An Old Story Made New Again
Suited up and ready to traverse (pictures of her lime green slip-on shoes to come!), everyone's favorite cousin Kalee joined me for a leisurely hike up Frans Josef, the world's steepest commercially climbed glacier.
And, yes, this is one of those moments where you just figure you can do it. So many, after all, had come before you and as far as you can imagine, the tour guides would probably be charging you more if they were going to kill you.
The opening images are great. There's the light-hearted group of strangers, who together begin the two mile walk to the base of the mountain, blowing both their minds with optical allusions and their knees with 30lbs of foot gear. There is the gorgeous New Zealand countryside, bathed in it's early morning light and air so crisp you could drink it with a nice salmon and mango salsa. But by the time the jokes had died down that day, the glacier loomed before us and all you could hear echoing off the crystal walls was the faint grumblings of our jaded tour guide, who dropped incoherent obscenities over the timid patrons who would certainly be slowing down his shift. Kalee giggled, as she always does, whenever the secrets of pissed off or panicing nobodies kiss her path.
The trek began strong and despite the narrowing ledges, upon which we were expected to remain poised without the aid of hope or prayer, Kalee and I treated the trip as we would any other Disney-like theme ride. The whole thing just seemed too surreal; as in, we would certainly be in trouble if only we weren't on this really big movie lot. But our delicate, flouncy little bubble of serenity did absolutely pop when some idiot dropped his jacket down one of the many crevasses we had so far managed to ignore. It took the tour guide (if you thought he was pissy before!) 20 minutes just to climb down and grab hold of it. 20 minutes, Kalee and I realized, was far longer than we needed to die an agonizing death if we were to fall next.
Suddened the lack of safety precautions was all we could see. We were just people... on a ledge... of a ricidulously large glacier, with holes everywhere and icy ropes that had probably been up there for decades. And then there were the stairs! But, these were no ordinary stairs. Oh no, they were a slippy, slidy escalator to the black and blue world of the permanently injured.
Still ascending the mountain, we had to leap (I'm not kidding you... leap!) straight down from platform to platform until we reached the next landing, which incidently, was another tiny, little ledge bordering a snarling crevass so deep you couldn't see a bottom for all the soul shattering darkness.
Now what technique do you think would have kept you on this glacier? Face the wall and blindly reach down for the next step, risking your backpack and pounds and pounds of self doubt toppling you backwards. Or do you face out; your hands white knuckling the ropes beside you, forcing your arms to shoot out like sticks from behind and your body to propel forward as you desperately try to sit down far enough to reach the next footing? If you can't tell by now, this is where I lose it.
Kalee, on the other hand, was brave. That is, until we took these same steps going in the other direction.
By then, we had officially lost our group. I had closed my eyes and willed myself to the top first, turned around and was now looking down on her... and the cravass that had power pummeled all my bravery earlier that day. She was looking up at me, thinking the distance was impossible and that really it wouldn't be so bad if she just stayed there. She could set up a sweet, little house there on the ledge; small, but sufficient and cosy...
We, of course, both began to cry.
At first, it started out as desperate plees to not give up, that you're going to make it, and I love you, man. But, as the makeup drooled from our eyes and froze to our faces with the snot and tears of pent up exhaustion and fright, we caved and just sat there mentally embracing each other and willing our torsos to sprout wings.
So overwhelmed were we with our own personal woes, that we almost didn't even realize it when we were together again at the top. Suddenly, there was hugging and jumping and the wipping of each other's stupid crying faces. We grinned and laughed and patted each other's back for the job well done. See, we knew we could do it. Was there ever any doubt? "I knew you can do it. Did you know I could do it?" Sure! We're amazing!
Around the bend, we traveled merrily together in search of our group or at least any other signs of life, when we found it. Glaring back at us, with awe, disgust and complete horror, was the next group in line, who apparently had been waiting 30 minutes for even a glance at what had us echoing our laments over the entire mountain. With nowhere else to go but back to the stairs, we squeezed past them on the teeny, tiny ledge, as they each silently looked us square in the eyes. Being the uber-American's that we are, there was just no way we could let that sort of stillness hang. With rosy cheeks and pearly grins, we ushered our "Excuse me. So Sorry. Pardon me. Oh no, definitely, you first..."
And, yes, this is one of those moments where you just figure you can do it. So many, after all, had come before you and as far as you can imagine, the tour guides would probably be charging you more if they were going to kill you.
The opening images are great. There's the light-hearted group of strangers, who together begin the two mile walk to the base of the mountain, blowing both their minds with optical allusions and their knees with 30lbs of foot gear. There is the gorgeous New Zealand countryside, bathed in it's early morning light and air so crisp you could drink it with a nice salmon and mango salsa. But by the time the jokes had died down that day, the glacier loomed before us and all you could hear echoing off the crystal walls was the faint grumblings of our jaded tour guide, who dropped incoherent obscenities over the timid patrons who would certainly be slowing down his shift. Kalee giggled, as she always does, whenever the secrets of pissed off or panicing nobodies kiss her path.
The trek began strong and despite the narrowing ledges, upon which we were expected to remain poised without the aid of hope or prayer, Kalee and I treated the trip as we would any other Disney-like theme ride. The whole thing just seemed too surreal; as in, we would certainly be in trouble if only we weren't on this really big movie lot. But our delicate, flouncy little bubble of serenity did absolutely pop when some idiot dropped his jacket down one of the many crevasses we had so far managed to ignore. It took the tour guide (if you thought he was pissy before!) 20 minutes just to climb down and grab hold of it. 20 minutes, Kalee and I realized, was far longer than we needed to die an agonizing death if we were to fall next.
Suddened the lack of safety precautions was all we could see. We were just people... on a ledge... of a ricidulously large glacier, with holes everywhere and icy ropes that had probably been up there for decades. And then there were the stairs! But, these were no ordinary stairs. Oh no, they were a slippy, slidy escalator to the black and blue world of the permanently injured.
Still ascending the mountain, we had to leap (I'm not kidding you... leap!) straight down from platform to platform until we reached the next landing, which incidently, was another tiny, little ledge bordering a snarling crevass so deep you couldn't see a bottom for all the soul shattering darkness.
Now what technique do you think would have kept you on this glacier? Face the wall and blindly reach down for the next step, risking your backpack and pounds and pounds of self doubt toppling you backwards. Or do you face out; your hands white knuckling the ropes beside you, forcing your arms to shoot out like sticks from behind and your body to propel forward as you desperately try to sit down far enough to reach the next footing? If you can't tell by now, this is where I lose it.
Kalee, on the other hand, was brave. That is, until we took these same steps going in the other direction.
By then, we had officially lost our group. I had closed my eyes and willed myself to the top first, turned around and was now looking down on her... and the cravass that had power pummeled all my bravery earlier that day. She was looking up at me, thinking the distance was impossible and that really it wouldn't be so bad if she just stayed there. She could set up a sweet, little house there on the ledge; small, but sufficient and cosy...
We, of course, both began to cry.
At first, it started out as desperate plees to not give up, that you're going to make it, and I love you, man. But, as the makeup drooled from our eyes and froze to our faces with the snot and tears of pent up exhaustion and fright, we caved and just sat there mentally embracing each other and willing our torsos to sprout wings.
So overwhelmed were we with our own personal woes, that we almost didn't even realize it when we were together again at the top. Suddenly, there was hugging and jumping and the wipping of each other's stupid crying faces. We grinned and laughed and patted each other's back for the job well done. See, we knew we could do it. Was there ever any doubt? "I knew you can do it. Did you know I could do it?" Sure! We're amazing!
Around the bend, we traveled merrily together in search of our group or at least any other signs of life, when we found it. Glaring back at us, with awe, disgust and complete horror, was the next group in line, who apparently had been waiting 30 minutes for even a glance at what had us echoing our laments over the entire mountain. With nowhere else to go but back to the stairs, we squeezed past them on the teeny, tiny ledge, as they each silently looked us square in the eyes. Being the uber-American's that we are, there was just no way we could let that sort of stillness hang. With rosy cheeks and pearly grins, we ushered our "Excuse me. So Sorry. Pardon me. Oh no, definitely, you first..."
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