I found a great cafe in the hills behind Apia a few weeks ago. It's become my weekend oasis. I get up there around 10-1030 on a Saturday and Sunday and normally consume a very slow breakfast (it's the weekend, I ain't getting up early or hurrying for anyone) followed by a coffee and then just sit and "be" for a while. A very quiet relaxed way to start the day when nothing is the order and goal of the day.
This is me we are talking about however and sitting and being isn't my strong point. Falling in waterfalls is more my jam and as it happens two waterfalls sit directly below the cafe. So after a good chat to the owners of the land, I was basically propelling along a rope to the valley floor below the cafe with my camera pack over my shoulder. If the images matches the sounds I knew something good was amongst the trees below me.
When I say propelling along a rope to the valley floor I am being a bit generous. The rope took me about 2metres down the mountain side, after that it was a case of do your best not to die as you went down a cliff face track about 1/2 a metre wide and not quite straight down but pretty close. The track was slippery and muddy and something to grab hold of to stop falling could best be described as "not there"
Inevitably the traction between earth and shoe dropped to zero, my feet slipped out and I began to slide down the hill on my back. There was nothing to grab on to and I felt my momentum increase, thankfully though I was sliding and not tumbling down the hill.
As I slid I saw that the track was going to take a sharp right hand turn and an actual cliff was behind an oldish looking log in front of me. "No problem" I thought, "I'll just brake my fall with my foot on the log. Turns out the log was older than oldish, as it was actually my foot that broke the log, not the log breaking my fall. My foot went straight through the rotted old wood and my momentum continued. As the fall to my death began to go through my mind, I felt a rock sticking out of the ground rising up between my still moving legs. The rock slammed into my balls, painfully stopping my momentum. I hit the rock with enough force to dislodge it from the dirt, knocking it over the cliff and bouncing down to the water below. I was immediately hit by twin feelings; the feeling of relief from not going over the edge and in equal measure the pain of having my 110kg frame stopped dead by a rock to the balls.
The funniest thing was when I got the beautiful waterfalls and the meandering creek that accompanied it below, the light was all wrong. I was about 4-5 hours too early for a good photo. A week and 5 hours later I stood atop the meandering mud goat track again. When I got to the bottom, I realised I was still an hour too early.
I haven't taken the third trip down that mountain side slippery-slide. But I will 😂