Heroism, Romance and ... Jason?

This is a story from July, which I hesitated to tell at the time for reasons that will soon be apparent—but thinking about it now, I know it needs recording.

We'd had a stretch of sweltering summer weather, and Sunday, July 26, was supposed to be the hottest day yet. 

Since our house doesn't have air conditioning--or much insulation--and gets hotter than any other building I know, we are always looking for ways to cool off on these types of days. One of my favorite places to go is White Rock beach, which happens to be just down the cliff from the house where I grew up. It's always several degrees cooler there, and I love the smell of the sea and the beautiful scenery.

I had the idea that we could go down the Thousand Steps trail, located close to my childhood home. Since it was Sunday, we wanted to avoid the commercial strip, and we also wanted to stay away from crowds because of the pandemic. So, this small section of beach seemed the perfect option. Plus, Jason had never been on the steps before, and I was excited to show him the trail (I'd been back with my sisters when our kids were little).

                                       

I wasn't 100 percent sure I could find the entrance, but Google Maps led us straight to the Thousand Steps without any problem. Everyone was anticipating a fun climb down the stairs and a nice, cool swim at the bottom. Then we saw the sign saying CLOSED DUE TO COVID-19.

I suggested we climb down to the beach from the United Church camp where my parents used to be caretakers. This hike is a little risky and involves climbing over a fence (where people have been known to rip their pants), but I'd been over the fence a few times and thought it would be okay. Nobody else wanted to go this route, though.

Not to be diverted from our goal, I had another idea. Just down the road from the camp, there was another fence where we could simply walk through the large hole someone else had cut. My kids protested and Jason had doubts, but as a child I had been down this route many times--I knew the fence was unnecessary and that the trail led to the water.

Jason mentioned afterwards that if it had been any other situation, I would have been the one to say, "no way, we're not doing this." But since it was where I'd grown up, I boldly defied law and logic, assuring everyone that everything would be fine.

To strengthen my case, a pair of hikers showed up, taking the same route down. We asked them if they thought our kids could make it, and they hesitated only a moment before saying, "For sure!"

You can just see the back of Jason's blue shirt. Remember that....

Partway down the cliff--which was becoming rather steep--we found some well-worn ropes tied to trees that we could use for balance as we edged our way down. At first I was hesitant, because at that point I was still scared of catching Covid-19. But after a few slides down the smooth dirt hill, I realized the ropes were going to be our only hope.

The cliff got steeper, and smoother, as we climbed down, until the ropes were the only thing keeping us from a 40-foot slide. At the bottom, Jason had slid, Janae had slid, and then I slid at least 20 feet, my hands still clutching the rope. This little stunt burned my hands raw, not to mention what it did to my backside. Somehow I had failed to notice that 1. This cliff was too steep for anyone but experienced hikers to scale down, 2. I am not 12 anymore, and 3. We were going to have to climb back up, with no footholds, handholds or steps. 

I started to wonder what I had been thinking. What if one of the kids had fallen and been badly hurt? What if Jason had broken an ankle or been knocked unconscious by his fall? How could we get anyone out of there quickly, or at all? We were at the bottom of a cliff--in an area where people were not even supposed to be. 

To make things worse, once we'd all slid down the hill, we realized we had to climb up another ropes course to get to the ocean. My hands were so badly damaged that I could not even hold a rope. 

Somehow, we got up, then decided to send Janae and Alaina to scout ahead and see how much farther we had to go. We could hear people splashing and laughing in the water, so we believed it was close. My daughters' report: there was still an electric fence between us and the ocean.

I am not one to give up easily, but I finally told everyone this wasn't going to work. Our only option would be to climb back up the cliff, get in the car, and drive to the actual beach. The problem was, I didn't know how I could get up the cliff. Everyone else was bruised, scraped up and discouraged, but I was physically unable to hold a rope. My hands were blistered and burning, and I was stuck at the bottom of a cliff … a cliff that I had talked my entire family into climbing down.

Then, Jason did something I never could have anticipated. He ripped off his T-shirt, tore it up, and started wrapping it around my hands. With this cloth covering, I was able to hold onto the ropes--not without intense pain, but my raw hands were protected enough that I could pull myself up the cliff. 

There were times when Ben was holding the rope with his hands and Eric with his legs, times when people took their shoes off so they could clutch the dirt with their toes, and times when I thought I would fall to my death, but we all made it back to the car.

We didn't stop at the beach but drove straight home, dirty, sweaty, rope burned and defeated.

Everyone was disappointed, but I was just thinking, "We need to get some aloe for our car's first aid kit."

Actually, I did have one other thought. As I looked at Jason, driving without a shirt, I realized he really must love me.

Later, when I sheepishly told my parents about this adventure, including Jason's spontaneous decision to rip off his shirt and tear it into strips to cover my hands, my dad exclaimed, "Don't you think that was romantic?" 

Jason and I have been married almost 18 years, and by now I'm not really looking for any grand romantic gestures--I'm just happy to have him take out the compost or fold a bit of laundry. 

But, I had to admit, my rescue from the bottom of the cliff could have been a scene from a romance novel … or at least from a romantic comedy :)