Take the Leap
Why Cliff Jumping isn’t Completely Stupid
Water hurts when you hit it from 65 feet.
This, I am very aware of. What I also am aware of, is the consequence of an accidental slip, trip, or stumble, as it would result in a near-freefall down a mountainside riddled with jutting stone and rusty iron obstacles. None of this peaks my interest, but as I inch my way to the end of a dorito-shaped ledge over a crystal clear pool deep in the forests of Northern California, that nightmare also inches its way into possibility.
I cautiously tip my head over the edge of the granite cliffside and peer at the cool comfort of a liquid medium, far less harsh than that of its dark Earthy counterpart.
“Don’t think” I whisper to myself in a wavering, breathy exhale. I lay my hands from their steep near my ears down to my sides, fingers quivering lightly near my hips. I look out to my right and receive the green light from Noel.
My eyes drift to the front of my toes, and in one swift kick from the desolate mountainside, I leap.
“We really need to pre-load Google Maps when we do these things” I remind Brendan as we fly through a mountain highway near Nevada City.
Brendan nods accordingly, but remains transfixed at the black longitude-latitude lines that stream across a beige backdrop of a data-less maps screen. Finding our campsite had proved to be the second biggest challenge of the day thus far, not surpassing packing 4 men and 3 days worth of camping gear, food, and camera equipment into a Subaru CrossTrek.
A sign reading ‘WHITE CLOUD’ flies by the passenger side of the car, and Noel slams on the brakes. Flipping a u-turn, we make camp in a tucked away little corner of the area with the most favorable amenities — water and a restroom — just a short walk away. Setting up and leaving with only the essentials, we make way to Yuba River to find a few cliff jumping spots along the South Fork of Yuba River. Today was going to be a long day.
South Fork, Day 1
Arriving to a crowded and rocky beach along a calm riverbank, we climbed down the highway overpass and began our trek upstream, our goal being the little red pin Maps has ever-so-thankfully decided to load 3/4 a mile ahead of us.
The large granite boulders collect immense amounts of heat during mid-day, and resorting to bare feet has proved to be an issue as I go along. Brendan, squirrely as he is, has been a long way out of sight ahead of me, and Jacob and Noel trail me by a few hundred yards. Trudging along, we find arrive at our pin to find a serene little pool with a 15–20 foot jump. Brendan gets his fill of gainers (a backflip that begins by running forward and kicking your legs in front of you, instead of a backwards leap), and after a quick and refreshing swim, we move on to a rumored bigger spot further upstream.
Stumbling across a crowded 60 feet wide, quarter mile long strip of lazy river, we find that the trail ends, only to be continued through the river. Jumping ahead of the guys, I wade through the shallow, crystal-blue pool. Hoping to cross a deep section, I remove my pack filled to the brim with expensive photography equipment, cell phones, journals, etc. and attempt to cross the river.
My feet start losing traction. The current caught me.
In a desperate attempt to scramble for shallower water, I hold my pack high above my head, but the current pulls me further into the deeper water. I start swallowing water. The inevitability is closing. I’m going to have to drop the backpack.
In a last ditch effort to salvage my gear, I throw my pack toward the bank, 30 feet away. I miss. My pack splashes down in the river.
I scramble out of the current and race to my pack, now half submerged. As I pluck it from the perfect water of the Yuba river, an ocean pours from between the threads in the bottom of the pack. My heart sinks as I recognize my loss.
I trudge over to my friends, who arrive in enthusiastic fashion.
“Dude, what happened?”
I just shake my head, and muster a disappointing smile. I slowly unzip my bag.
Dry as the fucking Sahara.
I laugh in disbelief as I sift through the electronics in my bag. Not a drop.
We decide to stay the rest of the while of the day. The afternoon sun sets in a firey orange glow behind the granite walls of our little canyon, as we pack what little things we brought and carry ourselves back to camp, where we fall asleep in a hammock to the melody of Coldplay’s Ghost Stories.
Somewhere Near Nevada City, Day 2
We had heard the road out here was going to be a brutal, unmaintained trail of dirt, stone, and pine roots, and God dammit it was.
Just past the tiny one-lane bridge of rotting maplewood, a big sign reassured “END OF COUNTY MAINTENANCE . ROAD CONDITIONS MAY WORSEN”.
Yeah, no shit. The lineup of cars along a narrow dirt track littered with twisted, mangled car parts told us enough.
We made it about as far as we could in the Subaru before we found a little nook on the shoulder, where we took our things to walk the next 2 1/2 miles to the Google pin. In the exposure of the afternoon heat, swallowing what felt like 5 pounds of reddish-brown dust, we stumbled upon an adrenaline-junkie’s paradise. A massive, rusted iron crane loomed in the distance over a massive gap the river carved centuries before into a perfectly isolated pool of water, 30 feet deep.
The question persisted, biting at the back of my neck over and over: are you going to jump the crane?
Sitting at the top of the hilltop, which happened to be the site of a gold mining operation over a century ago, the arm of the crane sat smack over the middle of the pool, 80 feet below. Rumor has it, the crane wobbles and sways even in the lightest breeze, and being 180 pounds means a walk of death along the devil’s plank. Rain check, I tell myself.
We meet a group of guys about our age, and do some smaller, more modest jumps of around 40 feet. Brendan does his round of gainers for Jacob’s drone, as I snap away with my DSLR behind him. The water here is colder than that of Yuba, but still immensely refreshing to the adrenaline boiling in our veins.
Finally, Brendan asks me the burning question: Are you going to do the jump?
I look up at the tip of a wobbling, rusting iron crane purposed for work of over 100 years before we had ever heard of this place, exposed to the harsh elements of the Sierras for all that time.
I shake my head no, and he acknowledges with a nod. He isn’t either. But, there’s the second-highest jump here: the 65 footer on the potato chip rock.
I slide my camera under a rock and make my way up the steep mountainside. Every step is a gamble, as the smooth stones slide away from the cliff at random. I grab a weathered steel cable for stability, and heave my way onto the rock.
“You first” Brendan reminds me, with an evil, twisted smile. I nod wearingly, and move forward.
Jacob fires up the drone and positions it 30 feet out to my right, and flies it out backward for a pan-out shot.
I watch blankly as it races away behind us into the canyon.
Wait, no. Where’d it go?
“Where’s the drone?” Brendan asks.
I take a step back and fall onto my hands away from the God-forsaken blue abyss and look over towards Jacob, a few hundred feet away. He’s no longer looking at Brendan and me up on the cliff’s edge; he’s looking out in the hills.
Brendan calls out to Jake, and he replies.
“I FUCKING CRASHED IT!”
Brendan shoots me a terrified glance, before muttering something under his breath and starts climbing back down to Jacob on the rock.
Now I’m alone on this stupid cliffside, and I’m sure as hell not climbing back down. I watch as Brendan scrambles up the mountain adjacent to me, looking for the little aircraft.
20 minutes go by. I’m still on the rock. The drone is still MIA.
The midday sun is starting to take it’s toll on my shoulders, and I’m sweating profusely. My patience for this jump is wearing thin.
I call down to Jacob to get his DSLR ready. He positions himself, and gives me a thumbs up. I stand and take a few breaths, knees shaking.
“Don’t think.”
I fall for what feels like an hour. I whip my arms against my sides and brace for a liquid impact.
I take a glassy-blue uppercut to my stomach and my neck, and emerge to a roar out on the rock. Holy hell, I just did it. I let out a groan, and backstroke over to Jake and Noel to take a breather.
After deciding to help Brendan look for the lost drone up on the hillside, he finally finds it in a trove of poison oak. Despite hitting the rock wall at nearly 40 miles per hour, remarkably only one of its four arms was slightly bent.
With the footage recovered, we packed our things, said our goodbyes to our new adrenaline comrades, and began the long walk back to the car. Low on food, water, and energy, we left completely and utterly satisfied with the adventure we had undertaken.
Back at the car, we chowed on sandwiches and guzzled a gallon of ice water, and stopped a ways downstream at the most perfect swimming hole along the most perfect stream in California. We bathed, talked, and laughed along the river until dusk, when we drove back to camp to fall asleep to close off one of the most exhilarating days of all of our lives.
Epilogue
This Yuba trip was rather impromptu in terms of planning, and was the end of our summer. Upon getting home to San Jose, I immediately drove to my house in Oxnard, the others preparing for their schoolward journeys as well. A last hoorah for the books, the closure of a summer of crazy amounts of adventure, friendship, camaraderie, and just downright good stories.
Brendan asked us a question after we got to camp from Day 2’s festivities. It came rather out of the blue.
“Do you guys know why I do all these stupid things?”
The three of us exchange confused looks before returning our eyes to Brendan. We all know what it’s in regard to; Brendan is quite well-known for being the guy to dive through broken windows, climb unreliable routes at sinister heights, and perform remarkable gymnastics under wild amounts of pressure. Yet, we stared at him blankly.
“Because in the moment, you don’t think about anything else. You’re not thinking about that homework you have to do, those bills you have to pay, why the color of your last shit was weird, none of that. It’s just you in that moment.”
I chuckled to myself for a brief moment before really thinking about the gravity of what he said. And how all of us need an escape from reality.
Because as human beings, we’re not wired to pay bills, or do homework, or analyze the color of your feces. You’re wired to survive. You’re wired to explore. You’re wired to be curious. And every time we find ourselves on the edge of dorito-shaped rock, or in a perfectly isolated river in the middle of nowhere, or dozing off in a hammock to our favorite break-up album, we’re one step closer to being further away from our realities of paying bills, doing busywork or looking at WebMD.
We’re simplifying. Exploring. Searching. Finding.
Go find your perfect place, your perfect person, or your perfect stream, and take the leap. You won’t regret it.
“To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other, and to feel. That is the purpose of life.” — James Thurber
