The Hardcore Chicks

Out of the corner of my eye I spot my white and blue Saucony running shoes, still damp as they rest on the floor of my apartment. Those shoes have carried my stride many a time. Along East Cliff Drive and through Nisene Marks in the summer. To the Chestnut Hill Reservoir on brisk, fall afternoons in New England. Over the belt of the treadmill at the gym during Boston’s icy winters. Down Mountain Avenue in Berkeley Heights, New Jersey. Even through Central Park in the spring. And recently, around Sydney Uni. But its destiny as a pair of shoes may have only been fulfilled last Saturday abseiling in the Blue Mountains down mountainsides, water canyons and a waterfall.

We woke up at 5:00 a.m. to catch the train. As we chugged further from the city and deeper into the mountains, the fog thickened, wrapping the hills in a comforting manner but ruining our chances of watching the sun rise all the same.

The shop wasn’t open yet, so when Caroline spotted the yellow lab sitting outside the café, we were lured in, first for a pet of the dog’s silky, floppy ears, and then for a steaming mug of chai to offset the morning chill in the mountain air.

Around nine the group piled into the creaky twelve-person van. I slowly surfaced out of my sleepy state as we bounced along the dirt road. Anticipation fluttered in my gut as my group mates took turns telling their tales of skydiving, bungee jumping, zorbing, and the like. What was I getting myself into, I wondered looking out the window.

The first of our abseils (kind of like repelling) was puny even to my standards. Maybe twenty feet high, so Jorie and I lead the pack. Roped in, I backed my Saucony’s to the edge, released some rope and continued all ten steps down the natural wall.

With my newfound confidence and a wonder about why everyone considered this an adventure sport, we hiked our way to the second site of the day. This one was not only higher but different. Instead of treading your way down the mountain, we guided ourselves over the edge and then swung under the ledge, allowing our feet to dangle as we zipped the rest of the way down.

We ended the morning with a six-story abseil. The scary and invigorating part of this descent was that the mountain continued for what seemed like miles past the ledge on which we landed. So while our drop was only maybe sixty-feet long, the height was hundreds of feet above the trees, allowing for amazing views as we repelled down. Thinking of my dad and how much he’d enjoy this, I loosened the grip on my break hand, diving quicker toward the platform. The combination of exhilarating sport with pristine and serene setting made for a perfect Saturday escape from the city.

After a nice lunch break, we hiked down the canyon to start the water adventure. When the leader of the pack stopped abruptly, turned with big eyes and said a thick, brown snake just crossed his path, I felt my welcome to Australia was complete. Knowing that nine out of ten of the world’s most poisonous snakes are native to Oz, I looked to our tour guide for comfort that was not granted. We hurried along, turning every corner with anxiety.

I wish I could describe the beauty of the water canyon. We all just kept murmuring, “This isn’t real.” Ironic, because actually, this place was as it real it gets. Forget Raging Waters, this place had real waterslides and real waterfalls. So besides being the most naturally beautiful place to which I’ve ever been, Empress Canyon also hosted the best activity of the day—rock jumping and waterslide scaling. Because we were submerged in water almost the entire way, we left our cameras behind—a bittersweet arrangement considering that I cannot describe the canyon’s beauty, but it also saved us from documenting the hideous getups in which we traversed the rocky canyon. (Or so we thought.) As if the bright blue wetsuits weren’t bad enough, add yellow helmets, a rock climbing harness and large waterproof backpacks to the mix and you had me squealing with laughter looking at my friends. So when Clare, a solo traveler from England started snapping pictures of us with her waterproof camera promising to find us on Facebook for our viewing pleasure, I couldn’t help but think of the laughing fit my mom and I had a few years ago on the beach in Maui as we attempted to walk down the shore with our snorkeling fins still on our feet. That picture still provides us a good chuckle when we pull it out, so I could imagine the future laughs these pictures would too.

After a few rock jumps, natural water slides and a crayfish spotting, we arrived at the waterfall. Instructed to stay away from the edge until it was our turn to repel down, we couldn’t see the height of the drop. Leaving it to the imagination, excitement built.

I had hoped to tell you that I navigated down the waterfall like a pro—legs sturdy, rope running smoothly through my hands. In fact, once I lost my footing the first time on the slippery wall of the waterfall with water dowsing on me like, well, a waterfall, I never really got it back. I repelled down that wall like dead weight. At the bottom, I swam ashore, embarrassed at my poor form despite all the practice. But as I climbed up and watched the rest of my group take the waterfall head on, I was happily surprised to find that my group mates’ shoes were just as slippery as mine.

Then, Damon, our tour guide, talked us up to the rest of the group as we dressed to hike back up the mountain. Pride swelling at his comments about our good performances, the four of us gladly accepted the title “the hardcore chicks.” Then Damon surprised us.

“Hey Hardcore Chicks”
(Collective with giggles) “Yaa?”
“You know what hardcore chicks do?”
“What?”
“They carry ropes.”

And that’s how we got tricked into hiking home with an extra thirty pounds on our backs.

Physically exhausted we opted for Finding Nemo that Saturday night instead of Cargo Bar. I fell asleep before Nemo found his dad but still consider this day among the best of my time in Australia.