When I happened across an announcement for an All Girls Slackline Festival in Moab, Utah, signing up was a no-brainer. Granted, I’m not much of a camper, but a few nights in a tent is no hardship in exchange for the opportunity to surround myself with girls who share my passions, to rub shoulders with experienced slackliners, and to have a chance at highlining. Plus, in a male dominated sport, it’s a lot of fun to be one of the girls…instead of “one of the guys.”
One of Moab’s infrequent desert rainstorms broke up the party a day early, but I left feeling fulfilled—reasonably sore and a bit bruised—after two solid days of slacklining. I’m struggling to sort through the new impressions, memories, and emotions still seething in my head, each fighting for precedence in spite of my desire to develop a simple narrative.
My visits to Circus Warehouse and the School of Acrobatics and New Circus Arts were glimpses into the world of a special brand of performance art. This festival was a glimpse into the world of serious outdoor adventure sports, climbing especially. Given that I am basically just a gym climber, and one who has never seriously considered not having a “regular job” so I could live out of my car or camp for weeks or months at a time, I felt like a complete yuppie (young urban professional). I was surrounded by a good many people who have chosen to live simply in order to follow their dreams and their wanderlust, people who know how to rough it in the wild places of God’s great earth, people who have climbed mountains I’ve only viewed from a distance, and people who have accomplished the things that I still feel almost inadequate even to try for.
While my inner yuppie was experiencing twinges of culture shock, the photographer in me was reveling: I love the stunning, vast panoramas and vivid colors of the desert Southwest; capturing the defining and human “moments” of events is something I love; and slacklining and highlining are unique and potential-laden photo ops. It was hard to balance my desire to observe and document from behind my camera with my desire to learn, participate, and play.
There was plenty of learning and playing to do. The days were packed full: yoga warm-up after breakfast; morning and afternoon courses covering introductory or advanced yoga moves, highline or rigging techniques.
After all that, the evenings were dedicated to highline excursions. Highlining was the highlight of the trip. No, sadly, I did not walk on a highline. Just getting out on the line twice was enough...for now. A one inch wide, thin piece of webbing stretched between two pinnacles of rock deserves some healthy respect, and it definitely seems narrower and more treacherously shaky than it does close to earth.
That first time especially it went against every instinct to scoot out into nearly empty space. But I did it. Sitting on the line, securely fastened to it with the carabineer on my climbing harness, I inched my way out with my feet dangling in nothingness. Remarkably, it wasn’t terrifying; it was...controlled exhilaration, transforming fear into focus.
I concentrated on breathing, on getting a feel for the movement of the line, and on enjoying the view—including the interesting perspectives: such as looking a hundred feet down…while hanging upside down.
My second time on a highline was easier…and harder. Scooting out didn’t take so much mental effort, but the thought of actually standing up did. I stayed seated—or hanging below the line continuing to get used to the experience.
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Libby Sauter demonstrating
highline leash techniques |
I wasn’t scared of plummeting to my death, but this second time I was on a short anchor rope connecting my harness to the line (a “leash”), rather than having my harness clipped directly on the line. I was definitely scared of the discomfort of taking a leash fall, which is falling just a few feet really—only the length of the safety rope running from my harness to the line. Even though it is a relatively short fall, the prospect of falling is still daunting: a leash fall is called a “whipper” for good reason.
The impatient part of me wants to be highlining already, laments that I didn’t have the courage to take a fall this time, and groans over my cautiousness—fearing that it might actually be unconquerable cowardice. Luckily I was surrounded by girls who have gone through or are currently going through the same thing. They’ve shown and shared how the process of overcoming fear is a natural one and (for most sane people) takes time.
A day or two after arriving home, I stumbled across a new quote by the oh so quotable legendary highwire walker Philippe Petit that further calmed some of my impatience:
“It cannot be done all at once. To overpower vertigo—the keeper of the abyss—one must tame it, cautiously.”
Even the greatest balancers go step by step. That I can do. So I’m going to be happy with what I’ve accomplished during my introductory experiences highlining. I’ve taken my first steps (or scoots) toward taming the actual abyss of high balancing.
Next time I plan to have the courage to stand…even if I fall trying. At least I’m reasonably good at getting back up when I fall—leash climbing and remounting the slackline were skills I learned well this weekend.
Besides just the experience of highline, one of the best things about the trip was finding new friends and role models. Even though I’ve been slacking for a little over 3 years now, it’s mostly been my own personal meditative exercise—I’ve been a solo slacker, and a sense of community is something I’ve been wanting. So thanks to the event organizers, instructors, and sponsors for putting on this wonderful event.
One of the girls who came to the festival referred to us as “slack sisters.” Well I’m proud to have joined a diverse sisterhood of seriously dedicated and devoted slackers.
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| These ladies are amazing! |
