One of the most popular cuts from DISCHARGE is the Niagara Falls chapter. It’s also pretty much the only part of the book that readers ask me to explain technically, and I can understand why. Those who have never been to Niagara Falls, and even some who have, are challenged to get their heads around the rock ledge that projects over the natural wonder and winds up playing a key role in my conversion from soldier to civilian. As much as I’m normally a words-over-pictures guy, I recognize that this is a special case, so I’ll share some ledge pics I snapped this month on my return visit to Niagara Falls, mixed with some DISCHARGE excerpts for context.
“Hey, Ames, you see that rock ledge sticking out over the falls?”
I lean over the rail. The ledge actually starts about fifteen feet below us and extends out in a finger, 170 feet above the froth. “Yeah.”
“We should do it.”
He’s completely serious about going out on that rock finger of doom. I assume that’s something we’d be arrested for trying, but of course a humiliating Canadian jail stay is one of the best outcomes we could hope for.
I stare down into that boiling drownpool and I see white demons lunging out, springing suddenly alive, reaching and clawing for something, anything, to bring under. And still grabbing as they fall. If a person were to climb over the rail there, that person could jump down onto that flat part of the rock, drop down again, walk down a narrow shelf to the ledge, and then crawl out to the end of the finger. The Band-Aid Man and I are sliding down the rail in the direction of that rock. The mix is roaring at us from way below.
If I fell off that perch, I wouldn’t even bother to draw a breath. I wouldn’t brace myself, try to land feet first, nothing. As soon as I started slipping, I would count myself gone. Better to be shot dead at that moment by a Mountie who mistakenly thought I’d smuggled in pepper spray than to live that six-second tumble into the foaming jaws below.
“Are you ready?”
I answer his question by vaulting the rail and he’s in the air at the same time.
We’re running down the narrow ledge and we’re flat on the finger. He pulls out his panoramic camera, we roll onto our backs.
“Slide out further.”
“Further?”
He’s got his arm around my shoulder and his other hand is holding the camera. It’s a trademark Band-Aid Man photo, even if we are horizontal with our heads dangling 170 feet above the deadly pool. Click!
We roll toward safety and spring back over the rail. No police are waiting to arrest us, our welcoming party consists of only a dozen murmuring spectators and some impressed children nodding and smiling. I think our composure kept us from getting in any trouble. We must have looked very professional. My heart’s pounding. “That was civilian, huh?” I ask Band-Aid.
He nods, “That was civilian as fuck.”
One wild-eyed teenager in a black leather jacket tells his girlfriend, “We should do that,” and, for the first time this trip, I feel like a role model. The idea that I’m becoming not only a civilian, but a shining example for other civilians to aspire to, really convinces me that things are going right.
So concludes the Niagara Falls photo essay. Worth mentioning that was by no means the stupidest thing The Band-Aid Man and I do in DISCHARGE. Not even top five. Readers will back me up on that.
Oh, here’s a sendoff inside gag for the fans:
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