As Zane reached the foot of the cliff, he did a double take.
Although it was becoming more common, it was still rare to see a woman free soloing.
She wore tan capri pants and a loose-fitting shirt.. Her dark hair was braided and reached just past her shoulders. He couldn’t see her face, but that girl was all woman. He shook his head in amazement. Just above her head was what looked like thin sheets of loose rock barely hanging on the vertical face. From his perspective on the ground, they looked like they were just waiting to fall.
As the woman carefully made her way along the narrow ledge, she used the overhead slabs of rock as handholds. “Does she have a death wish or what?” he muttered. Zane had seen some of the best climbers in the world pass on this type of rock. Well, he admitted, she sure seemed able to handle herself. To get where she was would take some exceptional skill, rope or no rope.
She had almost reached the end of the narrow ledge when her right foot seemed to slip. As her foot came off the rock, she compensated by increasing her hold on the narrow overhang above her head. Just as she regained her footing, the ledge above her head started to give way. Instinctively, she shifted her weight and moved her right foot two feet further down the ledge. The slab of rock fell straight down onto the ledge where she had just been standing, completely obliterating six feet of it. Zane expelled the breath he had been holding. She wouldn’t be going back the way she came, that was for sure, but at least she hadn’t been knocked off the rock—thanks to her quick thinking.
He was just about to call out to her when one more piece of the overhanging rock gave way and fell, slicing the calf of her left leg. Somehow she managed to maintain her hold on the rock, but even from his place on the ground, he could see that blood was already running down over her left foot and onto the cliff, leaving a growing crimson stain. Zane didn’t know what he could do. He only had his rope and quick draws. He had no free-climbing gear with which to anchor himself in the rocks. And even if he had, there was no one here to belay him anyway. The flow of blood had not slowed, and it was now a two-foot streak on the rock. These thoughts flashed through Zane’s mind in seconds as he stood in silent horror, watching the girl’s life drain out.
Like a bloody ballerina, she calmly pivoted on her right foot, lifting her injured left leg straight up in the air until her toes were touching the ledge over her head. This section of the overhang seemed a little more stable. Somehow, she managed to wedge the toes of her injured leg into the overhead crack, thus freeing up her left hand. Reaching into her pants for her pocket knife, she flicked it open and cut away a large portion of her pant leg. Carefully she tore a strip of cloth, and using her teeth and her left hand, tied it around her bleeding wound. It looked like she might have bought herself a few more minutes of precious time.
Pulling out his cell phone, Zane called the MDA, the Israeli Magen David Adom paramedic service, and explained the situation. The operator said they would send an ambulance. Telling them to hurry, Zane ended his call and tore open his backpack. She was not going to be able to hold on until they arrived. Slipping off his boots, he put on his climbing harness and shoes, then tied a large loop in the end of his rope.
Removing his ATC from his harness, he threaded his rope through it about ten feet down from the loop and clipped it back into a large carabiner on the main harness loop. He hung the looped end and the extra ten feet of rope over his right shoulder. The remaining one-hundred-and-seventy feet he hung over his left. In the sixty seconds it took him to accomplish these tasks, part of his mind was telling him this was a futile effort. The other part was telling him he had to try something.
Zane had never been able to justify the risk of free soloing before. Now he was going to attempt a free solo ascent on a treacherous rock face he had never climbed before to try to help a foolhardy young woman. I should have my head examined, he thought in frustration. In reality, though, he really didn’t have a choice. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try to help.
“Hold on,” he called up, “I am going to try to climb up to you!” He plunged his hands into his chalk bag one at a time, the white powder flying everywhere. He decided to make his ascent from just below and to the right of her. The first handhold was just above his head, and he reached for it with his left hand. Wedging the three small fingers of his right hand into a head-level crack, he drew up his legs to a slight protrusion which he was able to smear with his shoes. His feet taking some of the weight off his hands, he reached with his right hand, found the next hold, and powered himself higher.
He made pretty fast progress for the first sixty feet. He refused to think about what he was doing and just looked for the next hold. He knew he was running out of time. The crimson streak was just above him and to the left now. It had run twenty feet down the rock face, and the metallic smell of it was strong in the warm air. How she had managed to hang on for the past four minutes he had no idea.
With a damaged leg and her left climbing shoe slippery with blood, she could not move at all. He could see the tremors in her arms and legs as she fought to maintain her tenuous hold on the cold, hard rock.
Just twenty feet below her now, he was in trouble himself. There was nothing on the rock face he could reach—just hard, bare rock. With calculating eyes, he searched the rock for anything that would provide a means to reach the young woman. The only real prospect was an impossibly small protrusion of rock two feet over and three feet higher on the rock face. Just below that was a tiny crack, which looked even more difficult to reach. He would have to leap from his precarious perch and nail the hold on the first try—there would be no second chances here, no practice tries, no rope to catch him if he missed. Only a fast ride down and an abrupt stop. From sixty feet up, the rough rocky ground below would surely break many bones in his body if it didn’t outright kill him. If the two fingers of his hand reached the mark, they would have to hold the entire weight of his body while he found a place for his left hand.
The young woman, her voice heavy with the stress and pain of her predicament, finally spoke. “Don’t be foolish; you can’t make that move.”
Zane tried to ignore her and muster his strength for the leap. She continued, “Don’t do it; you’re needlessly risking your life.”
With frustration and a touch of fear, Zane replied, “Shut up; you’re wasting your strength and mine. I am going to do my best to reach you, and you are not helping.”
She did not respond. The shaking in her arms and legs was noticeably worse, and Zane wondered again how she had not already fallen. Not one in a thousand climbers could have held her perch under these circumstances.
Zane tuned out all other thoughts and focused all his energy on what he was about to do. Quickly, he said a silent prayer: Father, please help and strengthen me for what I am about to do. Thy will be done. He bent his knees slightly and tensed the muscles in his arms and legs, and then he leaped.
Time nearly stood still as his body covered the distance between where he was and where he needed to be. He knew he was not going to make it as soon as his hands and feet left the face of the rock. He was going to miss by several inches. As his right hand scraped past his intended mark, the hard rubber soles of his climbing shoes sliding down the rock, he desperately reached for the lower crack with his left hand. Just as he thought he had missed that too, his fingers slid three knuckles deep into the crack. He felt the sharp pain as the full weight of his body tried to tear his fingers out of the crack. Instinctively, his right hand reached up for his intended mark, and as he found purchase, he pulled the entire weight of his body up with the two fingers of his right hand. With his injured left, he reached further up for another hold. This time he found a good grip, and letting go with his right hand, he pulled himself up with the left and placed his foot on the protrusion of rock where his right hand had just been.
The final fifteen feet to the young woman he made without any trouble. He found a good place to stand on the ledge just beside
her. She had turned markedly pale from blood loss, hanging on by pure guts and determination without a whimper or a cry for help. With his free right hand, he took the main coil of rope off his left shoulder and let it fall to the ground. From his right shoulder he removed the short end of his rope with the loop in it. Looking further up the rock wall, he searched for the protrusion of rock he had seen from below—a small knob some climbers called a chicken head. Just a small protrusion from which to use straps or webbing to hang an anchor point. He found it straight up, about ten feet from where he now clung precariously to the cliff. Carefully, he flung the loop over it. Taking up the slack in his ATC breaking device, he gently tested his full weight. The rope held, and he carefully shifted his body in order to reach for the young woman.
He spoke quietly. “Hang in there. I’m going to reach my left arm around your waist. Try to hold on as best you can.”
She looked into his eyes. “Thank—” was all she got out before she collapsed, her entire weight held by his left arm. With his right hand on the rope braking their now-combined weight, he slowly lowered them to the ground.
Laying the young woman gently down, he unclipped himself from the rope and knelt beside her, feeling her neck for a pulse. It was weak, but she was still alive. Tearing strips of cloth off his shirt, he rebound the wound on her leg, slowing the flow of blood still further. Picking her up in his arms, he started off for the parking lot as fast as he could go. Her pale face was turned against his chest, the strong, determined look she’d shown on the cliff replaced by the fragile look of a vulnerable girl.
His arms burning with fatigue, Zane reached the parking area. In the distance he could hear the lonely siren of the MDA. Opening the gate of his pickup, he gently laid the young woman down again, once more feeling her neck for a pulse. He could barely discern it through the tips of his fingers.
Two minutes later, the paramedics arrived. As they checked her vital signs, he briefly explained what had happened, leaving out his part in rescuing her. He could tell by the way the paramedics talked that they were concerned. Her blood pressure was very low and in the danger zone. Quickly they loaded her into the ambulance, and as they readied to leave, Zane asked if he could ride along. They said no and abruptly left.
Zane was left standing in a cloud of dust. The adrenaline which had been coursing through his veins had begun to dissipate, and he started to shake. He stood there for a few minutes, his thoughts going over the events of the past hour. Finally he decided to retrieve his climbing gear. Along the way, he realized he had not even asked where they had taken her. Hopefully the young woman would be okay.
As he drew near to the area where the accident had taken place, he could see the crimson streak, like a ribbon, hanging thirty feet down the cliff. He marveled again at how she had managed to hold on to the cliff after such an injury, and with the loss of so much blood. His rope was still where he had left it on the rock, so he walked up and shook it loose. Picking up his remaining gear, he noticed her small backpack against a rock. Maybe it would provide some means of identifying her. Retrieving it, he set out a final time for the parking area, his truck, and the long drive back to the dig site.
Chapter 8
Jerusalem, Israel
Rachael felt as though she was in some kind of fog. Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw unfamiliar walls. She looked down at her legs, and they were covered with a white blanket. What was that smell? It smelled like a . . . a hospital! She was in a hospital. Slowly the pieces in her confused mind started fitting together. The last thing she remembered was hanging on to the cliff with blood running down her leg. Oh, and there was someone—a young man climbing up to help her. He had made that impossible leap, and then he was standing beside her. That was all she remembered. What had happened after that?
She looked around the room and saw her father dozing on one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs. He must have heard her move, for his eyes came open suddenly, and he jumped up and came to her bedside. He had a look of deep concern on his face as he said, “How are you, my dear? You had us worried there for a while.”
She smiled faintly. “I feel really weak and groggy.”
“You lost a lot of blood.” His voice trembled just a little, and he gave her a tired-looking smile of his own. “You almost didn’t make it, honey.”
“Abba, how did I get here?”
“Well, from what the paramedics said, a young man brought you to the parking area at the Manara Cliffs. They said he told them you were injured while climbing and that he carried you from the area of the accident. They said they were so concerned about your weak vitals, they left without asking him any additional questions. Is that what happened?”
Rachael laughed weakly to herself as she replied, “You could say that was a very modest and abbreviated version of what happened.”
Trying to sit up a little, she continued, “I was climbing without any gear on a section of the cliffs that is not normally climbed. I made it up about eighty or ninety feet when I noticed someone watching from below. I remember being somewhat put out that someone had invaded my private little world, but I tried to ignore him and continued climbing. I had just moved past a bad section of loose rock when a large piece of it fell and cut the back of my leg. I was bleeding badly, eighty feet up on the face of a cliff . . . I couldn’t move because I was injured, and the blood was making my shoe slippery. Somehow I slowed the blood from the wound and was clinging there. He climbed up . . . without any free-climbing gear, I think. I’m not sure how he did it. He reached an impossible point and went for it. At first I thought he missed his mark, but by some miracle he was able to nail the hold.”
She shook her head, replaying the images in her mind. That leap . . . it really had been a miracle. “He climbed the rest of the way up to me and rigged a rope to lower us back down. I must have fainted, because that is the last thing I remember.”
Her father had remained quiet during her retelling of the events, and with a serious look he said, “Sounds like you owe your life to that young man. He did an incredibly brave act. Especially since you were taking unnecessary risks.”
The last criticism was gentle but direct. “You ought to thank him somehow.”
She remained silent for a few moments and replied, “You are right, Abba, I should thank him. I’ll find a way to do so.”
Her father stood. “I must go to work now. Please be more careful in the future, dear.”
She looked up a little defensively and replied, “Abba, I’m not like Ima. I don’t want to be just a pretty face who stays at home.”
Her father sat back down on the edge of the bed with sadness in his eyes and quietly asked, “Is that how you remember your mother?”
She looked him in the eyes and said, “Yes, in a way. She was beautiful and gentle. She was a wonderful mother, and from what you have told me, an amazing wife. I think of my mother as a lady. But I’m . . . I’m not like that.”
He laughed softly and replied, “Your mother was all of what you say, but she was so much more. I am sorry I have not done better in telling you just what kind of person your mother was. To most people, your mother was as you said: beautiful, kind, gentle, a great mother and a perfect wife. But she had another side she reserved just for the two of us. Your mother had an uncommon physical strength which you have inherited. She was velvet-covered steel.”
He smiled fondly. “She was incredibly competitive. No matter what we did, we always were challenging each other. Your mother was not a woman who walked behind her man; she walked beside him. In public, she was a perfect lady. In private, she would rise to any challenge. And she was more often than not the victor. Your mother loved swimming, biking, running, most all outdoor activities. She was uncommonly good at whatever she did.”
He laughed. “Do you remember the time when you were really little when I came home with a broken foot?”
Rachael nodded. He continued, “We left you that day with Bubbeh and Zaydeh while we went on a hik
e. We had hiked about two miles into some rough terrain when I fell and broke my left foot and badly sprained my right. I couldn’t walk. Now, you know I am no little man. I think I weighed about one-eighty or one-ninety back then—I outweighed your mother by at least forty or fifty pounds. To this day I’ll remember your mother’s rich and full laugh. She looked at me with a mischievous light in her eyes and she said, ‘Well, tough guy, you really did it this time. I guess your fair damsel will have to rescue her handsome prince.’ She just backed up to the rock I was sitting on and bent over and said, ‘Climb on, my handsome prince.’ She carried all one-hundred-and-ninety pounds of me back those two miles without a complaint or even a sigh. She was an incredible woman. You get much of your strength and persistence from her.”
Rachael looked at her father, shaking her head slowly with a growing smile of surprise.
“Not really how you pictured her, is it?” he asked, smiling.
“No,” she confessed.
“Honey, they don’t come any tougher than your mother, but she always was conscious of the fact that she was a woman, and as such, she believed she must conduct herself as a lady.”
He bent over and kissed her cheek. “I really must go back to work, my dear, but you have stirred my memories, and it would be good for both of us if I shared more of them with you.” He winked. “Maybe you would be less prone to almost killing yourself if you knew more about her. Later I will stop back by and check on you. The doctor says you will be here another day or two and then I can take you home. Oh, before I forget, do you want me to cancel your performance for the dedication of the museum?”
“No,” she replied firmly. “My leg is hurt, not my hands. I still want to play.”
He smiled, knowing her reply beforehand. In so many ways she was like her mother. There was no quit in his girl. “I’ll see you soon then,” he replied as he kissed her on the forehead and walked out the door.
The 13th Enumeration Page 4
