Getting back down the AGGRO CRAG.
This past Friday, with two visitors in tow, we finally got out canyoning. After seeing the brutalized but awestruck faces of people who have gone before us, we had decided we needed to do this a long time ago. Canyoning is incredible--all the fun of a water park with all the danger of Action Park, and the roughing it factor of a Barry Crump novel. It clearly was invented by a Peter Pan type, who after spending his childhood wading in knee deep creeks under waterfalls and climbing through crevasses decided he could make a living off guiding people through this sort of thing.
[Invoke dreamlike childhood sequence]
To me, it was exactly what I've wanted to do since I was 8 and roaming through the backcountry of Allendale, NJ. Of course, in Allendale, this type of thing is difficult to find, and thus we always settled on a small, rocky stream that would dry up every other week due to a lack of rain. Later on, I scoured the Celery Farm, a regional landmark, which wound around an open lake. It wasn't until I really started hanging around Crestwood Lake, exploring the area over by the Red Barn, that I found what I was looking for--A waterfall. Unfortunately, it poured out of what was believed to be a sewage reservoir (or at other times, molton lava) and then into the brook which ran parallel to my middle school. Getting wet was never an option, it was something so unbelievably awful that whenever I sunk so much as the toe of my shoes into the water my day would be ruined. I don't know why it was such an issue for me--but walking back home in wet shoes was a failure. The point was to stay OUT of the water.
I usually had issues with this sort of thing now that I think about it. I just didn't want to get messed up; couldn't stand soaking and absorbing events I had never planned for.
I can actually remember breaking this trend. I was in a bathing suit and crabbing in Seabrook Island with my Dad and Uncle sometime around the 5th grade. I was no older than 12. It was sweltering hot and we were in a marsh which intensified the heat tenfold. The water below the dock was like a warm soup with tall fronds of grass tipping downward as if the noodles bowed to the heaty froth it was served in. I was termed the netter--while the crabbers hooked the crab I was responsible for netting it and bringing it into our bucket. It was low tide though, and the dock we were on was a solid 9 feet from the ground, making the netting task nearly impossible. We needed a 9 foot net, and the length of the one I was holding, including my short armspan, was about 3.5 feet. Against my will, I was forced below the dock, onto a muddy enclave splattered by the tides. It wasn't stable at all, and after about 30 seconds I was about knee deep and commiserating with the small sand crabs around me. In order to net though, I had to get even dirtier, even closer to the water where the mud was even softer. That's where I lost my care to be clean--the effort was obviously futile--and began netting. Our success rate increased drastically, and the amount of crabs in the bucket outweighed any of my cares about being covered head to toe in slop.
Canyoning, in relation, used the same carefree faculties I learned that long ago. It was a willing submersion. It was a mess and we got dirty.
Canyoning was a chance to get wet, explore waterfalls, canyons, streams and rocks in a way that I really hadn't been prepared for. At least we appeared to be prepared, Me, Ryan, John, Shannon, Garry and Meg, with out wetsuits on, harnesses strapped up, and helmets fit securely on our heads. The whole suit was incredibly uncomfortable. It was the type of thing that makes nudists turn nudist. We were constricted in just about every way, and the hike to where the canyoning really began was pretty much unpleasant despite the untouched green forest we were walking through. We had a very brief primer on how to abseil (or repel, as it is commonly referred to in the States) and then jumped straight into the water.
Our tour guide, Cam, was an experienced adventurer, having worked as a guide for whitewater rafting and scuba diving as well as canyoning. He offered us choices along the trail, usually either to jump or to abseil. The water we waded in was mostly shallow, except for certain points that he knew would be deep enough to jump in. The water was also home to eels of many sizes, however they never really got in the way. We only saw them while we were out of the water and eating lunch. They like tomatoes.
The first abseil was a bit of a beginner drop, 18m, and marked the first time abseiling for all of us. You are basically hooked on to the rope by a carabiner and control how quickly you go down. Keeping your left hand on the rope in front of you for balance, and the right hand on the rope behind you for control, you manuever your way down the cliff keeping your feet spread wide on the rocks. You control the slack by moving your right hand to your side for more, and behind you to stop completely. We usually ran two ropes at a time, meaning the first two people down acted as belayers in case of emergency. We all got down from the first cliff no problem.
We swam around in the freezing cold water that the waterfall spilled into and then moved forward through the creek, encountering yet another abseil. This one was the largest of them all and only our second abseil ever. It was a 50m straight down, and directly next to a giant waterfall (the one pictured above). Their was a pretty intense crack you could end up in, which gave you pretty much no footing on the way down. All of us seemed to get lost in it except the girls. Shannon managed to escape it entirely on the left and Meg mastered it by going right into it and putting her feet down. Both are in stark contrast to John, who desperately tried to avoid it by pushing off the rocks like starting blocks and launching himself away from the crack only to uncontrollably sway back into it like a pendulum.
Our last abseil was unlike the others. Rather than trying to avoid the waterfall, we plunged directly into it. The opening was very narrow, and we could only fit one person down at a time. I went down first and was responsible for getting set up at the bottom and belaying two people down. As I went down, I became entirely engulfed by the roaring water around me. The farther down I got, the more impossible it was to hear or see anything. I reached my legs down to where I'd finally hit the pond which marked the end of the abseil.
We all got down safely and started slithering around the stream, climbing on top of giant boulders like contestants in GUTS. Cam finally pointed to an area where we could cliff jump and we went for it. Because we are already soaking wet, the moment of impact was a flash flood of cold and felt rigid rather than smooth. We continued climbing around and jumping off certain ledges where it was possible. Each one seemed to be getting higher.
At other points we were told to squeeze ourself through small caves and between rocks. I believe there was always an alternate route, even when abseiling. But choosing not to do those sorts of things would be like playing beer pong with 7up. Canyoning is meant for those who want to experience it.
After a series of caves and jumps, we walked our way through the stream back to the car. We derobed in a motor lodge bathroom and brought our wetsuits back to the garage we picked them up in. We were back at Railway about 45 minutes later, all with aching joints and eyes worn but wide.
[Invoke dreamlike childhood sequence]
To me, it was exactly what I've wanted to do since I was 8 and roaming through the backcountry of Allendale, NJ. Of course, in Allendale, this type of thing is difficult to find, and thus we always settled on a small, rocky stream that would dry up every other week due to a lack of rain. Later on, I scoured the Celery Farm, a regional landmark, which wound around an open lake. It wasn't until I really started hanging around Crestwood Lake, exploring the area over by the Red Barn, that I found what I was looking for--A waterfall. Unfortunately, it poured out of what was believed to be a sewage reservoir (or at other times, molton lava) and then into the brook which ran parallel to my middle school. Getting wet was never an option, it was something so unbelievably awful that whenever I sunk so much as the toe of my shoes into the water my day would be ruined. I don't know why it was such an issue for me--but walking back home in wet shoes was a failure. The point was to stay OUT of the water.
I usually had issues with this sort of thing now that I think about it. I just didn't want to get messed up; couldn't stand soaking and absorbing events I had never planned for.
I can actually remember breaking this trend. I was in a bathing suit and crabbing in Seabrook Island with my Dad and Uncle sometime around the 5th grade. I was no older than 12. It was sweltering hot and we were in a marsh which intensified the heat tenfold. The water below the dock was like a warm soup with tall fronds of grass tipping downward as if the noodles bowed to the heaty froth it was served in. I was termed the netter--while the crabbers hooked the crab I was responsible for netting it and bringing it into our bucket. It was low tide though, and the dock we were on was a solid 9 feet from the ground, making the netting task nearly impossible. We needed a 9 foot net, and the length of the one I was holding, including my short armspan, was about 3.5 feet. Against my will, I was forced below the dock, onto a muddy enclave splattered by the tides. It wasn't stable at all, and after about 30 seconds I was about knee deep and commiserating with the small sand crabs around me. In order to net though, I had to get even dirtier, even closer to the water where the mud was even softer. That's where I lost my care to be clean--the effort was obviously futile--and began netting. Our success rate increased drastically, and the amount of crabs in the bucket outweighed any of my cares about being covered head to toe in slop.
Canyoning, in relation, used the same carefree faculties I learned that long ago. It was a willing submersion. It was a mess and we got dirty.
Canyoning was a chance to get wet, explore waterfalls, canyons, streams and rocks in a way that I really hadn't been prepared for. At least we appeared to be prepared, Me, Ryan, John, Shannon, Garry and Meg, with out wetsuits on, harnesses strapped up, and helmets fit securely on our heads. The whole suit was incredibly uncomfortable. It was the type of thing that makes nudists turn nudist. We were constricted in just about every way, and the hike to where the canyoning really began was pretty much unpleasant despite the untouched green forest we were walking through. We had a very brief primer on how to abseil (or repel, as it is commonly referred to in the States) and then jumped straight into the water.
Our tour guide, Cam, was an experienced adventurer, having worked as a guide for whitewater rafting and scuba diving as well as canyoning. He offered us choices along the trail, usually either to jump or to abseil. The water we waded in was mostly shallow, except for certain points that he knew would be deep enough to jump in. The water was also home to eels of many sizes, however they never really got in the way. We only saw them while we were out of the water and eating lunch. They like tomatoes.
The first abseil was a bit of a beginner drop, 18m, and marked the first time abseiling for all of us. You are basically hooked on to the rope by a carabiner and control how quickly you go down. Keeping your left hand on the rope in front of you for balance, and the right hand on the rope behind you for control, you manuever your way down the cliff keeping your feet spread wide on the rocks. You control the slack by moving your right hand to your side for more, and behind you to stop completely. We usually ran two ropes at a time, meaning the first two people down acted as belayers in case of emergency. We all got down from the first cliff no problem.
We swam around in the freezing cold water that the waterfall spilled into and then moved forward through the creek, encountering yet another abseil. This one was the largest of them all and only our second abseil ever. It was a 50m straight down, and directly next to a giant waterfall (the one pictured above). Their was a pretty intense crack you could end up in, which gave you pretty much no footing on the way down. All of us seemed to get lost in it except the girls. Shannon managed to escape it entirely on the left and Meg mastered it by going right into it and putting her feet down. Both are in stark contrast to John, who desperately tried to avoid it by pushing off the rocks like starting blocks and launching himself away from the crack only to uncontrollably sway back into it like a pendulum.Our last abseil was unlike the others. Rather than trying to avoid the waterfall, we plunged directly into it. The opening was very narrow, and we could only fit one person down at a time. I went down first and was responsible for getting set up at the bottom and belaying two people down. As I went down, I became entirely engulfed by the roaring water around me. The farther down I got, the more impossible it was to hear or see anything. I reached my legs down to where I'd finally hit the pond which marked the end of the abseil.
We all got down safely and started slithering around the stream, climbing on top of giant boulders like contestants in GUTS. Cam finally pointed to an area where we could cliff jump and we went for it. Because we are already soaking wet, the moment of impact was a flash flood of cold and felt rigid rather than smooth. We continued climbing around and jumping off certain ledges where it was possible. Each one seemed to be getting higher.At other points we were told to squeeze ourself through small caves and between rocks. I believe there was always an alternate route, even when abseiling. But choosing not to do those sorts of things would be like playing beer pong with 7up. Canyoning is meant for those who want to experience it.
After a series of caves and jumps, we walked our way through the stream back to the car. We derobed in a motor lodge bathroom and brought our wetsuits back to the garage we picked them up in. We were back at Railway about 45 minutes later, all with aching joints and eyes worn but wide.
posted by jld at 2:15 PM
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