Heart pounding, mind racing, voices shouting. I weave through crowds, slide beneath tables, dodge everyday objects and slip around corners as I rush through packed foreign streets. I must move faster. I must put more distance between myself and my pursuers. My mission is too important to fail now.
The crack of gunfire ahead floods my veins with adrenaline. I duck into a building and sprint for the stairs. It’s a risky move, potentially suicidal, but going up is my only option. Up stairs, through domestic rooms, past flustered residents I go; those hunting me ascend angrily in my wake.
I open yet another door and my stomach suddenly drops. I’m on the roof with nowhere left to run.
The neighboring buildings are too far away to jump, and the high air whistles forlornly around me. I fixate on a utility line stretching from this building to the next. My pursuers are almost to the door. I swing my belt over the line, eye it one last time, and pray this isn’t how it all ends.
“Zipping Abby!”
With a decisive blink, I return to my present reality. The line before me takes on a new definition before my eyes, the background behind it fades into shades of green, and the air settles into a pulsing breeze. Ah yes, I’m with my group and our zip line guide, Sara, on a wooden platform high in a tree, surrounded by acres of privately-owned Washington forest. And I’m next up to zip “Peek-A-Boo,” the first line of the day with Mica Moon Zip Tours.
I laugh at myself for the places my imagination takes me. When I hear “zip lining,” I can’t help but envision daring escapes from Mission Impossible or Bond movies. Who cares if such stunts aren’t realistic: it’s the thrill of the moment, the split-second reaction, the speed and danger of it all that brings us to the edge of our seats.
I hear a crackly response from Holland, the guide on the opposite end of the zip line, through Sara’s radio: “Line clear, brake set, zip on Abby!” Sara smiles and gives me the go-ahead. I grip the handles attached to the line by my head and look down, which is exactly what I shouldn’t have done. Butterflies burst in my stomach. Yup, it’s high. Here we go. I position my feet, swallow my nerves and jump.
I can’t contain an exhilarated whoop as I swing and soar through the air. Mere seconds later, I feel the brake slow my approach and I stretch my feet toward the platform. Holland helps me detach my triple- locking carabiners from the zip line and attach them to the safety line wrapped around the tree. I find a spot on the platform next to other members of my group. Peek-A-Boo may be one of Mica Moon’s shortest zip lines, but it definitely gets the blood pumping.
One zip line down, five to go.
The collective enthusiasm and camaraderie within the group increase during the next three zip lines. We hike dirt roads, climb swaying bridges, skirt along platforms and fl y above the trees. Some scream as they leap, some hold it in, but all are constantly laughing. I love how the smells of earth and warming June air combine with the wood of the platforms and the leather of our gloves.
As fun and exciting as these zip lines are, though, we know what they’re all leading up to: Big Mama. At 3,500 feet long, it is among the longest zip lines in the country, and one of Mica Moon’s most recent additions. My anticipation builds at the back of my mind, growing ever nearer to the forefront of my thoughts.
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We’re walking along a dirt path, chatting with each other and the guides, when I realize the wait is over. I behold Big Mama’s raised platform, daunting in its simplicity as it sits perched upon the side of the mountain. My eyes try to follow the zip line’s path but lose it somewhere down in the expansive carpet of deep green. I spot a cleared patch on the other side of the valley that must be the landing area. Liberty Lake sits quietly far off to our right, and the shifting grey clouds add an air of drama to this climax. One of Mica Moon’s owners, Heidi Stewart, stands on the platform, waiting to assist us. My expectations have been exceeded. It is breathtaking.
The question is who will be first. We excitedly organize into a single-file line, and I find myself somewhere towards the back. I try to take it all in but I am distracted by nerves. One by one, our line shrinks. Here, at Big Mama, everyone releases some kind of battle cry before they and their voices are lost in the drop. They eventually emerge as a speck on the exposed hill across the valley.
I begin to feel the draw again; begin to hear and feel the heart-stopping beats of adventure. Someone calls my name. Heidi is beckoning me to join her on the platform. The zip line is empty, daring me to take the plunge. I step up and Heidi gets me attached to the line. The empty air beyond the platform is dizzying. Gripping the handles, I take a giddy breath, grin as I channel Ethan Hunt, and launch myself off the platform.
I let loose with one long, cathartic scream, expelling electric fear from my body. My body is clenched into a ball, flying along so quickly my wind-induced tears are snatched away as quickly as they come. Incredulous laughter quickly replaces the screams. This is real zip lining. I’m struck by a strange strain of loneliness up here above the world, where it’s just me, the zip line and the howling wind. It is simultaneously terrifying and awesome.
As I approach the other side of the valley, it appears I’m about to be swallowed by the trees. But I instead enter a sacred place, a half-moon hollow carved out in the trees. I skirt just past them, aware of their almost tangible nearness. I feel a delighted laugh arise from my chest, but it’s soundless with the roar of speed in my ears.
The ground begins to rise sharply. I see the landing zone and am jarred by the brake as it cuts my speed. I finally come to a stop but am temporarily left dangling in the air. I’m breathless as Holland drags a ladder over for me to climb down. I then join the rest of the group away from the zip line.
Although Big Mama is definitely the highlight of the day, we wrap up at Mica Moon’s new aerial course. Still raw from Big Mama, I welcome the challenge of tackling bobbing barrels, shifting canoes, swinging ropes and a slackline. Once I’ve completed the obstacles on the first level at 30 feet, I climb up to the harder ones on the second level, putting me about 70 feet above the ground. My favorite obstacle is rope swinging off a platform into a huge net American Ninja Warrior-style. After an hour or two of swinging and climbing around, my body is exhausted but my fun tank is full.
We all load into UTVs for the ride down the mountain to where the shuttle van is parked. I watch the road and the forest as we descend and am reminded of the regional history Rik, Heidi’s husband and co-owner of Mica Moon, told us on the drive up. Apparently Mica Peak was a hot spot for bootleggers during the Prohibition Era, particularly for moonshine. Traversing perhaps the very same roads they used, I feel I can imagine wily bootleggers slipping through the woods under cover of darkness, evading authorities in their mission to keep Mica Moonshine in circulation.
I love that Rik and Heidi Stewart chose the name Mica Moon for their business as a tribute to the area’s history. Rik says they strive to celebrate the intrigue, adrenaline and risk of the past with their courses, and hope to inspire their guests to do the same. I walk away grateful to them, their guides and the mountain for an opportunity to embrace this spirit of wildness. My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to continue to pursue adventure wherever I find myself in this endlessly adventurous world we live in. N
By Abby Owens
Photography By Joel Riner