137-Atlantic Cliffs On Pinky-Sized Ropes...

“You want to climb that cliff-face with us tomorrow night?”  The words just seem to fall out of my mouth, oftentimes without full perception of how they may be received by your typical acquaintance.  What was actually being proposed was quite insane for most people who find their adventures within the boundaries of well-marked trails, where if one were to go off-trail a bit they wouldn’t abruptly meet their life’s end.  ‘Climb that cliff-face’ actually was referring to the vertical, blocky granite face that dropped 130 feet into a high tide, Atlantic Ocean.  Twenty-four hours after the invitation the heat from the July sun was diminishing as evening time took over the stage that backdropped our little adventure.  With our three boys in tow, Jen and I led our new friends, Jeff and Renee (with their dog Dusty… can’t forget Dusty!) down the mile of trail that swooped along the cliffs at the Great Head in Acadia National Park, Maine. 

My pack hit the solid rock platform with a thud, soon to be unloaded onto the treeless overlook.  The pile of harnesses, climbing shoes, helmets, ropes, and carabiners lay in a heap to prevent the strong salty breeze from carrying the lighter items into ocean where we would forever part ways.  Pulling my harness up over my thighs and cinching it tightly around my hips brings a comfortable awareness of my environment, much like buckling up your seatbelt before easing on the gas when leaving your neighborhood for the familiar commute to work.  Here we go, I thought as I set up some static lines to get our group safely into a position to watch near the edge of the cliff without risk of falling.  Preserving carabiners, I hopped on over to the climb site and began building an anchor using a single 9.4mm climbing rope.  “Rope!” My announcement was quickly whisked away by the wind as I threw half of the green rope down the face, ensuring there was a well-dressed double fisherman knot at the end to prevent rappelling off the end of the rope and falling to the rocks 130’ below that were barely covered by the tide, still rolling in from the deep.  With my GriGri attached and locked with a matching Petzl carabiner, I proceeded to back myself over the edge, paying close attention to the rope-to-rock friction at the lip.  Satisfied with the rope positioning, I picked up my speed, my feet acting as bumpers against the granite blocky features of the face.  Finding a small, triangular shelf 70’ below the top, I took a quick look around to admire the salty scent of the ocean, the hardness of the rock, the gently crashing waves, and the sunset sky that had consumed my mind and body.   The sun was setting fast, so I climbed back out, pulling slack through the device as I went.

One by one we all rappelled down the face on a rope the size of my pinky finger then climbed back out using our hands and feet to exit the fierceness of that environment.  “Hey dad!” Silas shouted from 40 feet below, “When I get back to school in the Fall and the kids ask what I did this summer… I’m going to tell them I was hanging off the side of a cliff over the Atlantic Ocean!”  This was his first official rappel.  Same for Jeff and Z.  What in the world possesses us to do such things?!  Where does our mind go when our lives are hanging by several hundred hair-sized nylon threads bundled together into a single rope?  Do we think, boy, if that rope slides just right over a sharp rock it could cut right through?  Nope.  Or, I hope the glue that is holding the bolt into the rock that my rope is attached to holds?  Nah.  How about, if my harness buckle suddenly breaks and bends like the lady in Stalone’s 90’s flick, Cliffhanger, that would be it for me?  I’ve only thought of that scene once, before quickly dismissing it and pressing on in my climb.  As a climber I can speak for myself and I’m guessing the majority of regular climbers out there when I say that we simply trust our gear.  That’s it.  We don’t remind ourselves that there are 2 bolts up top instead of just one, or that our rope is rated to hold more than the weight of our entire minivan fully loaded to go climbing in Maine (8,000-10,000lbs)—we just climb.

Some kids will throw themselves off of a short deck or step when dad puts out his arms to catch them; unafraid and fully trusting their dad’s strength. My youngest, Cedar, tosses himself off cliffs (on a rope of course) and fully trusts dad’s guiding skills, the ropes, and gear. He’s been in some pretty amazing places in his first 6 years of living. Jeff had known me for a total of 32 hours before he tied in and rapped off the edge. Z and Silas have had their own fears to face when it comes to heights in the past, but this time they trusted the system, and in the dark no less! My beautiful and adventurous wife Jen, was a rock star of course, trusting her husband once again in a new climbing location, and I trusted her as she stepped up to belay me in a new fashion while I took a final lap. We all put our lives in the hands of the rope and harness manufacturers whom we’ve never seen nor met. This trust happens all the time in our lives and we never give it a second thought. When I am out hanging off the side of a cliff, I’m often reminded that I wasn’t around when this beautiful and sometimes daunting landscape was formed. I believe that there is one true God, the One who made that cliff and He has made it possible for me to experience Him in such a unique way and to share Him with others. Wait, it gets better… He is not distant or uninvolved, but rather loves us and asks us to trust His ways and plans for our lives. I haven’t seen God, the manufacturer of the heavens and earth with my eyes, nor have I met Him face to face, but I trust Him so much I’d hang my life on Him—with that same confidence I’d tie you in to take the ride as well!

-Matt