Devil Cholla

The sheer rock face of the cliff on Mount Lemmon spanned nearly three hundred yards from the nearly even, flat ridge that capped the dangerous cliff, down to the gently sloping floor of the gorge. The immediate landscape at the foot of the drop was cluttered with scrub brush and cacti and large clusters of sharp rocks, which angled up like huge, deadly spikes; more than one careless or unfortunate climber had met his fate impaled on the vicious projections. Only the most well-trained and savvy adventurer had any business attempting either a climb or a rappel down. Two or three men or women per year made the effort; even fewer were able to scale or descend the cliff for the full measure of its impressive height. Nevertheless, some amateurs succeeded with sheer force of will and determination. Storm Dane-Quintana tightened the cinches on her harness as she rested her expensive hiking boots flush against a point on the sheer rock down about a hundred yards from her starting point at the top. The smooth, unforgiving surface was more intimidating than she had thought when she evaluated this latest goal in her carefully designed personal regimen. She had promised herself that she would succeed in conquering this great challenge by her sixteenth birthday, but she was already a year behind that goal. She loathed failure, particularly her own. Lithe and athletic at five-foot-eight she prided herself on her physical strength and resiliency and refused to be constrained by social expectations of what a seventeen-year-old should be and do. She leaned back slightly and looked up towards the edge of the cliff. The imposing, sheer width of the rock loomed over her but didn’t block out the bright sun due to the early hour. The warm sunlight felt good on her face. Her long reddish, chestnut-brown hair was clasped back tightly with a silver and pearl barrette, but she could feel a slight trickle of sweat run down the back of her neck, and on both sides of her expressive face even though her head was covered with an Arizona Cardinals cap. She glanced to her right and saw that her younger brother had just dropped down to her level and was grinning at her. Wyatt was athletic from the get-go and had been badgering her for six months to take him along (“As an observer—I swear!”), and she had the last three times on smaller rappels, teaching him about harnesses, dropping, emergency procedures, and other tidbits that would protect him from “falling to your death and pissing off Mom and Dad.” “Stop there and take a drink of water,” she ordered him. Wyatt nodded and took a deep swig from his canteen as his sister did the same. “Ready?” she asked. He nodded. “Three more drops and we stop again.” She had taken extra precautions with her brother and had a tether linking them together. She blew out a deep breath and tensed her strong, lean arms and legs and began rappelling down the next section of cliff. She let the slack out exactly the same length each time she dropped and hit, dropped and hit, and paused again thirty yards farther down. They both sipped and continued back down. During the next drop her right foot didn’t hit quite right, and she slipped and hit the rock face awkwardly, banging her right knee. She groaned and paused and studied the rock carefully to see if any difference in texture might have caused her gaff. Nothing about the rock was different; she had simply made an awkward, inappropriate move that could have caused her more damage had she not been as agile as she usually was. She cursed herself silently, angry at her stupid mistake. Her ears burned red at her brother’s laugh; the little rat was as sure-footed as a mountain goat and even though this was his first try he was doing remarkably well, better than she had at his age. She had taken him on three small rappels to verify his nimbleness and commitment and was satisfied that he could attempt this rappel without serious injury. She threw a deadly scowl at the boy, who laughed even harder. She tightened her grip on the tether and kept going, a little more slowly. Drop and hit, drop and hit. She gave a quick glance down and saw that they had about thirty yards to go. Not too bad. They’d be done before by ten and be back at home in time to help their siblings prepare for their mother’s fortieth birthday celebration. She looked down carefully and raised her eyebrows over her mismatched green and blue eyes as she spotted the small forms of her parents standing a quarter mile away from the base. Deliverance and Quint stared up at the tiny figures on the rock face, which grew larger moment by moment as their children descended the sheer rock. They were standing together with binoculars aimed towards the siblings. Storm made a hand signal to Wyatt and they continued their descent. Storm hit a flat ledge two yards from the ground and her brother descended to that same point seconds later. One more drop and she expelled an involuntary whoosh of breath as her feet hit solidly, and she realized that she had accomplished her goal. Wyatt joined her on safe, solid ground and grinned widely. They unfastened their harnesses and freed themselves from the confining apparatuses. She let her tether dangle as she turned around and walked over to her brother, helping him with one stubborn clip. She saw a very slight flicker of sun glinting off her parents’ binoculars. She smiled to herself, knowing that they were undoubtedly watching their kids’ dangerous progress with tense minds and hearts. They were far too overprotective of their various offspring, but in truth, she never minded, especially considering her family’s history. As she reached her brother she inclined her head ever so slightly and spoke in amusement. “Our parents are out there watching,” she said casually as she checked his pulse rate. “Yup,” Wyatt sighed. “I saw a few glints myself. They’re predictable, aren’t they? Endearing, but predictable.” He grinned saucily. “Should we wave to them?” Wyatt had his mother’s luminescent amber eyes and dark red hair that their father said came from his Irish mother, Aislinn Ryan. Where he got the cleft chin was anyone’s guess considering his diverse ethnic ancestors—English, Romanian, Mexican, and Irish. “Why not?” The siblings turned towards the glints and jumped and waved wildly and hooted loudly.