When Danger Was the Thrill of It

I’m sitting on the old footbridge in my hometown, overlooking the river. We used to ride our bikes here as teenagers before we learned how to drive cars. We would meet up here and venture through the woods until we came upon the old train trestle that kids would jump off of for cheap thrills.

I was driving home when I instinctively turned down the old road that leads to the footbridge, and no sooner than I parked did I hear the train’s whistle blowing, even over my music blasting. I got out, leaving windows down and doors unlocked and ran for the footbridge so I might catch a glimpse of the train going over the trestle before it had gone. I made it just in time, watching the last few cars of the train skate through the trestle, just down river.

I remembered how we would go spend long summer days there. While our parents were at work for the day, us kids had to go find some trouble to get into; that’s just the way things go.

We’d meet at the train trestle and immediately feel how this place was different from most places we spent time in: it was governed by kids, and the bravest of them held the highest ranking. Caution was thrown to the wind, rules were cast into the river and danger was the thrill of it — but that’s what made it fun.

Some kids would jump from the trestle into the river below, some wouldn’t, but when the train came down the tracks we all had to get down to the river one way or another, lest the conductor see us and call the cops. Some kids were addicted to the thrill and would be there every day of the summer, guiding kids that hadn’t been there before and weren’t as comfortable, and showing off by climbing all the way to the top of the trestle to jump from “God” — that’s what they called the very top.

Here comes another train now, and I can see the kids scattering in mind’s eye, running down the steep embankment, jumping from various levels of the trestle and landing like missiles in the water — pure chaos. But sitting here now, the trestle is still and silent except when the train comes — no kids to be found. They probably still spend long summer days here, as they always have, but summer’s coming to a close now. The footbridge shakes a little as the train passes over the trestle downstream, I can feel it bouncing slightly beneath me.

My friends and I weren’t enthralled with the trestle specifically, but more so with the river and with nature in general. We would spend every day we were together outside, no matter the season. We came to love them all, finding beauty in the snow covered woods, magic in the revival of spring, and excitement in the crisp fall air. But summer was best of all, because we didn’t have anywhere to be or anyone to answer to.

One night we came to this footbridge and climbed up to sit atop the rails; I have a picture of us sitting up there, frozen in space and time. Now the bridge is all covered in lichen splotches and spider webs, but it probably was back then too; we were just too untroubled to notice.

We would spend time all up and down this river: jumping into it, swimming in it, sitting on its banks, walking through its woods, climbing up its cliff side. Sometimes just off the trail we would find an untouched bush of wild wineberries and delight in the bliss of eating them fresh off the bush, still warm from the sun and sweet with summer’s essence.

After a big rainstorm when the water was high and the current was wild, we loved to start at the footbridge and float downstream, with nothing but our bodies and each other to hold onto as the current took hold of us, hoping for some particularly rough rapids to ripple through our bodies and intoxicate us with a rush of turbulence and euphoria.

One such float was the pinnacle of ecstasy which we always hoped each subsequent float would surpass: we got into the water that day and were instantly swept away, the water deeper than ever and the current luring us into its depths. The whole atmosphere changed instantly as we felt real danger afoot, but we were young enough to let that enrapture us with excitement rather than dread — and anyways once you’re in the rush of the current there’s no going back, so you just have to go with it.

We all floated down stream faster than ever, passing under the trestle in half the time it usually took, and floating along at ever-increasing speed, unaccustomed to these rough rapids in our little river. We were all screaming with joy and fear pouring out of our hearts, fighting to keep our heads above water but with the greatest smiles on our faces all the while. Then we rounded a bend and saw it: a monstrous tree had come down in the storm and lay nearly across the entire river. We didn’t have time to get to the only thruway — we were fast approaching in the hurried current — all we could do was brace ourselves.

Suddenly each of us was slammed up against the enormous tree’s trunk in succession, and before we even had time to think we became one with the racing water pressing feverishly to get downstream. We were all sucked towards the end of the tree — which was once the top of this mighty tree — where the water was crowding and threatening. While we were being pulled sideways by that current, another current was coursing under the tree with intense fervor, the water determined to get downstream no matter what was in its path, so we were fighting to not be pulled under at the same time. We were all gripping onto the tree with every ounce of strength we had, trying not to be confounded by the current, screaming with laughter and terror the whole while, slightly panicked but more invested in the fun of the fight.

We held our own against the rushing water for a few moments, but one by one we were picked off, shunted down towards the end of the tree, to slam into its remaining top branches and each other as we finally made our way around the tree in the current, forcing us downstream at all costs.

Once we all made it around the tree the current relaxed and our hearts filled with calm, knowing in our deepest knowing that the worst of it was over, the rest of the float would be much less eventful. Still we were all delirious with excitement that we had made it out alive, with only minor scratches and bruises to show for it — a valiant trophy.

Despite the danger and the fear we faced in that float, we all agreed that it was the best float of all time, and always had hope that we might get to experience one like it again someday. It taught us tangibly that nature is a force to be reckoned with, and that fear can be fun to face.

But alas, the summer faded away and took its fierce storms and warm waters with it; we replaced our classroom of expansive greenery with those familiar 4 white walls of the high school, and we dutifully moved onto our fall, winter and spring antics — but that summer will always hold a special place in our hearts, and that float still wins greatest of all time.

© 2021 Jessica Wolf