Nevada Barr - The Rope

A rope had been looped over the stone to replace the one that had gone missing the night Anna and Jenny were stranded. It was new and the knot properly tied. Anna checked it anyway. Butterflies the size of bats were fluttering madly in her stomach. Fear, yes, but mostly excitement. This slot, this climb: It was what she needed to do. One day, someday, maybe even this day, she would go back to the jar and exorcise the demons that remained there.

Bethy pulled a green garbage bag from her pack, then put the pack and rope inside it. “Anything you wanna keep dry?” she asked. Anna put her daypack in with Bethy’s. The water bottle on her belt wouldn’t suffer from a dunking. Bethy closed the sack by tying a knot in its neck. That done, she attached the awkward bundle to a belt loop on the waistband of her shorts with another carabiner.

As Bethy descended the sheer eight feet of sandstone to the water, Anna again inspected the rope and the knot. Nothing short of human intervention would loosen it, and the men responsible for Kay’s death were dead. Anna had seen them. She reminded herself of this fact when the stomach butterflies threatened to rush up her esophagus along with coffee and a raisin cinnamon bagel.

“Don’t be such a slowpoke!” Bethy called back as she frog-stroked across the rectangular pool toward the slit in the stone.

Taking a deep breath, and bracing herself for the cold, Anna climbed down. In her mind this rock wall was a thousand feet high. In reality, by the time she was an arm’s length from the top, her toes were in the water.

The water wasn’t as cold as she remembered, nor the swim to the slot as long. Reality was going to go a long way toward defanging her nightmares. As they were passing through—as opposed to trying to defy gravity by suspending themselves between—the canyon walls, they made short work of the twenty yards of sinuous swimming to where the canyon closed down tightly.

At water level the crack was no more than six inches wide. Four feet up it opened to where a human being of average size could fit in sideways. Fifteen feet higher and the walls bulged away from the crevice as if an enormous balloon had pushed them out. High in the shadows, they flowed back together, leaning in like dancers and shutting out the thread of blue sky.

Bethy tossed the line with the carabiners over an anchor of bleached driftwood a couple of yards above water level and began climbing.

“This isn’t the best for climbing,” Bethy said, “but use the rope and be sure and test every hand- or foothold, like, twice before you trust it. Some stuff is stuck real tight and that’s okay. Some tries to get you.” She made it up, the dead tree, her feet out of sight beyond the branch. Braced against the east wall of the crevice, she began unclipping the garbage bag with their daypacks from her waistband.

Anna climbed up easily.

“Looks pretty bitey, huh?” Bethy asked happily, glancing over her shoulder into the gloom.

“Exceedingly bitey,” Anna agreed. In the surreal passage debris had collected, some half submerged in the water-filled six-inch crack at the bottom, others wedged at varying levels: entire trees, mangled and dry as bone; rocks; what appeared to be part of an ancient rusted cookstove; the bones of a raccoon or bobcat scattered like caltrops. The crack was not full, not like a junkyard or a garbage can. It was like a gauntlet devised by a particularly malicious child. It was not a place a barefoot woman in bra and panties would want to travel alone in the dark, even if she could have attained the crack without a rope.

Since their bonding in the cold water and colder prospects, Anna had suffered a sneaking suspicion that Jenny could have climbed out but stayed because of her. Knowing Jenny told the truth when she insisted she couldn’t freed Anna of a load of gratitude too heavy to comfortably bear.

Bethy gave Anna her pack, shouldered her own, and led off down the crevice. Following, Anna marveled at the human body, at her own body, the way ankles and feet moved to catch an angled stone, knees braced against walls, hands and fingers clutched and spread catching the weight of an ever-changing center of gravity. In a more sedentary life it had been easy to forget a body’s miraculous engineering and notice only its small uncomfortable failures.

Within two hours they had traversed the slot with no more mishaps than a bit of flesh peeled off the inside of Anna’s ankle by a deer antler wedged with a single prong above the strangled line of water.

For several yards near the end, the slot opened up to the width of two midsized sedans parked side by side, then dead-ended. In that dead end was a three-sided cavity running straight up for fifty or sixty feet. The wide area where they stood was dry and littered with stones and broken branches smashed when the rains carried them over the fall to shatter at the bottom.

The three-sided cavity, a chimney twenty yards high, and the circumfrance of a phone booth but had formed when a vein of weaker stone broke from the rest of the rock face.

“It’s good to see the sky,” Anna said, tilting her head back to admire the patch of blue the wider section allowed.

“You wanna eat lunch down here or up there?” Bethy asked.

“Up there,” Anna said immediately. Much as she had enjoyed the journey through the center of the earth, she was looking forward to having room to fill her lungs completely and focus her eyes more than a foot or two from the tip of her nose.

“This chimney is super high, like, one of the longest ones here,” Bethy told her, “but it’s pretty easy. It’s easier than the first one we did. That one was just shorter. Once you get going there’ll be lots of good places for your feet and hands to be at.” She pointed nearly straight up. “See that poke-outance there at the top where the chimney becomes like a weensy crack?”

Anna followed where Bethy pointed and saw a thin blue line on the rock. From where they stood it looked no more substantial than a thread.

“That rope is tied on the top and falls into where the chimney ends there. See? That’s how we go the last ten feet. Last one up is a sore loser,” Bethy said and, stepping into the bottom of the chimney like Clark Kent into a phone booth, began to ascend rapidly.

For several minutes Anna just watched. To watch anyone perform with such confidence and grace was a pleasure. In these narrow stone canyons Bethy was at her best. A vision of hippopotamuses, lumbering on land, rotund ballerinas beneath the water, made Anna smile.

When Bethy was about halfway up, Anna stepped in the chute and began to climb, albeit more slowly. As Bethy had promised, there were lots of good foot- and handholds and the regularity of the chimney’s size and shape lent a sense of security, which, climbing sixty feet with no belay, Anna deeply appreciated.

As she ascended, the view of the slot canyon changed. By the time she neared the top of the chimney she was looking down on the torturous route they’d just traversed: A dark crack in the pale stone that snaked, curling almost back on itself in one place, slithered out, then ended abruptly in hard blue sky. That would be the top of the rectangular pool, Anna guessed, where the true skinny slot began. Beyond, hidden from view, would be the block of stone that dammed the canyon and nearly damned Anna and Jenny.

From above, the distances appeared paltry, Panther Canyon, with its beautiful grotto, so close it was hard to imagine how two people had died and two more had almost died, so near civilization.

“I’m going to eat your half of the potato chips if you don’t hurry up,” Bethy called.

Anna looked up. Bethy had vanished from sight over the rim of the plateau. The rope was still twitching like a cat’s tail. As Anna watched, it began to snake upward, the end of it flipping as it was hauled up. “Very funny,” Anna shouted. A shiver welled up from the depths of the jar that still existed within her. It wasn’t funny, not at all. Anna climbed, fear giving her tired muscles added power.