The Challenge Course

Friday, October 23
Began Challenge Course Field Work Planning for next Tuesday. Rock Climbing Field Work next Wednesday. Leave next Thursday for the Association for Experiential Education Conference in Montreal.


Thursday, October 22
Chose NOT to jump off the swing which lets you drop about 10' from a platform before swinging you out into the trees. Lots of us loved it. I'm not one of 'em. I enjoy taking pictures of others so they can see what they've done. I need to balance that with staying engaged in the activity so that I learn as much as possible.

There was a buzz about the Flying Squirrel. Some already knew the element. In the afternoon we got to give it a try. Jen belayed Kristi while she climbed to set up the pulley system. I enjoyed seeing a couple of women take on the roles. Coquette volunteered to be the first "squirrel" and got a nice ride. The squirrel is harnessed into one end of the rope while the group of at least 7 but maybe 10 connect carabiners into the other end. The squirrel runs a few steps one way while the group runs in the other direction. Opposing forces haul the squirrel fast and up about 25-30 feet. It looked like a fun ride and I told myself I was going to do it. Eventually, I harnessed up, Beth told me to tell the group what kind of ride I wanted. "Not the baby ride but I don't want full throttle either. Somewhere in between." I ran a couple of steps and then my feet were off the ground and I was hurtling up fast. Austin said I got the prize for the scream. I remember screaming but I also remember laughing and clapping. It was a fast thrill and a lot of fun.

      the haulin' crew                                                "Not the baby ride but not full throttle either."

                     

Breathe deeply--you're goin' up.                   . . . and then my feet were off the ground. 

                                                                                

                          laughing and clapping for the joy

                                                                                

                                                                         Beth makes the most of the Squirrel

When we all had a ride, we made sure Beth had one, too. In fact, she thought she was landing but had an unexpected 2nd lift and clearly knows how to make the most of the Squirrel.

I've been thinking about the difference between having virtually no control other than to agree to harness in for the ride on the Flying Squirrel vs the Cat Walk where it's all about the participant and their ability and courage at a given time. More thinking to do.

Wednesday, October 21

Switching participant and facilitator hats in and out. Had the opportunity to play on the low and high ropes again. There's the Playpen that looks like a lesson in frustration. Sarah Maney's goal was to help someone else on the ropes today and she helped at least one person, maybe two. She kept going and her long limbs got her past the 3 wooden tiers and then hauled herself up onto the 2 tire tiers. Very cool to see her sitting up there. Said she could see all of Greenfield.

I could also have tried the Multi Vine climb but I don't fancy walking on high cables with floppy hanging rope vines for security. Need to get over it. What I did want to do was to give the Catwalk another shot. Aaron offered to belay me and I climbed. I was determined to not think about it but just move up the ladder--got hung up on the tree a bit, and then my feet were on the pole. And, I actually did go across fairly quickly. And then I went back the other way. And then I went back again. And again. Catlike I was! And then I walked to the middle and told Aaron that I wanted to just sit back in the harness and feel and trust. Austin came by to check on me and said it was just what I should be doing. So I hung out up there for a bit, even letting go of the rope and holding my arms out to the sides. I moved my feet around on the pole, totally giving in to the harness. . . still breathing hard, but starting to own the Cat Walk and my own fear. Jake took some pictures. Okay. I've done it. Time to come down. I asked Aaron to let me down kind of quickly and then we switched roles and I belayed him.

. . . just sit back in the harness and feel and trust        

  letting go and holding my arms out to the sides

Tuesday, October 20

Today we put on our facilitator hats and learned the ropes. . . pun intended.

Monday, October 19
I've been awaiting this all-week challenge course with a sense of something wicked this way comes. . . and there's no way out. Okay, okay, there is "challenge by choice" but I have challenged myself, for a few years now, often by living "as if" I can do something. "As if" is a mind game and how I have pushed though fears, new or known, and then moved forward or sometimes sideways. My search for courage to make the hard choices and move forward helps me to learn what I am capable of. Now, wicked has come.

Rappelling was wicked last week but there was benign anticipation because I had no rappelling experience and the week was technically listed as Rock Climbing. I lived "as if" 3 years ago and climbed a rock wall and went through a high ropes course. That's actually where I formed my mouthful of a mantra, "I am fully participating in life." High ropes was terror. George corrected me last week and said, "Challenge courses are fun," and then asked if I had heard about the "pamper pole." Climb the telephone pole and you may need a pamper--yes, the diaper. Austin had made mention of the swaying telephone pole but left out the pampers reference when he lectured about risk management a few weeks ago. He went on to talk about being up high and reaching out to grab the trapeze. At that point, my hand shot up and I asked, "What happens with certification if you don't grab the trapeze--'cause I just don't see that happening?" Austin talked me down with, "Well, we don't want to get too ahead of ourselves but there are ways to work things out. Maybe someone works the ground facilitation and partners with someone certified to do the high work." He went on to say that the person who remembers the fear may be a great teacher because they can understand the fear their clients may experience. A person who doesn't feel the fear may not be able to grasp what their clients feel or need in order to help them through a situation.

Oh, okay. I have an alternative. I have a way out and can still be certified.
It didn't take long for me to wish I didn't know that I had a way out. Would it mean I wouldn't try? Would it mean I'd allow myself to do less than I might have? LOOP HOLES--and we all know what slides in and out of loop holes.

With the challenge course out of sight, we start this morning with team building out on the sunny and level campus grass. The Wolf Pack game. A lone "wolf" howls and slowly builds a wolf pack by chasing and hitting players with a nerf ball. Once hit, you are the new wolf and must help to build the pack. . .but only after a pack howl which can cause a sense of unease when the wolf pack becomes larger than the people pack. Then we went on to trust building. Trust your partner to spot you as you fall backwards. Or, someone stands in the middle of a small circle, arms folded and falls, trusting the circle to catch and pass them throughout the circle safely and vertically. Apparently I didn't hold my ninja power stance because I dropped Austin. He took it well.

Ease 'em in. Start slowly on basic team and trust skills. After lunch, we hike up and through the woods to the challenge course. Something wicked. . .don't be fooled by low. Austin tells us on the way that there are flash flood warnings. And wouldn't you know, 30 seconds into our walk to the low ropes he yells, "Flood!" We scramble for the nearest trees we can hang onto and get our feet off the ground. Last one gets swept away. In writing, the premise is dark and loses the play factor. He sets another stage. There's been a natural catastrophe and logistics and medical rescuers are needed. Oh, no. Maybe we're getting into our Wilderness First Responder (WFR) training which I have yet to write about because I am still traumatized. I have more experience with logistics so slide over and away from medical. We are given instructions and limitations and the low cables and hanging ropes prove to be a challenge of personal stamina and balance, as well as group dynamics and leadership or lack thereof.

I am surprised, however, when what looks like such a benign element throws me. It's called a variety of names but we use Disc Jockey, likely because we are using bike tires. Austin measures and marks off boundaries from where we can swing from a low rope. First, we need to capture the rope with only our own bodies or what we are wearing and, of course, there are penalties for certain infractions. Mark, Ian, and Sarah all make good tosses with belts hooked together. Our goal is to figure out how we can get all 10 of us within the 6 or so tires laid on the ground. The rope is the vehicle and we work out ways to maneuver and help each other land within the tires. It's my turn and my feet won't leave the ground. What? I loved to swing as a kid and there's no height involved. I keep trying and am stunned that I'm having a problem with this. I assumed it would be a cakewalk. My feet still won't leave the ground. I can't pick them up to swing out toward everyone else. Seems like some big letting go issues. It's so similar to a rope swing I did but there was height, water, and panic involved. Here it's level ground, maybe a swing of 3' tops before someone grabs me to guide me into the right tire. More to think about.
We process what we have learned about our group dynamics and hope the lessons carry us to the high ropes which are next.

We don our brand spankin' new, high ropes harnesses, helmets, and split into 2 groups. One with Austin on the Playpen, a multi-level, swinging wood and tire challenge. The other, with Beth on the Cat Walk. . .climb the ladder up the tree and walk across the horizontal telephone pole to the other end and then belay down (oddly, I don't think she asked us to identify the trees). We learn that one person could actually belay someone but that having jobs for individuals is a great way to maintain the group in a potentially dangerous situation. We take turns at each position; holding the ladder steady, belay, belay anchor, 2nd belay, rope handler, and climber.

I'm pretty sure that Joe volunteered to go first. Joe doesn't like heights. When I saw Joe standing up on the pole, joking about tension and waiting to belay down, I wished I had my camera as did Beth. It was a very cool sight. He'll just have to do it again tomorrow so we can get a shot. Sarah not-afraid-of-much Maney allows that ladders are her challenge but once past it, fairly flies across and belays with a little flip that turns her upside down. When we rappelled last week, Sarah wanted to do the Australian rappel where one faces forward, seeing every breath-steeling inch of where you're going. . . bring pampers.

Before it's my turn, Beth talks to me about last week's rappelling adventures and asks if I had climbed before I rappelled. I don't think I had at that site and she said rappelling before climbing is a hard way to start. She asked what my goal was for today and I said, "I'm going up." She told me that my brain and my body need to be in sync and that for today I should pick a goal, reach it and assess if I want to go on. It may be that the in-sync won't be today but could be tomorrow or another day. We have all week. But I'm not understanding, and I'm aware that it's time for me to climb and I don't want to give myself loopholes. I do want to talk with her about it more so that I can understand the concept.

I harness up, Anna and I do our buddy safety checks, and I start. Don't look, just climb. One foot then the next. I'm at the top of the ladder and reaching for the metal hand and foot holds in the tree that, as Beth said, have gotten smaller with tree growth. Don't look, just climb. When I climbed 3 years ago there was a little platform to stand on but not here. Beth said courses are different. I reach the pole I need to cross and swing my foot onto it, hug the tree, place my other foot and grab the platform that I assume is where a facilitator stands when running a course. Later. Beth is below and reminds me that I can come down anytime. My plan is to not think but just move as quickly as I can so I don't freeze. A vision of me almost running lightly across flits through my mind. I start to work my way across. Kayte O had looked as elegant as a high wire artist, one foot in front of the other as opposed to side-stepping which is what most of us do. I try to place my foot her way but nix it fast. I blow hard, move my feet, blow hard, move my feet and notice that the level of trauma I felt last week is not present. I am nervous, for sure, and need to push myself across. But the height is lower and feels vaguely manageable. I ask Anna for more rope tension and she says I've got you. I ask who has Anna and Mike yells he's got Anna. I hear support from below, tell Anna I need more tension and keep moving. As I near the other end, I think I start to move faster, or maybe with a vague sense of I-think-I-can-do-this. I reach the other end, Anna reminds me to touch the tree and I am done. Now I only need to go back a few steps away from the tree to rappel safely down. Anna and I exchange commands, "Ready to lower." "Lower away." I keep my feet on the pole and lean back in the harness. Trust! I have to keep lowering until my body is below the pole and then let my feet slide off the pole, totally dependent on the system and Anna to lower me. No control. Trust. I land. I feel good to be back on ground. Anna and others congratulate me.

But I'm not sure what I'm feeling. I'm exhilarated. I'm relieved. And there's this odd sense that I can't put my finger on until driving home. Loss. My identity is changing. Change is both my goal and my fear. I actually had a vague sense of fun hanging in the harness. I could imagine that I would want to do that again. I could imagine swinging from the harness on the classroom rock wall. Even last week I had said to George, I want to rappel again. That was more a sense of get back on the horse while it's saddled rather than a sense of fun. Though as I think of it, even toward the end of that rappel, I had a thought of bouncing on the last couple of moves before I hit the ground. So what is happening to me? I feel a sense of loss and within that loss a sadness. I think I am losing the me I know. Rather, I am losing the me that has been propelled or held back by fear. I have been studying fear hoping that if I get to know my enemy intimately, I'll know the best strategies for the war. If I am known for my fear of something and my courage to overcome it, if that is gone, then what do I have? How will I relate to myself? How will others relate to me? Do I have enough other self to be interesting, cared about, valued for whatever else I may do? Moving out of this safe self that has been so familiar for so long, safe in my fears that identify me, this awareness may be my biggest challenge. "I am bringing the light of conscious awareness to the exploration of the process of fear," says Cheri Huber in The Fear Book: Facing Fear Once and For All.

"Now, what is that Terror? It is egocentricity losing its grip on you.
You were taught that fear is useful, that it takes care of you. So, when you begin to let go of it a part of you feels like it is dying and it doesn't want to die. It would rather you died. It would rather your world shrank until there was nothing left of you. If you no longer believe what fear tells you, you will live and it will not. That is a point on the spiritual journey that almost nobody gets past.
When that terror rises, when it gets backed into a corner and it is a matter of its survival or yours, almost nobody has the required combination of courage, desperation, willingness--to stand up to it.
When this force in you that has controlled and motivated you all your life is screaming, 'If you do that you're going to die!' very few people are going to say, 'Well, I just need to find out if that is so.'
That's why it is so important to remember that projection is going on. What's being screamed is, 'If you stay with this, I will die.' And that's true. "I" will die. Its life is your death. Its death is your life." (Huber: p53-55)

Rock Climbing & Rappelling

Thursday, 10/8/2009, Rose Ledge
My face felt like it had been shot full of novacaine. My limbs were a mix of numbing and pins and needles. Austin said my body was full of adrenaline and carbon dioxide from hyperventilating and it would take a little time to wear off. I had rappelled from a cliff.

The day started with Austin offering individual help if anyone felt unsure about setting up the anchor systems for climbs and rappels. Given yesterday's trauma, I said I could use help. Others in our group paired off and Austin and I started step by step setting up a climbing system. Austin, OLP director, a professional climber and owner of Peak Expeditions, guided me through selecting anchors, appropriate ropes, knots and hitches, including both of us tying in on Prusik Knots to keep from falling over the cliff. We had used that knot for a couple of days and it was a favorite because I could usually tie it. We went through the system during which I was able to answer and ask mostly relevant questions. As he tied, Austin encouraged me to inch closer to the edge as needed to finish the system and when it was done, he suggested I sit there a bit and think about the system and maybe I'd want to untie and redo it myself. I did.

Meanwhile, the others had been setting up rappelling lines. They took turns and then Mark and Erin said, "Okay, you're turn, Eileen." I started to clip in with determined fear and moving "as if." When you rappel, you control the speed at which you descend, able to slow and stop at any time. Redundancy is part and parcel of climbing and rappelling, so Erin said she'd belay me as backup in case my own system should fail. She, Mark and Jake coaxed me backwards, inching toward the edge. Hyperventilating, I tried to manage my breath but it got out of hand quickly. Pins and needles shifted to numbness. One difference today was that I wasn't crying. Erin kept telling me how many inches I had to go, describing the slight changes in the rock and kept telling me I was doing great. . .Erin and George both run challenge courses. I'd lean on the harness, trying to keep that weighted feeling connected to the rope line that I let out so that it wouldn't jerk. Then I was on the edge. I had a fast wave of "get the hell out of here now" but overcame it. Austin had meanwhile come over and held my rope, encouraging and reminding me that I had a choice. I knew that I would feel miserable if I didn't lean back, drop my heels onto the vertical rock, and move on down the face. My ragged breath hissed, "I have to do this." I managed to yell over to George to take a picture so I'd be able to see what I had done. Their combined voices kept me moving. Erin gave me the ground report. You're at the worst part and in just a couple of inches it will feel much easier. Just keep your heel on the rock," she said as I slid my foot over the edge, uttering, "Oh, God!" repeatedly and likely a combination of four letters. So, here I was--both feet on the face and hanging in air like a letter L. I let the rope out with a jerk, gasped, and then let it out again, a little more smoothly and then inched my feet down. Only one way to go now, I thought, as I lowered. I noticed Austin's voice had stopped and I think he flew down because he met me when I finally landed. He was laughing in appreciation for what I had done and gave me a hug. "This was huge," he said. He started to unclip me but I said I needed to do it myself. I got myself into it and I'll get myself out of it. I was reminded of the story my Dad would tell me about my two year old self. Even then, I'd say, childlike, "I want to do by aself."

Austin rubbed my back as I shook, talked to me and eventually I stood so I could walk. My legs were a little wobbly and I allowed that I might start sobbing. We walked and talked, Austin asking me questions to divert my attention.
"So when do you think this fear of heights started?"
"Well, I was young, about 7, and my sisters were teasing me when we'd drive over a bridge. I'd be cringing on the floor of the car while they chanted, "We're falling! We're falling!"

Finally, I appeared to be on my way to normal so Austin rejoined the others up top. I decided to wander back and look at the section I had rappelled. I dropped, leaned my back onto the rock and began to relax my body and take in what I had done. I had never ever done this before in my life.
And as I sat there, I heard the voice.
"But it wasn't as high as the one that you tried but couldn't do yesterday."
And as I sat there, I heard my voice.
"Why is it never enough?"
And as I sat there, I let the other voice fade and allowed myself my achievement; victory after struggle.
When we all grouped up again for debrief, I told everyone that I had rappelled, choked up a bit, and then thanked them for their support. Hugs, high-fives, and supportive comments held me.

Thursday's rappel; video by George

Wednesday, 10/7 Rose Ledge, Day 2
Fear has made me pull out the essays I wrote to be admitted to OLP. I need reminders of what my goals were that made me choose this year-long path. . . what was I thinking that made this seem to be a good idea?

I wrote, "OLP offers an unusual vehicle to transcend fears that hold us back, and to discover strengths that move us into new understanding and perceptions of ourselves." I wrote about participating fully in life and that the inherent "challenges are my gift to myself as I explore and deepen my courage to move meaningfully in the world and to focus on my physical and mental transformation."

Oh, a gift! I never thought about my terror today being a gift. I haven't thought about my fear and anxiety all week being my gift to myself. I had fear on the 10 day canoe trip. Rock climbing is a different monster. My essays are platitudes of the theoretical vs reality. I may need to come back to a higher plane of meditation, evident when I wrote my essays.

Fate, circumstance, or a higher order lead me to be in the group that stayed at the main face for 2 days. Actually, we broke into 3 groups and set up anchors and the whole paraphernalia on top of the main face for at least 3 rappelling sites. Sean instructed our group; Erin, Sarah, Jake, Mark and me. Jake was the first to rappel followed by Erin and then Mark. I have not been able to near the edge to look over and it was odd to watch each head disappear over the cliff as Sean belayed them. As I watched them all and listened to Sean's instruction, I played with my head, imagining that I might actually be able to lean back into my harness, place my feet at the cliff edge, step down slightly so that my feet and legs form an L with my body on the side of the cliff, and eyes riveted straight ahead on the rock, I could ease my way down the cliff. I think Anna's Buddist philosophy helped to inspire me. I even took a bio break before harnessing just in case. Sean said, "You ready?" I indicated yes, in an "as if" kind of way, said I didn't remember anything I needed to do but as Sean coached me, I realized that something had sunk in despite my 2 day fear fog. Finally harnessed and starting to shake, I fought tears as I leaned into the harness to get a feel for the seat. Sean showed me how to control my rope, fully able to brake the rappel when I wanted to, ah control, and reminded me that he also had me on belay. Starting 5' in, I started to back up in minute increments, talking to myself and to Sean, trying to work my brain, trying to remember other daring feats I had accomplished but my mind drew blanks. Oh, yeah, the rope swing into the river--big fear but this one is off the charts. Still drawing blanks. Shaking was joined by tears but I continued to back up toward the edge. My hands were feeling pins and needles and Sean said it was because I was gripping the rope tightly. But the pins and needles moved to my arms, then my neck and head and generally my whole body. I said, "What happens if I pass out? I might pass out." Anna passed by having climbed up from her own rappelling. I called wanting her to stay with me but she didn't hear. Erin came back and I asked her to stay with me and Aaron came up from his rappelling and said he would stay with me. Both encouraged me and Aaron told me to just keep looking at his eyes. I had given up on trying not to cry and others walked by, I think embarrassed for me and not wanting to intrude, which they wouldn't have. I needed support. I continued inching and my foot hit a spot that made me drag in my breath thinking I was at the edge. "Nope," they said. You still have 2' to go." Two more feet and now my head was filled with the vision I had been fighting--the drop below, including some tree tops. Oh, and the wind had picked up and was whipping through the swaying trees. Suddenly, it was just too much.

"I can't do it," I said. "I just can't do it."
"You've gone a lot farther than I did my first time a few years ago. I didn't even harness up," said Aaron.
Sean said today was about pushing out of our comfort zone and I had done that. Erin said I pushed harder than anyone today and I'd probably be the better teacher for it because I would remember how difficult it felt. "You're still one bad bitch in my book."

Shaking and tearful, I untied the knots I had tied to secure me into the harness, walked past a long narrow chasm and into the brush and trees to our gear and lunches, sat cross legged on the ground and sobbed. Aaron sat next to me and said I inspire him but I don't know in what way. Kaytee said I shouldn't feel embarrassed and I said I didn't but rather felt disappointed that I couldn't go down the rock like I thought I might. Anna came over and hugged me, and spoke in supportive meditative words while she rubbed my back to warm me up, and Kristie came by and hugged me, too. All of this caring I appreciated. I continued to shake and put on another layer. I wish I could have eased the awkwardness I felt from people who stole furtive glances my way but didn't know if they should say anything or not.

It was time for small groups to move to new sites and Sean and the rest of us moved to the next site over to set up anchors for climbing. Erin and I set up anchors and ropes, choosing the rocks or boulders to tie and hitch to. I was able to climb a short way with Sean on belay after getting a feel for the harness seat again. I had to stretch and haul myself up and at times I thought I couldn't do anymore but I did. It felt good to accomplish something.

We gathered gear and met the other groups and had a debrief. Sean wanted to know one thing that we felt we learned. Kaytee said that again she had learned from me. I don't know how my struggle translates to her learning, yet I appreciate knowing that somehow it means something to her. When it's my turn, I choose to focus on my technical learning rather than mention my emotional turmoil. I regret my avoidance of not mentioning the elephant in the room. Maybe another time it will have place and value.

Back again tomorrow after which we'll be authorized to check out gear to go climbing and rappelling on our own. Friday, we'll finally get to climb the classroom rock wall.

Tuesday, Oct 6, Rose Ledge, Northfield, MA
Austin said the hike to the ledges is an "arduous" 20-25 minutes and we're dripping sweat when we arrive. . . I'm just grateful not to be at the end of the group. I look up from the arduous trail that my eyes have followed and am stunned by the wall of rock in front of me. It may as well be Yosemite's El Capitan. Mike puts his arm around me and says, "Morning, Leenie. So, ya all set to go up?" Now, Mike is one of the guys who graduated from high school in May but he won my immediate and growing admiration, in part, because he himself is fully participating in life having already surmounted significant personal challenges. But I turned and looked him in the eye and said calmly, "Mike, I hate to start the day on a negative note, but there is no #$%^&* way I'm climbing that rock." All week my mounting fear and anxiety has dulled any fun or technical information I was supposed to be learning so that I can teach at our field work and beyond. I would start tearing up waiting to get in the van to drive to the ledge. I would continue to tear up throughout instruction, watching other people climb, even if with some trepidation. I belayed and was 2nd belayer and relaxed some when I took pictures of others climbing, rationalizing that I was contributing to the group by providing lasting memories. Maybe there'd be a hot picture that wasn't just someone's butt that OLP would use. But I knew I wasn't facing what I needed to and I wasn't demonstrating good self-care that they keep referring to so that I'm responsible for myself and to the group. I feel anger rise when I'm hearing self-care in combination with climbing and repelling. Stop pushing me to fully participate, damn it. There's a climb that looks like it has a lot of cracks and ledges that you could step onto or hold but I'm working with my fear and the process is too slow to match those who are eager to climb. Time moves, I don't and my window closes.

Monday, Oct 5 Chapel Falls in Ashfield, MA
Austin instructs us to just have fun with it. Experience the day as will your field trip clients. Tomorrow we'll start learning the technical aspects to set up a climb. I climbed a rock wall 3 years ago. My legs shook as I tried to find foot and hand grips, and I was surprised that the search for holds held my attention. I often didn't consider my height until I took a rest and my eyes wandered. I thought that experience would transfer to real rock. Not so. Today I chose to bring my water shoes thinking their tread will hold the rock. Actually, climbing shoes have smooth and flexible rubber soles so the climber can feel and grip the rock. I chose to climb a slab that Austin said should be less challenging on my foot that I twisted last week (challenge by choice is always in effect). Anna and Mike were my belayers and I employed good self-care when I yelled down that, until later, I wanted to hear no more about Mike's date on Saturday and that I wanted their full attention. They accommodated me but my shoes were sliding on the slab. The harness and helmet offer safety but it feels a mere illusion when shoes slide. Distracted, I saw how high I was and determined I was done--get me down. I mean belay--now! They had to talk me into trusting the belay and to lean back into the harness, pushing off with my feet about shoulder width apart as I descended. Disappointment and frustration at having quit pushed a couple of tears and Anna talked to me about trusting myself. She's right. Instead of trying to ignore my fear, I should have tried to work with it, acknowledge it and bolster myself in spite of my fear. That's how I determined my mantra 3 years ago when I climbed the rock wall and then dragged myself through the high ropes course, with a gentle push--"I am Fully Participating In Life." In retrospect, down really meant only about 12' while most everyone else made it at least 3/4 of the way or to the top, depending on which climb they chose. But from my perspective, it was 20'. I didn't prepare today. Maybe tomorrow. I belayed once and assisted belay 3 times and took pictures of Jake, Laura and others who were monkeys on the rocks. In our debrief I said I was not happy with how I did and Austin asked if there was someway they can help. I said I'd try different shoes. I wish I could have said more about how it felt to climb and how disappointed I was with myself.

In talking with Anne later that night she reminded me, you just did rock climbing for the first time in your life. Give yourself a break and feel good about what you did! Yes, but there are always comparisons to be made. Old habits. Tomorrow, new rock.

Kayaking & Wet Exits

Friday, 10/2
The day is fairly pleasant considering the forecasts and previous days. Wind is lower than yesterday; clouds with glimpses of sun that warms us briefly, low 60s.

Got to the launch about 9:40a.m. and since Jen drives from Worcester, she was waiting for us. More kayaking, stroke review, new strokes added, as well as tow options. Out for about 45 minutes and Beth asked me to switch kayaks with George. His didn't fit him at all. We switch and Beth asks how I like it. She said with a small smile, "It'll push you a little." Great.

Lunch and a switch to the tandem with Ian, a big guy, early 20s, all about classic rock, a former pitcher with red hair that hides most of his eyes until he pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head. He surprised me on the canoe trip with his ability to get lost in finding and identifying edible plants and trees but he has sat for years at the knee of his uncle and former OLPer who owns Adventure In Adventure Out. Ian gave me a shoulder massage on the canoe trip and loves dry humor. A paddle powerhouse, he is knowledgeable about Barton Cove and points out birds including the bald eagle flying overhead. We tour out past the island and Beth has us practice in-line and V-line towing though when I said we hadn't done it yet, Ian shushed me and we went "hiding" in the reeds. Beth took us around to look for the eagle's nest and Aaron spotted the huge mass up in a tree. It'll be easily visible when the leaves are down in a few weeks. Apparently efforts to repair the camera that has followed the pair and their eaglets will happen before the next nesting season. Saw another eagle sitting high on a dead branch above the family of swans on the island. I've not seen flying swans before and I think they easily rival the Great Blue Herons.

Finished up with the remaining paddle self-rescues. Loaded up and got back to school around 4. Tomorrow is the Green River Clean-up which I want to do but am taking a break. I've had too little time at home since the canoe trip and volunteering last weekend. I've also taken several odd jobs so need to catch up on homework. . . really learn how to tie knots and identify trees. Maybe even invest in some social time with friends which has eluded me since August. I realize that I'm feeling isolated as my time is primarily OLP or jobs.

Thursday, 10/1
Not as windy but still cloudy and in the 50s. People are sick and I'm feeling on that edge and know that in my normal life, there's no way I'd go out kayaking the way I feel. But, this is now my normal life. Austin and Beth have said that these bouts of cold and chill is how we prepare ourselves for the winter and mountain weather. I bring a "nip" of Elderberry syrup that my friend Anne swears by and take swigs periodically.

Two groups, both finished with field work, meet at the classroom and Beth takes us to the website of the ACA-American Canoe Association (est in the 1800s), to learn more about them, what they offer and how they will support us as professionals. Head to the boathouse, load kayaks and shove off to the public boat launch at Barton Cove. I've been kayaking off and on for 3 years with no formal instruction so I'm looking forward to learning proper strokes. I told Beth about the J-Stroke that several people have shown me and how hard I found it. She said a J doesn't exist in kayaking, only canoeing. Well, okay then.

We line up kayaks and review differences in styles though all are sea kayaks, which ones are tippier meaning they have more "chine" for turning, touch on supplies we'll need to bring and what to expect when we go sea kayaking. Beth shows us how to put on the skirts which I've always assumed would make me feel trapped. I pull it on over my head and wrap the edges around the cockpit of the kayak. Now I'm one with my kayak and it will keep me dry. We get on water, and Beth tells us that we'll be practicing wet exits and our challenge by choice will be to use or not use the skirts. She explains how to flip the boat and stresses the importance of maintaining calm; lean forward as we flip, take time, be calm and zen-like, tap the boat twice to signal we're okay, and then pull the cloth tab to pop the skirt. We practice strokes and we're about half an hour into it when suddenly Jen flips over. "Kayak!" we shout to notify a boat has flipped. Jen pops up dripping wet and surprised. Beth goes to her immediately asking if she is alright. Jen says, "Yes" she feels good for the time being. . .it's early in the day's plans. Beth allows that she may need to go in and change to dry clothes soon and checks in with her periodically.

We practice more strokes but eventually Beth asks for a volunteer to do the first (planned) wet exit. As she is asking the question I'm gearing up to volunteer first and get it out of the way. The longer I wait, the more traumatic it will feel. "I'll do it!" I shout, followed by an expletive that makes the group laugh. With an exception of recent boogie boarding in ME, over the years I've become less comfortable in the water, sad given that my mother grew up by the ocean. Water is my source of emotional healing when I am near it and hear it, and a source of fun being on it in a boat. I figure that if I'm going to have to flip, I may as well go for broke and keep the skirt on. Beth asks if I'm comfortable in the water and I surprise her by saying, "Nope, not really. Don't swim well." Hence PFDs. I paddle out a short distance, waste little time, take a few deep breaths and dump over. My mistake is that I don't lean forward. Beth tells me that I leaned back which would explain why I couldn't breathe when I came up. Caught some water. But, I was surprised at how easily I popped out of the kayak, leaving no time to think zen let alone be zen. Others had to work at it a bit and I think they may have had the neoprene skirts vs the nylon that I and others used.

The other half of this exercise was rescue, and George got to demo the T-rescue with me. I hauled myself up in many clumsy motions, one leg over either kayak, pulled myself up laying flat facing the stern so I could get my legs in and flip my butt over. Tired, I felt grateful to be done. But no, we still had the paddle self-rescue to do. Beth said if we do it today, we won't have to get wet tomorrow. Already wet and cold, I figured now's as good a time as any. The paddle self-rescue involves blowing up a float and putting it on your paddle blade, laying your leg along the paddle in the water with your foot on the blade and hauling yourself up, again, facing stern and, ideally, feet enter the cockpit first. Many tries later, I was about to give up and face it the next day. No upper body strength left, Beth said I was hypothermic and George could tow me in. But suddenly she had a thought that since my butt was over the cockpit, maybe I could very carefully turn over, hopefully not flip over the other side, and drop into the cockpit. I could tell by her voice that was her concern and I was determined not to screw up this golden opportunity now that I had a new option. I carefully balanced as I turned over and dropped into the cockpit. I just needed to manage my legs while balancing and smoothly pretzel my feet inside. Once there, I could paddle myself in. I balanced and pretzeled successfully! Thankfully, the group who saved the paddle self-rescue for tomorrow got all the boats up to the trailer and hitched. All I had to do was change to dry clothes in the parking lot. . . another first. We stood between the van and a car and Beth opened one of the van doors so we'd have some privacy though we were the only ones in the lot. Beth was done and gone, when a pick-up with a boat trailer, complete with yahoo standing and staring with arms folded, drove slowly by. I mean 2 mph voyeur kind of slow. No pants on, I had to grab my towel and almost tripped. George came by to change and offered a towel screen and I returned the favor. The voyeurs challenge my prissy privacy. I thought about yelling something but considered they might be officials so held back but George thinks they were just boaters. Come back again and I'll talk to you in my towel.

OLP Canoe Field Work. . .and Rescue

Wednesday, 9/30
Our teaching field work with various schools and agencies requires our class to divide into groups to plan and provide community service. My group, Erin, George, Kristi, Jake, and myself are working today with a high school group. Our supervisor Austin will be taking notes on the sidelines unless otherwise needed. We meet at the boathouse at 7a.m. and meet the school group at Barton Cove for 9 although part of the group is running late.

We talk with the on-timers and hear a few concerns about flipping the canoes and we let them know that, though a possibility, it's a rare occurrence. When we are all together, their teacher Elaine has brought Bianca, Demetrie, Jeremiah, Lucas, Mike, Nick, Ryan, and Tony. We have planned our day to include a variety of get-to-know-you games and front loading of safety and other expectations, leading up to learning the parts of the canoe and paddle game, followed by paddle instruction and then getting out onto the cove. I'm responsible for the canoe and paddle parts and because one of their goals is team building, the game requires a blindfolded participant who needs a guide to keep them safe-make sure they don't trip on the canoe or tree roots. When teaching the paddle parts, I consider skipping the "shaft" knowing how highschoolers will likely react but decide to test them. Snickers ensue but we keep moving. The game runs fairly well though, in our debrief, Austin suggests that I should have stated their goals and ours goals, and to note that the purpose of the blindfold is team building. I thought it was confidential information but transparency is the goal.

George leads the land demo of a water T-Rescue which we hope will instill confidence in the students, though I recall the pre-rapids rescue demo increasing my anxiety. We move down to the shore and the boats, and Erin shows them her impressive gunwale 3 point crawl to enter and exit the boats, noting the importance of a low center of gravity.

Jake handles preliminary stroke instruction on land and then boats and students are launched and head to the inner side of the cove. The wind blows enough that it forces us to change our plans for a paddle to the island and a slalom game. In fact, we limit the parameters significantly because waves and chop makes it difficult to paddle and keep track of all the boats. Some feel more confident then others and want to race and get out of the cove. But, as they test the boundaries, they're pushed back and have to respect the situation. Mike and Jeremiah are the smallest and largest of the group, respectively, and the last tandem to come in. Mike's struggling or bored. George and I paddle next to them trying to keep them on track and finally George flings a leg over their stern as a tow. If Mike were bigger, he'd fling a leg over our bow as we all paddle. We land and head up for lunch.

During lunch, Mike and Jeremiah decide they don't want to paddle. George takes them for a walk while the rest of us go back out, this time I'm with Austin in a tandem. We realize that the game prop was left on shore so we go back to retrieve it. Meanwhile the others have a relay game underway. Austin and I catch up and start tossing the "stinky fish" object into a boat to get the game moving. Since the "stinky fish" is unwanted, the owner tosses it into another boat and so it goes. Austin lets Demetri and Ryan know that we're comin' for them and long-balls the "sf" but it plops just beyond their boat. Demetri reaches out with his paddle to pull in the the "sf" and we're suddenly looking at the bottom of their boat. Ryan pops up but no sign of Demetrie. I can't believe that I'm now in the middle of a real rescue of kids whose nerves we've tried to calm with the "rare occurrence" scenario. I'm riveted to the boat and surrounding water and immensely grateful that I'm with Austin who is the #1 rescue go-to guy. It's amazing how many thoughts pour through your brain in split seconds. I'm intently focused on the boat and on Ryan who, calm and treading water in his PFD, tells us that Demetrie can't swim and I want Austin to go get him. As I think it, my boat rocks as Austin dives. He lifts up the canoe and there is Demetrie, looking calm, having been in the air pocket under the boat. Calm has so far been the Demetrie look with occasional hints of a smile in his eyes and on his mouth, and one big smile that I caught while he was on the water. I yell encouragements that he did all the right things but, in fact, he may have had no options. Never having been in the situation, I really don't know but I do know that encouragement is primary. Austin is talking with Demetrie, assessing his physical and emotional state, guiding him over to the rocky wall we have moved to in the current. I talk with Ryan and ask him to keep a hand on the rocks though he says he can swim. PFDs are doing their jobs. The rest of our group does its job by securing the floating canoe. I continue cross draws to position the tandem and Austin tells Demetrie that he wants him to get back into the boat with Eileen and we'll get him back to shore. It's official. I'm part of a rescue and a team. While I might have otherwise been concerned about the unusual rocking of the boat when Austin dove and Demetrie climbed aboard, now I just hold the boat in place with my paddle and let my body rock with the boat. This situation is beyond myself and I'd better pull through. I ask Demetrie if he is ready to go and we start across the cove, through the waves that, gratefully, have lessened. Somewhat guiltily, I assume Demetrie will paddle, figuring it will help us cross, give him something to do, and generate his body heat.

When we get to shore, he is shivering but hesitant to change out of his wet clothes. I tell him he really needs to put on a collection of dry clothes and his teacher indicates he should listen to me because I apparently exude some sense of knowing authority. Beth and Austin have told us that in such situations we must take on an authoritarian leadership style to instill confidence that all is under control. My identity has evolved. . . at least conditionally. Ryan changes when he arrives. We get a picture of Austin doing his change-up behind the towel curtain (will display when uploaded). I ask Demetrie what he was thinking about when he was under the boat, assuming life concerning thoughts. "My cell phone," he says. Oh, no. He brought his, too. I had suggested that Ryan leave his electronics on shore but he pocketed them. Did he really think the mesh PFD pocket would offer protection? His phone is frozen and IPOD questionable. Jake later said that Demetrie was texting while in his boat.

While waiting for clothing changes, we get students to answer evaluation questions. Based on answers to the statement, "I never thought I would. . . ," we can tell who was a dry bystander and who got wet. Jake handles the subsequent debrief. What's your high point, low point, and one word to describe the day. Everyone seems to be at least satisfied if not downright happy with their day of learning the basics of canoeing and being on the water. Even Demetrie initiates handshakes, sincere by the duration and grip, looking us in the eye to thank us.

I feel something wanting in the parting after the drama. I wonder about feelings of the students in the next day or two. Austin and I talk in the van about the lost phones and how important they are for students to stay connected in their worlds. We aren't sure that Demetrie has the resources or support to get another phone. On the ride, the group decides to hold our debrief at the Wagon Wheel where we talk over late lunches. I say I'd like to write to Elaine to see how they're doing. Austin tells us that we did a great job, should be pleased with the day and then gets down to the nitty-gritty things we missed or could do differently next time. As usual, I wish I had paper to take notes.

So, our first field work had drama. The next field work will likely be rock climbing and challenge courses, our focus for the next two weeks. Feels ripe for drama! But the next two days are kayaking and wet exits--jargon for deliberately capsizing our boats.