I don't think there's a single tour agency in the US
that could get enough insurance to cover the dangers
of what we did today.
First, we woke up (I don't know how) early again, and
scuttled over yawning and bleary-eyed to the mountain
bike shop, where Mike was waiting for us.
I'd seen a poster in there earlier in the week
advertising "Extreme Adventures," and today was the
day for one of these...
We crammed in the back seat of Mike's (temporarily
fixed) aging yellow pickup, and off we went, south
this time. Going through Puerto Plata, we saw hundreds
of trucks lined up on the sides of the roads.
It turns out it was a big strike day for the trucker's
union all over the country, with burning tires and the
works. In Santo Domingo earlier in the morning, they'd
deployed riot control troops and tear gas.
As we drove through Puerto Plata, at one point we saw
a band of stick-wielding truckers "suggest" to the
driver of a truck just a couple cars ahead of us to
pull over. He did.
I wasn't entirely comfortable with the thought of a
mob of angry, bored truckers with too much time on
their hands looking for trouble, so I was glad when
the city was behind us.
We drove mostly inland this time, heading into the
larger hills and pre-mountains of the Dominican
Republic, and we met our guide Moreno by the side of a
river deep in the backwoods.
We trekked through woods and shallow riverbeds for a
mile or so until we reached the foot of the
waterfalls.
These scenic falls cascade down from the mountains
through 24 series of falls. Our mission: to climb the
first eleven of these without breaking any limbs,
which is what Mike gleefully explained to us happened
just last week with the last guy they took on this
trip.
And--shiver me timbers!--that water was cold! Not
freezing level by any stretch, but compared to the
ridiculous warmth of the Caribbean ocean, it felt
mighty frosty indeed.
But the most chilling thing were the falls themselves.
Not the Niagara-type that fall for hundreds of feet,
but the kind that worm down narrow, twisted, slippery
canyons and snake their way down super-smooth rock
slides.
Actually, it often looked and felt like a scene out of
a movie. We'd be swimming through this winding canyon
maybe five feet across and forty or more feet high,
with the rock cliffs on either side leaning closer to
each other as they got higher.
And then we'd come to this pool area where the water
rushed down from curvy rock chutes climbing 15 - 20
feet above, with a ray of sunshine sneaking through
the canyon walls to illuminate the falls.
At the first one of these, Pascal and I immediately
realized how absolutely crucial our guide was. The
rock face was slippery, footholds and handholds were
sparse to nonexistent, and loss of footing would
result in an instant head-bash against the nearest
rock.
In fact, I've come to the conclusion that our guide
was actually Spiderman, because he'd slink up what
looked like totally smooth stone like it was made of
velcro.
And then--and this is the most amazing thing of
all--he'd do the splits above the cascading water,
with a foot on each canyon wall, bend over, and reach
his hand down to help lift us up to where we could get
some semblance of traction. Psycho!
At another point, we had to scale this
backwards-leaning rock face using a knotted rope to
get higher, with no wires or safety net (i.e. you let
go, you splatter on the rocks below!) Talk about an
adrenaline rush!
Despite our total sleep deprivation from a week's
worth of active vacationing, I was so alert during
this climb from the combination of danger and physical
exertion that I don't think I even blinked the entire
time going up.
Getting to the top was a trip, but by far the most
memorable moment was on the way down, at waterfall
number eight.
Have you ever seen a cartoon where a circus guy climbs
way up high on a platform and has to dive down into a
little glass of water? That's what we had to do.
To get back down into one of the pools, we had to (OK,
we didn't really have to, but I thought it'd be fun)
scoot forward on this tiny rock outcropping barely
jutting from the side of one of the canyon walls
flanking the waterfall, 40 feet above the water. And
jump.
What made this incredibly nerve-wracking was not the
height--the cliffs overlooking the ocean were
higher--but both the precariousness of the jumping off
point (barely wide enough to hold both feet), and the
precision needed for the jump.
Jump not far enough, you hit rock. Too far to the
right, you hit rock. Too far to the left, it's not
deep enough. Too far forward, you skin yourself on the
opposite canyon wall before hitting rock. You get the
picture.
I'm neither scared of heights nor of adventure, but it
took me a full minute to even get myself positioned
standing on the rock ledge, and another minute or so
to work up the courage to jump. My legs were actually
feeling weak and uncooperative: my mind would work
itself into action and say "jump" and my legs wouldn't
budge an inch!
Finally, I did, and the rush of excitement that
accompanied my fall into the water was indescribable.
OH YEAH! BRING IT ON, BABY!!!
The great thing then is that I got to see Pascal go
next, and I saw him going through the exact same
mental process. Before he jumped, he took half a dozen
hyperventilating type breaths, and thumped his chest
several times Tarzan-like to work himself into a
jumping spirit!
Further down the falls, there were actually spots
where we were able to sit down on the rock and slide
down winding rock chutes for several intense seconds
before being dumped into the beckoning water pools
below. Yeehah!
By the time we got back to the first fall, the jump
from the rocks into the pool below felt so easy it was
just gravy!
Mike met us at the bottom and let us know--once
again--that he thought we were insane.
We came back to Sosua fully contented with our day's
adventure. With most of our pre-departure affairs in
order, we're ready for one last night of partying
before our flight back home tomorrow.
Adios, Dominica Republicana!
Cheers,
Gabriel
