I arrive at a monumental granite plateau that is probably as big as a football field, and after a short time, I reach the highest point. Thick sleeping bags and pillows are scattered around, as well as a camping stove and lots of backpacks, ropes, straps, screws, eyelets, and a lot more stuff that must have come from other slackliners. Sure, this place is probably busy all summer long; I hadn’t even thought of that. So maybe River didn’t even have to build his own line but used someone else’s.
But why is no one here? My heart sinks. The plateau slopes gently in front of me. This is where the mountain ends. In front of it, no idea how far away, Lost Arrow Spire rises out of the mist. It stands in front of the mountain cone like a single finger.
I walk a little further with weak knees, and suddenly, I see it. A highline that seems to float above the light morning mist like a magician’s flying table. And a dark figure is balancing on the line.
Unsecured.
My breath catches.
From the way it moves—controlled, powerful, and full of grace—I know it can only be River. From here, he appears tiny and surreal, as if he were about to vanish into thin air. A figure from a magical world, like Peter Pan.
“Riv!” I shout, but obviously, he doesn’t hear me. I run back, grab a climbing harness, and pray that someone has already tied a steel ring and leash onto the framework.
I run blindly across the sloping, rocky plateau, but then I come to a point where the rock drops steeply. Here, you have to let yourself down six feet with the existing rope to get to a ledge where the line is anchored into the rock. I could climb down the rope, but it’s dangerous because the abyss opens up directly in front of it. I pause for a moment. I basically have no choice—I have to get to the start of the line.
Carefully, so as not to damage the crane and the swan, I slip out of my jacket and put on the safety belt because there is not enough space on the ledge below to do so.
As I climb down the rope, my pulse pounds in my eardrums and afterward, I don’t recall how I got down. But here I am, with sweaty hands, the abyss below me. And, my God... it’s deep. So deep! The fir trees in the valley are as tiny as in a miniature wonderland. I immediately feel dizzy.
Instinctively, I move closer to the rock face behind me. I want to call out to River, but what if he gets scared and falls? Still heading for Lost Arrow Spire, he balances his steps with sweeping movements. At any moment, he could fall and plunge into the valley before my eyes. That thought alone is so horrifying that I can hardly breathe.
I shakily look at the anchor point of the slackline—a tangle of ropes, colorful bands, and pulleys. I have no idea which band or rope has which function. All I know is that they’re all for safety. I carefully kneel down, examine the construction more closely, and discover two steel rings, each with a leash hanging from it. My heart beats faster, but I’m too excited to be truly happy about it. The depth in front of me feels as if it’s pulling everything down. The altitude makes my body feel heavy, as heavy as lead.
I blink a few times on purpose, trying to push down the panic and concentrate. The rear steel ring is out of reach, but the end of his leash is tied to the anchor point with a simple knot. I quickly untie the safety rope and tie a figure-eight with clumsy fingers before threading the leash through the belt and doubling the figure eight.
For a moment, I hear the slackline fluttering in the wind like an oversized sheet, the eyelets clinking against the rock. The wind scares me, but you always feel it at this height—you always hear it. Or so River says.
I look at him. Undeterred, he moves forward, and I realize one thing clearly: as long as he’s on the line, I’m not allowed to step on it. I have no idea how a slackline at this height will react to a second person, how much it will bow or sway. I take a deep breath and try to control the panic inside me. I have to wait until River reaches the rock. I pray that he leaves the line on the other side to Lost Arrow Spire intact; only then can I start running.
At the edge of the mountain, I take off my shoes and socks and watch River as he balances, his arms horizontal.
Every now and then, he stops, moves on, and then stops again.
When he reaches the end of the slackline, he hesitates, and my heart skips a beat, but he doesn’t drop as I feared for a second. Instead, he jumps onto the flat plateau of Lost Arrow Spire.
Oh, thank God!This is my chance. “River!” I call his name out loud, but the wind from the valley rips it from my lips and carries it away. He doesn’t hear me. My pulse is racing. I have to get to him now, before he jumps or steps back onto the line.
Sitting down, I slide over the many bands onto the line. I don’t look down, but my heart is still beating so fast I’m afraid it will stop.
Heart pounding. Wind and fear. Sweaty hands.I hear River whisper.
Fear of death.
I can’t do this! I’m shaking so much; there’s no way I could ever get up on this slackline. And, of course, I look down at the valley, and my body goes rigid as fear stirs everything inside me.
Dark images of shadowy rocks, dancing, and fir trees pass me, as if I were falling.
Calm down!
I can’t.
Think of River.
Once you’ve been up there... you feel like you’ve only been sleeping until then, and you just woke up.
Words. Yes. Words are good. His words.
I look at Lost Arrow Spire and see him spreading his arms like a bird. He’s only a foot from the edge!
