"Don't think, just jump," my guide, Bart, whispered encouragingly. Attempting to listen to his advice and squelch my fears, I glanced above me at the glacial waters rushing full speed down Lenk Canyon and then down the 15 feet into the small swimming hole, no larger than a queen size bed, below.

"Just remember to land right there," he explained pointing directly towards the center of the mass of bubbling white water. With one final look at the other four members of my family who were all waiting patiently for their turn, I flung myself from the edge of the cliff, silently praying that I had correctly aimed my body and would land in the suggested spot.

We had arrived only the day before, in the small town of Boltigen, nestled in Southeastern Switzerland, just south of Bern and East of Interlaken. As we stepped off the train, early in the morning, the sounds of alpine horns bellowing, cow bells clinking and young girls singing greeted us. The aromas of fresh cheese, baking bread and cow dung assaulted our nostrils as we squinted our eyes against the glaring sun. We hoisted our packs on to our backs, crossed the train tracks, and found ourselves smack dab in the middle of a Swiss Farmer's Market. People from all the neighboring communities had converged on the small town, in order to peddle their wares, from cheese and bread, to home baked pastries to live stock. Nevertheless, they were not just selling they were celebrating. Singing, dancing, playing music, eating and drinking were all an integral part of this celebration and we had unwittingly become the star attractions. Young girls in traditional Swiss dress, with their hair braided and flowered aprons covering their fluffy skirts, oggled us curiously, and we all became aware of our wrinkled clothes and unbrushed hair. Embarrassed by our disheveled appearance we quickly, but politely, made our way through the crowds and to the Swiss Adventure Hostel, knowing full well, that we had come to Boltigen, not for the culture, but for the adventure.

As the name suggests, the Swiss Adventure Hostel offers all sorts of activities aimed to please the adrenaline junkie, from white water rafting to paragliding to canyoniong. As a family, we had chosen canyoning, which is how I found myself in the predicament I was currently in. Standing on the edge of a cliff, toes clinging desperately to the rocks, trying to force my body to go against everything I had been taught. "Just jump!"

As I landed, the cold water enveloped me and despite the two wetsuits, stabbed every inch of my body like a thousand doctors giving me a flu shot simultaneously. My head submerged completely in the water and as I resurfaced, the cold and the whirlpool motion of the water combined to disorient me completely and I flapped my arms uselessly as I tried to swim to the side. Luckily, our other guide, Tomaka came to my rescue and pulled me out of the pool. Gasping for breathe, I looked up into the shocked faces of my family and gave a weak thumbs up sign. Shaken, but physically okay, I resigned to the fact that there was no turning back now; the only one way out of the canyon was down.

One by one my family made that first jump into the icy waters, and one by one we made our way down the canyon. There are four ways to work your way down a canyon, walking (often perilously along the edge of a cliff), jumping, sliding (on your back, Goonie's style down a natural waterslide) or abseiling (lowering your self down the waterfall using a harness and ropes). All are useful, yet all are slightly terrifying. The recurrent theme of the trip was "Don't think, just do it" which is good advice, because if you stop to think, your mind might rebel against your body and chicken out, and there was certainly no room for chickens in the canyon. At one point, the guides, thankfully, thought the jump from the top of the cliff was too high, so Bart, wedged himself between the canyon walls, placed a board across his knee and allowed all of us to jump off his lap.

It is true, canyoning can be a very dangerous affair. Sadly, the year before we arrived on the continent, 11 tourists were swept away by a flash flood while on a canyoning trip that left out of Interlaken. As with any extreme sports there are inherent risks, broken bones, pulled muscles and even death. Nevertheless, our guides were extremely knowledgeable and well trained and despite the fact that I was overcoming my natural instincts, I never felt unsafe. In fact, the morning of our trip, Bart drove up the mountain to ensure there were no storms upstream of the canyon, no storms, no flash floods. While in the canyon, Tomaka would always work her way down first, checking the safety of the belay lines, the locations of the rocks and the current of the river before any of us were allowed to go. Then Tomaka would wait at the bottom and Bart would wait at the top, each doing their part to guide us down safely.

Finally, after three and one-half hours of making our way in and out of the icy cold water, up and around, over and down the canyon walls, we finally made it to the bottom. After changing into our warm and dry clothes, we made our way back to the hostel, and I don't know if it was the physically exertion I had just put my body through or the fact that I had spent over three hours in water running directly off a glacier, but curling up next to a fire, cupping a warm mug of hot chocolate in my hand never felt so good.

**All Photos by Sharon Miller

If You Go

To get to Boltigen, take a train to Spiez, which is located between Bern and Interlaken.  Once in Spiez, take the fast train marked Zweisimmen, that leaves from platform 5 to Boltigen.

Once in Boltigen, leave the train station and walk 100 meters out to the main road, turn right and look for the big, white “Hotel Baron”

www.swissadventures.ch

Back to Index

©2004-2006 Live Life Travel. All rights reserved.
Terms of Use | Privacy Statement | Articles Listed by Country
design by: EPOIA Interactive Studios, LLC