Himalayan Quest

11-Rope Bridge

May 8

11-Rope Bridge

Adam woke up, packed, ate a light snack, drank some water, and then set off on his hike. It was chilly before the first rays reached down to the valley floor. He had his rain gear on to keep him warm until the sun arrived. The trail climbed steeply for a while, then leveled off, roughly paralleling the course of the river.

After half an hour, he paused for water and adjusted his pack.

There's a little less food inside, so maybe now it's only 34 pounds? Not bad. My left shoulder protests some, but less than it did yesterday.

He entered an area with rhododendrons. Adam remembered the flowers from California, but there they only grew on low bushes. Here, some of the blooms were on trees that rose up to fifty feet high. It was gorgeous. Many of the flowers were pink, others red, and some were white.

Thank you for this gift.

He had no one to share the feeling with, so he took a break and wrote about the beauty in his journal, and also jotted down a few more thoughts about the woman who was the catalyst for this journey.

*****

Kailani, you told me about the rhododendron trees growing near the village where you worked, but to see them in person is a treat. It's an explosion of color! Thank you.

Adam started thinking about her. He'd heard about Kailani's collegiate volleyball prowess at the University of Hawaii. She was an all-American like he was, but in a different sport. She'd been selected to start for the woman's national team, but then the US boycotted the 1980 Olympics in Moscow. Dream gone.

"Adam, I don't talk about this with many people. They don't understand. But I read about your past in Sports Illustrated. I know all about your loss, and I'm sorry. Your story is so public, but I'm sure it's painful."

He nodded. "Glad I don't need to relive all that with you."

"We women on the national volleyball team kept practicing in hopes that a miracle would happen and President Carter might change his mind so we could go to the Olympics after all. One day in a scrimmage I dove for a ball and tore up the rotator cuff in my shoulder. I know about your own broken bones and other complications that kept you from going pro in basketball, so this isn't a pity party."

"Injuries are a challenge that all of us athletes face."

She nodded. "My family on Maui practiced tough love with me and said it was time to support the dreams of others in the next generation. They also encouraged me to get some experience on the mainland and overseas to gain a better overall world perspective. So that's why I got my teaching credentials and M.A. in Education at Stanford, coached volleyball there, then committed to working in the Peace Corps here. I'll be a better teacher when I get back to Hawaii after all of this."

He smiled. "Good thing that I'm not your neighbor here in Kathmandu. We'd probably fight all the time about our rivalry between Berkeley and Stanford."

She grinned right back at him. "You're spot on with that. We Stanford students hated the Cal Bears." Then she had broken up. Her laughter was so infectious that Adam joined her.

But oh my. She's drop-dead gorgeous. So intelligent. And one of the best volleyball players in the history of the sport. Beauty, smarts, athleticism. California and Nepal connections. Kailani Kealoha, you're the total package. Wish you weren't in a relationship. Maybe I can learn about Hawaii? Is that something we can share?

*****

He smiled, thinking about her, then put away the journal, adjusted straps, hefted his pack, and continued. Birds sang. He kicked up dirt as he ascended. Adam stepped around piles of dry dung, probably left by goats.

A line of porters moved his way, their eyes focused on the ground beneath their tumpline burdens.

"Namaste." The porters and Adam exchanged greetings as they continued opposite him, walking downhill. Soon after Adam passed them, he reached a tributary and saw what looked like a circus challenge.

The stream was less than 100 feet wide, but looked formidable. The bridge had three thick ropes forming a v-shape, two for hand-holds about waist level, and one below for walking on. The line at the bottom had wood pieces wrapped into it in a way that added width and maybe a little stability. Perhaps a hundred vertical cords connected the hand-holds to the rope at the base, but it all looked flimsy. It seemed the porters must have crossed this bridge moving the other way, but Adam had arrived too late to watch them do so.

Is this a joke? Perhaps there's another way to cross?

He looked up and down the tributary for options. Churning water jumped over jagged rocks. He couldn't hop across. No shallow ford above or below where he could walk. The stream stayed wide as far as he could see in both directions. The current was too strong.

Adam didn't see any other realistic possibility, other than trying to swim across and thus certainly drowning. No. This rope bridge was the only possible route.

There's no safer way. All those porters must have crossed here. So it should be okay, right? I suppose the bridge has held up like this for years. Probably strong enough for elephants. But it looks like it was made by children as part of some game. Am I walking a tightrope? What if there are some frayed strands ready to break?

He inhaled deeply, climbed up to the start, and took his first step. The bridge rolled under him and swayed in the early morning breeze. His pack made Adam top-heavy. He squatted to lower his center of gravity. He crouched a little, not quite duck-walking, feeling silly. But he kept his knees bent as he moved forward.

The thick rough hemp was easy to grab, but its fibers bit into his palms. He ignored the pain and gripped tight. He moved one arm at a time and took a step only when both hands held tight a little in front of his feet.

The rope on the bottom beneath Adam had those sticks for supposed stability, but they were uneven, full of knots and broken branch stubs. Even the cords that tied the wood to the base offered balance challenges by adding more uneven layers. Each step required a gradual test to find a safe option before taking the next one.

If the bottom breaks, I know I must hang on, irrespective of shoulder pain. But I sure hope I won't endure a repeat of what I went through with Joe.

A sudden gust caught him off guard. He paused as he felt his pack blown left and reacted by gripping the rope more tightly with his right arm. He was fortunate that it blew from that side. His strong shoulder handled the pressure until it relented, becoming a manageable breeze once more. Then he bent lower in response, in case of another unexpected blast of wind.

Adam was able to resume his careful progress. He winced with each new grip, wishing he had gloves on. But the pain from the stiff fibers was an acceptable trade for a safe handhold. With each step, the bridge swayed strangely and more than he wished. But slowly, he advanced.

Three-quarters of the way across, Adam was feeling more confident. He could see it was only a little farther until he was done. So he relaxed some and picked up his pace, grateful to be finally finishing.

Suddenly his left foot slipped. He felt only air beneath him as he dropped.

"No-o-o-o!"

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