A Leap into the Unknown - Literally

by Emily Jarrett (United States of America)

A leap into the unknown USA

“Do you want to jump, or do you want to fall?” The guide was smiling up at me as I stood on the platform, strapped into my harness. It is a warm day in Baños, but up here on the bridge, the wind whipped my hair around my shoulders and bit through the cotton of my t-shirt. Did I want to jump? I wasn’t entirely sure how I’d gotten up here. The trundling bus ride through the Andes had ended less than an hour ago, at the bus station two blocks from this bridge. I had known Baños was the adventure town, where you go to find waterfalls and ziplines - but I hadn’t been planning on free falling anytime soon. When I’d agreed to go along with the plan, when I’d said, “Sure, I’ll do that!,” I’d been standing at the end of the bridge, where all you could see was the stark green mountains rising up around you, glowing almost golden in the afternoon sun. There were birds circling above, and the quiet rush of a river below. It was almost peaceful. It didn’t seem like this place could be dangerous. But once you stepped out, toes over the wooden platform, the drop looked like your death sentence. I didn’t even want to imagine how far down it was; the rushing river I’d heard was actually filled with rocks, and it certainly wasn’t deep enough to catch me if the rope broke. Every natural instinct I had was begging me to please, step back, don’t jump, don’t jump, DON’T JUMP. “You can do it, Em!” one of my friends called. I turned back and saw her phone was out, ready to film me, her blonde hair still windswept from when she had taken this plunge a few minutes ago. “Once you let go, it’s amazing!” Her blue eyes sparkled, and I knew she believed it. I turned back around and glanced down at the Ecuadorian man underneath the lip of the red helmet. He was still gripping the back of my harness tightly. His smile was kind, and it made me feel much calmer. “I want to fall,” I told him sternly, before turning my gaze back to the mountains that seemed to now be at my eye level. My heart felt like it might beat out of my chest. “Okay. When you fall, put your arms out, side-to-side, and keep your legs straight!” the man informed me. I put my arms out and took a deep breath. “And…” the man began, and the pause between his words and when he let go of my harness seemed like a lifetime. Suddenly I was very aware of my face and the tips of my fingers and the backs of my calves as the wind swirled around me. “GO!” my guide shouted, and as he let go, he very gently nudged my back, so that I was leaning forward, forward, forward onto my toes. And then my feet were off the platform and I was falling, hurtling towards the ground. Adrenaline surged through me, and everything became brighter: the world was streaks of green and blue and yellow and white. All I could hear was the whistling in my ears. Suddenly, the rope was catching me, an abrupt end to my descent as the harness tightened around my waist and swung me underneath the bridge. My breathless scream became a giggle that bubbled out of me as relief flooded my limbs, my body so thankful that I hadn’t hit the ground. I heard my friends yell in excitement as I clung to the ropes above me, my sweaty hands requiring a firm grip. For a moment, I felt utterly invincible. As I swung back and forth, waiting for my momentum to slow so they could pull me to the ground, I glanced around me. A medium-sized brown bird was perched on a rock in the water, silently watching me. Its companions called to it from the sunlight drenched cliff above. In the quiet, away from the crowd, alone save my bird friend, I realized that my first impression had been correct: it was most certainly peaceful here.