TROLLEY

By the dull light of my headlamp, I pulled on my white hazmat suit.

​​​

I looped my blue strap through the hook on the harness twice to cover the red strips, remembering the saying “see red and you’re dead.” My belayer, Madi, tied me into the rope with a figure-eight as I tightened my helmet.

 

Taking calming breaths, I approached the ladder with my rounded jousting sword in hand. I stumbled over the rope and narrowly caught my fall. Twinges of fear and doubt spread through me, but there wasn’t time to think. It was go time. We had been planning Black Tag at Camp Takodah for weeks - a night for the Leaders in Training to initiate the younger girls of our leadership division. Everything was timed to the minute; if I hesitated for a second, our meticulous plan would be off.

Ascending a 40-foot tree in the dark clipped into a single carabiner and rope is as unnatural as flipping off a diving board in high heels. I concentrated on the action of putting my foot on a peg or grabbing one with my hand. The magic of high ropes comes in the challenge of problem-solving on an element: to find the most efficient, or sometimes the most tricky, route to get up and across.

 

Climbing in the dark, in a constricting hazmat suit, holding a heavy jousting sword in one hand, with only a dimming light to guide me, might require more pixie dust than I had. I reminded myself I had done the catwalk close to twenty times in the daylight, but this time was with a twist. Each time I felt my hand slipping off a peg, I remembered what counselors tell nervous campers: “The ropes course is the safest place at camp.” I began to wonder: could that really be true? I brought myself back to the challenge confronting me, stretching to reach another peg.

Reaching the top of an element in the daylight is powerful, but even more so at night. As the adrenaline slowly subsided, stillness and fortitude took over. Standing at the height of the trees, listening to the wind rustle the leaves, serenity passed through me like warm tea with honey. The pure southern New Hampshire sky was lit up with thousands of natural light bulbs. I looked down, calmed my vertigo, and hoped to observe the plants and flowers below. To my dismay, in the darkness all I saw was a seemingly eternal black hole. I heard the younger girls approaching and I had to embody my character: a crazed but fierce NASA scientist.

When the girls arrived, one volunteered to climb the element and face me in a jousting battle. She began the climb strong, with swift motions, but as she ascended, I heard her panicked breathing. When she made it to the top, she clung to the tree, struggling to coax herself out to where I menacingly (or so I imagined) stood on the log.

 

She inched her way out, gripping the rope tightly. As much as I craved an intense jousting battle to the death, our stars had not quite aligned for that tonight. After one hit, I willingly fell off the log and screamed, “Ahh, you got me!” as I was lowered to the ground, dramatically flailing.

As I peeled off my hazmat suit, I reflected on my experience. We tend to evaluate our accomplishments in comparison to other people. We wonder if we got the highest grade, if we have enough Instagram followers or if we are as productive as our friends. However, life is not always a competition with others; it can be a challenge within ourselves.

 

I challenged myself by climbing the element in a hazmat suit, holding a sword, in the dark. The younger girl and I both pushed our limits and reached new heights.