Cliff Jumping at Paradise Falls
Twice in the same week I threw my bag on my back and took off out the door in search of adrenaline. We sped down the highway onto the back roads and down the mountain until we reached what many might mistake for a slow moving traffic’s pull-off. It was a gravel lot cut off the side of the road with no signage, no obvious trail head, and no phone signal, and it is where the steep descent to Paradise Falls begins.
Multiple lengths of rope attached to trees assist hikers in sliding down the mud-ridden mountainside. Around some trees, over others, but mostly the descent involves clinging to the rope while the mud tries to knock your feet out under you. I was the only one to fall (both times, go figure).
The base of the mountain immediately reveals a swimming hole with a lower and upper cliff as well as a beautiful angle of Paradise Falls framed by a massive boulder on one side and the steep mountain slope on the other.
We decided to acclimate ourselves for the day by throwing ourselves off the lower cliff. The trail goes up and around to a thin ridge that provides access, but we thought it would be fun to hurl ourselves straight up the rock face. A rope dangles to provide support on the way up and began to feel like a lifeline in my hand as I ascended over those last few feet. At the top of the cliff lies a root cluster barely large enough to plant both feet in. It almost feels as if the tree itself is pushing me off the cliff, and it isn’t until the third round of letting go of it and quickly grabbing hold again that I finally manage to stop the shaking in my knees. I look to my friend and give a nod. The countdown begins.
3…
2..
1.
“Go!”
I let my torso fall forward until I’m almost perpendicular to the ledge. I bend at the knees and spring myself forward, absorbing the eagle-eye view of the pool for what feels infinitely longer than the split second I must have been airborne. The water pulls me down into its depths and launches me to its surface just as quickly. We let out our cheers as always, and he begins his ascent to the platform.
From below, he resembles a swimmer dipping their toes in the water to test for frigid temperatures, but from forty-odd feet it’s not the water he’s testing but rather the land. Commitment to the program doesn’t come until his feet leave the landing, so he searches for the perfect position to leap from. Allow enough forward room for the initial step to generate momentum. Make sure to steer clear of the root cluster that grabs at one’s toes on the takeoff. Step hard enough to hit the center of the pool below. I see the nod - He’s ready.
3…
2..
1.
“Jump!”
He launches himself from the platform and immediately begins spinning his arms in an effort not to lean back too far. A big splash, loud cheers, and high-fives fill the air with excitement. Now it’s time to gear up for the big one.
I leave my friend behind and begin climbing up the back side of the sixty-foot boulder that holds back the far side of the channel. Another length of rope lies on the mountainside to assist in scaling a section of exposed rock just beneath the top. Shrubbery encases the topout, leaving the gorge’s size a mystery until a few meager steps spits me out of the brush and leaves me fully exposed with Paradise Falls raging to my left and flowing whitewater on my right. Now I’m no professional, but I like to embrace the rule that big jumps demand excitement in equal proportion. That means it’s time to throw a front flip.
I take one deep breath and hold my arms to the side, fully embracing both the beauty of where I am and the risks involved in flying. I give the nod, and the countdown begins once more.
3…
2..
1.
Time slows as I throw myself into the air, and even though I can still sense the entire landscape like I had atop the rock my vision blurs at the edges, rendering the world nothing but an intense turquoise pool and a silhouetted world surrounding me. I leave my eyes open as my feet come overtop the rest of my body, and I adjust my rotation speed to ensure I hit the water feet first. The big splash (big for a guy who’s 5’9”) sends water flying around me, and we cheer once more.
With minor hesitation, my friend begins putting himself through the same cycle of climbing up the mountain just to be thrown off it. I can see the veins in his arms as he grips the safety line of root clusters, tethering himself to the land before giving himself to the air. I can physically see his breathing deepen as his chest rises and falls in a double-time rhythm. He sits up there for awhile, running simulations through his head over and over again, trying to dismiss every manner in which this could go horribly wrong. He’s hesitant, but he is not turning around now. Expletives and a roar fills the air as he gives me the final sign of approval. One more countdown as the roots leave his hand. He takes one big step forward and leaps into the air, committing to the same vertical swimming motion as before. Everything sits in perfect silence for a moment, and I can see life exuberating from within him as he soars down from the cliff above.
The world resumes its pace as soon as he touches the water, and we cheered as if we had set some sort of record. That’s the kind of pure joy you get from treading the lines that bind us here. It’s a look into the face of danger and willingly stepping into its territory knowing you have what’s necessary to come back, and maybe that doesn’t make sense, but live a little like we do and maybe it will start to.
Adventure On!
-JGM