Rappelling:
Taking The Big Plunge

Driving home from a meeting today, I happened to see several gentlemen swaying gently in the breeze several hundred feet up on the side of the radio tower. After my initial thought of “I didn’t think Fraternities are allowed to haze pledges anymore,” I realized the men were actually doing some kind of repair work on the side of the mast.

As I changed the radio station, I idly pondered how much money it would take to get me up there. Imagine hanging by a thin rope high enough off the ground that an accidental fall would allow you time to play a hand of pinochle before becoming a greasy spot at the base of the tower. As I often pointed out when standing on observation decks, overlooks and various cliffs, any fall requiring more than two or three separate screams prior to completion isn’t something I ever want to experience.

Yet, I admit there was a time in my life when I semi-routinely dangled like a participle, suspended off the sides of towers, steeples and roofs by a single strand of creaking polyester rope. You see, I was a sniper on the SWAT team, and as everyone knows, part of the requirement for owning an Official Cool Dude membership card is regularly sliding down tall things via a line.

There are people who consider this skill great fun and even a sport, but I’m certainly not one of them. I hung up my harness about seven seconds after retiring from SWAT, and fortunately, nothing in my life has required me to slide off anything taller than a bar stool in over 25 years.

But first, a disclaimer — this story will not go into the specifics of rappelling. If, even after reading this column, you still wish to try it out, please get professional instruction. If you simply buy equipment on the internet and attempt to use it, you will very likely make a wet impact noise similar to “SPLAT!” If you’re really unlucky, you’ll also incorporate some extracurricular slamming, bouncing, skidding and/or impaling.

Training Day One

I still remember rappelling class like a large, painful, infected thorn lodged in my frontal lobe. We started with classroom instruction full of waning enthusiasm as the teacher pointed out the hundred different ways you can become a human pancake in less than a second during rope work. This instilled a huge amount of confidence in no one. We learned and practiced the required knots and rigging; then it was finally time to go outside.

Our group of trainees ascended to the lowest of the many rooftops of the large commercial building and stood by in a nervous cluster, some members silent, others cracking jokes a little too loudly. The tension could have been cut with a knife and sold by the pound. A few moments later, it was time for each man to clip onto the rope, give the “OK” sign and shuffle backward toward THE … EDGE …

Rappelling is deceptively easy — you step off something elevated and slide down a rope. The tricky part is forcing your body to lean backward over the drop while the rope allegedly holds you safely, like a babe in its mother’s arms. However, this maneuver runs counter to every survival instinct you possess, and you’d likely slap your own mother before you’d let her dangle you on a rope. Individual cells of your body will become angry, and some will try to leave without permission.

Fortunately, the instructors talked us through the initial fear, and all of our team members eventually descended safely from 15 feet. Standing below, we shared a hearty round of hand slapping and head butting, thrilled at the idea that we had conquered the previously untamed 15’ wall. A feeling of smug satisfaction ran through our group, and the day seemed even sunnier as we made our way to the roof for the further jumps.

Over the next hour, we repeated basic descent technique several times. Some members even performed the “Australian” or face-down rappel. Secretly, everyone was secure in the knowledge that we were indeed a major collection of stud horses.

After a further bit of practice, the instructor halted things, gathered us in a circle, and informed the group that we now needed to try a higher wall. A tiny bit of concern crept into our conversations, but it was quickly dismissed. After all, we had already defeated our fears, and a higher drop would simply be more of the same kind of fun.

Insert foreshadowing music right here.

Upper Management

We made our way to the topmost peak of the warehouse, went out onto the flat roof and approached the edge together. As nine heads peered over the side, a collective exhale nearly stripped the tar off the roof. This drop was MUCH higher!

When breath returned to our bodies, several expletives were accidentally spewed into the wind. Everyone silently hoped some kind of medical emergency would require their attention and call them back down to earth. Some of the guys later confided they’d have been happy to donate a kidney at that moment if it got them back on terra firma. However, no such luck was forthcoming.

I watched in mute horror as the first teammate clipped on the rope and shuffled to the edge. If you took a picture of his face prior to stepping backward, it could be printed on poison bottles to frighten away children. The mood was grim.

My turn eventually came, and I took my place at the edge. Things were going reasonably well — I hadn’t soiled myself yet — and I was secretly pleased with my iron nerves and granite composure. But then, I looked down between my heels and saw the tiny people standing next to a miniature fire hydrant. At this point, the following conversation took place in my head —

Brain: Attention hand, please release grip slightly.

Hand: Sorry, can’t do that.

Heart: OMG! WE ARE GOING TO DIE!

Brain: It’s OK, everything is fine, everybody calm down.

Hand: We are shutting down and going home.

Heart: WE ARE REALLY, REALLY GOING TO DIE!

Brain: C’mon hand, please release the grip!

Hand: The number you have reached is no longer in service …

Eventually, due to sheer fatigue, I slowly released my iron grip on the rope and edged backward over the drop. By “slowly,” I mean a mobility-impaired snail shot past me going over the edge. By now, my bloodstream was 100% filled with exotic fear hormones, and my mutinous heart attempted to climb through my nose and back onto the ledge.

Several days later, I went horizontal and all my internal organs voted to immediately donate themselves to a needy person, preferably one who didn’t have any need to hang off the side of a building.

Then, finally, it happened — afraid to move but more afraid to stay hanging off the side of the building like a sign pole, I gingerly leapt off the wall and started my descent. The actual slide down was exhilarating in extremist, and my confidence grew as I managed to kick-slide-kick-slide my way down the wall in best Hollywood fashion. Upon reaching the ground, my entire body was shaking like a paint mixer, and the only sound I could produce through chattering teeth was a shouted “WOO HOO”! I was alive and safe and had utterly defeated my old nemesis — fear.

The whole thing was supremely satisfying, and I’m proud of some of the adventures we had, but there’s no way you could get me to do it today, regardless of the paycheck. When you’re my age, the adrenaline needs have grown much smaller, and those bar stools always seem to get much higher!

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