By: Brie White, Staff Writer
My study abroad program, Arcadia University, arranges a group trip during our time here in Australia that all members can participate in. This trip is designed to allow us to catch up and share stories about our semester thus far and to experience a part of Australia that perhaps we wouldn’t have been able to. The excursion was planned for Falls Gap, Victoria, Australia, or more commonly referred to as Grampians National Park.
This area is beautiful and considered National Park territory in hopes to preserve the natural resources and land cultivated by Australia’s Aboriginal people. These indigenous people are integral to Australian history and were massacred by the British as they came to Australia, claiming the land as their own. Much of the Aboriginal culture and heritage was destroyed with these massacres, and their people underwent generations of brutality and devastation. However, in recent years, Aboriginals have been honored and acknowledged as an integral part of Australian society, and laws have been enacted to protect their lands and their cultural practices.
The Grampians are an example of this. Visiting them resulted in rich cultural experience. Obviously, located toward central Australia, with millions of kilometers of untouched desert and mountain range, these areas are aesthetically stunning.
Our weekend was so much fun. However, I was apprehensive. The first day was spent in an Aboriginal center learning about the original tenants of the land. Informational, and enlightening, the day was exceptionally interesting. We were given a lesson in Aboriginal art, taught to throw boomerangs (not my talent) and taken on a hike to see artwork on stone that was thousands of years old. This day was very my pace, and though it was a lot of lecturing, I really enjoyed it.
On Sunday, we were taken farther into the National Park to try our hands at real rock climbing and what Australian’s call abseiling, which is most basically rappelling. Insert major anxiety for this day was very not my pace. I am not a rock climbing kind of girl. Not that I don’t respect the practice, or nature itself – I do; however, I know my boundaries, and I know I’m not cut out for things that require major athletic ability. Rock climbing and throwing yourself backwards off a legitimate mountain sound pretty athletic (AND terrifying) to me. This wasn’t like the birthday party we all went to in first grade where you got strapped into a comfy harness and hoisted up a tiny rock wall by a big, strong, professional employee. There were harnesses involved, but they weren’t even slightly comfy, and the professionals were scrawny men who instructed us how to rope each other. I was paired with two like-sized girls from my house, and they get us hooked up to everything, but there’s not a bit of hoisting. Only you and your arm muscles, that mountain and the girls who you’ve entrusted with your life. I was pretty much ready to high tail it out of there when it came to be my turn. These people were fools if they thought that I could make it up that wall of rock. I’m not scared of heights, but I am scared of death, and trust me, I wasn’t singing “Live Like You’re Dying” or another motivational ballad. It was more along the lines of “It Only Hurts When I’m Breathing.” Thanks, Shania.
I didn’t want to be the only one of my study abroad program not to do it. I was embarrassed by how legitimately concerned I was. I’ve never rock climbed before but you can only laugh off your inability for so long. Studying abroad is about girding your loins, and I was next on the list.
It started horribly. My arms were shaking before I even touched the side of the mountain, and I realized I was thinking I was going to make it to the top, which was unlikely, seeing as even the most athletic of our group, didn’t. These climbs weren’t for beginners. I had to narrow my thinking to just the next handhold, getting myself another step higher. It was scary. I was cursing inwardly, and outwardly (let’s be honest), the whole time, despite my kind, but annoying, cheering crew below me. Ultimately I made it about half way up and decided that enough was enough. I didn’t think I was going to be able to do any of it, and when it was all over, I was proud of myself for giving it a go. However, it wasn’t over until I got down, and that was a battle all in itself. Getting down involves letting go of the rock—which I desperately wanted to do, talk about conflicted— leaning back and trusting the person holding your rope to lower you slowly. I found myself unable to trust. I was petrified to let go of that rock. What if she dropped me? My thinking, still narrowed, was only narrowed this time on the inevitability of the situation. I’d gotten myself into this mess. I had to come down.
It ended up being fine. Of course it did. I lived to tell the tale. However, it involved so much of what makes me uncomfortable. It was physically challenging, which I agonized over because I knew it would be, but it was also so, so mentally challenging. That’s what I hadn’t expected. That’s also what provided growth for me in the situation. I’m still not cut out for rock climbing, I don’t think, but I’m glad I did something I’m not cut out for. There’s something to be said for that, and a little bit of adventure, too.
