Girls Only Highline Festival VI

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One thing I’m very passionate about is promoting and pushing other girls in this sport. So I’ve organized the Girls Only Slackline Festival every year in Czech Republic. …For me the coolest thing about Girls Only Slackline Festival is that the girls who come there are there because they love the sport. There’s no other reason to be there. They just want to highline. They want to try their hardest and accomplish something.
 ~Faith Dickey¹

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About two years ago I stumbled across a video on a blog. When I started watching, it was just another highline video. Basically really cooler-than-me people, doing really awesome things. I'd done no more than vaguely fantasize about highlining—it was far beyond my skill, gear, technical expertise, and community ties. I had no idea, no inkling, as I watched that the video would eventually take me a third of the way around the world and to actually highlining myself.

The video was from a Girl's Only Slackline Festival hosted by That Slackline Girl, Faith Dickey. It wasn't until after, as I read the video's description, that my brain wheels started turning: a festival—a place where strangers and novices might be welcome to tag along. In the Czech Republic—I love the Czech Republic. Suddenly the thing became a golden-cloaked dream and a concrete goal.

At the time, a trip to Europe was beyond my resources. Knowing though that such a thing as a slackline festival existed led me to search out the All Girls Slackline Festival in Moab last year, a wonderful experience and my introduction to highlining.

Wanting still to work highlining, I watched for other such opportunities. Unfortunately none of the festivals in the States that I knew about worked with my schedule. So when a promotion at work provided a boost in my resources, I decided to take my courage in hand, hop on a plane, go a third of the way around the world, and try out highlining in my favorite foreign country.

Like so many journeys, this one began in the dark of early morning. Thirty hours, 6,000 miles (9.700 kilometers), and two new friends later, I arrived at the festival site—thanks to the combined navigating efforts of those new friends—as dusk was turning to dark. It wouldn't be until the next morning that I saw and appreciated the beauty we were surrounded by.

The dark, however, made the warmth of a house and the greetings of the other girls that much brighter. That weekend thirty female slackliners, from a dozen countries, conversing in more than half a dozen languages participated in the sixth annual Girls Only Slackline Festival (GOSF), hosted by Faith Dickey.

Our base camp was Autokemp Pod Císařem, a campground resort with tent sites and a pub as well as small huts and houses and rooms. The name of the place means “The Campground under the Emperor.” Since it wasn’t situated at the base of an “emperor” mountain as far I could see, the name didn’t make much sense to me. That is until one night when I realized that I’d eaten my meals and used the WIFI in the pub sitting underneath a framed bust of Emperor Franz Joseph.

Besides hanging out at the pub, our group completely took over a large building on the outskirts of the camp, which, incredibly, had nearly enough beds for all of us. The Autokemp took very good care of us. And after sleeping overnight in a plane, that fully horizontal bed was a wonderful sight that first night.

Daylight found me marveling in the verdant bowl of a U-shaped valley where the tiny settlement Ostrov and our campground are situated. Exposed cliffs and pinnacles rose out of the trees along both rims. It is terrain ready made for highlining, and much of it incredibly easy walking distance from our front door. The best one word description of the place I heard: magical. The rock formations, the forest definitely had the magic of fairytales, and also the magic of…possibilities, of real life dreams achieved.

 

The festival itself was fairly unstructured, except of course for Saturday night in the pub when we all gathered for group pictures and the passing out of swag—earned in a competition of bouldering the table (which attracted the interest of more than a few locals). During the day we split up, according to our interests, visiting the various highlines and the longline…and the pub for food and WIFI. Food, friends, fun, and a festival of slacklines…how could it not be an awesome experience?

Being surrounded by so many incredible women—who are also slackliners and highliners—was interesting, entertaining, even a little intimidating, and very much inspiring. Since I’ve been practicing on basic equipment, rubbing shoulders with experienced riggers was a treat; there is so much to learn. And now Faith, the event organizer, one of the best slackliners in the world, is someone I’ve actually met, not just someone I’ve seen in blog videos.

I had a fantastic time. So a big thanks to the Faith, Autokemp Pod Císařem, festival sponsors, riggers…and of course new friends.


Yes, yes I know you want to hear about my experience highlining (at least I assume you do). After struggling for weeks to find the words to describe my experience at the festival...I found I actually have a lot I want to put down in words. Several smaller posts rather than one gigantic one seemed like a good idea.

So, coming up next: my first highline!

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¹ Interview with Faith Dickey for the Girls Only Slackline Festival III. Video by kletterkiddie at https://vimeo.com/69651238.

Summer Slackers Made a Splash

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People take pictures of the Summer, just in case someone thought they had missed it, and to prove that it really existed.
~Ray Davies

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Note: This post comes a bit late and out of order chronologically. In the midst of packing and preparing for my trip, twice my nearly finished draft of this post failed to save (it nearly didn't save again yesterday), and eventually I had to set it aside. Life is settling down now that I'm back, and I would feel remiss not to share, even out of order, at least something of nine waterlining sessions worth of memories, events, photos, and fun, so here goes...final draft take 3.5.

A lovely summer has flown by and another season of waterlining has ended. The chill nights and warm days of autumn make the mountain river water arctic rather than merely frigid. In the midst of the lovely cool, I'm also holding on to my warm summer memories. I most definitely have the pictures to prove they existed.

In terms of balance, conquering my first waterline last year was momentous. This year, by the end of nine waterlining sessions, getting across without getting wet was no longer a surprise; in fact as long as I stuck with a simple straight-across walk, I generally crossed without falling. I did make some progress minimizing how much I wobbled into starfish position and got plenty of practice doing Chongo mounts in preparation for highlining. Turns and tricks significantly increased the likelihood of falling, and so I pushed myself, even working to add another trick or two to my repertoire on this line...which made frequent dunking basically inevitable.

Ah yes, those frequent falls... My photographer friends, having thoroughly documented my steady, balanced moments, decided to capture those other, less than graceful moments. Yes, I will share:

In the end, after many, many delightfully awkward falls, I did come very close to doing “human origami”/“sideways buddah.” Getting back up without falling will be an accomplishment for next year.

While the small progresses in balance skill were rewarding, it was the people who made waterlining so memorable. First of all the friends who came so faithfully, some of whom have yet to experience regular slacklining (“grass-lining”?), and whose personal records are counted still in steps. The camaraderie they provided was priceless: we cheered each other on, laughed at ourselves, took turns lending a helping hand, and chatted while enjoying summer sunshine.

At our very last session for the summer, it finally occurred to me to bring a kayak for photographers to sit in rather than stand in the middle of the river for perspectives. (I have been forgiven for not thinking of it sooner, thankfully.) It was then that those dear friends had the hilarious idea of using the kayak paddle as a balance pole.  When mounting with a paddle in hand turned out to be too difficult, my friend Stacie volunteered to hand it to me once I'd mounted.  Impressively, by some serious double handed back splashing, my now paddle-less friend managed not to be swept under the slackline, and I managed not to fall into the kayak either.  Good times...though now we know that kayak paddles do not have the requisite weight or length to be effective balance aids.

There were also new friends: the strangers who stopped along the bridge to watch and even more those who stopped by to try themselves. Given the location of the line—a park and reservoir—we never lacked spectators and volunteers. In fact, for one family we became the entertainment not once but twice: one afternoon as I crossed the bridge to set up my line, I passed a woman who had been there the week before.  I had rather liked her on the previous occasion because she'd made an effort learn my name. She was on her phone, and as I passed I overheard her say, 'The girl, I told you about, [Guinevere], is here again. Hurry and come over and you’ll get a chance to try it too!' This reunion was for the other side of her family, who had jealously heard about the previous week's entertainment. Thanks to lucky timing, they would get their turn as well.

Last, but certainly not least, the kids. Yes, kids are kind of my favorite. On so many occasions throughout the summer the air resounded satisfyingly with laughter of fright and delight. Max, the son of one of my friends, at the end of his first waterline session turned pleading and glowingly enthusiastic eyes toward me and asked if he could have the waterline set up for his birthday. I’m quite sure I couldn’t have said no, but because of conflicting schedules we had to settle for the family’s Fourth of July picnic instead. Another little boy, Tristan, must have spent as much time at the reservoir with his family as I and my friends did: he found his way over to us at least three times. By the last time, he could bounce across the line sitting down in a matter of minutes. He was also confidently instructing first time visitors on the rules of the waterline.

Those are a few memories in words.  Now for the pictures—those beautiful pictures that prove that summer existed.

Yep, summer slackers made a splash, and it was spectacular. Here's to summer memories.

St. Vitus: The rope-dancer's patron saint

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Rope dancers…have their patron saint, like other classes. St. Vitus is the object of their special invocation, and whoever has entered the walls of the cathedrals at Prague, bearing his saintly name, cannot have failed to see groups of poor and pretty girls, from various shows in the fair there, prostrated on their knees, praying no doubt for protection and aid in tumbling decently through life.
~From Blondin: His Life and Performances by G. Linnæs Banks

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The spires of St. Vitus Cathedral, soaring up above the surrounding walls of Prague Castle, perched atop one of Prague's seven hills, are easily the most iconic landmark on the horizon here in Prague--Praha--The City of a Thousand Spires.

St. Vitus Cathedral is near and dear to my heart.  As I sit here, once again in the inner courtyards of Prague castle in the shadow of the cathedral, drinking in the present sights and sounds and savoring my new favorite historical tidbit, I'm also reminiscing.

When I entered the nave of St. Vitus Cathedral for the first time in 2006, I was, I'm afraid, dead on my feet. I'd arrived in the country earlier that morning and the brief sightseeing excursion was not only an introduction to the country where I would be serving as a missionary for the next fourteen months, but also a means of ensuring I stayed awake until bedtime in my new timezone. Even through the haze of exhaustion, I appreciated the austere beauty of this old cathedral, the miraculous innovations of Gothic architecture that allowed for the first time walls of stained glass and high, open spaces.

When I brought my parents to visit nearly two years later, they too fell in love with St. Vitus--so much so that we visited twice during our all too brief stay in Prague.  One of the best things I've learned from my parents--from my mother especially--is the habit of making time for just one more, "one last" look, and then savoring those moments to "make memories." In St. Vitus we did just that: lingering over the beautiful gospel art in paintings and stained glass, taking our time gazing up at the soaring vaulted stonework, meandering  along the aisles and transepts as tour groups were herded past us at a pace that we pitied. The memories we made in St. Vitus are collective favorites.

A few years later in grad school, I stayed a month in Prague for intensive language training. My dormitory was at the base of Prague's other fortified hill: Vyšehrad, and near the river Vltava, which divides the city, flowing first past Vyšehrad, then on and around the hill upon which St. Vitus rises. As I studied in my dorm room in the evenings, I could see the glow of sunset beginning. Leaving my books (and the inevitably Czech fairy tale playing in the background), I would rush out and down the street to the banks of the Vltava. From there I could watch the pinks of sunset light up the sky beyond Prague castle, and, as swans bobbed below me, in the glassy depths of the river beyond me, the reflected silhouette of St. Vitus danced in the ripples.

When I first started making memories at St. Vitus Cathedral, I had yet to embark on my journey of seeking balance and I had no idea that St. Vitus had been the patron saint of rope-dancers. That fun fact found me relatively recently: the same bibliophilic shopping spree last November and December that lead to my purchasing Tightrope Poppy and Girl on a Wire, which I've already blogged about, also lead to my acquiring Blondin: His Life and Performances, circa 1862.

You can imagine my delight when, just three pages into reading, I saw that familiar name of St. Vitus, in the quote used above. While the saints aren't part of my Christian worship personally, I love the history of them and like to be able to recognize them in artwork. At the time I didn't imagine that on my next visit I would feel a much deeper connection to that short quote, an increased kindship to this place and to the rope walkers of so long ago.

Amidst the bustle of tour groups and the chatter of a dozen different languages, I've found a spot for myself to sit and think and breathe. My body is still aching a bit from the falls and exertions of my second ever highlining experience at the Girl's Only Highline Festival VI. Just seven days ago I walked my first highline, an almost perfect first attempt. I achieved so much more than I expected, and with the bustle of travel, I haven't yet found the words I want to describe the experience or the amazing girls I met.

So I'm grateful for this moment of stillness.  In my head alongside the flood of old fond memories and the jostle of recent ones, I'm also imagining what St. Vitus Cathedral would have been like two or three hundred years ago, when those poor and pretty girls, the low, tight wire dancers of the traveling fairs, came here to pray to the patron saint of Bohemia, dancers, and entertainers. The progress I've achieved on this trip makes me want even more to learn to dance as well as walk, so that if ever a time machine comes my way, I'd be able to join them. 

And yes, even though I only have two days in Prague, I think I'll make time to come back here tomorrow for just one more look.