I also have to put my sunglasses on because of the glare, and by now it is hot. Sweat stings my eyes and clouds my vision.

As we traverse this tricky portion of the trail, we notice two bear cubs scurry across the trail up ahead and shimmy up a tree. We stop and stare. This is amazing! I can't get my camera out fast enough. But wait just a second. We realize where there are baby bears...there is sure to be a mother bear. And mother bears are fiercely protective. There is little talking about it. We make haste, continually looking over our shoulders.

From here, the trail intensifies. It is ridiculously steep, and we are moving too fast. I urge Dan to slow his pace, but he says he's out here "to get it on!" Even if it kills him, apparently, as one could hear him rasping from a mile away. In short, we make it to the summit of Rocky Mount by lunch time, and I nearly collapse from lack of oxygen. But we made it, and, boy, what a view!

After lunch, we hit the remaining segment of the trail. By now we are exhausted. Therefore, the last couple hours are a blur. When we return to the car it is late in the afternoon. Some poor sap is just getting ready for a hike, strapping on his pack and lacing up his boots. Dan and I share looks of bewilderment. If this guy thinks he's hiking that trail before nightfall, he's in for one heck of a hike! We say as much in other words, but he's convinced otherwise. "Your funeral," Dan mutters.

In summary, the Rocky Mount trail in SNP is no easy stroll in the forest. But it is well worth the effort! Check it out if you get a chance. For more information, visit Hiking Upwards, the premiere online site for information on Virginia trails. Easily accessed from Skyline Drive, Rocky Mount is a feasible destination, no matter what direction you're coming from!

Expedition Africa.... A New Kind of Reality TV

"Dr. Livingstone, I presume?"

On May 31st, a new television show comes to the History Channel. Expedition Africa will take viewers on the legendary journey of Sir Henry Morton Stanley, the extraordinary individual charged with the task of finding fellow explorer, Dr. John Livingstone, who vanished in the African wilderness in the later 19th century.

In 1866, Livingstone, the most popular explorer and adventurer of his time, set course from Zanzibar into the African frontier. His mission was to locate the source of the Nile River, a task other explorers had failed to achieve. Over the course of his journey, his team members deserted him, leaving his fate unknown. This turn of events would ultimately lead fellow explorer and journalist, Stanely, to lead an expedition in search of his whereabouts.

On May 31st, viewers will watch 4 modern day explorers attempt an unique journey. They will travel in Stanley's footsteps, using primitive technology, much like the exploration equipment of the 19th century. With only a map and compass to guide them, they will get a true taste of what it was like for the original explorers.



The modern day expedition will consist of 4 core team members. Each of them brings a unique and essential skill to the mission. You can view their profiles below.












It looks like the History Channel is taking their turn at "Adventure Reality" television, which has worked for some channels, like Discovery's "Man vs. Wild" and "The Alaska Experiment," so we will have to wait and see if they can pull it off, too. Check back later for a review!

Expedition Africa airs on the History Channel on Sunday, May 31st, at 10:00 pm.

Rock Climbing at Table Rock Mountain

April, 2009

Chris, Taylor, and I stand at the base of Table Rock Mountain in the Linville Gorge, equipped in harness, helmet, and climbing shoes. It is a pleasantly warm afternoon. The sky is clear, and the bugs have not come out yet. We could not have asked for a better day. While Chris feeds rope through his belay device, Taylor and I observe Rich Chisholm, my manager at Great Outdoors, scurry up a sheer rock face, placing "pro" as he goes and demonstrating technique. He takes his time, explaining as he goes. Chris turns to me and says, "You know, he makes this look so easy."

As I will soon find out, rock climbing is much harder than it looks. For Taylor and I, this is our first climbing experience outside of a gym. Luckily, Chris has been out with Rich before and "knows the ropes" fairly well. Today, we are "multi-pitching," meaning we are climbing multiple lengths of rope. First, Rich must "lead climb" ahead of us, placing protection as he goes and trailing several ropes. Once he reaches the first ledge, he will anchor in and belay us. Therefore, we are actually "top roping," which is safer and more feasible for beginners. I, for one, am thankful, as this is an entirely new experience!

Once Rich reaches the first ledge, he rigs the anchor, and it is my turn to climb. I am nervous but excited. As I take to the rock, my climbing shoes stick, providing me with a level of traction I'm unaccustomed to. As I climb, I start to see what a vital function these shoes serve. At times, the footholds are so miniscule you can barely see them! From below, Chris and Taylor offer words of encouragement, and Rich, perched some distance above, calls down words of instruction. I am making progress, slithering up the face, stretching to the max, and exerting way more energy than necessary. "Just relax," Rich says. Now my legs are wobbling uncontrollably. Relaxing is not easy. Later, I learn the climbing lingo for this annoying phenomenon. "You had Elvis Legs," Rich says. "Your body was just reacting to using muscles it's not used to using."

As I reach the most difficult part of the first pitch, a horizontal route called a "traverse," I am sure to secure my orange line in the protection Rich has placed in the wall, while also removing Taylor's green line...or something like that. It's confusing in retrospect, and it was just as confusing while I was exposed on the rock face, overlooking the valley. With some difficulty, I scramble sideways and make it through the traverse. Now I am almost to the ledge and can see Rich ahead. As I climb over the lip and stand on solid ground, I can hardly breathe. This is no surprise, though, as I probably ceased to perform that essential bodily function while I was hanging eighty feet above the ground.

Thirty minutes later, Chris and Taylor - climbing together - will join us on the ledge. Taylor, after a short fall, regains her composure and pushes onward. A Wake Forest cheerleader, she is strong and flexible and adapts to the challenges quickly. Taking up the rear, Chris cleans the route, removing the cams and stoppers. He exhibits the confidence of a climber, and I'm grateful he's with us.

From here, things get a little harrier. As if the first hundred foot pitch is not enough, since I am already exhausted, we have another pitch to go. And up Rich goes! We watch him scramble up the vertical face until he's out of sight, and then we realize that could present a problem. Also a problem is our overall inability to communicate, as it has become rather windy on the mountainside. Eventually, Rich reaches "Lunch Ledge" and yanks on the ropes to give us the signal. It is time.

I say a prayer, take a deep breath, and begin to climb. From the outset, there are complications, first and foremost, my mental game. I don't feel like I can do this. But to make matters worse, as I progress up the wall, trusting tiny holds and trying my hardest to depend more on my legs than my upper body, I come to a sudden stop. Something is amiss. The ropes have gotten tangled like a pretzel. Either it is the luck of the draw or I've done something wrong. Knowing me, it is probably the latter. Now I must down climb to right this error, a difficult task for any climber, let alone a beginner. As I struggle to descend what I have just climbed - a real blow to my morale - I get the Elvis Legs again and lose my footing. This is the moment I have been dreading all along, and now it is happening. I am falling.

It's funny how a story grows over time, because a 10 foot fall eventually becomes a 20 foot fall. Then, sometime later, a coworker approaches you with this concerned expression and says, "I'm glad you're okay! Heard about that 30 foot fall!"

In truth, it is probably only a 10 to 15 foot fall and mostly rope stretch, at that. But it is painful and - if I'm honest - very scary. It is not your typical "whipper" fall into an empty void; rather, it is a slide down the rock face, scraping and banging your knees and elbows kind of fall. Rich does catch me, of course, as I knew he would, and eventually I am lowered back to the ledge, although my violent plummet ended a mere 4 feet above that ledge, meaning I was 4 feet from breaking my legs and ricocheting off the mountainside. Or maybe not. I tend to be a little dramatic.

Suffice to say, I do not make the second pitch. Chris Gilpin, the hero of the day, manages the tricky ascent in my place and relays everything to Rich. Since it is getting late in the day, we cannot communicate with each other, and I am unable to go on, we call it a day and rappel down. When I feel firm ground beneath my feet, a wave of relief washes over me. I have never been more relieved! A random climber sits at the base of the mountain and sees me descend. I tell him about my fall, and he asks me if I'll ever give it another shot. I think about it for a second and respond, "Probably, but not right away." He grins and nods. "It'll be different next time." Rich says the same once we are all reunited on ground level and that even making it up the first pitch is a great accomplishment.

So I will focus on the positives from this adventure. I climbed a hundred feet up Table Rock Mountain, saw an impressive, early-spring view of the countryside, fell 15 feet, and survived to climb another day!