Harrison was pitiful when he asked if I’d take them somewhere for Spring Break. At 12-years-old, he’s well aware that his family doesn’t go on vacations often because his mom and dad never take time off from work.
“Maybe,” I answered him. To most 12-year-olds, “maybe” means “no,” and Harrison left it alone. But the “maybe” was an honest “I’ll think about it,” so I started sizing up his little brothers. At last, I decided they were probably big enough.
Panther Creek, just north of Clarkesville, is one of my favorite places. I used to hike it at least once a year, but I have only been back once in the last several years – Harrison’s parents almost never take vacations, and that includes overnight hiking trips.
In one of my favorite books – The Hiking Trails of North Georgia – it says that the falls are 3.5 miles from the trailhead and that the trail is easy to moderate. This is why I love Panther Creek – it’s a relatively easy hike, even with a heavy pack laden with nonessentials like a camera or a book; it’s short enough that I can hike in to the falls and wade in the pool at the base of the falls; hike back out to my favorite campsite (about two miles back down the trail) and still have plenty of time to lounge around in the afternoon. And when it’s time to break camp the next morning, I can be off the trail and down the road in time to get a cup of coffee.
I decided Nathan and Robert were probably big enough to tote their own sleeping bags and a bottle of water or two, and that’s big enough to go on their first hiking trip.
So, for Spring Break while seemingly everyone else they knew was at Disney World, my kids got to walk seven miles through the woods with (relatively) heavy packs on their backs, spend the night with rocks and sticks poking through their thin pads, and wake up in a cold tent to their father demanding that they hurry and break camp because he’s got to have a cup of coffee.
So it was Harrison’s fault, because he asked to go somewhere for Spring Break, that the four of us found ourselves hiking through the woods last week.
I fully expected that by the time we got to the falls I would be riddled with complaints of tired legs, sore feet, and general weariness. So I prepared my response ahead of time. But instead, Robert and Nathan repeatedly turned around and told me, “Thanks for bringing us hiking. This is the best trip ever.”
I wasn’t going to let them de-rail a good come-back prepared in advance, so in response to their gratefulness I told them: “Blame Harrison. It’s his fault because he wanted to go somewhere for Spring Break.”
But the hike went marvelously. These three boys – who ordinarily can’t sit on the couch together for five minutes without someone smacking someone else or someone bickering over something ridiculous – were helpful to each other, encouraging to each other and – shock of all shocks! – kind to each other.
When we got to steep drops that Robert’s shorter legs had difficulty maneuvering, Harrison would stop and turn around and help his little brother. Nathan would hold branches out of the way so they wouldn’t fly back and smack me or Robert. Robert would step on vines so they would not trip up Nathan.
They were also cooperative. I suppose it was something to do with survival instinct, but no one wandered away from me, and they all did what I told them to do along the trail and at the campsite.
Harrison set a good pace and we moved down the trail at a comfortable speed, breaking only a couple of times for water and to rest our legs. I was truly surprised to see the little boys keep up the pace without complaint.
There was, though, a bit of high drama that had the surreal feeling of a Lifetime Original Movie: “Hanging from a cable: The Robert Peecher Story.”
We had hiked the 3.5 miles back to the waterfall where we took off our boots, rolled up our pant legs and waded into the freezing cold water. It was too cold, really, but the boys couldn’t pass up the opportunity to splash and skip rocks. Robert and Nathan – pants rolled up or not – got their jeans soaked, so I made them change into shorts and strapped their sodden pants to the back of my pack (I love bungee cords and an external frame pack).
Close to the waterfall, the trail gets very narrow with a steep drop down to the water. In places, the drop is long, 25 or 30 feet. Along this section of trail, someone many years ago installed a kind of railing – metal poles cemented into the rock or earth along the side of the narrow path with two cables running the length of this section of path like a hand rail or guard rail.
Those guard rails were installed many years before I started hiking Panther Creek, and now some of the poles have come loose of the earth and are just hanging in the air. I’ve never trusted them as being sturdy or stable.
The order of march – which we’d kept most of the hike – was Harrison up front, then Robert, then Nathan and then me. That allowed me to keep an eye on all three.
As we left the waterfall to hike back to where we would camp, I warned the boys that their legs would be getting tired and they needed to be careful, especially on this part of the trail where it was very rocky.
As I was hiking up a rocky incline, I looked up and saw the top of Robert’s head. It looked like he was sitting on the path. “Get up and keep moving,” I said, attempting to encourage him. He didn’t move, and Nathan exclaimed, “Robert fell!”
I still could only see the top of his head, and I was unconcerned. Robert and Nate – as little boys will often do – stumbled and fell their way over much of the trail. “Harrison,” I called, “help your brother get up.”
Harrison was about five steps in front of Robert. He turned around, thinking – as I was – that all he needed to do was help Robert get back to his feet, but the look on Harrison’s face made my heart drop. At about the same moment, I stepped far enough up the incline to see what Harrison had seen, and the dropping heart passed my stomach which was lurching toward my throat.
There, dangling in mid-air, was Robert – too scared to call for help. He was holding on with both hands to the lower of the two cables in the guard rail. His feet were over nothing except a 25 foot drop, at the bottom of which was just rock and river. The ground bulged out just a little below where he was hanging, but if he’d let go it would have been a coin toss if he’d have hit that bulge of ground and kept falling or if he’d have just fallen freely to the rocks and water below.
“Grab him!” I shouted to Harrison and Nathan.
Nate, who was closest, was nearly as scared as Robert, and he didn’t move. Harrison cleared those five steps in one and grabbed one of Robert’s wrists. I was still 10 paces from him but in the blur that followed it seemed that I just reached out my hand and grabbed his other wrist. Harrison and I lifted Robert straight up and set his feet back on the path.
That’s when I looked over the edge and estimated what would have happened if Robert’s grip on that cable had let loose, and I didn’t care at all for my estimation.
Where he had fallen there was a little bit of a curve in the trail and the cables actually went out over open space. I don’t know – and Robert doesn’t really know, either – but it looked like he’d been holding on to the cable and following that rather than paying attention to where he was putting his feet and he just simply walked off the path.
We stood around for a little bit joking about the bloody and broken mess Robert nearly was – laughing about it to show that we were men in the woods and could laugh at fear, regardless of how scared we’d all just been. Then we finished our way down the trail to the campsite.
Robert is a tough little kid, independent and strong-willed. He doesn’t need much from anybody. With two older brothers, he’s got to be tough and strong-willed and independent. He often seems older than he is, too. But when Harrison and I got him back on the trail, he was just a scared little 6-year-old who needed a hug from his dad.
And his dad was just a relieved 35-year-old who needed to hug his son.
Rob Peecher is author of the book Four Things My Wife Hates About Mornings, available at Amazon.com. He really wishes that when his children got home from their hiking trip the first thing they told their mother had not been, “Robert almost died!” This column was originally published in 2008.
