Page 41 of Wandering Wild
“Unfortunately for us,” Hawke says, “if we want to reach our extraction point on time, we have to cross this.”
He might have used the word “unfortunately,” but there’s nothing apologetic about his expression. He needs to take some acting lessons from Zander.
“Can’t we find a way around it?” I ask, looking to the right and left, my view limited by the trees on either side of us.
“There’s no way to tell how long that would take,” Hawke says, which I’m sure is a lie. His scouts undoubtedly gave him options, but this crossing offers the most entertainment value for viewers. No one wants to see us walking through the forest all day without some kind of death-defying task to contend with.
Then again...
A quick glance at Zander has me amending my thoughts. His silver hair is like a halo in the bright sunshine, his flawless physique better than any Michelangelo sculpture, noticeable even beneath his blue and navy outerwear. It’s not hard to believe his fanswouldactually be happy to watch him hike through the bush for hours on end. As long as his face and body were on the screen, they’d watch him do anything. He could sit and stare at drying paint and they would ogle him while he did so.
“Charlie?”
I blink back to myself at Zander’s confused, questioning tone, realizingI’mthe one currently staring at him. I fight my embarrassment and swiftly return my attention to Hawke.
“As you can see, my safety team has secured a line over the ravine.” Hawke indicates the thick rope stretching from one side of the gap to the other. “So using this, we’re going to do something called a Tyrolean traverse—a popular mountaineering technique for traveling from one point to another across open air. Have either of you done anything like this before?”
I shake my head woodenly. Zander also responds in the negative, though his expression is eager and at odds with the dread I feel bubbling within me.
“This will be a fun new experience for you both, then,” Hawke says with an easy smile. “There are a few different methods you can use, but since you’re beginners, it’s probably best if you go upside down and backward, pulling your weight along that way.”
Upside down and backward?I feel the blood drain from my face, but I make myself take a deep, steadying breath, recalling everything I overcame yesterday—skydiving, cliff rappelling, canyon squeezing—and I try to shake off my trepidation.
Hawke goes on to explain in more detail how we’ll be crossing, and also shares the distance: one hundred and sixty feet. It’s less than the length of an Olympic swimming pool—or so he says—but that doesn’t make me feel much better about it.
“I’ll head over first so I can get a clearer view of everyone crossing,” Bentley says, packing away his larger camera and strapping his GoPro to his shoulder. To Zander and me, he adds, “I’ll also be able to help you off the rope once you reach the other side—it can be tricky if you’ve never done it before.”
Trickyis likely an understatement, but I’m grateful I won’t have to heave myself up onto the ledge without assistance.
It takes mere seconds before Bentley is clipped onto the rope and making his way across the ravine, his movements seemingly effortless. My tension eases a fraction as I watch him—at least until he reaches the far side and I realize the rest of us now have to follow.
“See? It’s as simple as that,” Hawke says once Bentley waves to indicate he’s clear. “Who wants to go next?”
“Not it,” I blurt out.
“Charlie, how good of you to volunteer.” Hawke’s dark eyes are dancing. “Let’s get you clipped in.”
I scowl at him, before turning my frown on Zander when he coughs to cover a laugh. But then I sigh, knowing I have to cross one way or another, and the longer I wait, the more time my anxiety will have to grow. Might as well get it over with.
I make the mistake of looking down into the jagged gorge as Hawke hooks my harness onto the rope, the view making my head spin. It’s not as high as the mountain descent yesterday, but falling would still mean instant death. My palms are sweating as I don my gloves and helmet, and I have to force myself to listen as Hawke starts to narrate information for the sake of the audience, with him relying on the impossible-to-spot nano drones now that Bentley and his cameras are out of range.
“They say the ‘Tyrolean’ part of the Tyrolean traverse is because this technique originated in the Austrian Alps—specifically in Tyrol—and was used by hikers to cross the numerous rivers and gorges between the mountains,” Hawke says as he double-checks my harness. “But interestingly, the longest Tyrolean traverse on record was actually in Bulgaria, not Austria, and it reached one thousand five hundred and fifty meters in length. That’s over five thousand feet, which means... How’s your math, Charlie?”
“Right now, it’s nonexistent,” I mutter, my sole focus on trying not to hyperventilate.
Hawke chuckles. “I’ll help you out, then. It means you’d be looking at this”—he taps the rope crossing the ravine—“and multiplying it by thirty, and you’dstillbe coming in short. Imagine that.”
I gulp. “I’d really rather not.”
Hawke continues sharing about other significant Tyrolean traverses in history, but I drown him out, concentrating on keeping as calm as I can. I’m unsure if I’m relieved or even more terrified when he finally declares I’m ready to go.
“The first step is always the hardest,” he says sagely. “In this case, that means getting you onto the rope and into position. You saw how Ben did it—once you’re over the edge, you’ll flip upside down and be able to move freely from there. Ready?”
My mouth is too dry for me to answer, so I just do a half nod, half head shake.
“See you on the other side, Charlie,” Zander says quietly, and my eyes flick to his, the reassurance in his blue gaze reminding me again of everything we conquered yesterday.
I can do this, I tell myself. Ican.
