Flock, let’s be real: I’m not an outdoor sheep.
I don’t like getting dirty, run away screaming from literally any insect with wings, and am without any shadow of a doubt terrified of heights.
So naturally, I went hiking.
Technically, my professor took a small section of my class hiking a few weeks before graduation. There were three of us students being dragged to the bottom of the gorge. One, an adventurous type, loved it. Another, wearing flip-flops, was somehow more scare of heights than I was. And then there was me: the sheep that kept talking about the impending doom.
Slowly we made our way down the nearly 200-foot descent. To one side, a cliff wall going up forever. To the other side, a cliff wall going down forever. Nope. Not a fan.
Our professor dragged us down to the bottom of the gorge, right in front of the whirlpool. She was talking about how the rapids were the most severe in the world. 25-foot waves, crashing in every direction, people drowning: great pre-breakfast discussion.
Of course, I’m horrible. When the adventurous one noted the sound the rushing water made, I bluntly replied “That’s the death calling.” Flip-flops laughed at that one.
The way back up was supposedly brutal. I can’t remember. I bolted up the trail until I made it to the top, abandoning my group. I sat in the parking lot for a few minutes until everyone finally made it up.
That being said, I would totally do it again.
I mean, look at these views!
For a moment at the bottom, I forgot I was in Niagara Falls. It felt like I was in some far of land, exploring a mighty river. Sometimes even I forget what’s in my backyard.