Damsel in Distress

I do not play the damsel in distress well.

It interferes with my desire to be a strong, independent, self-reliant woman.

Alas, every so often I am faced with a situation that reduces me to a hapless and helpless individual in need of rescuing; the most recent being only a couple of weekends ago.

The day started off innocently enough, C and I were camping and decided to go on a hike. Our campsite was near a river with a reasonably steep river valley walls (I might describe it as a small canyon; C might think I was being overly dramatic).

With our backpacks and bear bells we set off along the top of the wooded ridge parallelling the river; every so often, catching glimpses of the far side of the valley and it’s rather foreboding rocky face. Occasionally we would wander off the path and out to the edge of the cliff and survey the river below and the condition of the near face, you see, with me being rather water-philic (and C most likely keen for adventure), we really wanted to find a way down the slope and into the river valley.

Spotting only steep scree slopes and the occasional group of mountain goats we kept wandering along the top until we saw a spot that, from a distance and at an angle, looked like a viable candidate for getting us to the river’s edge. C sized it up and started discussing how we could easily get down to where only scree remained and then scree-ski our way down to the river bed. My brain kept repeating “seriously” with an increasing level of incredulity, but I deferred to C’s expertise/confidence and we headed off along the top to find the “treed area” that would, theoretically, lead us safely to the river’s edge.

Often, in life, theory and practice are two completely different things. How often have you said, “Theoretically, this should work” only to reflect after the fact with “I was good, in theory”. For me, this was one such moment.

We skidded down the slope through the ever-thinning trees, me swinging from tree to tree like some ground-bound monkey refusing to believe it’s ground-bound. Taking comfort in the stability of each branch, then tree, then shrub, then tuft of grass as we descended. In reverse proportion, my fear of tumbling butt over head (or worse still, sliding face first) into the river increased as my handholds decreased.

Then we ran out of handholds (or at least I ran out of handholds, since C never needed them in the first place) then my fear rose in a rather exponential fashion.

I was standing, well, crouching, on the side of a rather steep slope, facing nothing but about 25 feet of scree and a couple of rocky outcroppings between me and the rocky river below. Then, in true damsel in distress fashion, I began to panic and whimper in equal proportions as I slid my way down to the first rocky outcrop (only about 5 feet away).

Propped up on the outcrop I attempted to calm myself down as C suggested that I could just “scree-ski” (sliding sideways down the slope) my way down to the next rock outcrop – and my helpful brain began showing me short vignettes of me somersaulting my way down the slope until ending up in a heap in the cold river. Thanks brain, really helpful.

I would be reluctant to describe myself as paralysed by fear, I was, more accurately, temporarily immobilized by a strong reluctance to injure myself. The Damsel was demobilized. C, obviously realizing that I was unwilling to skid uncontrollably to my death in the river and knowing that he couldn’t, in good conscience, leave me behind knew that his only course of action was to rescue his damsel in distress. (Honestly C, I do try to be brave, and calm, and level-headed, honestly, I do).

Then C said to me the three most incredible, situation altering, awe-inspiring, heart fluttering words a woman in my situation could ever hope to hear: “I.have.rope.”

Feeling calmer and able to focus on something other than my brain's fatalistic films, I took out my camera and took a few pictures, after all, it was very pretty. C dug though is pack and then dug though the emergency kit he was packing along (just in case - he assured me it wasn't just because I was along for the hike) and unearthed a small bundle of rather thin rope. C reassured me of its tensile strength after I made some disparaging remark about its size. After all, it didn't really need to hold my weight as much as it needed to offer something for me to hold on to so I could control my descent as I skidded my way down.

Hooking and unhooking the rope over each of the rock outcrops, C managed to get me ("safely" in my mind, "calmly", I expect in C's) down in stages to the river's edge.

Finding ourselves at the edge of the river with no discernible bank and needing to find an alternate way up and thinking that the other side of the river held more promise, we took off our shoes and socks and waded into the river. Refreshing turned into freezing as I waded, well rather hobbled, my way along the rocky river bottom. We stopped mid-river on a large dry patch (a rocky sand bar, if you will) to let our feet dry and to take a break.

I was mentally kicking myself for getting so panicked – I may think I have the soul of an adventurer, but I have the bravery of a skittish housecat – a rather depressing dichotomy. I am grateful the C was there, that he wholeheartedly embraces the phrase “always be prepared”, that he had rope, and that he was understanding and patient with me. I am lucky in so many ways to have him in my life.


With our feet sufficiently thawed and dry we put our shoes and socks back on and surveyed our options. Realizing the shortcomings of his hiking companion, C and I ruled out scrabbling back up the way we came down; I was also reluctant to head along the river’s edge back the way we had come knowing that there was no better way down meant, to me, there was no better way up either; and the other side of the river was too much of an unknown for me to want to venture forth in that direction.

Further down river, on the same side of the river as we had been hiking, just at a bend in the river, there seemed to be trees that came right down to the edge of the water. I felt it offered the best chance of a save and “easy” way out of the river valley (at the very least, there would be things to hang on to as be climbed up.

We headed off in that direction along the rocky "sand bar"; me stopping to take a picture of a very pretty piece of slate then wandering along looking at pretty rocks and picking up the occasional stone to take home with me; C stopping to put the pretty piece of slate into his backpack and then walking along to catch up to me.

After wading once more though the river to the river’s edge we clambered along the rocks to see what was just beyond the bend in the river and to find the best place to begin out ascent.

We snapped a few photos and then began out climb, me complaining mildly about my tight calf muscles, C carrying a 30lbs pack (16lbs of which was the piece of slate that is now adorning my living room) and making no complaints. When I grow up, I want to be just like C.

Despite it all, I quite enjoyed the hike (I hope C did too; despite the damsel in distress he got saddled with).

I hope in the future that the damsel will not return, but if she does, I hope that I am lucky enough to have a hero like C able and willing to come to the rescue.

This experience served to reinforce three things that I strive to attain –

Bravery

Strength

And a sturdy length of rope