One sweltering August day, we joined our friends, the R Family at a little watering hole they had discovered on a nearby river. This particular hole has the perfect set up for cliff diving: an easily climbable rock with sheer cliffs and decently deep (but cold) water below. When we first arrived, we all commented on how we wouldn’t be doing any cliff jumping into water that cold. We had lunch, the kids splashed in the shallow water and took turns pushing each other around in a raft. We were enjoying watching reckless teenagers jumping to impress their friends. Then Steve broke out the liquid courage (Cranberry and Vodka) for him and Casey. A few swigs later, Steve was jumping and cannonballing off the cliff. And even though he was training for a triathlon and didn’t want to risk an injury, Casey was the next one to hurtle himself off a perfectly good cliff into frigid, rock infested waters below (man code dictates that if a man friend jumps off a cliff and lives, you must now jump off the same cliff or forever be remembered as a “wuss”). Next thing I know, Darla is climbing the cliff (sober too!) and jumps. I’m the only one left, so after Steve tackles me into the cold water, I really have no more excuses. So Darla climbed back up with me and we jumped together. Glad to have that checked off my “didn’t really want to do this in the first place but peer pressure is a b#%*@” bucket list.
Top left: Steve. Top right: Steve and Casey. Bottom left, Darla and I. Bottom Right, proof that we lived to swim back to our children.
No comments:
Post a Comment