THE ADRENALIN JUNKIE

THE ADRENALIN JUNKIE

Aria clambered up the side of the cliff, searching for each handhold and each foothold until she finally reached the apex. Her camera case hung safely on its strap around her neck and down her back to avoid hitting the jagged rocks while she climbed. Reaching the top, she stood quietly for a moment, regulating her breathing after the exhilarating but exhausting climb.  She could feel her heart pounding, feel the blood pulsating through her veins, feel the rush of adrenalin that always accompanied her need for that natural high that only came through life-challenging feats of daredevilism. She lived by the motto “Man versus mountain.” On most climbs she used only her body, she spurned the climbing equipment that most professional climbers used. Helmets, harnesses, climbing slings, packs crammed full with ropes and belays, rock hammers, climbing chalk, cams, stoppers, nut tools, and carabiners. A good pair of climbing shoes was all she needed for this climb. She had climbed this cliff with her father, ever since she was a young kid and could probably climb it with her eyes closed. It was their first real climb together and one that they had repeated, time and time again. Each craig, each crevice was carved into her memory, along with her Dad’s instructions whispering in her ears.  She, of course, had all the necessary professional climbing equipment; the big wall gear for trad and crack climbing. While her friends were strengthening their finger skills on the piano, she had spent years of finger strength training on the homemade hang-board that her father had crafted for her, all in preparation for cragging. 

Staring down into the abyss she watched the river twisting and turning its way through the forest and valley below, like a snake winding its way through the vegetation. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and then she lifted her T-shirt and gave her entire face a good wipe.  She wiped the blood on her knuckles on her dark-coloured shorts, merely an occupational hazard. As she waited for her heart to stop racing, her eyes darted around the panoramic view, checking out the various focal points she wanted to capture with her camera. Photography was another skill she had inherited from her multi-talented father. 

He had taught her so much, from the days when she was a toddler he would take her to the local skate park and set her down and freak out all the skaters as she would drop in and perfectly execute her moves, fearless and hyped when she nailed her tricks. She could easily shred that board. Water skiing, ski jumping, and surfing in Maui were all part of her life. Life was just one big adrenalin high after another. She had had many bails in her life and many broken bones but that never stopped her. On her sixteenth birthday, her father had taken her bungee jumping despite her mother's vehement protests. She swore that Aria was the world's second-worst adrenaline junkie, only being surpassed by her father. Her Dad had replied that it was in her blood, in her genes, in her DNA. Aria's mother had said, that if the two of them had any modicum of sense, Aria would stay home and have a nice sweet sixteen birthday party with her friends. After that experience there was no stopping Aria, she lived for the thrill, the rush, and the high of being a true adrenalin junkie.

Parkour and roof running through one's environment like it was a military obstacle course and base jumping from bridges, buildings, and cliffs gave a new meaning to her compulsive risk-taking activities, and her therapist would implore her to end her impulsivity, intense curiosity, and need to live life on the edge. He told her that her lifestyle was an addictive behaviour and that no good would come to being a self-proclaimed adrenalin junkie. He went on to tell her that she had a type T personality that thrived on stimulating activities. He asked her a very foolish question. Is there fear when you are involved in these activities?

Fear, yes of course there was fear. That was the whole point of the exercise. Her “raison d’etre.” her reason for living was to face death at every moment and revel when you cheated death and felt that moment of victory when you, and you alone conquered the moment.

With her feet firmly planted she looked over the edge and noted a tree clinging precariously to the side of the cliff, its roots buried in a small fertile pocket of soil in a crevice of the rocks. If she moved slightly to the left she could get a great shot of the tree, showing the tenacity of nature, the willingness to survive no matter what the challenges may be. Aria loved the brave little tree that somehow represented the outlook on life that she held before she lost her father. She wanted to capture a shot of the determined tree.

She breathed in deeply, the smell of pine permeating the air and the earthy undertones of decomposing leaves, needles, and twigs providing a distinctly rich, musty odour. 

The crest of the cliff was dotted with vegetation,  jack pines were the predominant species, a traditional tree of the Canadian wilderness.  Not the tallest of trees, yet somehow still majestic, the stand of pines all leaned to one side, an indication of the direction of the local winds. Aria enjoyed another nostalgic moment, remembering her visit to the art gallery with her father and the iconic painting named Jack Pines by the famous Canadian painter, Tom Thompson.  How well the artist had captured the pines in the true north.

Aria drew closer to the pines, crouched down on the ground, and looked up, she swung her camera into the position made a few adjustments, and started snapping. She checked the digital images, deleted a few, and moved to take some shots from a different angle getting the full effect of the scruffy-looking pines with their gnarled twisted trunks.

Aria instinctively ducted down when she heard a shrill screeching call overhead. Looking up she was just in time to see an eagle land in a nearby tree. She slowly moved her camera into position and clicked away. The eagle, having good hearing, heard the click of the camera shutter and stared intently at Aria. Perceiving her as a non-threatening entity, it turned and ignored her,  continuing to make clicking and chirping noises. A lone traveler today,  it sat in solitary splendor enjoying the cliff tops. A kindred spirit.

Aria sidled to the right and feeling something underfoot she knelt to examine it. She picked up the small pine twig with its iconic two-needle clusters and gray pine cone closed tightly with pine resin, keeping safe the tiny seeds locked inside where they would stay there for perhaps years. Only great heat would release the seeds from the scaly cone that would one day repopulate the surrounding forests. Holding it by the tip she used her right hand to take several closeups of the jack pine branch.

She wandered back to the cliff edge and drank in the view. God’s country they called it. Beautiful, serene, majestic. It made you feel small, insignificant, in the big scale of things. Aria reached into her pocket and pulled out a photograph. It was this photograph that had led her to this journey here today. It was worn and tattered around the edges, with a fold mark at the center, which divided the picture in two.

 On one half was a picture of her mother dressed in a flight suit, helmet, and goggles, a look of abject horror on her face. The other side showed a man holding her hand as they plummeted towards Earth on their sky-diving adventure. In the corner of the photograph, one could see a portion of the plane that they had jumped out of. The man in the photograph had the biggest smile on his face, proof of his enjoyment of the activity. 

The third member of the party,  though not in the photograph, was the jump instructor, who had taken the picture moments before her mother had pulled the ripcord and opened her parachute and moments before her father had gone into a headfirst freefall and then plunged to his death. The instructor, who had followed him down for a ways, was yelling and motioning to him to pull his ripcord and said he never even reached for it. The instructor could see his laughter as he plunged closer and closer to the earth.

This was the way her father chose to celebrate his 40th birthday.

She was always pretty sure her Dad knew exactly what he was doing, or rather, not doing, as in not pulling the ripcord. He had made these jumps a hundred times or more. Skydiving is one of an adrenaline junkie's favourite activities.  And her Dad was the consummate adrenaline junkie.

Aria had begged him to let her skydive with him that day but he was a stickler on this one thing and she was soon to find out why he had refused to let her come with him that day. However, surprisingly, he had taken his soon-to-be, ex-wife with him. Aria’s parents had been in a love/hate relationship for many years now, minus the love part.  She was surprised that her mother, who hated all things physical or strenuous or scary, had agreed to accompany her father on this particular day. Her mother later revealed that he had bribed her, although she never revealed what the actual bribe was. So her two parents who were on the brink of divorce took off for one last adventure together only to have it end in tragedy. Was it the final revenge on her father’s part to have his hated wife watch such a tragic death and then have to deal with the aftermath and have to pick up the pieces, though not of course literally?

 Although it was never proven, she thought she had her father's motives down pat.  She knew him so well.  He had been diagnosed with cancer a month earlier and Aria knew that he had already made out his will.  Her mother felt the crash was all a terrible accident but Aria somehow knew what her father was really up to. He had always lived life on his terms and made his own decisions. Her Dad was full of courage, and she knew it took a lot of courage to NOT pull your ripcord when you are rushing towards the ground at 120mph. The cancer would have curtailed all his big plans, and his wild adventures, and left him bedridden and ailing.

Aria took another long look at the picture, Dad was gone and her mum had moved on, quickly finding a new man, a staid, stonchy accountant with his feet firmly anchored to the ground. Aria was alone now. She gave the picture a quick kiss and folded it and tucked it back in her pocket. She lay the camera down behind her. A camera full of memories, memories of what once was and never could be again. She took a step closer to the edge until she was on the verge between the known and the unknown.  She understood the draw, the attraction, the pull. The mysterious unbidden desire to go over the edge, like a magnetic force pulling you. Maybe it was the devil on her shoulder encouraging her to take just one more step forward. She wobbled in the wind, felt it at her back pressing, pushing, encouraging her. Just one step forward. Step and you will feel what your father felt. The rush of the wind, the fast descent, the instant high, the ultimate thrill for an adrenaline junkie. “Step forward,” said the wind.

She looked to the side and saw the branches of the little tree clinging to the rocks on the side of the cliff. It seemed to call to her, an intangible presence telling her to hang on, put your roots firmly, deeply into the ground. Persevere, survive. “Step back,” said the tree.

Aria was torn between the voices in her head. She took a deep breath and stepped…