Seeing my life flash before my eyes while clinging to the side of a cliff was never something that I wanted to experience, but in my sophomore year of high school, while studying abroad in Zermatt, Switzerland, that is exactly where I found myself. I applied to a program called Swiss Semester, where 50 sophomore students experienced exploring, living, and studying abroad in Europe. The application had multiple warnings about the strenuous physical activities faced throughout the program, but no amount of warnings could have prepared me for the situations I would be put in: hiking miles on end through the Swiss wilderness, balancing on thin metal cables above roaring rivers, or climbing sections of the Matterhorn, one of the tallest mountains in the Alps. Nor could no amount of warnings prepare me for one of the challenges I faced, discovering my fear of heights while rock climbing.   

 Growing up in Falmouth, Maine, I had minimal rock climbing experience, and it never was one of my strong suits. I had attended the occasional rock climbing-themed birthday party and climbed the mobile wall on Cow Island during Rippleffect camp. I also knew that climbing required a harness and weird shoes, but nothing could have prepared me for the intensity of rock climbing at Swiss Semester. In addition to the harnesses, we needed helmets and boots. These boots were giant, bulky, and essentially ski boots made for land, nothing like the slim and light indoor climbing shoes that I was familiar with back home. I was very confused as to why we needed excessively large boots and helmets but on Tuesday, December 12th, my first day of rock climbing, I quickly found out.  

Class was let out at 11:10, and I rushed up to my room, quickly changed into long sleeves, pants, and thick socks, and stuffed my helmet, harness, water, and lunch into my backpack. I then ran downstairs to the lobby, laced up my boots, and headed off to the train station where I would take the train to Riffelhorn, the place where we were climbing. I needed to make the 11:36 AM train because I didn’t want to be the kid who missed it on the first day of rock climbing. I made it to the station with time to spare and secured a seat on the train taking in the scene around me: my friends chatted around me, the snow-capped Matterhorn glistened in the distance, and the train clicked and clacked its way up the side of the mountain.

Minutes later, the conductor announced over the loudspeakers that our stop, Riffelberg, was up next. My stomach turned queasy, and twisted itself into knots as I was terrified about what I was going to face very very soon; I despised the uncomfortable feeling of not knowing what was going to be next, but I was already on the train, my helmet and harness in my backpack. I was committed, and even if I didn’t feel like it, I was ready. 

My friends and I jumped off one by one onto the train platform below, which looked like this platform was just plopped on the side of a mountain. I looked around for what we might be climbing, but I saw nothing. “Maybe this is the wrong stop?” I gaslit myself into thinking that maybe I wouldn't have to face the uncomfortable, I could get back on the train and head back down the mountain. Until I saw in the distance, a massive rock protruding from the ground, now I knew that I was in a bit, well actually a lot, over my head as I was about to be dangling off the side of the very rock in front of me. Nevertheless, I trusted our climbing guides and followed them over to Riffelhorn, the name of the giant rock. Riffelhorn, sat crumbling away into the grass around it, but standing tall above its surroundings. It looked out of place compared to the giant snow capped mountains around it, not blending into the Swiss Environment, which was exactly how I felt then. My friends around me were thrilled to be climbing, and some small part of me was, but deep down hidden under my smile, I was terrified of what I was about to experience.  

We made it to a small clearing, stepped into our harnesses, clicked on our helmets, and were split into smaller groups of three students per guide, tying all of us together with one long rope. I would quickly learn that there were no preset ropes on any of the routes that we were going to be taking. Once everything was all set we were off! 

At first, it was following our guide from the grassy area to Riffelhorn stepping over the occasional rock and I thought, “Oh this isn’t so bad!” That thought lasted for a couple more seconds until we started going up. It was gradual at first, helping us become comfortable with our boots, stepping up the rocks, balancing ourselves with our hands. We followed our guides like little children on a rope, across the slippery rocks of Riffelhorn. From in front of me, I could hear our guide saying, “Trust the boots!” What was this supposed to mean? This was my first time climbing outside on a giant rock in the Swiss wilderness, but I was desperate to make this experience enjoyable even though I was being pushed way out of my comfort zone so I listened to my guide and trusted the boots. Although these boots were some of the clunkiest boots I had ever worn, they were like velcro, magically adhering to the rocks I was climbing, helping me stay on the side of the cliff and not end up in the glacier hundreds of feet below. These boots also helped me change my mindset, allowing me to conquer the rest of my Swiss rock climbing journeys in the future.    

After our crash course lesson on outdoor rock climbing we used our new skills to trek our way to the designated climbing routes. As we turned the corner and made it to where we were climbing, my legs became cooked noodles underneath me, wanting to give out, similar to how my stomach felt, like one giant knot of twisted string. It was time for the real deal.

The guide explained to us that he would go first and then tell us when we could go one after the other. Back home in Maine in the comfort of an indoor climbing gym, I would have seen the top of the route, and I would have somebody belaying me, or maybe even an auto belay. But on Riffelhorn, the wind was whipping your hair around your face, you had to clip into the set rungs yourself, and below you was the Gornergletscher, the second largest glacier in the Alps. This is when I realized that I had taken a huge step out of my comfort zone. I had to leave all my experiences from the comfort of the rock gyms in Portland, Maine in the past, and instead think about how I would safely make it up the side of Riffelhorn, clinging on for dear life.  

 Our guide, Emmanuel, climbed up with great ease, not hesitating at all. I was last on the rope which allowed me to see where everybody was stepping so I could follow in their footsteps. I dug my toes into the rock face in front of me trusting my boots, and reached my hands up to find tiny cracks my fingers could slip into and help hoist me up. Although I had people ahead of me I still struggled to figure out where to place my feet, because even though one foothold worked for someone else, it didn't mean that it was going to work for me. After my first couple of steps up the climbing route, I slowly got the hang of it, gaining confidence one step at a time and continuing to trust my boots. I focused on what my next step would be, attempting to ignore the scary feelings on the inside, as well as my brain telling me that there was the possibility that I could fall to my death at any moment. Step after step I left my worries in the past and kept climbing.

My group and I were roped all together on the same rope, so that if one of us were to fall then the people above and below us could help. I knew my friends were there to help me whenever I did not know where to put my foot next, or when I was stuck in a hard position, and too scared to reach for the next hold thinking that I was going to fall to my death. I persevered through my fears and climbed up and up following my friends in front of me. I gradually made my way to the top of the route continuing to trust my boots, digging the toe of my boot into the crevices of the rocks, which helped me make it to the top of Riffelhorn. Once I made it to the top, I let out a huge breath of air that I had been holding in on my way up, afraid to let it out, and for my friends to see what I was really feeling, hiding the tears welling up in my eyes, or my shaking hands because I was so scared. I wasn’t only feeling these emotions of fright but my first climb helped me realize that my friends will always be there to support me every step of the way.

I might not always have somebody to follow in their footsteps when times are hard but when climbing Riffelhorn I also proved to myself that I don’t always need to follow in somebody's footsteps, it is good to create your own paths up the rock face or through life. I realized this my second time climbing when I was put in front right after the guide. The guide climbed up the route first, before the rest of our group went, so I needed to figure out the path for myself. I trusted my boots, had my friends supporting me from behind, and cleared my mind, which helped me become comfortable in the uncomfortable. Although this was a treacherous rock climbing experience, I was able to learn a lot about myself, including facing life's challenges with the mindset of being able to feel comfortable with the uncomfortable. When times are tough, my friends will be there to support me, and there will always be climbing boots that you can trust along the way that will support you on your lifelong journey up whatever mountains come your way.