Zip Line

“Come on!”  David coaxed.  “It’ll be fun!”

“Okay,” I agreed, somewhat hesitantly.

We hooked on, him in front, our three kids behind him, and me bringing up the rear.

The zip line started at the edge of one cliff and ended at the edge of a smaller one way off in the distance.  It crossed a wide expanse of beautiful blue, shimmery water about 200 feet below.

It was a gorgeous day, with crystal clear skies and a slight breeze blowing.  We’d heard that the zip line ended in a place just short of paradise – a resort located on the water’s edge replete with palm trees, sand, hammocks, and warm breezes at night.  The sunsets were spectacular, and there were plenty of things to do –kayaking, hiking, snorkeling, scuba diving, golf – you name it.  Paradise.

We pushed off the edge of the cliff, one by one, excited (and a little nervous) to start our adventure. 

The initial shock of zooming down the line with nothing below but blue water was both scary and exhilarating.  We reassured the kids as we zipped along together, and soon, we all got used to the feeling and started to enjoy the spectacular view.  “Is there anything in the world better than this?” I thought, choked up with emotion.

Imperceptibly at first, the line started to sag.  We didn’t notice it because we were too busy feeling alive.  Lower and lower towards the water we went, until I finally commented, “Aren’t we supposed to be higher up?”  But the wind whipped away my words.  I began to see dark forms in the water and determined that they were fish.  The line sagged a little more.

“Hey, David!” I yelled calmly, so as not to worry the kids. “Aren’t we supposed to be higher up?” 

He heard me that time.  “No!  It’s fine!” he dismissed, looking straight ahead towards the cliff in the distance.  Still lower the line sagged.  The zip line had too much weight on it.  We should have gone one at a time.

The forms in the water began to take shape.  “Those are awfully big fish,” I thought.  “No, they can’t be.  The water is too shallow for fish that big.  Those look like,” — I peered through the water – “alligators?!”  Still downward we zipped, ever closer to the surface of the water.

David’s sunglasses fell off and dropped into the water.  He didn’t seem to care.  He didn’t even seem to notice that they were gone, but I saw them fall.  I also saw what happened when they splashed into the water, which by now was about 75 feet below us.  An alligator instantly snapped them up.

Thankfully, the kids didn’t see what happened to the sunglasses, either.  They also hadn’t figured out that those were alligators beneath us.  I saw David glance down towards the water and hoped that he saw what was underneath.  He must have, because I noticed his body become suddenly tense for a moment.  He managed to flash a grim look back at me, and I nodded.   There was no turning back.

Fifty feet from the surface, one of the kids asked, “Mommy, what are those?”

“Fish!”  I lied.  “Hey, kids, look at that flock of birds over there!”  I pointed into the distance, trying to distract them from what lay beneath.

The alligators were getting interested now.  They started gathering along the path of the zip line, hoping for something.   Anything.  Someone’s sandal dropped.  It was snapped up too fast to see whose it was.  “I lost my sandal!” my son called happily.  “I saw that!”  I yelled back brightly.

The alligators came in all sizes.   The further we zipped, the lower we dropped, and the better I could see them.  Most of them were relatively small, but there were a few large ones.  The kids, though, didn’t seem to notice what they really were.  They had accepted my “fish” answer as truth, and they weren’t particularly worried.  They were having the time of their lives, going down the zip line.  David and I, however, had become very anxious. 

The large alligators started swimming along with us.  The downward slope of the zip line had finally leveled off, so we weren’t going as fast.  They could just about keep up now.  We were about ten feet from the surface of the water, zipping more casually along.  We were too low and moving too slowly.

Suddenly, two of the large ones got into a scuffle.  They rose up from the water, teeth glinting in the sun, attacking each other.  “Lift up your feet!!” I yelled frantically.  Everyone noticed the urgency in my voice and did as they were told.  It’s a good thing they did, because in the next moment, another large one rose up from the water, just missing David’s foot.  So much for the kids thinking the alligators were fish.

The kids were small, though, and with their feet up, their bodies didn’t sit as close to the surface of the water as David’s and mine did.  At least they had a good chance of survival.  David and I – well, our chances were not so good.  The zip line was our life line, and we were too heavy for it.

Now that the alligators had a bead on us, they started snapping.  We were fresh meat dangling from a spit, an irresistible tease to them.  “Don’t worry!”  David tried reassuring us.  “We’ll make it – we’re almost to the end!  We’re almost to Paradise!”  We all lifted our feet as high as we could, praying fervently that we wouldn’t get eaten. 

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[Author's Note:  There is no ending to this story yet; we're still dangling from that zip line.  I hope we get to Paradise, though.  It really does look like a beautiful place.]