Falling off a cliff − 4 July, 1982
We called it "The Brain".
About 200-300 million years ago, present day Lookout Mountain and Lookout Valley were submerged under a shallow tropical sea. Horsehoe crabs, tribolites, and all manner of semi-shelled squid, anemones, antler coral and other sea life flourished. When the seas receded and the land dried, a layer of mud formed around various rocks, trapping both fossil and coral under layers that gradually wore away until the land started resembling what is now known as south-east Tennessee.
One particularly large boulder lay perched on the edge of Lookout Mountain's eastern side. Given that the mountain had eroded into a plateau, the rock made a perfect aeyrie in which to look at the farms and a sinuous country road about 2500 ft below while being able to face west to see the sunset on the flat top of the mountain. On this particular rock (about the size of a two story house), the mud had shrunk to create folds just like a human brain, a large crack in the center even divided it into hemispheres. Hence, the name stuck.
I spent many a camp out in the woods around the Brain. The actual rock itself didn't offer much for sleeping and caught all the wind. But there were other spots just down from it where you could get out of the wind, build a fire and walk little trails that snaked along the edge of the mountain. Needless to say, ample fiths of bourbon, cases of beer, and lots of joints found their way to that magic place.
On July 4, 1982 a roaring party started there in the afternoon, with the finale coming after dark when we would shoot off various fireworks from the summit. Bottle rockets, Roman Candles, firecrackers, it was a melange of pot-luck pyrotechnics.
Sometimes life astounds you in its sheer simplicity of pleasure and consequences. I'd spent the day drinking beer, a few doobies, plenty of food, all in anticipation of the fireworks. We had a hell of a session in which I improved bottle rocket hand launching skills. But soon enough I needed to relieve myself of some of that beer.
I left the Brain where my friends were and found the trail that led to the lesser rocks that dotted the edge of the plateau. Below each rock was a drop well in excess of 60 feet to other rocks that had fallen off in the past. I found the right tree near the edge of the mountain, positioned myself up from it and let loose with a good 1min beer piss. Then I zipped up, turned to the left....and took a step straight off the mountain.
I remember the pine tree I'd just soaked, which was next to a boulder about the size of a lawn chair. Then air.
If you recall those Warner Bros. cartoons, the characters often walk off a cliff or building, realize they're going to fall and then try to turn and run back the other way while they hang in the air. I must've instinctively tried the same thing because as I went over I turned and tried to bear hug the boulder, which scratched up the inside of my arms something terrible. I also must've hit my chin on it. Clawing like an animal didn't help. I peeled off the boulder and then felt nothing around me except space that I was falling back and a bit to my left side.
Immediately, I was 100% convinced that I would die. No ifs ands or buts. The branch of the pine tree overhung the edge of the cliff some and through a small hole between it and below, I saw a sliver of a moon and some of the stars coming out, knowing that this would be the last thing I ever saw.
And it's weird to say, but I'm 24 years removed from the event but can picture it and the feeling exactly. I thought to myself "beautiful" and kind of let go and relaxed, almost like those glassy eyed antelope you see in the lion's mouth, no struggle at all.
About two seconds of feeling wind brush past and pick up speed then WHAM!!
Nature played a funny trick. About ten to fifteen feet below (which I know from my friends Trip and Julie who pulled me up), a lip of stone grew out of the wall. Over time, pine needles, leaves, moss, dirt, and a little sapling had grown. I landed on this gentle bed on my left side, utterly relaxed because I thought I had a few more seconds before hitting the rocks 40 feet below.
I never passed out. I lay on my left side, fully expecting to be all broken up. Lookout Valley was below me. Above I could hear commotion as someone (probably Julie) saw me go over. Shouts of "Oh My God!", "Holy Shit!" started getting louder and closer. I wanted to speak but was still in a case of this relaxation, almost sleepy. Worries about concussion kept me awake. Finally, I got some air into lungs and started talking to people above. I lay on my bed of pine needles, leaves, and moss, tasting blood in my mouth, and moving my hands across my hips and legs, slowly trying to figure out what was broken, as my friends gathered ropes to get down to me.
Nothing was broken. I'd scratched myself up, split my chin for which I needed a few staples and have a faint scar to this day, and was brusied all down my left side.
I'm 42 now and with a bad left shoulder that the osteopath needs to look after but that's about it. More important was that feeling. I want to keep it as a guide for when the real thing comes, hopefully well into the future.
But it ain't so bad....
